Lady Eberhardt's eyes flickered to Lucien, then back again. "Just watch his back. You need to be by his side. I'll keep an eye on this brother, and Drake can handle the last." Her voice softened for Ianthe's ears alone. "The brothers are the key. Three relics, three brothers, three sacrifices."
"What the hell do you mean by that?"
"I saw two brothers enter that building," Lady Eberhardt replied. "Only one of them comes out whole."
"Why didn't you tell him? Why didn't you say something?"
"What's meant to be, is meant to be. One doesn't mess with fate, besides..."
An enormous whoosh of fire burned over their wards as Bishop and Tremayne faced off.
"Besides?" Ianthe called.
Lady Eberhardt hesitated. "I think this needs to happen, if we're to have any chance at defeating Morgana."
Ianthe tore her arm free, leaving Tremayne and his pet sorcerers to Lady Eberhardt and Bishop, whom Lady Eberhardt had been quite intent upon seeing remain behind. Maybe she'd seen more in her cup of tea leaves than she'd mentioned?
"Lucien!" Ianthe called, slamming the front door open. The house was immaculate. A bunch of the most beautiful roses filled a vase on a table in the hall, and black and white tiles stretched out into the distance. There was no sign of Drake or Lucien.
She could feel them however, that tiny golden itch in the back of her mind causing her to lift her head. Upstairs. He was upstairs. And so too was the source of the hurricane brewing on the edges of her mind.
Ianthe put a hand on the rail and took the first step. A faint tremble ran through her, the walls shaking. The pressure began to make her ears ring.
"Lucien! Drake!" She hurried up the stairs.
No guards. That was odd. Not even a ward or a whisper of a broken one...
Ianthe's heart gave a dull thud in her chest as Drake's words played through her memory again. Lucien, I think you are a gateway for the demon now... And what was Morgana trying to do through the Relics Infernal? Raise a demon... No. No, it couldn't be. Could it?
But the thought played out in eerie determination in her head. Lucien and his brothers were meant to be sacrifices; Lady Eberhardt kept saying it. And somewhere within her lover was the path to the Shadow Dimensions and the demon within. Lord Rathbourne had been Morgana's ally, after all. Perhaps, by forcing Lucien to summon the demon last year, he'd been trying to create a link for the demon to follow. That was what he'd meant in his diary!
If Morgana played her cards right, she wouldn't need all three relics. She would only need one. The Blade. And a human vessel for the demon to occupy.
A sacrifice. Lady Eberhardt was right. Ianthe wasn't in any danger, but Lucien was.
Ianthe's blood ran cold. "Lucien!" she screamed, grabbing a fistful of her skirts as she began to run.
You need to get out of here, right now!
You need to get out of here, right now!
Lucien swayed as the force of the thought hit him. Ianthe. Her psychic touch felt like silk and roses, brushing against his senses through their bond. It had been strengthening every day as they grew physically and intimately more involved, but this almost knocked him off his feet.
Ahead of him, a door splintered out into the hallway as a pulse of power lashed out through the walls, splintering plaster and cracking the cornice. He pushed her out of his mind. Can't. Rather busy at the moment.
The connection between them softened until he could only sense her remotely, the same way he always did.
The Prime absorbed the impact, grounding it with a delicacy Lucien could only admire. Drake hadn't bothered to draw on the temporary wellspring bond between them, using his own power in deft weaves to divert whatever was happening in that room. Lucien was an adept of the seventh Order, but he couldn't even compare to this. His father was the composer of an entire symphony, whilst he himself was but a single cellist.
"Are you ready?" Drake demanded.
Sweat dripped down Lucien's throat, but there was no pain in his head. Only a feeling of intensity, as if something was watching him—something that felt like a predator. He nodded, ignoring it.
Together, they linked hands. Lucien opened himself psychically, and his father's presence swept into his mind, usurping his power.
Instinct wanted to cast Drake out. It felt alien to surrender to someone else's will, and though he'd been taught how, during his apprenticeship, no sorcerer truly enjoyed being used as a wellspring.
Drake let go of his hand, now that the mental link was forged, and stepped through the door. Lucien followed and found himself in the remains of a cell. Part of the wall was blown out, revealing a terrace and glasshouse.
