Page 44

Cyrus watched as she stopped in front of one book, its covers dark and wrinkled, the words stamped in gold on the front almost worn off.

Making a sign with her fingers, she cautiously took the volume from its shelf, holding it with both hands beneath the back cover and laying it gently on a nearby desk.

“Now, let’s see...”

She made more symbols with her hands, blue, bright green, and finally silver.

The cover raised slowly, and Cyrus caught his breath for a moment as he realised that it wasn’t aged leather on the boards. It was skin. Human skin.

“What is this...” he murmured.

“A book so old it remembers things from before Caelemar was Caelemar,” Primrose answered reverently. “If anything will provide some information on our current situation, this should be it.”

Leafing carefully through the pages, Cyrus could see small eruptions of magic—tiny sparkles, a short dart or two of bright green light, a cloud of what might have been dust but probably wasn’t—he could feel the hair on his arms rising as the room filled with unleashed enchantments, sorceries, and spells.

“Here,” whispered Primrose. She placed her hand on the page and closed her eyes.

Cyrus forced himself to forget the tiny sparks of magic that were snapping against his skin, and concentrated on Primrose.

“Spells for blood,” she murmured. “Spells for bones.”

The silence almost crackled.

“Spells that should never be cast, impure magic, tainted by elements of old darkness and forbidden powers.” She shuddered. “Dangerous, destructive, they ask too much, and give back only death...”

White as snow now, Primrose’s eyes closed and she tottered, her hand still on the page. “Forbidden. Evil. A spirit should never be contained. It will mean death comes too soon.”

Cyrus caught her as she pulled away from the book and crumpled, breathing one word. “Rhovan.”

He shuddered at the sound of it, but picked her up and retreated out the way he’d come. Someone else could put that blasted book back on its shelf. He wasn’t going to touch it, and Primrose had taken the brunt of the magic to the point where she was barely conscious.

Retracing their steps, he got them both back into her office and happily noted the colour returning to her skin.

“Easy now,” he carefully laid her down on her couch. “Catch your breath. Can I get you water? Anything?” He knelt at her side holding her hand.

She was silent for a long moment, her eyes closed, her breathing steadying. “No. Thank you.”

Cyrus sat back and waited. He’d not leave her until he knew she was going to be all right. And truthfully? The whole thing had frightened him on a level he wasn’t sure he knew he had.

The sound of her voice, the way her body responded to that book—it took him beyond what he was used to, what he might have anticipated. This was a combination of magic and witchcraft he’d never experienced, or even imagined if it came right down to it.

“I’m sorry, Cyrus,” she murmured. “I should not have brought you into that.”

“Don’t be silly,” he chided gently. “I needed to see, Primrose. To know. To believe without question that the words you spoke were true. They were not really your words, either. I’m not sure how, or why, and truthfully, I don’t want to know where they came from. But the message was clear.”

She nodded. “Yes. It was clear. And it was something that has scared me, Cyrus. Right down to the bone.” She pulled herself up and sat straight on the couch. “The Rhovan are the stuff of nightmares, and you don’t need me to tell you that.” She paused, taking a breath. “I’ve heard the tales, as have you. I’ve heard the name now and again, mostly as a reminder of what true evil looks like. But today...today we’ve had a warning, you and I.”

“I have to agree,” he replied. “But I’m not sure it’s helped me find out what’s happening right now, here, in Gloamtide.”

“Well, if you want my opinion, there are two things that stand out in my mind. The first is that someone is collecting body parts from all our communities. Fresh, young body parts. So if you put that into a mixing bag with the Rhovan, the second thing isn’t from the Gloamtide at all.”

Cyrus sighed. “Yes. I see. There’s only one answer to that, isn’t there?”

Primrose reached out for his hand and held it, her cold fingers wrapping around his. “The machines.”

*~~*~~*

Lord Phineas Theryn came as a surprise to his niece.