Invisible Recruit: Invisible Power Part 26

With another calming breath I realized that with each breath I inhaled I was holding tight to my anger, but the exhales allowed me to release a little of my frustration, and my fear.

Time to pull on my big girl panties and admit none of this was Bran's fault. It was mine. My choices created this outcome. Not his.

Releasing another sigh that started somewhere near my feet, I knew I was doing this for myself. If selling my soul to the dark side helped me save Van, then so be it.

I reached across the chalk line and pulled the bag closer, reaching inside for the four candles and setting them aside. Who knew they could find four different colors on short notice in the heart of Paris. The mugwort, sage, burdock root and cedar in small plastic baggies I moved within hands' length to my right. The last item was in a fancy container; French sea salt.

I looked up at Willie who smiled and shrugged. "I didn't know what kind of salt you needed. Figured the fancy stuff might help more."

"Thanks." It was a nice gesture and I knew it came from a good place within him. "Can someone get me a small bowl of water?"

Both Francois and Willie scrambled. I shouted after them, "Preferably a stone or hand potted bowl if you can find one."

There was a mumbled, "Will do," echoing from the kitchen area.

I rose to my feet, brushing chalk dust from my hands against my jeans, only too aware that this was a fairly large room yet with only Bran and I in it seemed too small.

I finally found enough backbone to look at him and wished I hadn't. There were times when Bran would walk into a room or I'd see him after being away from him for a while and I'd get that knee to the solar plexus take-my-breath-away response. Totally unbidden and mostly unwelcome but d.a.m.n, there it was.

Maybe it was the thickness of his midnight hair, or the slash of his cheekbones, the lean length of him, the breadth of his shoulders, heck, it was a hundred small details that made my legs weak and my stomach tumble over and over.

And I could hate him for that, even as I hated myself more. He was warlock, enemy to witches, and thus enemy to me. But why couldn't I remember that like any sane witch?

He stepped close, too close, sucking all of the air from the room. I'm not sure if he meant the move as threat or something else. I wasn't ready for either. Just as I opened my mouth to growl at him he raised one hand to brush his fingers along my cheek as his other hand slid to my waist. All thought fled.

Instead all I did was feel, the roughness of his fingers taking a slow leisurely path from brow to cheek bone to jaw. When had just a touch sent me headfirst into a freefall? He so did not play fair.

He started to speak, his voice hoa.r.s.e and guttural, "Alex . . ."

d.a.m.n him. Just when I needed all my wits about me he scattered them like so much dandelion fluff. I cleared my throat and stepped back, desperate to put some s.p.a.ce between us. Something to keep me from drowning. Or begging.

We both spoke at once.

"Why'd you . . ."

"I shouldn't have . . ."

We both stopped and I waved him on. He looked like he'd prefer to swallow his tongue but he cleared his throat and said, "I know what I'm asking you to do here. I should have been more forthright about this being a possibility when we left the hotel this afternoon."

And that's why he kept turning my world topsy-turvy. Warlocks didn't offer apologies, because they'd have to admit they were in the wrong. Yet that's exactly what he'd just done. How could you fight a concession? More not playing fair. At this rate he could write the handbook on how to mess with a woman's head. And heart.

I angled my head to look at him, really seeing the cost of his words. He was mage-born which meant he understood the price of black magic. Most warlocks and sorcerers not only went down the path of black magic, they raced toward it, arms wide open. White magic was benign and helpful for life's small things, sort of the Band-Aid on the world's dings and bruises. Black magic was the opposite. If you had an owie white magic would make you feel better. If your femoral artery was cut you called on black magic. You'd save your limb but lose your soul in the process.

I glanced away, looking at the circle, stilling the beating of my heart. Bran knew since he'd returned from the Council meeting earlier that we'd end up here. I think that's what bothered me the most. He knew but hadn't been honest enough to say up front, hey, remember how you used me yesterday? Well, payback's a b.i.t.c.h.

But that's not what I really wanted to say. I was afraid. For him, for me; if the Council acted against him. If we couldn't find Vaverek. So many ifs I was swallowed whole by them. The words on the tip of my tongue scared me. Scared me more than what I was about to do.

Thankfully Francois and Willie returned before I had to come up with a nice lie one of the kind that started with, it doesn't really matter.

"Francois thought this should be cold water but I figured warm water would be nicer to put your hands into." Willie clutched the bowl in his wide grip. "If that's what you're going to do."

"I am." I smiled at him. A sight he obviously wasn't used to, or maybe because it'd been twice in a row, but he ducked his head as if I'd patted him, or scared the c.r.a.p out of him, disarming him before I attacked.

Okay, reputation well deserved.

Before I reached out to grab the bowl I erased a portion of the chalk line with the toe of the fancy shoes Francois had given me only yesterday. They sure didn't look like pricey designer shoes anymore.

I set the bowl in the middle of the circle as I grabbed the candles and thrust them toward Francois. "Here I need these set in the following directions-To the south, place the red one; North, the brown; West, the blue, and orange in the east."

Francois handed two to Bran, one to Willie and they all set them out as I re-chalked the line and returned to the middle where the bowl of water and the bloodied napkin rested on the floor. I kept my eyes averted from it but it was like a lighthouse beacon pulsing at me, warning me of danger.

As if I didn't know that already.

"When I say so I want you to light the candles." I took a deep breath before adding, "No matter what happens you must remain absolutely silent and stay outside the circle."

"What's going to happen?" Willie asked.

"If all goes right I find the general area where Van is."

"And if not-ow, I was just asking," he snapped at Francois.

It was Bran who answered, though. "Let's focus on making sure all goes right."

I bet the guys who took up bomb disposal heard the same comment on their first day of the job. Because that's what it felt like right then. I faced a ten-ton bomb with shaking fingers.

CHAPTER 51.

The first part of the ritual was the easiest part, consecrating with salt and water before I cast the scrying spell. I raised my anathema dagger, which I'd placed in the middle of the circle before I drew my chalk boundaries. Yes, I knew most witches called it an athame, but one of the last things I remembered about my mother before she disappeared from my world was her asking me for her dagger and calling hers an anathema. The word has stuck ever since. One of these days I was going to find out that meaning, but not right now. I needed to focus. One hundred percent align my intention and my thoughts.

I touched the tip of my dagger to the water and began the purification chant: O creature of water, I banish thee.

Cast before me all uncleanliness and impurity of illusion, of ghosts, of spirits who seek harm.

I moved the anathema to the pile of salt I'd poured on the floor and touched it lightly intoning: Cast forth all malignancy and hindrances be. Break the barriers held against thy good.

Enter herein all aid and a.s.sistance. I call thee forth to render support. That though mayest be.

Then I mixed the salt into the water, stirring it with the anathema in easy smooth strokes, using the restraint to calm and center me.

I set the dagger to the side and glanced to the moon's light through the window.

I conjure thee oh orb of light and guidance. Circle of power I call upon thee to guide and protect.

Between the worlds of men and realms of the Mighty Ones you who see all a.s.sist in finding that which I seek.

Raise within thee thy power to bless and consecrate this search.

"Light the candles now," I whispered, closing my eyes and trusting my a.s.sistants outside of the circle. "First the east. The south, then west, and last, the north."

I listed to the flare of matches struck and called aloud the sacred words.

Yod He Vau He Adonai Eheieh Agla East to the waxing moon.

South to the heat.

West to the waning light.

North to the warrior spirits.

Cast back the darkness that I may see.

So mote it be.

Only then did I open my eyes and reach for the bloodied napkin. Blood of my brother. Focus of my heart. Let me see you.

I picked up my ritual knife again and sliced a clean line down the palm of my left hand then picked up the napkin and squeezed it tight.

I expected a jolt. I didn't expect a tsunami of magic and pain slamming against me.

A blast of light blinded me as I twirled and twirled through a tunnel of darkness. I gasped for air but there wasn't any, only cold, ice coating my skin, freezing my blood.

This was it. I was going to die. Alone. Lost. Caught in a s.p.a.ce between realms.

There wasn't even time to mourn as one last violent spin spat me through a gap where I splatted onto an unforgiving floor.

Where the Great Spirits was I?

CHAPTER 52.

Van slowly, inch by inch roused himself, aware he was once again chained to the wall, but for how long he had no idea. Something had roused him from the stupor weighting his body, numbing the pain but only to a low roar.

His mouth cracked it was so dry but that wasn't his first worry. They were going to do something to him, with him. But what? Think.

Nothing would come except the certainty that he was about to die. That wasn't what was bothering him though. It was something else.

A sound stirred his awareness. A rustle.

The doctor coming back? He'd never entered the cell in the dark hours but that could change. Was that what was pushing at him?

"Van?" A voice called to him, a familiar voice, but one that had no reason to be here. Another hallucination, like the others that promised on one hand and made him quake on the other.

"Van, is that really you?" A shuffle of movement against straw and then hands against him.

He screamed at the pain. The hands withdrew.

"By the G.o.ddess, what have they done to you?" It was Alex. Only she used that witch-word around him. But she couldn't be here.

He raised his chin as high as he could and sucked in an oath. "Alex?"

"Of course it is. How many sisters do you have? And how in h.e.l.ls bells are we going to get you out of here?"

He shook his head. It had to be Alex, no one else could scratch and offer help in the same breath.

"Escape," he whispered, aware his lips cracked and bled. "Before they know."

"Who are they?" She was poking and prodding at him, tugging at the silver chains, burning his raw skin.

"Power broker." There was another. Oh, yeah, how could he forget? "The doctor."

"Not helping me," she snarled, releasing him to tug at the wall attachments. He could have told her it'd do no good. If he as a shifter couldn't budge them what was a witch going to accomplish? Even as determined a witch as his sister.

She had to leave. Not only was she making a lot of noise cursing under her breath and straining against the restraints, something niggled his memory. Something about them, what they wanted.

"Well, you've got yourself in a fine pickle," she huffed, stepping back and glaring as she threw her braid over her shoulder in a gesture so familiar it created a whole new pain in him. He didn't think she meant the look for him and he could hear the fear beneath her words but he still gave a rusty laugh.

"Oh sure, yuck it up. Any suggestions about how to release you might be nice."

"How'd you . . ." The thought vanished, too hard to hold on to.

"Get here?" She shook her head. "Stupid spell backfired." Then she added in a smaller voice he doubted she knew he could hear, "At least I think it backfired."

Her words jumpstarted his heart into beating harder, pouring blood through his system, clearing the fogginess for a second. "Can you escape?"

She glanced over her shoulder, chewing her lip. "Don't know." Then she stepped closer, raising one hand to his chin, her touch very gentle and un-Alex like. She was more the smack-you-once then smack-you-again kind of gal.

"I'll kill whoever did this to you."

This time his laugh held more spirit. "You and me both."

She glanced around the cell again and out the small window. "You know where we are?"

"Cell."

"Duh! I mean any idea where in the city are we? If we're still in the Paris."

He shook his head, each move costing.