Heart of Vengeance (Alice Worth #6) - Lisa Edmonds Page 0,116

or myself.

When their blades were clean, Ronan and Lucy sheathed their swords. She took a first aid pack from her pants pocket and tore it open. I expected him to offer to help her use it on her torn shoulder, but he didn’t; in fact, he ignored her hiss of pain as she cleaned the wound and bandaged it. I scowled, but Lucy didn’t seem the least perturbed by his lack of concern.

It was some kind of warrior code, I realized belatedly: pretending not to see a fellow fighter’s injury or pain and letting them treat the wound themselves. The dynamics were different between Lucy and Ronan than between she and I. He wasn’t uncaring; he was showing her respect.

Meanwhile, he’d helped me rein in the dark magic I’d used to destroy the shades and gravelings before it got away from me and eased the agony I’d suffered afterward. His care for me didn’t feel disrespectful, though—rather the opposite. And he’d skewered Kyrios for hurting Daisy and let her get her own revenge for the attack.

Who was leading this group and who was defending and protecting whom seemed very much in flux from one minute to the next. It appeared we’d worked out a de facto dynamic hierarchy, despite the presence of what might be categorized as four alpha personalities and one long-suffering trusty ghost sidekick.

And I’d thought werewolf pack dynamics were complicated.

“Time’s a-wasting,” Lucy said, cleaning her hands with a wet wipe that she stuffed in her pocket. “I’ll figure out what to do about this mess later. Come on.”

We followed her to the edge of the clearing, Daisy at my side. A small stone monument identified the ground beyond as a Chumash burial site at least eight hundred years old and asked visitors to be respectful of this sacred area.

“Oh, this pisses me off,” Lucy said, surveying the clearing. “If this mage profaned a sacred burial site to cut a door to the Underworld…” She flexed her hands. “What’s justice for her, Alice? All those dead people in Walliston. Isaiah’s pack. All the others who’ve died. And now this. I’m so far beyond caring that your client wants to punish her for stealing.”

“Theft is far and away the least of her crimes.” I scanned the grassy area in the moonlight. “I don’t see any sign of a ritual or any kind of door.”

“That’s because it’s hidden.” Malcolm pointed to the far left side of the clearing. “The door’s there. Can’t you feel it? It’s like a wound.”

I closed my eyes and reached out with my senses. The power of the ley line and burial ground obscured nearly everything else. I understood why Mariela had chosen this place to make her door, but I hated her for it.

Eventually, I sensed the echoes of a powerful ritual and the door. Malcolm was right: the portal felt like a wound in the earth. No—more than that. Like a horrible, festering wound in the world, made all the worse by where we were.

“Forgive us for this trespass on your homes,” Lucy murmured.

Malcolm murmured a short prayer of his own. We made our way silently across the clearing toward the sickening sensation. My magic surged in response to the graves beneath our feet, the lingering traces of rituals conducted here over hundreds of years, and something else I recognized, though I’d never practiced it myself.

“Death magic,” I said. “Blood sacrifices to open the door and keep it open.”

Lucy inhaled sharply. “Human sacrifice?”

I shook my head. “Small animals. Birds, I think.” Magic had echoes, and I recognized these as coming from flapping wings. Poor creatures.

“That’s not all.” Malcolm looked down at the grass. “There’s a ghost here, staked to the ground. No—staked to the door itself. She wanted to make damn sure it stayed open.”

We stared at the grass. Even in my Second Sight, I saw no visible signs of the rituals Mariela had performed, or of the ghost she’d trapped. She’d used her earth magic to hide the materials of the rituals under the dirt and grass, and her obfuscation spells were flawless.

Ronan’s grim expression mirrored mine. “This is unconscionable,” he grated.

“Can we release the spirit?” Lucy asked.

“I don’t know,” Malcolm said. “That might fracture the spellwork and slam the door.”

“Isn’t that what we came here to do?” Lucy demanded.

“Shutting the door isn’t enough,” I pointed out. “Remember, Mariela came here to invoke the Furies. If she succeeds, they’re coming up and they’re going to slaughter everything Mariela tells them to. I’ve got