me to—”
Tearloch clenched his hand and jerked it downward, the motion helping him focus on his intangible connection to the spirit.
On cue Rafael was jerked to his knees, a satisfying fear twisting his too-thin face.
“I will decide what’s best,” he snarled. “Or have you forgotten who is in command here, Rafael?”
“No, Master.”
He gave another twist of his hand, and the arrogant ass was pressing his forehead against the stone floor.
“I think maybe you have. Which would be a lethal mistake.”
“I merely wish to be of service.”
Tearloch hissed in disgust. Gods, he hated the wizard. Almost as much as he hated the knowledge that he couldn’t return the sleazy worm back to hell where he belonged, no matter how much he might want to.
Why had he ever started this madness?
“You’re an arrogant prick who would betray me in a heartbeat if I was stupid enough to give you the opportunity,” he said between gritted teeth. “Which I thankfully am not.”
Rafael’s fingers dug into the stone floor, but he was not stupid enough to make the move for an open revolt.
At least not yet.
“What do you want of me?”
“Tell me of our new allies.”
“I can show you.”
Tearloch childishly continued to squash Rafael’s face into the floor. The spirit couldn’t be physically hurt, but he could be humiliated. Something far worse for a man with Rafael’s swollen pride.
At last he unclenched his hand and stepped back. “Fine. Show me.”
The wizard rose to his feet, his fingers twitching as if he was barely restraining the urge to launch a spell in Tearloch’s direction. Instead he wisely smoothed his rumpled robes and with rigid composure moved back to the shallow pool of water.
He waved his hand, murmuring soft words. Then, lifting his head, he gestured for Tearloch to join him.
“Our allies, as you commanded, Master.”
Tearloch moved to peer in the water, not at all comforted by the vision of a tall, slender man with short black hair slicked from his lean face. Dressed in a designer suit and glossy wingtip shoes, he might have been a banker.
But Tearloch didn’t miss the pale, too-perfect features and the dull, emptiness in the black eyes.
Dead eyes.
“A vampire?” he hissed.
“Not only a vampire, but one that possesses skills beyond most,” Rafael corrected, as if the leech’s extra mojo would make him less offensive to Tearloch.
“What does that mean?”
“He is an Immortal One.”
“I thought they were all immortal?”
“There are a few vampires who left this world to form their own clan,” the wizard explained in overly patient tones. “They developed very unique talents that I believe will be of use to you.”
“The talent to create zombies?”
“No, he has two curs as companions, as well as a witch,” Rafael grudgingly confessed. “One of the curs is a magic-user.”
A vampire with juiced powers, two curs (one of them a magic-user), and an extra witch tossed into the bargain?
That was enough firepower to easily overwhelm his handful of Sylvermyst.
“Damn you, this is a trap.”
Rafael held up a soothing hand. “No, I swear.”
“As if I would trust you.”
“They were sent by our beloved master.”
“I only have your word for that.” Tearloch gave a shake of his head, wishing the painful fog would clear. “I should have listened to Sergei.”
Rafael cautiously moved forward, waving his hand as if casting a spell.
“There is no need to upset yourself.”
Tearloch swayed, the fog briefly clouding his mind to the point he could barely remember why he was standing in the cavern.
Then, with a curse, he forced back the numbing cloud of confusion.
“Can you communicate with the leech?” he rasped.
Rafael’s thin lips nearly disappeared, but he gave a ready nod of his head.
“I can.”
“Then you warn him that if he or his trio of misfits attempts to enter these caves I will not only allow my Sylvermysts to slice and dice them into pieces so small their mothers won’t be able to recognize them, but you will be returned to the underworld and your name cursed so that you will never again be allowed to pass beyond the boundaries of Hell.”
Tiny flames smoldered in the depths of the spirit’s eyes. “The master will not be pleased.”
“Perhaps for now you should concern yourself with making certain I’m pleased,” Tearloch warned, turning to head for the entrance to the cavern.
Gods. He needed air.
Fresh air.
“Yes ... for now,” whispered Rafael behind him.
Chapter 11
Ariyal stumbled backward in revulsion as the zombies began to literally drop like flies around him.
Not that he objected to their stop, drop, and return-to-dead routine.
A pile of rotting corpses