the bandits had committed, what Sariel did – through Larson and his son, along with Nephilim he now controlled – avenged the murdered settlers tenfold. The bandits were tortured, mutilated, burned, vivisected, and their souls were cursed to eternal torment. Larson got his revenge. But the price was his own soul, and quite possibly, his son’s as well. Maybe he and Samuel went to their judgment willingly,” Sorren said with a shrug. “Maybe not.”
“How did you get involved?”
Sorren grimaced. “Larson – now Sariel – drew the attention of the Family.” He didn’t have to explain. The Family is often behind problems the Alliance steps in to fix. They’re the supernatural equivalent of organized crime.
“The Family made sure he got the resources he wanted, until he emerged as an exceptionally powerful nephilmancer and a possible threat to them,” Sorren replied. “Up to this point, I had been only marginally aware of the situation. But when Sariel returned from the West, it became clear that he was a problem the Alliance needed to handle.”
“Because of the Watchers?”
Sorren nodded. “The power of being judge, jury, and executioner corrupted him.”
Teag had brought a bag of Krispy Kreme donuts with him, and the ‘hot now’ smell of sticky, warm glazed goodness wafted up from the open box in the middle of the table. I had already eaten two, and I doubted a third would go well with my wine, so I pushed the box aside.
“Anything else you can tell us about Sariel?” I asked.
Sorren reached into his pocket. “Actually, I was going to let you see for yourself,” he said. And with that, he produced a battered ring from his pocket and placed it on the coffee table.
“I wore this ring in the battle that claimed the life of Sariel’s son,” Sorren said. “I suspect that if you touch it, you’ll see – and you’ll have all the answers you might want about exactly who – and what – we’re up against.”
“Hold on,” Teag said. He produced a strip of cloth about as wide as his hand and about a foot long. Woven into the fabric were runes and markings, and even without touching the cloth, I knew that Teag’s Weaver magic was imbued in the warp and the woof.
“I made this to see if I can piggyback with Cassidy’s visions,” he said. “Let’s try.” He lifted the ring and placed it onto the strip of fabric, then held the end of the strip between his thumb and fingers. “Okay, Cassidy,” he said with a grin. “Do your stuff.”
I took a deep breath and reached out toward Sorren’s ring. As I touched the metal, I closed my eyes, and I felt the jolt of power as my magic showed me a vastly different time and place.
Thanks to the ring, I viewed the scene through Sorren’s eyes. I stood on a sprawling lawn bounded by large live oak trees. Wisps of fog hung in the air, and Spanish moss drooped from the trees’ gnarled branches. Beneath my feet lay the unmarked graves of generations of dead slaves, restless spirits far from home. Such gravesites were common in the Lowcountry, and Sariel and his Reapers had been feasting, bringing across more Nephilim, increasing their strength to win bigger spoils.
We were here to stop them. This night, fast and strong wouldn’t be enough. We were going to need every advantage we could get – and no small amount of luck.
Sariel came over the hill first, followed by the scarred, half-human thing that was once Samuel. Where Judge Larson’s alliance with Sariel had preserved his outward appearance, Samuel’s years of following his father into battle on their quest for vengeance had left him battered and broken. Half of Samuel’s face had been badly scarred by fire, costing him an eye. He moved with a hitch in his gait from old wounds, and his left arm was crippled. Still, he followed, his eyes alight with the same cold malice that animated his father.
We waited in the shadows, cloaked by amulets and wardings. Sariel strode down into the old graveyard and spread his arms, raising them to the sky as he began to chant. Samuel kept watch behind him, with a sword in one hand and a pistol in the other.
Wind rustled through the live oaks’ branches, stirring the moss at first, then tearing at it with force as the breeze became a howling maelstrom. Behind Sariel, it looked as if the night sky itself were ripping open, a jagged tear