Spider-Touched

Twenty-five

“LOOKS like they’re getting ready to leave,” Levi said as he and Rebekka cleared the last of the tangled ruins that had once been trucking containers and multimillion-dollar cranes.

Rebekka nodded but didn’t say anything. The day of the ambush she’d been consumed with thoughts of the child crying in the cab of the trapper’s truck and the Weres held in the back of it.

She’d been battling fear at the sound of the approaching guardsmen—and if she was honest with herself—didn’t want to look too closely at a man she knew they’d have to leave behind.

But as Tir turned, sensing their approach and nudging Araña, Rebekka knew he wasn’t human, despite the form he took—just as she’d known the same about Zurael and their raven-marked escort, though Levi had claimed otherwise on their walk to Rimmon’s dock.

Surreptitiously she touched the witch’s token in her pocket, attributing her newfound sight to it, then shivered as she remembered the icy feel of Aziel’s staff passing through her chest and her heart.

“How is it you’re free, healer?” Tir asked when she and Levi reached the dock.

There was something in his voice that made it impossible not to answer, though Rebekka told him an abbreviated version of what she’d shared with Levi, leaving out what she knew of the urn and what Annalise had told her—only to get a small shock when Araña said, “I encountered Aziel in the ghostlands. The shamaness greeted him with warmth.”

“When?” Tir asked. And there was no mistaking the edge of menace contained in the single word.

“Yesterday,” Araña answered. “After I visited the witches the first time.”

“You let your soul be cast from your body and into the land of the dead?”

“I saw Matthew and Erik there.”

There was a subtle change in Tir’s expression, but his voice still held a silky promise of retribution as he said, “We will revisit this conversation later, in private, after we accomplish what we must at the maze.”

Rebekka resisted the urge to rub her hands over the smooth, worn cloth of her pants. She felt the weight of the token in her pocket, along with the folded pages from the journal.

Between Araña’s mention of Aziel and the knowledge she’d visited both Aisling and the witches, Rebekka didn’t think she needed additional proof this was the right time to attempt a rescue of the animals and Weres held by Anton, but she still asked, “Will you tell me what you agreed to do for Draven Tassone?”

“He wants an urn destroyed.”

Rebekka started in surprise. She’d been sure the witches intended to use Araña to trap the demon and bring them the urn.

Now, framing it with Annalise’s talk of war between supernatural beings and the forming of alliances, she considered that maybe what they really wanted was to free the demon and had made a deal with Draven to hide their connection to it.

“The urn the demon is bound to?” Rebekka asked, needing to understand.

Araña went completely still at the question. Tir cursed.

Without it being a conscious decision, Rebekka pulled the folded papers from her pocket and gave them to Araña. “They’re from a book in The Iberá’s possession.”

A glance at the rough sketches and Araña nodded. “These urns are very like the picture Thane showed me.” Her eyes scanned over the accompanying entries. She quoted a portion of the passage, “Demons have no love of humans and will expend as much energy twisting and evading and turning a command into something to suit their own purposes as obeying it.”

Araña looked up at Tir. “This is why I need to go into Anton’s house alone. Abijah will use Anton’s command, not to kill me unless I’m escaping the maze, to his advantage. He was granted permission to ‘play with me.’ It might keep him from investigating what’s going on in other parts of the maze.”

“No.”

Levi spoke for the first time. “The demon’s intentions won’t matter at all if you— we—can’t get into the compound in the first place without being seen.”

Nothing could have prepared Rebekka for Tir saying, “If Araña’s vision proves true, we’ll find the man named Gulzar dead in a house he maintains in the red zone. We intend to use his car and his keys to gain access to the office, and from there, Anton’s house.”

Levi’s hands opened and closed as though he still had a lion’s claws. “How did he die?”

Araña gave a small shake of her head. “I don’t know the exact manner of his death, only that he died last night.”

HIS death was brutal, Tir thought a short time later.

Blood trailed everywhere, as if Gulzar had been nicked and chased until the floors were painted red and he’d finally bled out. And when he could provide no more entertainment alive, his attackers still found another way to make sport of him. They tore him apart.

Pieces of Gulzar were everywhere. What remained of shredded skin and muscle and organs was on the walls and furniture. Shards of bone, none of them bigger than a coin, crunched underfoot as the four of them moved through the carnage, looking for the key chain Gulzar had once worn on his belt.

Tir’s gaze kept returning to Araña. Suspicion descended and clung to him. There was more to her visions than she admitted.

Twice he’d seen her bleed as a result of them. Twice he’d thought it was a cost unwillingly paid. But what if it was an offering instead? This violent death was no coincidence.

His hand snaked out when he neared her, catching her arm. “Don’t think you can continue to hide the truth about the mark or its vision gift from me much longer.”

Araña’s fear lanced through him, confirming his suspicions. “I know,” she said, unfathomable emotion becoming a wall between them as she reached up and touched the hated collar. “The incantation is in Anton’s possession. You won’t gain it unless you allow me to go into his house alone.”

Her words from the night before slid from the dark place his hunger for revenge lived. If I asked it of you, would you turn away from seeking vengeance against the one who put this on you?

Tir’s hand tightened on her arm. “Tell me.”

“I can’t.”

Centuries of memories and hate whipped through him, all that he’d endured while at the mercy of humans. “If you prove to be my enemy, not even the love I feel for you will save you from death,” he said, knowing it was a lie even as the words left his mouth, but there was no taking them back as Levi and Rebekka stepped into the room with Gulzar’s ring of keys.

Levi said, “There’s a good chance Farold will be walking in the maze, checking the cameras and traps. It was a habit of his on days when the magistrate arrived in town. We may be able to catch him there. That would leave only Anton and the demon.”

Fear for Araña added to Tir’s anger over her refusal to tell him what she knew of the incantation. She’d placed him in an impossible situation. Freedom was too close for him to turn away from it. But beneath his hand her bones were fragile, her lifetime finite without his vigilance. She was mortal, and there were no guarantees he would be able to heal her if things went wrong.

As if sensing the violent turmoil of his thoughts, Araña’s finger traced the collar. “Trust me to deal with Abijah and Anton while the three of you handle Farold and free the Weres.”

Suspicion flared again at her choice of the word deal. But this time it was doused immediately, and the hollow place it left filled with guilt and repudiation as he remembered her fear at L’Antiquaire when she’d entered into the vampire’s bargain in order to allow him access to the texts, as he thought about her kneeling in front of him in the woods and working desperately to free him of the shackles before the guardsmen reached them.

He leaned in and brushed his lips against hers in apology. “I trust you.”

THE car had been in the garage where she’d seen it from the vision place. The gate controller made it unnecessary to do more than slow as they approached the entryway.

She drove—because she knew how thanks to Matthew—and because if Levi was wrong about Farold being in the maze, then the sight of her alone in the front seat and behind the wheel would suggest Gulzar was behind her with a gun pointed to her head.

But Farold wasn’t there, or if he was, then he intended to meet the car around back, where trucks carrying hunters or groups of human prisoners were directed.

Araña stopped the car at the side of the building and they all got out.

“How long do you need?” Levi asked.

“If I don’t encounter anyone, three minutes to get in and through the first walkway door.”

Araña’s eyes met Tir’s. Her heart thumped in her chest and she fought to hide her fear from him.

“Leave the doors unlocked or open,” he said. “As soon as Levi and Rebekka are done, I’ll come to you.”

She nodded and turned away, resisting the urge to wrap her arms around his waist and bury her face against his chest. To soak in his heat and cling to him one last time just in case it was the last chance she had.

With the keys it was easy to get into the front office where she’d been held at gunpoint by Jurgen. The door between offices was unlocked and she slipped inside to confront the first of the keypads Thane had told her about.

Always before she’d thought she had a knack and was simply picking up on changes of texture and slight discolorations to the keys, using hidden patterns her subconscious detected when she and Matthew and Erik made their detailed studies before attempting a job. This time as she touched her fingers to the numbers, she knew her ability came from her gift, from her connection to the vision place.

A verse whispered through her mind. He that is unjust, let him be unjust still. And he who is filthy, let him be filthy still.

Her smile was a snarl of remembered suffering as the hell of her early years finally served her. She recognized the words and knew Anton had set this code from Revelations, the twenty-seventh book, the twenty-second chapter, the eleventh verse.

She punched in the numbers and heard the satisfying click of a lock disengaging. A second later she was inside the covered walkway, the open door triggering lights along the rocked corridor.

Araña hesitated. Indecision plagued her as she folded the paper she’d grabbed when she passed the front counter.

There was a certain poetry in using the notices putting a price on her head to keep the lock from engaging again. But part of her wanted to protect Tir from a direct confrontation with Abijah if she failed.

Hesitation ended with decision. She put the paper between door and jamb, accepted that if she died, she owed it to Tir to allow him a chance to see Abijah and perhaps remember some of the past.

Cold sweat drenched her at the second of the keypads. Her mind was blank—as if this code had been set after Anton gained whatever protection kept his soul thread from appearing in the weave.

Panic welled up. She’d never failed with a lock. Never.

The lights flickered in warning, probably programmed to remain on only for the time it would take someone to travel the length of the walkway.

A feather-soft awareness brushed over the mark now on the back of her hand, causing her to glance up and spot the spiderweb wedged in the corner. The sight of it gave her a rush, the same thrill she’d always gotten when a plan jelled into something workable.

Just as she’d done with the spiders in the copse of trees, she asked in pictures—and was answered by movement.

Delicate, long brown legs covered the distance to the keypad. They reached out and lightly touched a series of numbers before retreating.

Araña didn’t hesitate or doubt. She punched in the code and heard the telltale click.

She was in.

Another folding of paper to prevent the door latch from engaging. A few steps.

And then Abijah was there. Appearing from nowhere and immobilizing her as though she were a child and not a woman who had trained and killed.

He pinned her arms at her waist as the serpentlike tail coiled around her ankles and his palm pressed against her mouth, preventing even the sound of her terror from escaping.

Adrenaline spiked and she wrestled against the instinct to thrash. The mark cowered at the bottom of her foot.

She struggled to think, to use her mind as both Erik and Matthew had so often counseled when it came to dealing with someone so much more powerful than she was. It hadn’t occurred to her that she wouldn’t be able to talk to Abijah.

In desperation she took control of the fear and willed the mark to her cheek, to Abijah’s hand. He laughed. “Do you think I didn’t recognize a Spider? Especially one who looks as you do? Did you think it coincidence that I diverted my attention to the convicts and left you unattended in front of the very exit and trap I knew held no danger for you?”

Talons pressed into her side, piercing the fabric of her shirt but not breaking her skin. His palm slid from her face to curl around her neck, against the sharp, hard beat of her pulse.

“There’s something different about you,” he murmured, scraping the deadly nails lightly over her throat. “Something that stirs an ancient memory.”

She couldn’t stop the telltale race as her heart sped up more than she would have thought possible. To distract him she said, “I’m here to destroy the urn, Abijah en Rumjal.”

He stiffened at the mention of both urn and name, then laughed. “You might be able to do it, wrapped as you are in human flesh. But the one who thinks of himself as my master would need to be dead and I’m charged with protecting him. One threatening move, one command…”

Abijah’s hand slid to her belly, the movement suggestive. “And you will become my plaything, whether I will it or not.”

Araña blocked her revulsion and parsed through his words, seeing them for what they were—warnings, hints, the twisting of Anton’s commands.

Abijah’s forked tongue found her earlobe and she couldn’t stop herself from shuddering and trying to pull away from him. She staggered when he let her go, though one taloned hand kept possession of her wrist.

A curved nail scratched over the fingerless glove hiding the brand before tracing along the line where fabric and skin met above the veins in her wrist. Without warning he sliced through the flesh, cutting more deeply than he had when Anton asked him whether she was one of the human gifted.

Blood streamed over her leather-coated palm and off her bared fingers. Abijah’s tongue submerged itself in the flow. Yellow eyes flashed to red. “You taste like my enemy,” he purred, cocking his head. “Perhaps I won’t regret your fate when you fail at your task.”

“I won’t fail.”

His tongue lapped over her wrist again. “Tell me, has he enjoyed his captivity as much as I have mine?”

“He’s hated every moment of it and wants his freedom as much as you must want yours.”

Abijah laughed, but his eyes remained red. He leaned forward abruptly, and the scorpion mark flared to life on his cheek, only inches away from the spider on hers. “Is that your price for destroying the urn? The incantation I used when I placed the collar on him?”

“No. I’ll destroy the urn regardless of whether you tell me the incantation. That’s a price I have to pay for gaining help from a vampire.”

Red eyes faded to glittering yellow. “Your mother was always one for playing deep games, but then she wouldn’t have risen to rule her House otherwise.”

The tip of Abijah’s forked tongue brushed over the spider. “Did you know we were lovers once? Your mother and I?”

“I didn’t know anything until yesterday, when I would have died. When I could have died and been reborn into the kingdom of our people. But I chose to return.”

Abijah’s eyes flashed red for an instant. “Because of him?”

“Yes.”

He cocked his head. “He will kill you when his memory returns.”

An icy hand squeezed her heart, its cold fingers the words Tir had spoken in the midst of the carnage at Gulzar’s house. “I’m not his enemy.”

Abijah’s smile was terrifying. “In all scenarios your mother gains something.” He stroked a talon over the spider. “You succeed in your task, I return to her. If you don’t, your failure will see you reborn into a place at her side.”

He leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “Did it occur to you that freeing him completely was never the goal in this game? The incantation is in parts. Speak some of it and he gains strength and power—enough to believe you’ve done what you can for him, enough to enable him to protect you until you grow weary of living as a human. Hold back the last of it and he doesn’t remember anything about… demons.”

“No. I won’t betray him.”

Abijah stepped away from her. “Where do you expect to find the one who calls himself my master?”

She didn’t know. Killing Anton had always been secondary to destroying the urn. She guessed this was Abijah’s way of helping her without violating the commands governing what he could and couldn’t do.

“Upstairs. In his study.”

“A good choice.”

She tugged at the wrist still in Abijah’s possession. He dug his talons in, reopening the wound he’d created. “I’ve been told you are a permissible plaything as long as you don’t try to escape. Given you’re the more immediate danger to the one able to command me, I will remain with you. Make a threatening move toward him and I’ll kill you. Think of it as a fate preferable to the one you’ll gain if I take you prisoner instead.”

She nodded and he released her.

As they moved deeper into the house, Abijah said, “If you succeed in performing the vampire’s task, I will give you the incantation.”