The Source (Witching Savannah #2) 7

How did he know about Jilo? That was a question for another time. “Listen,” I said. “If it’s money you are after, I have plenty . . .”

“No, darlin’, I ain’t doing this for money. I’m doing it for power. The trinkets I’ll make out of your golem’s hide will come at the price of fealty”—a medieval oath of loyalty, another word intended to impress—“and a sacrifice of blood. The power of that blood will become mine.” He nodded at me once. “Now you call him. You tell him to get himself on over here, and once we have him, we will leave you lovely ladies to get on with your day.”

“Enough,” I said. “I am not helping you hurt Emmet to power some magic Ponzi scheme.”

“Oh, missy, I ain’t asking for your help. I’ve been keeping an eye on you for a while, and maybe you ain’t noticed it yet, but wherever you are, that golem of yours ain’t never too far behind. He may not give a damn about your friend here, but I am pretty sure he gives one for you. Maybe if I start to cut that little bastard out of you, he’ll show hisself instead of hovering invisible behind you like some kind of limp-wristed guardian angel. How about it, golem? When the bough breaks, it’s all gonna fall down anyway,” he said and parted his lips into a sneer.

“Call him, Mercy. Call him,” Claire keened. Blood had trickled down from the wound on her neck, dampening her shirt.

“No need,” Emmet’s voice came from behind me. “I am already here.” I turned my head for a quick look, relief flooding me as Emmet materialized behind me. He reached forward and placed a hand on my shoulder. “I promised I’d be here for you if you needed me.”

“She needs you all right,” Ryder said, sneering at us. Emmet pressed his body up against my back. His arms hooked around me. “You know what I am, don’t you, golem?”

Emmet tightened his grip on me. “By your markings, I can tell you are a collector. You kill, and with each death you cause, you gain power. You are a scavenger of the potential energy of others. You are the bottom feeder of black magic.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” he said, sliding his knife from its case. “You can insult me all you want, but I am still gonna wear your skin. Joe,” he commanded, but the boy didn’t obey the unspoken order. He swayed on his feet and then fell backward, Claire dashing from his faltering grasp. Birdy rushed to his aid, but then she crumpled over too. “The bitch doped us, baby,” she managed to call to Ryder before losing consciousness. The spell I’d placed on the whiskey had worked. I’d hoped it might take out Ryder too, but he lunged at me with his knife, seemingly unaffected.

My fear and anger bound themselves together and I poured my focus entirely into the blade in his hand. The knife glowed red and then blue, the metal losing shape and transforming into a molten glove that charred the flesh beneath it. He howled, and then grasped his wounded hand. Rage burned in his eyes. His jaw unhinged like a snake, and he vomited foul-smelling black orbs that fell to the floor. Unrolling, they revealed themselves to be horrible little creatures, rats with nearly human faces that scurried along the floor, surrounding me. Razor-sharp claws protruded from their very human fingers and ripped into the bar’s wooden floors. Claire screamed and climbed up on the bar. I let my magic slide me over to her side.

“Burn them, Mercy,” Emmet said, his tone so free of fear, so matter-of-fact. Without a further thought, without the least concern for Birdy and Joe, who still lay unconscious where they had fallen, I raised my hand and sent out a bright and searing blue flame to encircle the vermin and the mad man who had summoned them. The creatures drew in closer to Ryder, protecting him, trying to extinguish the flames, but they failed. The fire rose like a wall between us, the rodents popping like frying bacon, releasing the stench of sulfur as they were incinerated. As his last defender fell, Ryder roared, but to my surprise, he raised his arms and began to summon the flames to him. An old lesson, the first Jilo had taught me, surfaced in my memory. I had sent the energy to him, and now he could do with it as he willed. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Emmet flung himself in front of Claire and me, and threw up a shield of light separating us from Ryder. As I watched from behind the energy I prayed would keep us safe, Ryder pulled the flames into himself, screaming in agony but welcoming the power all the same. As he consumed the last of the fire, he drew the supine figures of Joe and Birdy toward himself. Their bodies constricted and shot up in the air, disappearing before our very eyes.

“They’ve escaped,” Emmet said, turning toward us.

I nodded, trying to take it all in. The floor where Ryder had been standing was scarred by scorch marks and gouges left by the creatures’ claws. The scent of sulfur, burnt skin, and ozone nauseated me. I fought the urge to vomit.

“But I am still proud of you,” he continued. “You defended yourself admirably.”

“But if you were here all along, why didn’t you help us sooner?”

“It presented you with an opportunity to learn. I stepped forward when they threatened you.”

“But they were hurting Claire.”

“She is not my concern.” He lifted me off the bar and set me on the floor. He didn’t remove his hands, even though I had my footing. He looked at me with gentle eyes. “You are my . . . charge.”

“She was in danger,” I said, breaking free of his grasp. He towered over me, and I strained my neck to look him in the face. His expression was so calm, so matter-of-fact. Emmet could be exasperating. If he hadn’t just saved me, I probably would have punched him. “You should have helped.”

“She wanted me killed and my skin to be worn as a garment.”

I looked at him. I looked at Claire. He had a point. “Emmet isn’t out to harm me or the baby,” I said, addressing Claire. “He isn’t a threat to you, Colin, or Peter,” I continued.

“But can I trust him not to share what he has learned about Peter?” she asked, and then, “Hell, can I even trust you?”

“I will keep your trust if Mercy wishes it,” Emmet said. “As long as Peter’s true nature does not pose a threat to her.”

“Peter could never be a threat to me,” I said. “Yes. I want this kept between us.”

“But does it not change your feelings toward him, knowing he is no more a normal man than I am?” Emmet asked, a certain wistfulness in his tone.

I felt Claire’s eyes fix on me like a drill boring through metal. “I think deep down, I’ve always known he was something more than that. So, no,” I said as I met Claire’s gaze, “my feelings for Peter haven’t changed.” Her face softened at my words, but Emmet’s self-satisfied smile told me that he felt he had found a foothold.

SEVENTEEN

The door began to shake as the sound of a fist pounding against it echoed through the room. I jumped. “Open up,” Peter called out, sounding like he was scared out of his wits. He kept up the pounding as Claire shook herself from stunned silence and crossed the room to open the door for her son. Peter lunged through the doorway as soon as she undid the deadbolt. He grabbed her upper arms and pulled her to him for a quick squeeze. When he pushed her away, she stood there covered in plaster dust, as if she didn’t quite know what to do. His eyes darted around the room and found me, and within seconds he had swept me into his arms. I could feel his heart pounding. “Are you all right?” he asked, loosening his grip on me enough to examine me.