Silver-Tongued Devil (Sabina Kane #4)

Silver-Tongued Devil (Sabina Kane #4) Page 59

“This is your battle,” he thought at me. “Others will appear when you need them. Good luck, Sabina Kane. You’ll be hearing from me soon. If you survive.” With that optimistic farewell, the dog turned and ran off.

Just beyond the red haze, the darkness was absolute. Even my preternatural night vision couldn’t penetrate the oppressive blackness. With a hand in front of me, I stepped forward. But when my foot lowered, it kept going.

A lifetime of throat-searing screams later, I landed on something hard and wet. I cradled Giguhl in my arms, protecting him from the drop. His little body shivered from something stronger than a chill. “Awesome call following the dog,” he said in a voice as dry as the Sahara.

Ignoring him, I stood slowly and got my bearings. The top of the cavern rose high above like a cathedral ceiling covered in stalactites. I blinked against a pulsing blue light, whose source I couldn’t locate. Shiny black crags made up the walls and stalagmites rose from the ground like onyx columns. Whispers echoed from farther in the cavern.

I hunched over and wove my way through the garden of rock formations. The air smelled like damp rock, wet metal, and fresh blood. The primordial scent was oddly pleasing. Comforting. Like coming home.

A black lake appeared ahead. Two onyx swans glided across the mirrored surface.

I blinked at the familiar image. I’d been here before. Back in October when I’d done my vision quest. Rhea had fed me a hallucinogenic tea to produce visions that eventually revealed me to be a Chthonic mage. Part of that trippy experience involved my entering a cavern that looked exactly like the one before me. I wasn’t sure if I was seeing it again because the Liminal was reading my subconscious—or because the visions had actually been prophetic.

Either way, the similarities made clammy sweat crawl across my skin. Despite my fear, my feet moved toward the edge of the inky water. A white face with dead eyes appeared just under the glassy surface. The features and red hair were vaguely familiar. But as I tried to identify him from memory, another face appeared. And another. Soon, ghostly faces slammed up against the surface in groups of twos and threes, fives and tens. I recognized them now. Every one had died by my hand. These ghosts of sins past pounded on the barrier, their mouths open and screaming words I couldn’t hear.

Through the jungle of limbs. Through the gaping, desperate mouths. Through the murky water, a light appeared. The tortured spirits ceased their frantic pleas. Surrendered to the inevitability of their watery tomb.

The pinpoint of light pulsed deep below the surface. With each passing second, the light grew in size and strength. The spirits beneath the water were drawn to the orb like swarming, ghostly moths.

The light rose and as it rose it grew larger, brighter. So blinding that I raised a hand to shield my eyes. Finally, it broke the surface in slow motion. The light morphed into a female figure in white. She rose from the water like a lotus from the swamp.

I fell to my knees.

All those months ago, when I’d first had this vision, I wasn’t able to see the face of the female in white. Back then, all I knew was that she stirred up a deep well of regret. I knelt before her now and looked up.

She was so beautiful my eyes ached. Instead of the hollow husk of a woman I’d left behind in the mortal world, Maisie looked as healthy as she had the first time we met. Her cheeks glowed pink and her blue eyes sparkled. Her body had its natural curves under the white chiton. Her curly red hair shone like a shiny red apple.

Wait. That wasn’t right. Maisie had straight hair that was streaked through with black, just like mine.

“Who are you?” I asked, suddenly unsure. She looked like Maisie but also like a stranger. One who was pure vampire.

“Shh.” She placed a cool palm on my head. “There’s no time. He’s coming.”

This goddess that looked like my sister, like me, made my memory of the real Maisie, the one lying back in the chapel, even more heartbreaking. Seeing what she might have been had I never entered her life. Never fucked with her path. Never exposed her to Lavinia Kane’s wrath. Made my role in destroying her that much more stark and impossible to deny.

“Who are you?” I breathed again.

A voice spoke inside my head, as if the female shared a secret she didn’t dare speak aloud. Phoebe.

My mother.

I’d never met her. I’d been born second that night fifty-four years ago. The night when the struggle to give me life ended in her death.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, my voice cracking with emotion. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Steel your spine, Sabina. Padlock your guilt. He’ll feed off it and prevail.” Her head jerked like a bird’s. “He’s almost here. Be strong, daughter mine. This is all a dream and dreams can be controlled.” She touched the center of my forehead with her finger. “The Great Mother sends you her blessings and strength, but victory is not assured. You must survive to fulfill your destiny. No matter the cost. Do you understand?”

I nodded mutely. I had no idea what the hell was happening, but then maybe I wasn’t supposed to. This realm was not the provenance of logic or reason. Emotion and instinct were the monarchs of this dark kingdom, this fortress of symbol. I closed my eyes, trying to herd my tangled thoughts.

A kiss as gentle as butterfly wings tickled my skin. When I opened my eyes, she was gone. My mother was gone.

“Sabina?” Giguhl whispered. “What the fuck is going on?”

A low growl echoed through the cavern. The hairs on the back of my neck went stiff. I turned slowly to locate the source of the threat. Two glowing eyes peered at me from across the lake. Dropping Giguhl, I fell into my fighting stance.

Time slowed. Blood oozed. Pulse throbbed.

Thump… thump… thump.

The stag stepped out from the darkness, his red antlers and green eyes shockingly chromatic in the drab underworld. In the foreground, Maisie knelt on the shore. She wore a white chiton, the right strap drooping over one shoulder. She hummed to herself. Her melancholy tune drifted across the pool and reached my ears. The sound made static crawl under my skin.

“Maisie?” I called.

She didn’t look up from the skull she cradled in her arms like a baby.

I started running before my thoughts registered the action. Instinct screamed for me to grab Maisie before the stag could reach her. I shot forward, directly across the water.

But with each step, the opposite shore grew farther away. My feet pedaled uselessly, like running on wet glass. The faces returned, taunting me from their wet grave.

My heart pounded and sweat beaded on my upper lip. The stag stood over Maisie now. She looked up and the beast stroked her face with its velvet muzzle. Her head shook from side to side, defiant despite her obvious fear.

“Maisie!” I screamed, but the sound shattered on the air. A movement along the shore caught my eyes, a flash of gray among the obsidian sand. Giguhl was making his way around the lake, unnoticed by the stag or Maisie. I snapped my mouth shut instead of calling to him.

Pull yourself together, Sabina. You control the dream, remember?

I stilled and gathered my powers in my solar plexus. Instead of fighting the parade of images, I lassoed my will and focused on my goal.

To the shore.

When I looked down, my feet were already on the black sands. The stag looked up, his green eyes widening. His head tilted. “I knew you’d come.”

Ignoring the beast, I ran to Maisie. “We need to go.” I pulled at her. I pleaded. I cajoled. And finally, I threatened. But she refused to budge.

As I struggled with my sister, the stag began to morph. Bones popped, skin stretched grotesquely.

Maisie fought me, scratching at my arms and face. Only instead of screaming or crying out, she laughed. Cackled even as she drew blood. “Not until it is done,” she said in a singsong voice. I bent down to lift her and run like hell. The laughter cut off. “No! Not until it’s done!” She kicked and rolled, falling back to the black sand.

“Sabina,” a gentle male voice called. The sound of my name on his lips made my skin go icy hot. I looked up slowly to see not a beast before me but a man.

Cain.

His face, a study in masculine beauty, more perfect than Michelangelo’s David or any of Hollywood’s leading men. His olive skin emphasized his light green eyes, which glowed like poisonous neon. His long, red hair—the color of the shiny red apple that tempted Eve—fell across broad shoulders. The finely muscled chest formed a perfect V, tapering down to his sex, which stood proudly against his washboard abdominals. He had no shame over his nudity. Instead, he preened for me, like a peacock.

I stood slowly, my muscles taut in preparation for an attack. “Get away from her.” My voice emerged surprisingly powerful despite the fear clawing at my throat.

“It’s not her I want.” He held out his hands. “It’s you, Lamashtu. It’s always been you.”

“I am not fucking Lamashtu,” I said, my volume rising. “I am Sabina Kane. And you can’t have me.”

His eyes darkened. “Oh, but you are her. Just as she is you. And you’re both mine.”

“Listen, asshole,” I said, placing my hands on my hips. “It’s time to move on already. Lilith chose Asmodeus. She doesn’t want you either.”

“She is mine!” His scream bounced off the cavern walls, making the stalactites tremble.

I flinched and moved to shield Maisie. “All right,” I said, lowering my voice into what I hoped was a calming tone. I felt anything but calm, but I knew that angering him further would diminish our chances of surviving this confrontation. “Tell me what you want.”

“You think you’re so clever. I’ll admit I worried when that mongrel god appeared two nights ago,” he said, his mouth tightening in anger. Then as suddenly as the frown appeared, it dissolved into a grin. “Too bad you didn’t protect her the next night.”

My stomach cramped. He was talking about the incubation. The next night, I’d left without saying good-bye to Maisie, the night of Mac’s mating. I’d promised my sister I’d come see her after that, but I had gotten so wrapped up in my own drama that she’d slipped my mind. But she obviously hadn’t slipped Cain’s.