Castor had been studying the sigils above the cells when the doors for the entire cellblock buzzed and swung open.
“Go!” he shouted. “Get out now!”
Moving as swiftly as he could, he checked each room for stragglers or those who couldn’t walk on their own. Only three were too weak, but a few kinder witches stepped up to offer their support. One or two he recognized from encounters years past.
“I thought he was you at first,” a woman behind him said.
Turning, he tried to place the face. Utter shock struck him when he recognized her. “Sylvie?”
She smiled tiredly. “Hello, Alex.”
“Christ! Everyone thinks…” He shook his head. “How?”
“Victor Salinger caught me years ago, probably as another strike against Alastair, via his brother-in-law, Jace. Victor burned my home down in the process, killing my family.” Her expression haunted, she shook her head.
“But that was decades ago,” Alex protested.
“The Désorcelers created a roster of prisoners once upon a time.” Her dull gaze absently swept the cellblock. “It put me on Loman O’Connor’s radar. I was one of the first people he sought to lock up again.”
Unable to calculate the trauma a second capture must’ve caused her, he did the only thing he could and hugged her tightly. “I’m sorry, Sylvie. So fucking sorry.”
For a second, she embraced him back, then drew away. “Save the rest of them if you can. They’ve been through the same as me. We can talk when it’s done.”
“Always practical and sweet,” he said softly and kissed her forehead. “If you can teleport, go to Thorne Manor and tell them who you are. If not, head north to the clearing. A chopper is making runs.”
She nodded and shuffled for the door, the faded blue scrubs she wore hanging off her slight frame.
Rage detonated in his brain.
Loman had a lot to answer for, and Alex intended to extract it out of his ass in as painful a process as possible.
“Castor!”
Fintan and Trevor appeared in the doorway in front of Sylvie, edging sideways to let her pass.
He met them halfway. “What?”
“Dubheasa…” Trevor gulped and gestured to Fintan.
“Dubheasa’s dead,” Fintan said flatly. “Loman never left the island, and he’s captured Ronan.”
“Jesus Fucking Christ!” Castor wanted to throw up. In as much as he knew something would go wrong, he’d hoped it wouldn’t be his nephew. Ronan’s life until meeting Dubheasa had been a goddamned nightmare, and it looked like it would continue to be. “Where?”
“The building where you teleported in.”
“Let’s go,” he snapped.
Fintan put a hand on his arm. “You need a plan, ya do. Charging in unprepared will get us all killed.”
“Then fucking explain it to me, Seer. I don’t have all fucking day!”
“Sure, and you’ll be calming the feck down, or I’ll not be tellin’ ya a feckin’ thing.”
“I swear to—” Closing his eyes, Castor inhaled and exhaled a few deep breaths, hoping to chill the hell out and get rid of the curtain of red blocking his vision.
“Blane will go with you, cloaked, and you’ll enter from the south door as I enter with another Death Dealer from the north.”
Trevor shot Fintan a sharp glance. “What other—”
“Me.” From behind his brother, Simon Blane approached. “Rumor has it you don’t have enough juice on your own to kill the bastard, Trev. I thought I’d add my new abilities to yours.”
“No! You have no experience with this shit, Simon. There’s no way in hell I’m letting you do this.”
“It’s the only way this feckin’ thing will be workin’.” Fintan, in a fit of temper, shoved Trevor. “And it’s tired I am of the lot of you questioning the process.”
Both Trevor and Castor froze in their surprise.
“Any more feckin’ questions, or are ya done wastin’ me time?”
Simon grinned when they remained silent. “I think that means we’re ready to go.”
As they ran toward the fray, Castor’s fury grew and he made a concerted effort to shove it away. Anger had no place in battle. He needed to be levelheaded and calculating. As he got to the south entrance, he shot Trevor a sharp look. “Remind me when this is over and we’re home again, to punch Damian in his perfect fucking face—about five or six times.”
“Done.”
“Do you have a cloaking sp—Okay, then,” he said as Trevor vanished before his eyes. Fintan counted down through the earpiece, and Castor didn’t wait for ONE.
“Fuck!” Fintan’s curse rang in his ear, but Alex didn’t give a shit. He had a brother to kill.
Loman greeted him with a sneer. “Sure, and I was wondering when you’d show up. Shouldn’t your keeper be with ya?”
Knowing damned well he meant the Aether, Castor pasted on a bored expression. “He didn’t think you were important enough to bother.”
“You’ll not bait me this time, ya feckin’ gobshite!” Loman snapped.
“Hmm, sounds like I already have.”
The door behind his brother slammed shut, and Loman lobbed a lightning bolt in the direction of the newcomer. Already anticipating the move, the Seer stepped out of the path and lifted his middle fingers in salute.
Alex didn’t think he had any humor left at that point, but the gesture was so Fintan Sullivan that he laughed. “Looks like we’re all quaking in our boots with fear of you, Loman.”
“You’re a proper fool if you aren’t.”
“Meh.”
“Let me ask ya, then, are ya prepared to sacrifice your beloved nephew to the fight this time?” Standing in the center of the aisle, Loman lifted his arms and gestured to the cells on either side of him. “Sure, and ya might save one, but which one would ya be after savin’?”
Castor refused to look, refused to have his concentration broken by anything he might see.
A cunning light entered Loman’s eyes as he grinned. “It always comes back to this, doesn’t it, Antoine?”
“Alex,” Castor snapped, not really caring if his brother used his given name or not. His goal was to keep Loman preoccupied until everyone was in place. “And what is it that it always comes to?”
“You tryin’ to outsmart me and failin’.”
“Pfft. You’re a delusional motherfucker, Loman.” Risking a glance at Fintan, he said, “Correct me if I’m wrong, Fin, but didn’t we kill him twice already?”
Reggie shifted toward the entrance of his cell and raised his hand like a star pupil. “I can answer that one. Yep, and I’ll gladly claim credit for the arrow to the chunk of coal he calls a heart.”
With a snarl, Loman threw a ball of fire in his direction, only to have it bounce back. He dove for the floor with a vicious curse.
“Weren’t expecting that, Uncle?” Reggie said with a harsh laugh. “Is it senility creeping in? I mean, you were the bloody bastard who cast the boomerang spell on my cell to begin with.”
“Shut the fuck up! You’re as thick as manure but half as useful, ya are!” Loman snapped.
Castor clapped his hands. “Good one, Lo.”
Behind him, Fintan gave the signal Alex had been waiting for.
“Okay, I’m tired of this game now.”
With a simple swipe of his hand, he froze time.
Only Loman wasn’t the statue Castor had expected him to be.
“Ya think I don’t learn from past mistakes, brother?” He threw back his head and laughed as Alex tried twice more to lock the room down. “You’ll wear yourself out tryin’, ya will. Reginald, would ya like to explain to me thickheaded brother just why his parlor tricks won’t be workin’ here?”
“I’ll leave the honor to you.”
“You’re a humorless dryshite, boyo.” Loman shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest. “Those Désorceler feckers built these compounds to keep people like you contained, Antoine. I’m shocked you’re not after rememberin’ since I found your name on their roster, I did.”
“Yeah, I’m afraid my stay was short-lived. I didn’t quite care for the accommodations.”
Loman lifted his wrist and continued as if Castor had never spoken. “See this bit of jewelry here? Yeah, and it’s a useful tool, to be sure. I can control this entire cellblock and everyone in it with a touch of a button, I can.” With a dramatic flair, he swirled his finger in the air, then dropped it to press one of the symbols.
He never made contact before his arm was halted midair. “Wha—!”
The cloaking spells fell from the Blane brothers. Each held one of Loman’s wrists in theirs, keeping him firmly secure as Castor approached. Without warning, Alex kicked out and connected with Loman’s balls, feeling no remorse for the gray hue of his skin as he fought not to throw up his guts.
“That’s because I hate you.” Ripping the bracelet from his brother’s wrist, Castor hit the sigil he knew would open the doors and powered down the entire corridor to halt the theft of abilities from those present. When he was satisfied, he turned to Ronan. “Stand down, son. We have a plan, and you’ll only screw it up in your rage.”
Ronan charged the opening, uncaring of anything but crushing his father’s skull. Blind rage consumed him, and the need to take action overwhelmed in its intensity.
But Castor had anticipated his action and threw up an invisible barrier, locking Ronan in his cell.
“Let me go,” he growled.
“Can’t do that, Ronan.”
“I’ll not tell you again, Castor. If you don’t release me, I’ll kill you instead.”
Ignoring him, his uncle nodded at the Death Dealers. “Obliterate him.”
Loman’s eyes flew wide at the realization of what was to happen. Like a wild stallion trapped in a too-small stall, he bucked and kicked, attempting to throw off the Blane brothers. Although he fought like a man possessed, he was no match for those who held him. Still, he stretched and strained as he reached for the controller in Castor’s hand. The Blanes, sweat streaming from their faces and ragged breaths sawing in and out of their lungs from the effort, dragged Loman into the closest cell and chained him to the wall.
Ronan banged up against the clear barrier again and again like an enraged bull. His only thought was to rip Loman’s heart from his chest before it stopped beating, with the arrow used to murder Dubheasa. Even if it was only physical pain, and not emotional, his father needed to feel a fraction of what Ronan was going through.
“Let me out, Castor, you fucking sonofabitch!”
Reggie approached his cell, and the sympathy shining from his dull gaze robbed Ronan of breath. “Let me be your hands, cousin. Tell me what it is you’d have me do.”
“I need to be the one to kill him, Reg.” His voice was hoarse and barely above a whisper. “I need to be the one.”
With a quick glance over his shoulder, Reggie leaned forward. “I’ll release you to do what you must, but let the Death Dealers do their job first, Ronan. Promise me, or he’ll be back to terrorize the world again.” His cousin placed his palm flat against the barrier, level with Ronan’s. “Promise me.”
Closing his eyes, Ronan rested his head against the invisible shield, then drew back and banged it. Again and again, he smacked his forehead on the wall, screaming from his soul. When he would’ve done it a sixth time, the barrier dissolved, and he fell forward into Reggie’s waiting arms.
As they crashed to the floor, he heard his cousin’s sob. “I’m so sorry, Ronan. Please don’t hate me.”
“I’m reserving all my hate for Loman.” Rough and overused, his voice sounded as if it belonged to another. Shoving off the ground like an Olympic athlete, he ran for the cell containing his father, arrow shaft in hand.
Loman’s soul was barely hanging on by the time Ronan plunged the tip of the arrow into his cold, ruthless heart. In a fit of grief and rage, he repeated the gesture until his arm gave out and his father’s chest resembled Swiss cheese.
The others wore looks of pity or shock and, in Fintan’s case, resignation as if everything had turned out the way he expected but had hoped it wouldn’t. Unable to bear the weight of their judgment, he glanced down at his blood-soaked hands. Somehow, Ronan had thought his father’s blood would ooze black.
“He’s gone? No coming back?”
“No coming back,” Trevor assured him quietly.
“How does it work, the disintegration of his soul?”
“The way it was explained to me is that we snuff out his energy and he simply ceases to exist,” Simon replied.
Gaze locked on the trail of blood running from his arms to his elbows, Ronan nodded. “Is there ever a time you simply kill people and their souls move on?”
“Don’t even think about it, son.” Castor placed his palm flat against his back, but Ronan shrugged him off. “You’ll see her again. This isn’t the end for the two of you.”
“Get Damian.”