Words of Power (Alice Gray Book 3)

63

The grey dust surged up to the walls of shimmering magic that made up the blood circle.

I'd thought it was to be feared, the blood magic, that it was containing us for some purpose bigger than ourselves. But somehow it didn't seem that bad now, not when that dead mass of grey powdery filth buffeted the barrier, desperate to get to us, to choke the life out of us as it had tried to back at Precentor's Court.

The memory of that fine powder swarming into my mouth and nostrils, the smell and taste of death, old, angry death, was enough to bring the acid taste of bile back to my throat.

"What is that substance," Ralph said, the deep timbre of his voice rolling over me and demanding an answer, as he thought was his right.

Hell, it probably was his right.

"I've seen it before, at the DPA offices when we escaped. There's something wrong with that stuff. Something dark and twisted," I said, unable to take my eyes from the dense grey cloud that was held at bay by the blood circle.

"Nonsense child, it is only dust," Azazel said, doubt lacing his tone.

"What do you know about it?" Brad sneered, taking a step forward, shoulders bunched with tension.

"Stand down Barachiel," I snapped drawing out the unfamiliar sound of his true name. "And you, Azazel, I'm not your child."

Both angels looked at me, identical raised brows and widened eyes mirrored between them. These guys were more like pre-schoolers than agents of the Almighty. I needed to get them back on track, like right now.

"No, it's different, it has a...Thomas stop, what are you doing," I yelped, distracted from the angels by my vampire ex as he walked trance-like towards the shimmering wall of potent blood magic.

Thomas's arm gravitated up to the crimson barrier. I slapped down his outstretched hand and tried to push him back. If he broke the circle and let that stuff in, we were all done for.

I realised that it was a futile effort when I braced my shoulder against his chest and pushed with all my might and nothing happened other than my feet doing an on the spot moonwalk. There was no way that I was going to be able to stop him when his body wanted to move.

"I could really do with a hand here," I hissed, as Thomas's momentum carried us both towards the shimmering barrier, inch by painful inch.

Ralph grabbed Thomas by the shoulder and halted us both. Now it was Thomas's body that marched on an invisible treadmill, as he laboured to move towards the nasty death-dust.

"Thomas, stop," I said, standing in front of him and holding both of his hands with mine.

His eyes flickered to my face before focusing through the magical barrier once more. My heart dropped as I realised that whatever was drawing him to that stuff was stronger than our bond, stronger even than my magic.

I could only hope that the blood-circle was stronger still. And that I could stop Thomas from breaking it.

"Thomas, you have to stop. You can't go out there, none of us can. That dust, it obliterated the entire DPA staff from Precentor's Court. Vamps, humans and everything in between. It'll kill us all," I tried, even though I knew he was barely in the same headspace as me anymore.

"They're calling to me," Thomas whispered, the words full of such longing that I pulled back stunned by his raw emotion.

I turned from Thomas and focused on the swirling mass of grey dust. He was right, it was calling. Just like it had back at the DPA offices.

Time for sacrifice.

He is risen.

Come.

"Can you hear that?" I asked, turning to the angels.

Those words again, whispered in that hissing, jarring language. They didn't make sense. The blood circle had been summoned without sacrifice – the angels had shed their own blood in battle.

And who was supposed to have risen?

"Hear what?" Brad asked, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

The angels knew that something was wrong, they weren't totally detached from mortal concerns. But those voices, they weren't speaking to celestial beings. They were giving instructions to Earth dwellers, and they sounded very much like instructions for worship.

"The dust. It's full of ghosts. They whisper words to me, just like Alice Gray and her ancestors back at my family's cottage. But the words..." I trailed off, trying to figure out how this all fit together.

"No. Whatever it is that speaks to you, they are not ghosts. Trapped souls don't speak to creatures of the night," Azazel said, his eyes boring into Thomas's with a fervour that was something more than curiosity. "What do they say to you, vampire?"

Thomas stood still and silent, listening with rapt attention and a look of such wonder on his face that it made my heart stutter at his beauty.

Azazel moved to his side and placed his hand on Thomas's shoulder. Ralph still restrained him from behind with his hand clamped on his upper arm at the other side.

"What can you hear?" He tried again, the power in his words making the energy in the air vibrate and the crimson in the blood circle shudder and pulse.

"Its them, the ancients. They call me to them."

"This is hopeless," I fumed, the pieces suddenly falling into place. "He isn't even here with us anymore. I know what the voices say, and I know who brought them here."

The look of surprise on Azazel's face was the exact opposite of the suspicion that narrowed my eyes into slits and compressed my mouth into a thin straight line.

"Well pray tell, child. We haven't got all day," he said, his supercilious tone really starting to grate on my nerves.

"He is risen, it's you isn't it. It doesn't take a genius to realise that you're the He they've got their knickers in a twist about. Otherwise, why would these guys be after you?" I said, gesturing to Ralph and Brad.

Azazel's eyes widened, but only for a second, before his mouth turned up into an amused grin.

"I can never escape it can I? Always the scapegoat, never getting to actually have all the fun that the blame warrants. I hate to disappoint you child, but it's not me they speak of."

"Oh, you have the fun alright," Brad muttered.

I shot him a death-stare. I'd deal with Mr. Pronouncing-me-guilty-to-the-court later. Right now my attention was all for Azazel and whatever sacrifice that evil ghost dust wanted to make for him.

"So, you're denying it?"

"Don't you remember who I am? I'm a scapegoat. Kicked out for the sins of others. Fallen. I cannot rise again. Not in this cycle."

"Who then?"

"I think we're about to find out."

But who could it be? Read on...