Page 108 of Feral Possession

“Who else had direct contact with Helen?”

“Tiberius is the one who found her.” Dove stiffened, breath catching. “What if he has something to do with all of this?”

Her mind raced, replaying every moment of Marcus’s arrest at the penthouse while seeing it in a new light. She shivered at the memory of Tiberius setting his hand on her shoulder. Him telling her to “fly home” as she stood over Marcus. That touch had lit up her glyph like a flame to incense. If she hadn’t been so disarmed by the magister, she would have paid more attention.

It wasn’t the first time she’d experienced the sensation. When they’d been in the hallway at the island, the same thing happened. Only then, she’d blamed it on the appearance of the ghostly security guard.

Armond and Vivian studied her in silence, waiting while she worked it through.

“I borrowed a book from Victor Custodis when we visited him. Inside was information on the shade. It claimed one needed an ancient artifact called a Keres stone to perform the possession. He who controls the stone controls the shade. But Marcus’s demon was accidentally bonded to me. Before I left, Tiberius told me I was done interfering.”

“Tiberius is head of Legacy,” Armond added. “They specialize in lost cultures and ancient artifacts. If anyone had access to a Keres stone, it would be him.”

Vivian tapped her finger against her chin, growing thoughtful. “Tiberius and Marcus certainly have a contemptuous relationship. Since Marcus stopped following his advice, they’ve been at odds with each other. In my experiences with the magister, I’ve learned he is someone who doesn’t give up control easily.”

“Enough for Tiberius to go to such extremes?” Armond asked.

“He has been on the warpath lately,” Vivian said. “What with his overzealous pursuit of Zion’s followers. Even going so far as to arrest Victor Custodis. The entire underworld is in an uproar over it all.”

“By the goddess,” Dove groaned. “And now he has his nephew right where he wants him.” Like Vivian, she counted off each observation on her fingertips. “Marcus’s assets are frozen due to his arrest. His clan isn’t likely to support him now that they know he is possessed. Bishop is still recovering from the fight. Then, to top it all off, Marcus kicked me out, thinking I betrayed him. Marcus is totally vulnerable and at Tiberius’s mercy.”

Vivian grasped her hand, smoothing her fingers into her palm. “Darling, please listen to me. I recognize that look in your eyes. You can’t very well storm into the Council meeting with these accusations against the magister. Do so and you’ll find yourself in a cell next to Marcus. Allow me to handle this for you. I’ll make some calls, see if I can come up with a solution.”

Just a few weeks ago, Dove would have gladly dumped such an overwhelming task in Vivian’s capable hands and let her fix it for her. The same way Vivian had fought her battles for her for most of her adult life.

“Thank you, but no. The less you’re involved, the safer you will be. This is something I need to do alone.”

Armond’s olive complexion paled. “Honey, are you sure? This is a huge undertaking. We’re not talking about indecent exposure charges in a mortal judiciary system.”

Dove nodded, determination warming her insides. “Don’t worry. I have a plan.” One that would see her and Marcus galloping off into the sunset or hurled into the prison realm. Regardless, she was riding this sucker to the bitter end.

Twenty-Seven

The keeper of the prison realm gateway stood before the massive metal door. An image of an enchanted tree engraved into its thick surface. Ceremonial robes hung off his lanky frame. With gnarled fingers, the aged male twisted multiple dials, aligning the sacred emblems. Gears whirled deep within the mechanism. Heavy bolts slammed free and the door scraped open on its thick track, splitting the tree in half. Behind the door was a craggy stone wall. At its center was a glowing fissure, just large enough for a man to pass through.

No one truly knew what was on the other side. Only that those who entered were never heard from again. For centuries, the underworld had used the portal to dispose of their most violent and dangerous criminals. Record of its origins had been lost over time. The doorway so old none living remembered how it came to pass, though there were rumors it was how the first underworld creatures infiltrated the mortal realm.

On either side of the gateway was a raised dais with curved tables. Ten members of the High Court filled the chairs, five on each side. They looked down on the accused who stood before them, awaiting sentencing. Murmured voices echoed against the domed ceiling. Today, curious aristocrats occupied every seat in the room. None wanted to miss this momentous day. Many feared it was the beginning of the end.

Tiberius moved into position before the shimmering crevasse. Around his neck was his ceremonial sash. He uncurled the scroll he held. “Victor Custodis, the High Court has rendered their judgment. You are hereby found guilty of your crimes against the Council. Your sentence”—he paused, lips curling into a smug smile—“banishment.”

Gasps echoed at Marcus’s back. He sat on the bench in the first row. Four guards surrounded him. He watched the travesty of justice playing out. It was official. His uncle had lost his mind. The Council and High Court as well. He had little doubt half of them were in Tiberius’s pocket. If they’d dared to banish Victor to the prison realm, Marcus didn’t stand a chance.

Victor, to his credit, showed no reaction to his sentencing. The magical holding cell surrounding him vaporized. He strode to the gateway, snow-white head held high, his patrician face an icy mask. Guards stood on either side of him, energized staffs in their hands. Any resistance from the former clan leader and they’d drop him.

“Victor Custodis, do you have any last words before you enter the gateway and accept the repercussions of your crimes?”

To this, Victor slowly turned his head. The air chilled, power crackling. He stared Tiberius in the eyes, whispering something in a voice so low none could hear his words. Tiberius responded in kind when, suddenly, Victor’s hands snapped up, poised to wrap around the magister’s throat. Before he could make contact, the guards lunged, stabbing their staffs into Victor’s torso. The former clan leader convulsed, sparks of electricity jolting over his body. As the injured vampire collapsed, one of the guards kicked him in the chest, sending Victor tumbling backward into the void. Energy pulsed from the gateway, blowing through the room, ruffling Marcus’s hair.

Shadows darkened, his demon stirring. He drew a deep breath of brimstone and evergreen. “Carcerem,” the shade growled in his head, and a sense of apprehension swept over him. Carcerem was the plane from which the demon heralded. If what awaited them through that portal made even Shadow nervous, it had to be bad.

The gate keeper went through the motions of closing the vault door, and Tiberius stepped forward, speaking to the room. “In two days, the Council will hold an emergency meeting to discuss the appointment of a new clan leader for the Eastern Realm.”

No doubt that appointment would include one of his uncle’s most reliable men. But at what cost? Was he trying to start a civil war? Victor was well respected. Casting him into the prison world would cause unrest. Almost as much as the recent laws the magister proposed. Laws that would punish anyone found aiding or abetting Zion conspirators. Already, his task force had arrested a number of high-ranking members of the underworld. Their assets confiscated. The rumors were true about it being a witch hunt. Marcus their next victim.

Kaius, head of the High Court, raised his gnarled hand, and the room fell silent. Gold robes swathed his lean frame, his face aged, his manner pious. “Next on the agenda are the charges concerning Lord Marcus Steele. Lord Steele, step forward.”

Marcus rose from his bench, his guards eyeing him warily. He stood at the center of the emblem etched into the marble floor. Kaius twisted the ring on his finger, and the containment field materialized around the accused.

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