Page 74 of The Aether

An electrical bolt struck him center mass, sending him crashing through the railing and onto the four-foot-wide wooden foyer table. He barely registered the cut from the broken crystal vase as he rolled to his feet and glared up at Draven.

“You’re a fool if you believe you can stop me. I’ll kill you if you try, Masters,” Damian snarled.

The air crackled between them, and the Guardian shifted as if uncomfortable in his skin. Likely he was. Aether energy was substantial.

“I’m not trying to stop you, friend. I’m trying to get you to calm the fuck down so you don’t get your family killed.”

His family.

Like a bucket of ice water, Draven’s words had the effect of shocking Damian out of his heightened state. Sucking air between his teeth, he held his breath and calmed his mind. If his wife and child were still alive, they needed him to stay focused.

When he opened his eyes, he saw his friends gathered around them.

“Beastie’s gone, and Viv went after her,” he said as calmly as he could. Still, there was a hoarseness to his voice.

“We’ll find them, Damian,” Alex said, infusing confidence into his tone that didn’t match the concern in his pale eyes.

Alastair pushed aside the others to grip Damian’s arm. Placing his palm over the wound, he knitted the skin closed, then handed Damian a handkerchief. “Get every last bit of blood up, and burn that thing.”

Wise instructions. One drop of Aether blood was a weapon in his enemies’ hands.

As soon as Damian had wiped the crystal clean, Alastair fused the broken shards together, righted the table, and conjured fresh flowers for the vase.

“Really, Al?” Alex said incredulously. “Interior decorating at a time like this?”

“Bugger off. We can easily set the estate back in order as we plot Morcant’s demise.”

Alastair reached to straighten the tie he wasn’t wearing and frowned his irritation.

“What do you need us to do, Dethridge?” Trevor asked gently as if he feared another earthquake-inducing reaction.

The moment the Death Dealer caught his attention, Damian knew the plan.

“How comfortable are you wielding a sword, Blane?”

Casting a wary glance around the group, Trevor shrugged. “I’ve never had much interest in cosplay, but I’m game.”

“Someday, you’ll have to tell me what cosplay is, but for now, I need you to go with Alastair and get the broadsword from my ceremony room.”

Once they were off, he conjured fire, applied it to the handkerchief, and dropped it on the marble floor. To Draven, he said, “Get Fintan here and summon Kass. They need to stake out a warehouse in New York. It was once attached to the Wayfarer Inn before the inn burned down.”

“When was that?”

“A little over a hundred years ago.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard to find.” With a small salute, the Guardian shimmered away.

Damian faced Castor. “Take your nephew and reinforce the estate wards, please.”

“Be back in a jiff.”

“And me?”

Josie peered down at Damian from the landing.

“Your magic hasn’t been restored, and I’m afraid I don’t have the time to do it properly.”

“Understood.” She gestured toward her sisters. “They can scry to make sure no one crossed the border of your land while you were throwing your tantrum.”

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