Page 80 of The Aether

“I do, but yes. You make the bases, I’ll obtain the stones, and Alastair can enchant them.” Tossing his cellphone to Ronan, he said, “The numbers for the Sentinels are listed. Bring them here. I’ll be no more than ten minutes.” As he shifted to go, he paused and turned back. “Please ask them, O’Connor. No one should feel obligated for this mission. It could cost them their lives. That includes you.”

Ronan’s thoughtful frown softened, and deep respect heavily entwined with caring shone in his silvery eyes. “You were my family when no one else cared to be, Damian. You, Viv, your boy, and the wee wild beastie hold the place in me heart next to Dubheasa.” He shrugged matter-of-factly. “I could never stay behind when one of mine is in trouble, all the same.”

In an act foreign to him, Damian hugged Ronan. Words would never be enough to express his gratitude, and by the looks of it, they weren’t needed. They shared an understanding. Each would fight to the death for the welfare of the other and the loved ones they shared.

“Five minutes,” he reminded him gruffly. With a nod toward Castor, who was serious for once, Damian strode out the door to the flat expanse of land east of his home.

Opening the gate to the serene garden that had once housed his mother’s tomb and the deadly roses that strove to feed her the magic she’d been long denied, he grimaced.

Nostalgia for the young boy he’d been rose up inside him.

Once, he’d been a toddler, loved by his mother and father. They’d been like any normal family for the first five years of his life. Until his mother consumed the Darkness infecting his father, believing she could save them. Had she known it would backfire? That she’d never be able to contain it when she drew it from Father’s rapidly deteriorating body? Perhaps. As arrogant as Aethers could be, she’d likely assumed she could control it.

She couldn’t.

Her overconfident choice had shaped his entire life.

Damian swore he’d never be spontaneous. Would never rush into a situation without thinking through every possible escape. But here he was, ready to rush after his wife and child without any true idea of the outcome.

There were those who knew, though.

At the center of the clearing, he stretched out his arm, palm outward and parallel to his body, then rotated in a complete three-hundred-and-sixty-degree circle as he called up the standing stones. The ground rumbled as the dirt parted, and the columns rose to tower over him like giant tombstones with jagged tops. For the most part, they blocked out the sun, but rays filtered between the pillars and touched on him where he stood. The warmth felt like a blessing from the Goddess.

Each stone was roughly fifteen feet high and five and a half feet in width. If one strained, they could make out symbols etched into the hard surfaces. There were fourteen formations in total, and the number was as significant as the need for seven witches of a coven to resurrect them. But Damian was no ordinary witch. His was the power of a hundred combined.

“Exalted One, I call on you now. Please come.”

He’d only spare Isis four minutes. If she didn’t show up, he’d collect the tanzanite he needed and return home. Delay any longer, and Sabrina was likely lost to him forever.

The Goddess arrived in one.

Today, she wore a shimmering white dress secured by tiger’s eye scarabs at the shoulders. In her hand, she held eleven tanzanite stones sized perfectly for the rings Alexander was forming.

“Beloved.”

“My Queen.” Dropping to his knees, Damian bowed his head in deference to her status.

“I believe you need these, yes?”

She sauntered over and poured her offering into his hands.

“Someone’s been spying,” he quipped.

Her merry laughter floated on the wind. “How am I expected to ignore my favorites, my child?”

“I’m glad you’re not. I need your help.”

“My hands are tied, Aether. From those higher than me.”

Scoffing, he stood and gazed down into her cautious amber eyes. “I’ve always done as you asked. Do me the honor of not lying to me.”

“You think me untruthful?”

“I think you crafty, but not without artifice,” he replied in a hard tone. She might smite him, but he was done playing games. “My daughter’s life is at stake, and barring that, her psyche could be shattered if she bore witness to her mother’s death.”

Unimaginably, Isis remained calm in the face of his boiling temper. “Vivian hasn’t crossed the plane to the Otherworld, Damian. You still have time.”

Eyes closed in relief, he nodded. Lifting his lids, he locked gazes with her, seeking the truth. “And my daughter? I can’t feel her.”

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