Page 40 of Which Witch Is Wicked?
“They know even less than we thought,” Bane mused, taking a drag of his beer.
“So it seems,” Julian agreed after relating the particulars of his phone call with Aerin to his brothers. Well, the pertinent parts. They didn’t know he and Aerin would meet on the morrow. They didn’t know that, even now, the husky tones of her breezy voice vibrated in his ear. That his body and his heart ached with a hollow yearning he’d not encountered in a handful of millennia.
They didn’t know… that he was falling for her.
“Didn’t they read the prophecy?” Nicholas Kingswood tossed a cashew and caught it in his mouth as he sauntered toward the bar. His grey suit and burnished silver tie added a metallic bronze hue to his caramel hair. He looked like he belonged on Wall Street, though the last time he got involved with the stock market was nineteen-twenty-nine. Fairly recently to men such as they. “It says in their own Grimoire that when the fifth seal is broken, the blood of martyrs will be called forth and also the innocent, and they will rise up in vengeance.”
“True, but theological scholars have been debating the meaning of that prophecy for thousands of years,” Dru pointed out from where he ran a whet stone down his blade. The gritty sound it made a familiar, soothing melody for them all. Something from the past. A sound as perpetual as themselves. “From the Druids, to the Egyptians, to the Talmudic seers, and down through the Christians, they’ve all speculated about the last three seals. But very few have really witnessed an army of the undead. Or fought them. We can’t expect a couple of modern-day, twenty-something witches to just know this shit. They’re little more than babies.”
“They’re old enough to fuck,” Nick countered. “Which means they’re old enough to know.”
“Not since Macbeth’s successor, the Druid King, Malcolm de Moray and his sisters defeated the army of the undead raised by the Wyrd Sisters a thousand years past,” Bane recalled.
“And before that, it had been five thousand years, at least.” Julian leaned forward in his studded leather chair and swirled his wine. He’d had such a penchant for these dark-cherry colored reds these days. Touching each of his fellow Horsemen with a speculative glance, he also read their emotional signatures. Something they could all do. A bond they all relied upon and cursed in equal measure. “So the question arises along with this army of undead, gentlemen, do we sit by and let the de Moray sisters fight this battle on their own? Or do we help them?” He’d never sat among more conflicted souls in his life.
“That’s a tough one.” Nicholas touched his forehead with exhausted fingers. “On a good day, I lean toward letting this play out. Lighting a match and watching all these fat, fucking useless people of the world burn. When it comes to the Apocalypse, I say bring it.” He paused, taking a sip from a martini glass.
“And yet?” Julian prompted.
“There’sherto consider.”
“Moira?” Dru queried.
Nicholas’s eyes sharpened at the sound of the water witch’s name, but he shook his head, regarding his drink as though salvation lie within.
“Lucifer.”
A shudder passed through the room as the air was kissed with the evil chill of her name.
“Morning star, my dying ass,” Dru muttered. “You know Nick and I have been leaning toward pro-Apocalypse for a few hundred years now. But we all know we have to stop it, or at least stall it until that evil bitch is handled.”
“Indeed,” Julian sipped his wine, allowing the velvet vintage to slide down his throat, taking all the moisture with it. “If eternity was a chess board, she’d be the black queen. Every advantage afforded her. Gaining power as more and more gods of light become obsolete.”
“While we’re on the subject, she could manipulate the de Moray sisters,” Conquest pointed out. “She could draw them to her side, like she did the Wyrd Sisters. She’s already infiltrated the local coven. Once she had the de Moray Druid magic in her control, it would be hellllooooo to eternal darkness and suffering blah blah souls writhing, humans enslaved, creatures of the darkness unleashed, blah.” He rolled his eyes skyward as he downed the last of his drink and reached for more vodka.
“There is that,” Julian agreed, contemplating his conversation with Aerin just moments ago.
“Not Tierra,” Bane insisted, a strange light in his midnight eyes. “She’d never allow her powers to be corrupted by the likes of Lucy. This earth means too much to her. She’s a creature of the light. She’s too…pure.”
“Orwasuntil you got your hands on her,” Nicholas laughed.
“I willendyou.”
Dru jumped in, creating a much needed distraction. “Claire has a shadowy side, but her heart is big. And good. I don’t think she would knowingly allow herself to be manipulated by darkness.”
“But can you be certain?” Julian asked.
“As certain as I am of anything these days.” Dru’s face shuddered, though his emotional signature ran hot. Hotter than usual.
“Moira’s definitely a wild card,” Nicholas speculated. “But I know she cares… she cares so damn much. She’s more depth than darkness. But there’s pain there, and fear. That can be exploited and fanned into hatred very easily.”
Every man was silent for a moment, contemplating their futures, their desires.
Their duties.
“What about Aerin, brother?” Bane’s deadly gaze captured his with meaning and maybe a little bit of sympathy.
“Speaking of bitches,” Conquest muttered.
