Page 69 of Which Witch Is Wicked?
"Well, he sure as shit can clean up the remains. Put them back in the ground."
"I second that," Nick said, throwing the mutilated arm onto the pile of body parts.
The bony hand Julian had flicked off his shoulder, attempted to crawl up his pant leg like a spider. Julian stomped it into the earth and wiped the offending ooze off the sole of his shoe onto a patch of grass. "I wholeheartedly agree with that suggestion. Bane, when you are finished cleaning up this...ghoulish pandemonium, meet us in the library.
There is much to discuss."
"Have fun, gravedigger." Dru flipped him off on his way into the cabin.
Someone had his cock in a twist. His comment about Claire's Tommy had hit closer to home than Bane had intended. Weren't they in a quandary? Four Horsemen brought low by four comely witches.
Bane turned and regarded the mutilated corpses littering the yard and adjoining forest beyond with the detachment required of the chore. The majority of the carnage still inched or crawled in whatever fashion it could. Talk about a mess. He should have been here, not watching out for Tierra who'd been fighting these same zombies. One word from him at her place, and they would have left. But he couldn't bring himself to intervene when he'd been praying for just one of the sisters to fall under the macabre onslaught. With Moira operating a chainsaw, it should've only been a matter of time before she'd hurt herself or one of her sisters. Yet, she'd surprised him, but not half as much as Tierra had, wielding a shovel like a warrior.
Though Aerin had been the biggest shock of the night. Did Julian know that his witch delved into the black arts? Had started on a dark path that didn't have many switchbacks? Could that be what he wanted to discuss?
Bane faced the remains of the zombie army, said a few words more ancient than Egyptian and watched dispassionately as the pieces and parts crawled, rolled, and carried themselves off to slumber once again to the silence of their graves. Once completed, and the surface looking much the way it had before, he turned and entered the cabin.
A double shot of Patrón waited for him on the table near the window, along with three very pissed off Horsemen. Julian sat in the leather, brass-studded armchair, nursing a rare vintage red wine. Dru stood sentry over his maps, swirling his Johnny Walker Red, while Nick cocked a hip against the wet bar, shaking a martini, most likely heavy on the dirty.
"What happened last night?" Julian asked, not looking at him.
"You know as well as I do. Aerin can fly. She'll be sharing that knowledge with her sisters as we speak."
"That isn't what I'm talking about," Julian said, taking a sip of his wine. "Who performed black magic and sent the zombie army our direction?"
"You know who."
"I need it confirmed."
"Aerin de Moray. Satisfied?"
"Never." Julian drained his goblet and reached for the bottle of Italian wine he'd placed close.
"We received a call from...you know," Nick said, pouring his martini into a glass. "She'sbeen able to infiltrate the premises and hidden a fair amount of brimstone inside."
"We should see results of their exposure to the poison soon." Dru refused to look at him.
Brimstone.
That demon whore.
What would prolong exposure to elements from the depths of Hell do to Tierra and the babe? "Where did she put the brimstone?" If he had his way, it wouldn't be there long.
"She didn't say, but seemed especially proud of herself." Nick leaned back against the wet bar. He looked like a businessman who'd had a particularly bad day at the office. His gray suit was smudged and stained with bodily fluids. He'd lost his jacket some time ago, and his usually pressed dress shirt looked as though he'd been living in it for a week. Torn at the seams and frayed at the bottom, it hung untucked from his slacks. In Nicholas Kingswood's case the clothes didn't make the man, his arrogance and superiority over others shone no matter what he wore. He was a man to be cautious with. He'd shot an arrow into Tierra's chest, his aim true enough to have killed her. Bane had refused to take her soul, and that of her unborn child,his child. Without her sisters' quick thinking, he would've lost her and the miracle they'd somehow created. He didn't trust that Nick wouldn't try to kill Tierra again if given the opportunity.
"What did you find out?" Julian asked, reading Bane's yearning to wrap his hands around Nick's throat.
"About what?" It took considerable effort for him to turn his deadly stare away from Kingswood and focus on Julian.
"Whilst you were watching the witches, you observed Aerin perform black magic, and we all witnessed her fly. Did you see anything else?"
"Do you think black magic is how Aerin figured out how to fly?" Dru asked. "The undead she'd sent our way didn't even question her orders. Orders usurped from...you know.Shecommanded the undead to kill the witches and take their powers. So what did Aerin do to upset the order of command?"
"Flying on broomsticks is not black magic," Julian said, holding up his hand when Dru went to interrupt. "Not all witches who have flown in the past were bad. But flying in itself doesn't make a witch good or bad. She's just a flying witch."
"Which we don't need." Nick loosened his necktie and flung it off. "Gods, it's been hard enough to fight them on the ground. Airborne puts this battle on another playing field."
"Bane can fly, so can your arrow," Julian pointed out. "Being able to fly doesn’t mean they will own the skies. That takes skill and practice.
