“Then why?”
Without warning, Gaius (or whoever the heck he was now) turned to point at the hole that Roke had punched into the wall. “Because of that.”
Sally was briefly disoriented, as much from the sudden realization that she could actually sense Roke through their bond despite the distance (if she hadn’t been neck deep in trouble she might have wondered what was causing his frantic desperation). As from the struggle to accept that Gaius had some other reason for kidnapping her than mere retribution for tattling on him to Styx.
“The safe?” she asked in confusion; then she gave a sudden blink. “No. The book.”
“Yes.”
She hesitated, hoping her sluggish mind would catch up with the rapidly shifting situation. “You want me to break the spell?”
Gaius made a sound of disgust. As if she was unbearably stupid.
He’d get no argument from her.
“There’s only one way to break the spell and destroy the book.”
She frowned. “Only one?”
Gaius nodded. “You die.”
The words were said with such indifference that it took a second for Sally to react.
“No.” She took a stumbling step backward, wondering if this was some hideous nightmare. “No, I have the counterspell brewing at Styx’s lair.”
Gaius waved a hand. “A worthless concoction.”
She pressed a hand to her racing heart, trying desperately to hold back her panic. “How do you know?” she forced herself to ask. “I can promise you that my brews are more potent than most.”
“There is no counterspell because it’s sorcery.”
Sorcery? She shook her head.
There were all types of magic.
Spells conjured by witches and wizards, both white and black. Demon magic that called on their natural powers. And the gifts of magic that were bestowed to prophets and other individuals blessed by fate.
Or cursed.
But sorcery was supposed to be an ancient magic that came from a place deeper than spells brewed in a cauldron or even the bloody altars.
It came from the very soul, devouring a piece of a witch’s life force with every use.
“I’ve never . . .” She shook her head. “I thought it was an urban legend.”
“No legend, although from what I’ve discovered of this world, the magic is not nearly as potent as it used to be,” the creature that used to be Gaius murmured. “Still once the spell is cast it’s unbreakable until the last witch is dead.”
Her mouth went dry. He spoke with an unshakable confidence. Right or wrong, he truly believed the book was protected by sorcery.
And that her death was the only thing that could give him what he wanted.
“I didn’t cast the spell,” she managed to croak.
“Of course not.” A hint of impatience twisted the gaunt features. “It was cast at the beginning of time. When witches were in the power of the Oracles.”
“Witches in the power of the Oracles?” She made a sound of shock. She’d always been taught that witches had been created out of a human need to balance the growing power of demons and their Commission. “Are you kidding me?”
Gaius shrugged. “Before the great schism.”
“The great . . .” She abruptly pressed her fingers to her throbbing temples. “Never mind. I still don’t understand what this has to do with me.”
“For the truly powerful witches soul-bindings can be transferred from mother to daughter.” His glowing gaze flicked over her slender body, which felt far too exposed by the skimpy muscle shirt and stretchy pants. “An unbreakable chain.”
She forgot how to breathe as she accepted the only logical conclusion to his explanation.
“So my mother . . .”
“She was one of the heirs.”
A shrill, humorless laugh was wrung from her throat. She’d never been truly satisfied with her mother’s claim that she’d chosen to have a daughter to ensure her power base. After all, there was no guarantee that Sally would be born with enough magical abilities to be more than a drain on her resources. It was far more practical to take on an apprentice who was old enough to display the level of her talent and yet young enough to be molded into a loyal acolyte.
Now she understood.
Her mother needed a blood heir to pass on her duty.
“No wonder she was so anxious to have a daughter,” she muttered, wryly wondering when her mother had intended to tell her the truth.
Perhaps on that memorable sixteenth birthday?
What a grand irony that would be.
“Yes,” Gaius agreed.
“How many heirs are there?”
Gaius turned toward the gaping hole in the wall, his hatred toward the book pulsing through the air. Sally shivered, taking the opportunity to sneak a quick peek at the two silent vampires standing across the room.
The female remained impervious to her surroundings, but the male met her glance with a small nod of his head toward the door.
She frowned. What the hell did that mean?
That she was supposed to make a run for it?
That there were more enemies hidden outside?