He trembled at the heat that scoured through him, a cleansing flame that threatened to melt his very bones.
Balanced somewhere between agony and ecstasy, Anthony first concentrated on the prison that kept the elder druids from interfering in his plans.
A smile touched his lips. He could see each of the four druids aimlessly wandering through the maze of magic. It had been his first attempt at creating a labyrinth. Now he understood why it’d been banned.
Confident the elder magic-users were effectively trapped, Anthony turned his attention to the spell that he’d cast in the depths of the Commission’s tunnels.
Unlike the labyrinth, the Compulsion spell was a complex spiderweb of magic. Dozens of filaments linking him to the Oracles, each one too fragile to force them to obey his commands. But with each layer of magic the filaments were threading together, creating an unbreakable bond that would give him complete control.
Choosing one of the threads, Anthony closed his eyes as he focused on the connection. Two thousand miles away he sensed the Mosnoff demon who was deeply asleep. He paused, making certain that the demon didn’t realize that Anthony was delving into his mind.
As the demon remained asleep, Anthony cautiously gave a tug on the thread. On cue the Mosnoff sat upright, his eyes snapping open as he rose from the narrow bed and crossed the barren cavern. Then, ignoring the sweat that trickled down his face, Anthony urged the Mosnoff to reach for the delicate crystal that was carefully stored in a velvet-lined box.
Anthony gave another tug on the thread, forcing the demon to pluck the crystal from the box. More sweat dribbled down his face as the demon instinctively tried to resist Anthony’s compulsion.
It’d been a battle they’d fought several times, although the Mosnoff had no memory of Anthony’s “tests.”
Usually Anthony could compel the demon to this point, and then the Mosnoff would refuse to go any further.
This time, however, he grimly forced the demon to cross the room to the fireplace that warmed the chilled cavern. Then, with one last burst of power, he coerced the Mosnoff to toss the irreplaceable family heirloom directly into the flames.
The crystal landed in the fire, the soul that had been stored inside the quartz swiftly becoming unstable. Within seconds it had reached a critical point and combusted into a hundred tiny shards.
Through the thread, Anthony could feel the horror as the demon watched one of his beloved ancestors being lost to the flames.
Still, Anthony managed to maintain control long enough to urge the Mosnoff back to his bed and back to sleep.
Only when the demon was snoring did Anthony release his hold and lift a shaky hand to wipe the sweat from his face.
He’d done it.
Granted, he’d only be in control of one Oracle, but it was one of the strongest of the Commission. And he’d made the demon destroy one of his relatives.
An act that could only be forced by having complete command of the creature.
Stepping away from the flame, Anthony sucked in a deep breath.
He had to believe that the experiment proved he had gained the necessary control to compel the Oracles to complete the spell.
It didn’t matter whether or not Keeley had revealed his plans. Or if the Chatri were here to try and stop him.
He could feel time swiftly slipping away from him.
If he was going to strike it had to be soon.
Grimacing at the fine tremors that shook his body, Anthony turned to head back to his house. Before he did anything, he had to rest.
He was still in the circle when a silvery chime echoed through the cavern, making Anthony stiffen in outrage.
“Intruders.” Turning on his heel, he headed back to the altar. “Damn.”
Tonya stepped out of the portal with a shiver.
The air was certainly warmer despite the fact it was night, but there was a weird sensation that brushed over her skin.
As if she’d just stepped through an invisible web.
Tonya hated spiders.
“Where are we?” she demanded, unconsciously brushing her hands over her bare arms. Dammit, why had she decided to wear a barely there spandex dress?
Okay, that was a stupid question.
She’d put on the outfit because she wanted to make Magnus drool.
Now she wished she’d chosen a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt.
Moving to stand beside her, Magnus glanced around the untamed fields that were divided by waist-high fences built of gray stone. In the distance were rolling hills and a thatch-roofed cottage that was tucked into a small valley.
“Ireland,” he at last said.
“How odd.”
Magnus narrowed his gaze. “More than odd.”
She sent him a confused frown. “What are you talking about?”
“Cyn is the clan chief of Ireland,” he said, the words clipped.
“That’s not a newsflash,” she muttered, wondering what bug had crawled up the prince’s ass this time.
“Now we track the killer to his homeland.”
Ah. Now she got it.
“Are you implying Cyn was the killer?” she demanded.