A flustered heat stained her cheeks. “Oh, I don’t . . . I mean—”
“This is the spell,” Cyn interrupted her embarrassed stutter, moving to hand the scroll to his friend.
Dante glanced down, a frown tugging his brows together. “I can’t read hieroglyphs,” he at last muttered, lifting his head to meet Cyn’s steady gaze. “That’s Roke’s expertise. And you know more about the fey than any other vampire I’ve met. I’m not sure how I can help.”
“I’m hoping you can give me information on another spell.”
Dante handed the rolled-up parchment back to Cyn. “I’m listening.”
“You battled witches who tried to destroy demons.”
A chill entered the air as Dante’s expression became stony. “I did, along with Abby.”
“They used magic?”
“Yes.”
“How did they cast it?”
Dante moved to pour himself a glass of whiskey, still clearly raw from the battle. It didn’t matter if it was hours, months, or centuries ago, a male didn’t get over seeing his mate in danger.
“They captured Abby, intending to use the power of the Phoenix.”
Cyn watched his friend toss back the drink, regretting the need to bring up such difficult memories. It was only because he couldn’t shake the suspicion that this was somehow connected that he was forcing the issue.
“Why did they need the Goddess of Light?”
Dante shrugged. “Not even an entire coven of witches working together could achieve the power needed to cast that particular spell.” A cold smile twisted his lips. “Unfortunately for them the Phoenix was in no mood to cooperate. She zapped the bitches.”
Cyn had heard the basic story of Abby’s ability to destroy the witches, but he needed a firsthand account of the details.
“What was involved in casting the spell?”
“I wasn’t there for all of it.” The temperature plunged another twenty degrees and Cyn could see Fallon shiver, a golden glow surrounding her as she used her natural powers to warm herself. Cyn felt a ridiculous prick of annoyance. It wasn’t that he wanted her to be cold, but he’d taken pride in making sure his lair was always warm enough for her to be comfortable. Dante set aside his empty glass, unaware he was causing Fallon discomfort. “According to Abby, the Queen Bee of the coven, Edra, strapped her to an altar and put a small amulet on her chest,” he grimly explained. “The witch said it would draw on the power of the Phoenix.”
Cyn arched a brow.
That sounded way too easy.
“That was all there was to casting the spell?”
“No.” Dante’s expression twisted with disgust. “She’d sacrificed one of her own witches. Like most dark magic, this one demanded blood.”
Fallon stepped forward, far more familiar with all this hocus-pocus than Cyn.
“The amulet would focus the magic and the blood would be the catalyst.”
Dante nodded. “Exactly.” He sent a curious glance toward Cyn. “You want to tell me what all this is about?”
“Siljar will have my ass,” Cyn growled. “But I need your help.”
Dante grimaced. “This is Oracle business?”
“Aye. It seems that someone, perhaps more than one, has been manipulating the Commission.”
Dante looked shocked. “Impossible.”
“My word exactly,” Cyn said in dry tones. “Siljar, however, is convinced that they’re being coerced into performing this spell.”
Dante’s gaze lowered to the scroll in Cyn’s hand. “Does she have a suspicion of what the spell is supposed to do?”
“One designed to shut down any travel between dimensions.”
Dante looked confused. “Why would the Oracles want to do that?”
It was Fallon who answered. “They’ve been tricked into believing that it’s a simple cleansing spell.”
Dante muttered a curse. “Manipulating the entire Commission takes some serious mojo.”
“No shit,” Cyn muttered.
“What happens if they complete the spell?” Dante asked.
Cyn tossed the spell on his desk. “Demons die.”
Dante looked more resigned than surprised. “Sounds familiar.”
“That’s what I thought.” Cyn glanced toward his vast collection of books. He had thousands that spoke of fey powers, but very few that concentrated on human magic-users. He gave a frustrated shake of his head. “Did any of the witches survive your battle?”
“A few,” Dante admitted. “You suspect they might be involved?”
Cyn gave a restless lift of his shoulder. He didn’t know what the hell he suspected.
Only that he couldn’t shake his sense of déjà vu.
“It’s difficult to know, but I think we should consider the possibility,” he said. “What happened to the spell books?”
“If any were bound to Edra they would have been destroyed when she died.” Dante reminded Cyn of the witches’ habit of magically connecting themselves to their most private papers so they would turn to ash the moment of their death. “But to be honest, they were the last of my concern.”
“Understandable.” Cyn nodded toward the spell on his desk. “But it would be nice to know if they had the same hieroglyphics.”