Abraham stared down at the Latin script. He recognized it immediately. It was a Cast he had read about in other books. One he had always considered more of a myth. But he had been wrong, because it was staring back at him.
Abraham heard Jonah's voice before he saw him. “Abraham, we have to get out of the house. The Federals are coming. They've burned everything, and they aren't planning to stop until they reach Savannah. We have to get into the Tunnels.”
Abraham's voice was resolute, and it sounded different somehow, even to him. “I'm not going anywhere, Jonah.”
“What are you talking about? We have to save what we can and get out of here.” Jonah grabbed his brother's arm, noticing the open page beneath them. He stared at the script, unsure he could trust what he was seeing.
“The Daemonis Pactum? The Demon's Trade?” Jonah stepped back. “Is this what I think it is? The Book of Moons?”
“I'm surprised you recognize it. You never paid much attention during our studies.”
Jonah was used to Abraham's insults, but there was something different about his tone tonight. “Abraham, you can't.”
“Don't tell me what I can't do. You would watch this house burn to the ground before you thought to act. You have never been capable of doing what was required. You are weak, like Mother.”
Jonah flinched, as if someone had struck him. “Where did you get it?”
“You don't need to worry about that.”
“Abraham, be sensible. The Demon's Trade is too powerful. It cannot be controlled. You are making a bargain, without knowing what you will have to sacrifice. We have other houses.”
Abraham pushed his brother aside. Though Abraham barely touched him, Jonah flew across the room. “Other houses? Ravenwood is the seat of our family's power in the Mortal world, and you think I intend to allow a few soldiers to burn it to the ground? I can use this to save Ravenwood.”
Abraham's voice rose. “Exscinde, neca, odium incende; mors portam patefacit. Destroy, kill, hate; death opens the gate.”
“Abraham, stop!”
But it was too late. The words rolled off Abraham's tongue as if he had known them his entire life. Jonah looked around, panicked, waiting for the Cast to take effect. But he had no idea what his brother had asked for. He only knew that whatever it was, it would be done. That was the power of the Cast, but there was also a price. It was never the same. Jonah rushed toward his brother, and a small, perfectly round orb, the size of an egg, slipped from his pocket and rolled across the floor.
Abraham picked up the sphere, glowing at his feet, and rolled it between his fingers. “What are you doing with an Arclight, Jonah? Is there a particular Incubus you're planning to imprison in this archaic device?”
Jonah backed away as Abraham advanced, matching him step for step, but Abraham was too fast. In the blink of an eye, he pinned Jonah against the wall, his iron grip closing around his brother's throat.
“No. Of course not. I —”
Abraham tightened his hold. “What would an Incubus be doing with the only vessel capable of imprisoning his kind? Do you think I'm that stupid?”“
I am only trying to protect you from yourself.”
In one fluid motion, Abraham lunged forward and plunged his teeth into his brother's shoulder. Then he did the unthinkable.
He drank.
The bargain was made. He would no longer be sustained by the memories and dreams of Mortals. From this day forward, he would crave blood.
When he had his fill, Abraham dropped his brother's limp body and licked the ash from his hand, the taste of flesh still lingering in the black residue. “You should have been more concerned about protecting yourself.”
Abraham turned away from his brother's body. “Ethan.”
“Ethan!”
I opened my eyes. I was lying on the floor of the archive. Marian was hovering over me in an un-Marian state of panic. “What happened?”
“I don't know.” I sat up, rubbing my head, wincing. There was a knot growing underneath my hair. “I must have hit the table on my way down.”
Macon's book was lying on the floor, open next to me. Marian looked at me with her uncanny ESP — or not so uncanny, if you stopped to consider that she had followed me into visions herself only months ago. Within seconds, she had a cold pack in her hand and was holding it against my throbbing head. “You're having visions again, aren't you?”
I nodded. My mind was swimming with images, but I couldn't focus on any one of them. “It's the second time. I had one the other night when I was holding Macon's journal.”
“What did you see?”