Snakeroot

  The garden. Bosque Mar’s garden. She couldn’t be here. Not here.

  Why is this happening?

  Adne had never fainted before, but now, even on her knees, she couldn’t keep her balance. Black fog poured into her mind, blotting out the real world and forcing her into a waking nightmare.

  She knew the scene immediately, but somehow being in the garden amplified her awareness that this dream was something more than a product of her own imagination. She was too aware of the earth beneath her, how alive it was. With her hands on the ground, Adne could feel everything—the channels and pathways of roots and rivers, minerals and magma. And the earth knew her. Beneath her palms, it shuddered.

  “Very good.”

  Adne squeezed her eyes shut. She knew the voice but refused to acknowledge it. This is not happening. He is not here.

  She wished she could close her ears along with her eyes so she wouldn’t hear the footfalls that brought him next to her. His presence was overwhelming. Powerful, and inexplicably alluring.

  “I love this place,” Bosque Mar said, his voice cool as silk. “The garden was what brought you to me. This is our place.”

  Still huddled with her eyes closed, Adne whispered, “No.”

  Bosque laughed. “Such a fighter. You remind me of her.”

  “Stop.” Adne felt tears rising in her throat.

  He was close. Too close. She could sense his body as he crouched beside her. “It’s time for you to come with me.”

  Adne screamed, rolling away from him. “No!”

  She lashed out with one arm, finally opening her eyes. She struck at nothing but the air.

  Bosque wasn’t in the garden. Adne was alone. Choking on her breath, she began to sob.

  It would have been easier for Adne to face the idea that between grief and exhaustion she was having some sort of psychotic episode. But Adne knew magic. And she felt its presence all around her, along with the overwhelming sense that something was coming for her.

  Adne always thought she would welcome the absence of nightmares about her mother’s death. But those dreams had fled only when the new visions had arrived. Though she could hardly believe it, the new dreams were worse. These weren’t grief-ridden images of the past. Adne sensed they were portents of the future.

  The nightmares had begun when the sun set on the day of the Searchers’ greatest victory. The Rift had been closed. The war was over. With her limbs tangled in Connor’s, Adne had fallen asleep. She’d expected a peaceful night. Though her heart still ached from losing her father and her brother, Adne believed that their sacrifices had helped set the world right again.

  She wasn’t ready for the tide of horror that visited her while she slept.

  In her dream she’d been walking through the Rowan Estate gardens. Dead wolves lay on the frozen ground all around her. Adne passed them without hesitation. The wolves weren’t her concern. She was needed elsewhere.

  Adne stopped when she reached the withered hedge.

  “I knew you’d come.” Bosque Mar materialized before her. “We have so much to discuss, Ariadne.”

  Bosque reached out to her. Without hesitating, she took his hand. He smiled at her. His smile contorted, mouth stretching wide into a grotesque grin until the skin split open. The handsome face of the man dropped off in clumps of flesh until his true visage was revealed.

  Adne screamed until her cries roused her from sleep.

  The details of the nightmare weren’t always the same. Sometimes it took place in the Rowan Estate library. Sometimes in the bowels of the Pyralis volcano while the fire wolves, the Lyulf, stalked around her. But no matter where Adne found herself in the dream, Bosque was always waiting for her. And she always went to him when he beckoned.

  The first night she’d woken trembling after the dream, Adne thought she could pinpoint its source. Her first and last encounter with Bosque Mar was branded on her mind, vivid and disturbing.

  “What a lovely young thing.” Bosque watched Adne move, running his tongue over his lips as if tasting the air. “And with such power. You’ve been playing with my garden, dear. Without permission.”

  He twisted his fingers and Adne stumbled. “Please stay awhile. I think you could be quite useful to me.”

  She rolled over, clawing at the rug beneath her feet, which had begun to unravel. Its loose threads wound together into thick ropes that wrapped around her ankles and continued to snake their way up her body.

  Amid the chaos of that final battle, Bosque had singled Adne out. When he’d spoken to her, she’d felt his gaze as acutely as if he’d been touching her. Even as she’d struggled against the bonds he’d invoked to hold her captive, Adne had shivered, unable to fight the awareness that with one look, Bosque understood who she was and the power she could wield more than anyone else ever had.

  She didn’t know what that meant.

  Adne had pushed aside the unpleasant dream as she would any other, assuming the nightmare was simply the aftermath of the war.

  But the next night she’d dreamed of Bosque Mar. And the next. And the next.

  Adne had told herself repeatedly that the nightmares meant nothing, that they were the last shreds of fear left from years of fighting the Keepers. Bosque Mar had been banished from her world and he had no way of returning.

  And yet, every night the Harbinger visited her while she slept.

  Today the dream had intruded upon her waking mind. She couldn’t bear it.

  Crumpled on the ground, Adne held the wooden box tight against her chest. Logan needed something from Rowan Estate, but he didn’t have it—at least not everything. They’d kept this box from him. That meant Adne could stop him before he managed to pull off whatever scheme he was concocting. By outmaneuvering Logan, she would keep the nightmares from coming true. Whatever Logan was searching for, Adne had to find it first.

  The crunch of boots sounded on the garden’s gravel path. Adne looked up to find Connor bearing down on her. He crouched beside her.

  “What’s up, buttercup?” Connor’s tone was casual, but the skin around his eyes was tight with concern.

  Adne knew her face was streaked with tears. Trying to pretend they weren’t there was pointless.

  “I shouldn’t have run out of there,” she said. “I freaked.”

  “Uh-huh.” Cupping her face in his palm, Connor rubbed the tear tracks on her cheek with his thumb. “I got that much. But it’s not like you, Adne. Why’d you spook?”

  Adne grimaced, wishing Connor had picked a word other than spook. It was too close to the truth. She felt haunted.

  Choosing her next words carefully, Adne told him, “Knowing Logan was here. Seeing all that history of the Keepers. I thought it was over. The war. The loss.”

  “It is over,” Connor said with a dry laugh. “Logan Bane might have the coin to hire half-competent thieves, but can you imagine him pulling off anything more?”

  “I don’t know.” Adne lowered her gaze.

  Logan had been a spoiled child and an arrogant S.O.B., but Adne suspected that much of Logan’s behavior had been posturing. None of them had seen beneath the surface of the Keeper heir’s façade. The break-in made Adne realize she was afraid to find out.

  “So.” Connor cleared his throat. “I don’t mean to be insensitive, but Sabine and Ethan would like to get back to the Academy. Me too.”

  Adne nodded, letting Connor pull her to her feet. She tucked the box under her arm. Connor looked at it and frowned.

  “You keeping that?”

  “Yeah,” she answered. “I want to put it somewhere Logan won’t be able to get at it. Just in case.”

  Connor shrugged, but then he looked into Adne’s eyes. “Are you sure there’s nothing else you want to talk about?”

  “I’m okay,” Adne insisted. “Just an overreaction.”

  “You know we’re not going to let Logan mess with the glorious future that awaits us.” He grinned and Adne laughed.

  “Yeah, I know.”

/>   When Connor put his arm around her shoulders, Adne’s mood lightened. His presence made the waking dream fizzle to insignificance. For a moment, Adne would have called herself happy. But something flickered on the edge of her vision. She turned and her heart stuttered. A wolf watched them from the edge of the forest that bordered the garden.

  “Connor.” Adne clutched his arm.

  “What is it?” He was instantly tense. She didn’t have to look to know he’d already drawn a weapon.

  Adne was about to point, but she blinked and the wolf was gone.

  “Adne?” Connor scanned the space around them, searching for the cause of her alarm.

  “It’s nothing,” Adne said, her throat still tight. “I thought I saw . . . but it was nothing.”

  “You sure?” Connor asked, still waiting for any signs of imminent danger.

  “Yes.” Adne leaned into him, trying to convey an ease she didn’t feel. “I’m just on edge. Please get me out of here.”

  “With pleasure, little lady.” Connor gave a whoop and scooped Adne off the ground. Adne shrieked as Connor carried her back to the manor, making her laugh by kissing her noisily and teasing her about his plans for the night until a blush scorched her cheeks. But when she stopped laughing and laid her face against Connor’s neck so she could smell his skin and the leather of his duster, Adne wondered if she wasn’t losing her mind after all. A wolf had been watching them. She knew she’d seen it.

  But seeing the wolf wasn’t the problem. The wolf wasn’t a stranger. Adne could never have mistaken that charcoal fur, which she’d wept into after the wolf warrior had been slain. Nor would she ever forget those silver-flecked eyes—eyes that had been gazing at her just moments ago in mutual recognition.

  It didn’t matter if her brother was a wolf or a boy. Adne would always know Ren Laroche.

  MAGIC PROVED TO be much more work than Logan Bane had ever imagined—at least magic you had to do yourself. It turned out that most spells required an array of ingredients, many of which were very unpleasant to handle and even worse to smell. Other spells required bodily fluids—his bodily fluids. Magic was rank sweat, putrid odors, congealed blood, and gag-inducing dissections with no guarantee that the spell would even come off right.

  But as unappealing as all of that might be, the greatest obstacle to Logan’s goal was what he needed most, the key to successfully casting the most powerful spells: multiple casters.

  Realizing how much he’d taken for granted all of his life was another hard lesson, as if the whole dreadful business with the Scion and his Searchers hadn’t been bad enough. Day after day, the same question dogged Logan’s steps. Had he made the right choice?

  At the time, Logan had convinced himself that giving aid to the Searchers was the only choice. A matter of survival. He’d seen the writing on the wall the moment his pack of Guardians divided, half of them going over to the Searchers. Rebellions were like plagues: catching, devastating.

  If his father, Efron, hadn’t blamed him for Calla’s betrayal, things might have gone differently. But Logan’s father made it clear that he teetered on the verge of disowning his only son and heir. More concerned with keeping the taint of rebellion off himself than protecting Logan, Efron had effectively demoted his son. With no pack to rule, Logan would have been denied his father’s legacy. And while the wealth and privileges of a Keeper’s life remained his to enjoy, Logan knew well that his reign as lordling among his peers would soon end.

  With his inheritance stolen, Logan went to the Searchers, offering his services to their misguided yet indefatigable cause. He freely admitted to himself that he’d gone out of spite and in haste, not thinking through the full ramifications of his actions. He’d thought he’d made allowances for all possible outcomes.

  Should the Searchers lose, Logan still had the pretext of being their prisoner. Efron Bane’s arrogance ensured that he would much more readily accept the possibility of his son’s failure than his treachery.

  But they didn’t lose. And Logan had no idea how ill prepared he was for that scenario, despite his laying bets on the Searchers’ chances. His self-assurance began to crumble when Sabine tore out his father’s throat. Rebellion from a distance was an interesting concept. Up close, made of spilled blood and rent flesh, it was nothing other than a ghastly reality.

  Logan would have run at that point, if not for the knowledge that his throat would be the next one torn to shreds by a Guardian. Forced to remain beside his father’s corpse while the Nightshade and Bane alpha males battled, Logan couldn’t fight off the creeping knowledge that all of this was horribly, horribly wrong. He was not meant to be here. Had no business being a part of this folly. This was not his legacy.

  Logan’s mind had fogged with doubt. He was surrounded by a haze of blood and violence, and then Calla had been at his side, forcing him to say the words. To invoke the source of the Keepers’ power: Bosque Mar. Logan renewed his blood oath, calling Bosque from beyond the Rift. When Bosque appeared, condemning Logan for his treachery, Logan had been surprised by the sting of Bosque’s words. As Bosque spoke to him, Logan’s blood felt like barbwire, twisting and tearing within him.

  Cowering from fear and shame, Logan had watched as the Scion—he couldn’t think of that force of wild magic as the boy who’d been called Shay—drove his master into oblivion, sealing the Rift forever. As Rowan Estate shook and Logan literally saw his world crumbling, he’d summoned the strength to crawl along the quaking library floor. When the ground beneath ceased its violent shifting, Logan scrambled to his feet. And he ran.

  He didn’t stop running until he reached the private airstrip where his father’s Dassault Falcon 7X was waiting for him. Logan had called the airstrip as he ran, knowing the pilot and crew were on call 24/7 to accommodate spur-of-the-moment trips. Wheezing, Logan boarded the plane and ordered the pilot to take off immediately. Once they were airborne, the flight attendant offered him a cocktail, which Logan refused. As much as he felt like he needed one, Logan knew he needed a clear head more. The glossy-lipped stewardess then took off his shoes for the usual foot massage she provided, and gasped. Logan’s feet were bleeding. He wasn’t surprised. Without a word, the flight attendant washed and bandaged his feet. His father’s staff knew better than to ask questions. No matter what they witnessed.

  Logan practically lived aboard the private jet for the first month after he fled Colorado. He didn’t feel safe staying in one place for more than a few days. It was only a matter of time before the Searchers came after him. Once the fallout from the last battle at Rowan Estate had settled, those wretched, duty-bound warriors were sure to begin hunting down all the Keepers. At least the ones who survived the war.

  As it happened, there weren’t that many.

  The Keepers had always been selfish with their powers. That hoarding, territorial quality paired with preternaturally long lives meant very few Keepers had children. Offspring were considered necessary for the future, to carry forward the blood oath and maintain the link between Bosque Mar and the earth. But nurtured and coveted Keeper children were not. Logan had always sensed that his father regarded him as a nuisance. Logan had never known his mother, and his father rarely spoke of her. Lumine Nightshade had more kind words about Marise to offer than Efron did. Despite the absence of affection between them, Logan and his father reached a common accord: they were both waiting for Logan to grow up.

  And grow he had. Logan was eighteen. He’d come of age. And his life had shattered into a thousand jagged pieces. He didn’t know what to do with himself—with the exception of avoiding the Searchers. Logan definitely knew to do that. But he decided it was time to stop running. He ordered the pilot to fly to Montauk, where he knew he would find someone—or two someones—willing to take him in.

  • • •

  “I don’t know what you’re complaining about,” Audrey said, offering Logan a clove cigarette, the day after he’d arrived. “It could be much worse.”

  Logan took the slim
black cigarette with a nod of gratitude.

  “She’s right, you know,” added Chase. “Take Mother and Father, for instance.”

  Audrey smirked, settling on the divan next to her brother. Chase and Audrey Roth were twins and thus the rare exception to Keepers having no more than one child. They were unexceptional as Keepers, however, in their lack of regard for their deceased parents. That they could speak with such nonchalance of their parents’ devolving suddenly from living beings to rotting flesh and, finally, to bones and dust, leaving Chase and Audrey orphans, was a testament to that.

  The Roth family had steered clear of Keeper politics, focusing on the economic strings their kind liked to pull. Montauk’s distance from any of the sacred sites also kept the Roths out of the bloodier side of Keeper affairs. Logan hoped that meant this place and its inhabitants weren’t on the Searchers’ radar. He felt safe enough to stay in Montauk. For now.

  The waterfront estate was too modern for Logan’s taste. He preferred residences that recalled the grandeur of Europe, and a time when the notion that all people are created equal was known to be hogwash. He couldn’t deny, however, that the mansion and guesthouses offered every comfort and were architecturally stunning, with their clean lines and airy rooms.

  Though they’d elected to receive their education via private tutors rather than enroll at the Mountain School—the Roth twins subscribed to the popular East Coast idea that the world ended west of the Mississippi—Chase and Audrey had long been friends with Logan. Their father, Weston Roth, had partnered in investments with Efron Bane for over a century. And Logan and Efron had visited the Roths’ Montauk home often.

  The two men had a natural affinity that Logan supposed was due to their shared origin story. Both originally human, Efron and Weston had been elevated by their wives to join the ranks of the Keepers. Though his father was too powerful for any of his peers to publicly disparage him, Logan knew that an elevated Keeper was considered somehow lesser than those who could claim the birthright.