The Night Realm

  As she flung the door open, her heart was beating so hard it hurt. She didn’t stop to rearm the spells and instead flew across the room.

  Lyre lay where she’d left him, and as she dropped to her knees at his side, a fraction of her panic eased. His chest rose and fell with harsh breaths. She touched the base of his throat, looking across the pulsing death spell, and her blood chilled. The threads had thickened, and he was almost as pale as her, all color leeched from his skin. He didn’t have long.

  She pulled the bag out of her belt and dumped the clock into her palm. Shuffling sounds at her back told her Kassia and Eryx had joined her. They leaned over her shoulder as she held up the bizarre clock, the gears shining in the faint light leaking through the windows. To her eyes, the gemstones set in the metal shone brightly with black-tinted golden light.

  “What does it do?” Kassia whispered.

  “It will erase the death spell,” Clio answered tersely. “If I remove the spell, it will kill him. But this can make the weave … stop existing. Without killing him. I think.”

  “How does it work?”

  Clio held the clock up to her face. “I don’t know.”

  “But you can see how all magic works, can’t you?”

  A tremor ran through her. Kassia was right—Clio could see and understand all magic—but somehow, not this. Studying it again, she didn’t understand it any better. She could tell what it did, but not how. The weaves, the shapes and constructs in the different gemstones, seemed disconnected as though something was missing.

  “It looks incomplete,” she whispered in horror. “Like the pieces of the weave aren’t lined up. I don’t see any way to activate it. It must be broken. He must not have finished the spell.”

  “If it was broken or incomplete,” Eryx said unexpectedly, “he wouldn’t have gone to such lengths to protect it.”

  “But—but then … how does it …” She turned it over, but the back offered no clues, just a small rectangular hole in the center of the gears. “I can’t see how to make it work. Everything is all … weird.”

  “You can figure it out,” Kassia reassured her. “Take your time.”

  But Lyre didn’t have time. Even as the thought sounded in her head, he arched up from the floor with a rasp, then slumped, his chest still and silent. Holding the clock in one hand, Clio clutched the front of his shirt.

  Kassia squeezed her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Clio.”

  “Wait.” She stared at him, every muscle tensed. “This is what the spell does.”

  “It killed him,” Eryx muttered. “What’s there to wait for?”

  Kassia hissed at him to shut up. Clio counted in her head. Twenty seconds. Thirty. Thirty-five. She held her breath as the seconds dragged on. No. No, no, no—

  At forty-two seconds, his chest heaved.

  “What?” Eryx surged to his feet. “He came back from the dead—”

  “It’s the spell.” Clio touched his sternum as he labored for air. “It kills its victim, then revives them, then kills them again. Over and over and over until their body gives out and they die for good.”

  A pulse of silence.

  “That’s … horrible,” Kassia whispered almost soundlessly.

  “And Lyre has been dying for—for I don’t know how long. I have to get that spell off him.” Clio gripped the palm-sized clock. “But I don’t know how to make this stupid piece of junk work.”

  Kassia shifted forward to kneel beside Clio. “If you don’t know how to use it, then we need him to tell you how.”

  “But he’s unconscious—”

  Kassia put a hand on Lyre’s forehead and a sharp flash of magic erupted under her palm. With a choked gasp, his eyes flew open.

  “Lyre!” Clio cried.

  His features went slack and his eyes, hazed with pain and exhaustion, rolled back. Kassia grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him into a sitting position. His head lolled, breath rasping. Clio cupped his chin and lifted his head.

  “Lyre,” she said. “I need your help to save you. How does your clock spell work?”

  His eyelids flickered and his gaze sharpened. “What?” he croaked.

  She held up the clock so he could see it. “This can save you. How do I—”

  His eyes widened with alarm. He lurched forward, almost falling over, and Kassia hooked her arms under his, bracing him from behind.

  “How did you—” He broke off, gasping for air. “Put it back, you idiot.”

  She stiffened. “It can save you.”

  “Too dangerous,” he rasped. “Never use it. Never again. Put it back.”

  “You’re dying!” she yelled. “This is the only thing that can save you. Either tell me how, or I’ll mess with it until I figure it out.”

  His eyes widened again. “No, you can’t—”

  “Then tell me how it works!”

  The strength went out of him and he slumped forward. Kassia pulled him up, using her body as a backrest to keep him facing Clio.

  She held the clock under his nose. “I won’t let you die, Lyre. I attacked Hades soldiers, broke into Chrysalis, and knocked Madrigal unconscious to get this, and I’m not leaving until I use it to save you.”

  “Stubborn … little … fool.” He pulled himself together with visible effort. “Bathroom.”

  “You need to go to the bathroom now?”

  “For the spell,” he growled breathlessly. “Fill the bath. Needs water.”

  Clio exchanged a confused look with Kassia. A spell that needed water? But water couldn’t hold a weave. In fact, water was a terrible conductor for magic of any kind. But they didn’t have time to argue, so Clio shot to her feet. Kassia heaved Lyre up and Clio pulled his arm over her shoulder so they were supporting him between them.

  “Eryx, secure the house and set up tripwire spells,” Kassia ordered over her shoulder.

  Eryx grumbled but obediently headed for the door.

  Clio and Kassia carried Lyre to the bathroom, a more spacious and well-appointed version of the one at the inn. They lowered him to the floor and leaned him against the wall, then Kassia turned the taps on full blast, filling the large soaker tub with icy water.

  “Get rid of the amenity spells,” Lyre instructed between pants of air. “All of them.”

  Clio pulled out all the gemstones set around the tub and shower, including the warming spells that would have heated the water. She tossed them out of the bathroom and they clattered across the floor.

  He pulled three chains out from under his shirt. When he tried to take them off, scarcely able to raise his arms, Clio lifted them over his head. Two were lined with gemstones, while the third—the one she had seen before—had both stones and that silver skeleton key with the ruby. He fumbled at his wrists and she helped him remove the bracelets too, each one sporting several hidden lodestones.

  “Pockets,” he whispered weakly.

  She ran her hands over his hips until she found his pockets and pulled out more stones, leaving him devoid of all magic—the first time she’d seen him naked of his usual weavings. Only the death spell and the shimmer of golden power—his aura, visible to her alone—remained.

  “Keep a bracelet and the key,” he told her. “Get the rest out of here.”

  Clio separated a lodestone bracelet and the chain with the key, and handed the others to Kassia. She took them out of the bathroom while Clio knelt in front of Lyre.

  “No magic near the tub.” He grasped her hand where she held his bracelet and chain. There was no strength in his grip and his breath came fast and shallow. “Keep the lodestones for me. I’ll need them.”

  “The clock will eat your magic too?” Not just the weave inside him?

  “It eats all magic. Everything.” His fingers tightened. “Is the tub full?”

  She turned off the faucet. “Yes, it’s ready.”

  “Help me.”

  She pulled his arm over her shoulder. Kassia returned and they lifted Lyre to the edge of the tub. He leaned he
avily against Clio.

  “Use the key to wind the clock,” he told her, barely managing a whisper. “It will count down one minute, then …”

  He slumped forward and Kassia caught his arm, pulling him straight again. His chest heaved.

  “I’ll go in the water,” he rasped. “With the clock. Water will keep it … from traveling … too far.”

  “Traveling?” Clio echoed.

  “Wind it.”

  She fumbled for the skeleton key, the ruby at its end gleaming, and inserted it into the back of the device. The gears ground as she turned the second hand in a counterclockwise circle. The key lodged in place and she pulled it out.

  Magic shimmered across the clock and the second hand began ticking down. The black-tinted weaves turned, carried on the gears, and the spinning constructs passed over each other, winding the magic in the same way she’d wound the clock.

  “Help me down,” Lyre said.

  Kassia lowered him into the tub, water sloshing over the sides, and held the front of his shirt to keep his head above water. Throwing the chain around her neck for safekeeping, Clio clutched the clock. The second hand passed the halfway mark. Thirty seconds.

  “Give me the clock, then get back.” He squinted, fighting to stay aware. “Clio?”

  “What is it?” She placed the clock on his chest and he weakly grasped it.

  “Don’t let me drown, okay?”

  She smiled feebly, but there were only ten seconds left and she didn’t have time to answer. Kassia let him go and he slipped under the surface. Then she grabbed Clio and hauled her out of the bathroom. In the hallway, Clio stared at the water’s still surface, not sure if Lyre was holding his breath—or if he’d stopped breathing.

  Three … two … one.

  A soundless concussion erupted from the water. It boomed outward, a feeling rather than a sound, and hit Clio like a punch to the diaphragm. She wheezed and grabbed the wall. The house rattled as the wave of force swept through it, then all went still.

  Including the water in the tub.

  Clio sprinted into the bathroom and plunged her arms into the frigid water. Grabbing the front of Lyre’s shirt, she hauled his torso up and out of the tub in a cascade of liquid.

  Her foot slipped and she fell backward, dragging him with her.

  In the instant she fell, her brain fizzled with confusion, because for that one instant, it looked like she’d pulled someone else from the tub. Someone wearing different clothes—fitted blue and silver garb unlike anything she’d ever seen. Someone with a bow strapped to his back and a quiver of arrows over his shoulder. Someone with a dark tattoo on one cheekbone, and a face more beautiful than words could describe.

  Someone whose ebony-dusted amber eyes called to her soul.

  Then she hit the floor on her back and he landed on top of her, crushing the air from her lungs. His hand clamped around the bracelet she held, and magic sizzled against her palm as he pulled the stored power from the lodestones, draining them completely.

  Tingling magic ran over him, teasing her skin, and he went limp on top of her.

  Kassia appeared above Clio and grabbed the back of his shirt. She pulled him off, and Clio sat up, her gaze snapping over him. He looked exactly as he should—his regular clothes sopping wet, shirt plastered to his skin, and no tattoos on his strikingly handsome but still human face.

  He was himself again, his real face hidden beneath glamour once more.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Shaking off her shock, Clio blinked her asper into focus and checked him. No lethal weave twined through his flesh. The death spell was gone—but so was the rest of his magic. His aura was the barest shimmer of golden light, and he only possessed that much because he’d refueled a fraction of his power using the lodestones.

  “Lyre?” She lightly touched his face.

  His chest rose and fell, then his eyes opened, dim with fatigue. “Clio.”

  Tears of relief threatened to spill down her cheeks. He was alive. The death spell was no more. He would be okay.

  “Are we done with the bathroom?” Kassia asked him.

  “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Only showers for me for at least a decade.”

  Supporting him between them, Clio and Kassia pulled him into the bedroom. Kassia helped him sit on the edge of the bed, then turned to Clio.

  “I’m going to check on Eryx and help secure the house. I’ll be a few minutes. Make sure he’s okay, then we need to figure out our plan.”

  Clio nodded, and Kassia hastened out of the bedroom. She reappeared two seconds later, handed Clio the clock they’d forgotten in the tub, then vanished again. The front door banged open then closed.

  Setting the clock on the nightstand, Clio knelt in front of Lyre where he sat on the low bed, putting her face almost level with his. He was slouched forward, elbows braced on his knees as he breathed deeply.

  “Lyre?” she asked. “How do you feel?”

  His eyes flicked up, shadows sliding across the amber. “Pretty pathetic,” he admitted, his normally lyrical tones still hoarse.

  She hesitated, then touched his arm, his sleeve wet and cold. “You went through a lot. But you’ll be okay. It’ll just take time for your magic to regenerate.”

  He nodded. “Remind me to kill Dulcet later.”

  “You didn’t—” She broke off as she realized he was shivering. Dulcet being alive was a problem for later. First, she needed to take care of Lyre.

  “Hold on,” she told him and hurried out into the hall where she’d seen a small closet. She selected a couple fluffy towels and returned to the bedroom. Shaking one out, she dropped it over his head and scrubbed his hair.

  “Clio,” he protested, voice muffled by the towel as he tried to push her away. “I don’t need—”

  “Shut up and sit there,” she ordered. “I watched you die three times. You owe me this.”

  Surprisingly, he let his arms fall and she finished rubbing the worst of the water out of his hair. She pulled the towel away, his hair mussed into a wild tousle and the damp locks appearing more golden than white-blond.

  Tossing the towel aside, she stood in front of him and pursed her lips. A sizzle of heat rose in her cheeks. Tamping down on her rising blush, she crouched and reached around him. She’d grabbed the hem of his dripping shirt and pulled it halfway over his head before he realized what she was doing. He grumbled something unintelligible as she dragged the garment off him and threw it in a corner with the towel.

  Trying hard not to gawk at the view she’d been imagining for weeks now, she unfolded the second towel and draped it over his back. Her face was burning despite her best efforts. She knelt again and pulled the towel over his shoulders, fighting to keep her hands from wandering across those sculpted biceps.

  “Why is that clock spell so dangerous?” she asked to distract herself. “Why did you say you would never—”

  He caught her wrists, stilling her movements.

  “Clio.” An odd, hollow note tinged his voice. His head was hanging down, his hair hiding his eyes. “Why did you steal the clock?”

  “‘Steal’ is a little harsh,” she complained. “I got it for you.”

  “Why?”

  “To … to save you.” She frowned in confusion. “It was the only way.”

  His hands tensed around her wrists. “But why … would you want to save me?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” She ducked her head to get a better look at him. “Lyre, you saved my life. You were dying because of me. I couldn’t let that happen.”

  He lifted his head and when his shadowed eyes met hers, the air vanished from her lungs. Utterly hypnotized, she couldn’t look away. Emotion tightened his features but she had no idea what he was feeling.

  “Why do you seem so bewildered?” she asked with a huff. “Of course I couldn’t let you die. I could never live with myself if I—”

  She was still talking when he hooked his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her mouth to his.


  She gasped as his lips melded against hers, then her arms wrapped around his neck as though they had a will of their own. His other arm slid around the small of her back and pulled her against his bare chest, his skin hot but the water droplets clinging to him cold. He kissed her, slow and intense, as soft tides of desire rose through her, growing stronger and stronger. Her mind was empty, all thought gone as sensation spiraled down her spine and gathered deep in her belly.

  A teasing touch of his tongue sent a shock of heat shooting through her, and she parted her lips without thinking. Then his tongue was in her mouth and her hands were tangled in his hair but it wasn’t enough. Her skin was burning and his arms were around her and she needed more.

  Cold air hit her lips as he jerked away, then listed sideways like he was about to pass out. She grabbed his shoulders and guided him backward onto the bed. Her breath was coming embarrassingly fast as she stood beside the bed, leaning over him.

  “Lyre? Lyre, are you okay?”

  His eyes squinted open, dark and hot and blurry with exhaustion. “Dizzy,” he mumbled.

  “Oh.” She swallowed hard, trying to regain control of herself. Her pulse was racing, and heat swept through her middle. She discreetly pressed a hand to her lower abdomen where it kind of felt like her insides had turned to bubbling lava—in a good way. “Holy crap.”

  He blinked his eyes open and pushed himself up the mattress so his head was on a pillow. “Holy crap what?”

  She rubbed her arms to dispel her gooseflesh, unable to tear her eyes away from his bare chest—all those dips and curves of muscle, sheathed in smooth golden skin and calling for her touch.

  She inched backward, fearing her self-control wasn’t what it needed to be. “Aphrodesia is scary stuff.”

  He blinked again, then a soft laugh rumbled through him. Another swoop in her center made her clench her teeth.

  “What’s so funny?” she demanded, her cheeks warming again.

  A crooked smile pulled at his lips. “Clio, I have no magic right now.”