Chapter 33
A
sens of finality echoed when the wall rose to the ceiling. The myriads of locks, physical and mystical, clinked as they slammed home. Moira shivered. Conn let off so much heat. With his retreat, cold slithered around. She glanced at where he sat, seeing only a large wall of rock. No light or sound came from behind the barrier.
Grace threw back her head and laughed. “Conn seemed to help you out there by the casual way he went and sat down, Seventh. Your mate will most likely go looking for your cousin when this is over.” She smacked her lips together, the sound echoing through the silent room.
“My cousin follows coven law.”
“I plan on making your man my pet when we’re finished here.” Grace sauntered around the wide desk and down the stairs to lean against the opposite wall. “Seeing him beg might be the highlight of my year.”
Moira raised an eyebrow. “That is a man who doesn’t beg.”
Grace lifted a slender shoulder. “We’ll see. He should be quite grateful for the dutiful, boring, weak mate I send back to him.” Static electricity crackled along her arms, lifting tendrils of hair that had escaped the bun. “No more magic, no more enforcing for you, little Moira.”
Moira planted her feet securely on the worn stone of the floor. “That would be a problem, considering most men dislike boring women, Grace. Take you and Trevan for example.” She centered herself, searching for the power inside. “I mean, there had to be a reason the man moved on to Simone.”
Graced hissed out breath. “That was nothing ... just part of the plan. We wanted to use Simone to bring down Vivienne.”
“No, not true.” Moira forced a sly smile. “He was dumping you for Simone, without a question. Told her the full truth, asked her to help him lead the council. Only after she refused his offer did he throw her in a cell ... and return to you.”
Sparks flew from Grace’s fingertips. “You’re so young. We used Simone as a pawn and would’ve kept her to take down her mother. She was a temporary infatuation to
Trevan. I’ve been with him for years. We’ve been
planning
to take over the Nine for decades.”
“So you’re telling the truth now, are you?” Moira circled to the left, eyeing the energy crackling across the woman’s skin.
“Why not?” Grace shrugged, moving to the right, keeping pace. “The witnesses can only see ... not hear. No one will believe you after I take your powers. It’ll be just you being a poor loser.”
“Faking your own death—now that was brilliant.” Moira shook her head. “My guess is Trevan thought of that one ... I wonder if he actually planned to kill you and keep Simone.”
“You’re not smart enough to mess with my head.” Grace held her hands out a foot apart, orange light zinging between them. Static electricity crackled in the air.
Buggering orange light? Who the hell harnessed orange? Moira had seen blue, forms of purple, even some deep green. But never orange. She eyed the electricity.
Grace laughed. “A millennia provides a few extra powers, Seventh. Guess you should’ve waited your turn through the centuries.”
Moira lifted her gaze from Grace’s hand while allowing a small smile to curve her lips. “I am the Seventh, Grace. I don’t need extra powers. I have more than you can fathom.”
But did she? Sure she’d taken down many a witch misusing their power, but never anyone as old as Grace. Or as powerful.
“We’re about to find out. But I can tell you ... power grows through age. You know that. You’re barely a foal out of the stall.” Grace widened her hands, allowing the energy to grow into a pulsating, sunlike ball.
“Maybe.” With her mind, Moira shaped plasma into a ball at chest level, keeping her arms relaxed. The round form pounded, electric blue sizzling with audible pops. “Not only am I the Seventh, I’m a Kayrs mate. You’re delusional if you think I don’t get power from Connlan.” Her ball grew bigger, drawing particles from the surrounding air. “I’m giving you one chance here, Grace. Drop the fight, go out the door, and confess.”
Grace sighed. “Okay.” Her shoulders slumped. Then she pivoted and threw the ball at Moira’s head.
Moira ducked. Tips of her hair lit on fire. The ball ripped into the door, leaving a popcorn bowl–size dent in it. With a growl, she patted her hair to extinguish the fire. Bunching her legs, she jumped, side-kicking the blue energy toward Grace. Faster than normal light, it careened.
The witch dropped, rolling to the side and back up to her feet. Explosive energy smashed into the wall.
Grace’s hair straggled into her face, and she jerked the leather holder out of her sagging bun. Thick blond hair tumbled down. “I’m going to enjoy this.” A glowing softball appeared in her hand, and she threw it with a quick release of muscle.
Moira leaped sideways, only to be hit with another ball right in the leg. Agony burned through her skin.
With a cry, she went down.
In rapid succession, Grace belted ball after ball at her, ripping fiery pain wherever they landed.
The magical wall between them and the witnesses cracked, reshaping with a hiss.
Did Conn do that? Something told her he had ... his strength was unbelievable. Moira growled in pain and rolled to her knees. She swiped her hands toward the floor. A wall of pulsating blue shot up.
Grace continued to throw, the orange balls plopping into the shield, wavering and dropping harmlessly to burn the stone floor. Her eyes widened, and anger curled her lip.
Moira stood, her chin down, fury ripping through her system. Pulling both arms back, palms out, she shoved air toward the shield. “Attack.”
Like air hitting water, the protection coiled, gathered, and shot forward. The mass engulfed Grace like a hunting net, swallowing her in opaque energy and tying tight at her feet. She struggled, her mouth open in a silent scream.
Her eyes shifted to black. She shut them, stretching her neck, struggling to raise her hands. The enclosure webbed and wavered. Her skin glowed, her hair stood on end. Tightening her face, she pressed her palms together. With a crunch of a contained explosion, the shield morphed from blue to white.
It shattered.
Shards of sharpened energy ripped through the room.
One pierced Moira’s upper arm, digging deep. Blood welled. A second shot into her boot, far enough to cut her ankle. Pain cascaded from both entry points. She reached up and yanked the energy free of her bicep. Spent, the white turned to dust in her hand. Her intact boot pressed down and forced the projectile out of her other foot. “Nice.”
Grace smiled, panting slightly. “We’re merely getting started.”
A burst of energy slammed into Moira’s back, sending her sprawling across the hard floor. Her palms scraped against tiny pebbles, and her head bounced back on her neck. Heat licked her skin, the scent of burned fabric assaulted her nostrils. “Damn it. This is one of my favorite shirts.” She leaped to her feet, keeping her face calm. Fear threatened to wind through her fury.
Grace could create energy from a distant point, and direct it without being near. Moira hadn’t learned that trick. She needed to keep her back against the walls.
Grace puckered her lips. “Oops. Not enough power to create multiple energies from different graphic points, Seventh?”
“No.” Moira calculated her options. She needed an advantage. A tickle set up at the base of her skull. A whisper.
You know more than witchcraft.
Her muscles stilled. She eyed the stone barrier. Power pounded behind it. Conn was correct. She’d been limiting herself. Concentrating on the floor underneath Grace, she visualized the molecules, the atomic particles, and beyond to the sub level. She mentally slid them out of alignment.
An oval of black tar encircled Grace’s feet. The witch cried out, her body struggling to move while her legs stayed still. The thick liquid skimmed past her ankles, heading for her knees. She flung both hands down. The tar hardened.
With a growl, she blinked and the material shattered. Her eyes flew open, and she took two steps toward Moira. “Very nice. But not good enough.”
Moira shot forward in a bunching tackle, catching Grace around the waist. The women hit the ground hard. A ringing set up in Moira’s ears, and her stomach clenched. Grayness danced across her vision. Tired. She was so tired.
Summoning will, she pulled back a fist and punched Grace in the nose. Blood cascaded down the blonde’s face. A hiss of pain blew from her lips.
Grace grabbed Moira’s hair, yanking her down to the side. A knee to Moira’s rib cage exploded stars behind her closed eyelids. She gasped in pain. Weakness weighed down her limbs.
Damn it, brat. You wanted to fight. Now fucking fight.
Conn’s voice echoed with anger and determination.
Her limbs tingled. Her mind cooled. She rolled to her feet, palms out and shoulders back.
Grace spun the other way, pushing up, tossing bloody hair over her shoulder. Her eyes turned a fathomless black. Orange flames licked along her skin.
Moira took a deep breath. She opened her senses and drew in power from the stone, the oxygen, the light—and from Conn. Opening her heart, she yanked his energy into her body. Electric blue danced before her eyes, along her flesh. Her vision sharpened until she could see past the subatomic particles. Little universes in little universes.
The world disappeared. The sound of Grace panting for breath faded into nothingness. Moira became the center. Of everything.
She placed her hands together in the symbol of a prayer. Then she opened them, palms out, facing Grace.
Grace snarled, blood dripping over her lips. A ball of orange shimmered out of nothing to surround her, pulsing with anger, sharp spikes rippling along the edges. With a grim smile, Grace shot the mass at Moira.
Moira swept her arms to the side. Blue energy leaped forward, ripping into the orange, heat zapping around the room. Ozone choked the space. The earth rumbled. Sound billowed to deafening and lights flashed to blinding. So much sensation slammed into her at once, she wavered. Pain cascaded under her skin. Over her muscle. Like a river of needles.
She sucked it in, let the agony ebb and then fade to nothing. The energies continued to battle, blue and orange melding until a dingy brown morphed in the center of the chamber. Gathering her courage, shoring her strength, Moira bunched her muscles and leaped into the mass, straight at Grace.
Time stalled. Reality became a dream as pain ripped into her flesh, shredding her eardrums with an unholy screech.
Her heart stopped.
Her brain liquefied.
Then air.
She landed on the other side, calling on Conn’s strength. A high kick to Grace’s face sent the woman to the floor. Moira skidded on her knees toward her prey, her arm out, her concentration absolute. Her palm clapped down hard on Grace’s chest.
Power. Energy. Darkness. Moira pulled, drawing them in, fighting with forces beyond comprehension.
Grace’s eyes widened, and she grabbed Moira’s wrist. She snarled, yanking back, trying to dislodge the younger witch.
Moira shook her head, centered herself. “I. Am. The. Seventh.” She tightened her hold, reaching deep inside her enemy for all knowledge, all power. With one last burst of energy, she took everything Grace had. Stars exploded in front of her eyes. Her heart swelled with too much to handle. With a gasp, Moira fell back.
Conn reached her first.
The members of the Nine stood.
Moira’s limbs jerked. Livid energy ripped along her skin. She was overdosing on power. Cold, hard power. A quaking set up in her ankles and rippled to her head.
“Give me some,” Conn murmured, gathering her up, nearly enclosing her with his body.
She parted her lips, her teeth chattering. “Too much.”
He nodded, lowering his mouth to hers.
Warmth spread through her, shooting heat to combat the chilling cold. She moaned, leaning closer, letting fire slide along the ice. His tongue swept inside, bringing peace and safety. His nostrils flared as he drew in power, those amazing eyes turning nearly black. He blinked twice ... and lifted his head.
Moira took a deep breath. Her body still trembled, but the powers had balanced, the energy working to form a cohesive whole. With Conn’s help, she staggered to her feet to face the Coven Nine. Then she stepped toward the dais—on her own.
Grace remained prone on the stone floor, passed out cold. The guards would soon arrive to take her for medical attention.
Vivienne clapped the gavel on the stone. The resounding smack echoed around the chamber. “The challenge is done. Moira Dunne, you are the victor. Welcome to the Coven Nine.”
Moira relaxed her shoulders, fighting to keep her hands from shaking. “Thank you, Councilwoman Northcutt. Pursuant to Canon 2.4 of the Nine, I hereby transfer my seat on the council to my sister, Brenna Dunne.”