INVISIBLE FATE BOOK THREE: ALEX NOZIAK (INVISIBLE RECRUITS) Read online

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  Merge. Now.

  What the—he meant magic. If I merged with him, I could use his magic as well as my own. The ability to merge was not something I flaunted, or ever used without bad consequences. Now wasn’t the time to start. No way would I trust his help. I’d done so once and Van paid for it.

  Go away!

  I can help. Merge.

  As if. Last help he gave me he killed my brother.

  I sucked in a ragged breath, wiggled my arms to lessen the strain and ignored Bran’s voice. Focus on the spell.

  “Between dark and light.

  Between good and evil.

  Hide and shadow me.”

  “Harvey, you return to the cells. Take them apart. Andre, you and Beavis remain here.”

  My focus faltered. Someone actually called their son Beavis? Guess that meant Butthead was around here, too.

  “The rest of you, come with me.”

  Go. Go. Go.

  Alex—

  Away. I almost shouted the words out loud to Bran. Only an arrogant warlock would tempt fate by approaching a witch he’d wronged, and Bran was arrogant, through and through.

  Not my problem right now. My problem was escaping. Then I’d deal with Bran.

  A quick glance at the two guards left, their attention divided, one looking after his departed comrades, the other scanning the route back to the cells. Now what?

  I couldn’t hang here indefinitely. Especially as I heard a soft moan from below. Enough of a sound to catch the Weres’ fine hearing.

  “What was that?” One demanded, looking around as if scenting a ghost.

  Not likely, but they could scent a randy witch who hadn’t bathed since a battle with other Weres.

  A propulsion spell might knock them backwards, but Weres were resilient bastards. They’d be up in a heartbeat and coming after us.

  I knew. A binding spell. If I could raise my arms high enough to prop against the floor. Right elbow … almost there. Just a little bit more. Whew.

  Now left.

  Alex!

  I jerked. My right arm sliding away as my legs wind-milled beneath me.

  I was going down.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Bran knelt one knee in the rain-dampened grass of Versailles in front of the Le Petit Trianon, the three-story square building where the Council of Seven had met only days ago. It was here, where brown stains still marked the spot, that he’d last seen Alex.

  Her blood. The only link he had left to her.

  The Seeking spell was a long shot. Spell casting was not his forte, but he was powerful, and desperate enough, to give it a try.

  He almost landed on his backside when he connected with Alex. Nothing as easy as getting a clear idea of where she was, or even if she still lived, but a blast of her emotions. Fear. Desperation. Determination.

  It was the last that gave him the most hope. Whatever his witch was up to her glass-green eyeballs in, she was fighting back. Not that he was surprised. This was Alex.

  By focusing, ignoring the tourists giving him a wide berth, he caught glimpses. Darkness. The damp smell of stone. Fingers clawing rock.

  Merde, she could be anywhere in Paris. Or in another realm made of Earth elements.

  When her fingers began to slip a cry broke from him. “Hold on.”

  But would she listen? No, of course not. Alex had to do things her way.

  “Hold on,” he wanted to scream out loud again, but whispered instead as out of the corner of his eye he could already see a security man approaching.

  “Don’t let go,” he murmured, feeling Alex’s resistance. When he found her, wherever she was, he’d shake some sense into her.

  He could help her, but not at a distance. “Merge. Now.”

  Would she listen? Non! Witches ought to be drowned at birth, before they drove everyone around them crazy.

  “Sir?” An older male cleared his throat. “Do you need assistance?”

  Oui, he wanted to shout, but what the guard had to offer is not what Bran needed.

  He rose to his feet, brushing his hands together as if removing dirt. “Merci,” he replied, using every ounce of restraint he had not to thrust a mage-laced bolt on the hapless man. An action that would no doubt stop the human’s heart.

  Instead, he nodded toward the ground, and spoke in as strong an American accent as possible to reassure the ground’s guardian that he was a clueless visitor. “I was reviewing the sprinklers. I’m into sprinklers and … lawn ornaments. Back home. You ‘all comprehende? The water gizmos?” he mauled the words, watching confusion crease the other man’s face. “To water the grass. You understand?”

  The man started to shake his head in a negative, then decided it was not worth knowing what this crazy visitor was doing. “Non, do not touch l’herbe.” He shook one finger to emphasize the point. “Comprenez-vous?”

  Bran nodded, then added, “Have a nice day,” with a small wave, surprised he didn’t cringe as he uttered the words.

  The guard must have decided that even a little of a crazy American was enough as he backed away, shaking his head.

  Bran just wanted him out of harm’s way before he tried to reach Alex again. But the man marched with the speed of a snail.

  At last.

  A quick glance around. No one near. He willed the guard not to look over his shoulder before Bran knelt once again. Touching her blood helped the connection, fuzzy as it was.

  “Alex?”

  He could hear her frustration spike. Go away. More than frustration though—pain. She was hurting, badly enough she couldn’t hide it from him.

  Mule-headed, independent, that was his Alex. She’d hate knowing how much of her emotions he was tapping into.

  Including her urgency. What was she doing? Why? And, most importantly, where?

  There was a threat near her. Which was also Alex. How could one witch draw so much trouble?

  A sudden lurch spiked her emotions and his own. If he could just reach her.

  “Alex!” he actually muttered the word out loud, his hands clenched, his muscles tensed.

  But instead of her opening to him, she closed down. Down then out.

  She disappeared.

  But how?

  So focused on pushing his right hand into the grass, as if that alone would open his link with her, he didn’t hear the others approaching.

  Until it was too late.

  Simin fae.

  They’d found him.

  Chapter Twenty

  I spiraled through the darkness before landing with a splat against hard ground, knocking the breath out of me. The breath and a loud “Oomph!”

  The only thing that helped was the girl broke part of my fall.

  But what was the point of saving her if I killed her in the process?

  “What’re you doin’?” she grumbled beneath me. Not that I blamed her.

  “Sorry about that. Bad aim.”

  “No kidding.”

  Great, I’d saved a smart-ass.

  I’d barely rolled over to my knees, stumbling to my feet when I realized the other problem. The Weres.

  “You see anything?” came an angry voice. Most likely Beavis. I’d be angry

  my whole life if I had that name.

  “Too dark,” came the grumbled reply.

  Ha! I wanted to shout. Some Weres you are. Even I could see in the murky shadows. Which wasn’t a good thing because it looked like we were in a long, barrel-vaulted chamber. By the Mother Goddess, what now? A least it looked like the chamber continued for a distance. Maybe far enough to find a way back above ground.

  “It stinks,” mumbled my groggy companion.

  “Yeah, but so does getting nabbed by the Weres.” I kept my voice to an urgent whisper. “Keep it quiet.”

  “But you—”

  I grabbed her arm and gave a hard squeeze. She released a peep but at least she was quieter than she had been.

  One challenge at a time. The two Weres above.

  A bind
ing spell? To hold them just long enough for us to hightail it out of here.

  I rocked back on my heels, feeling every ache and bruise, as I thrust my hands upward. No longer worried about my voice carrying, I shouted the spell.

  “Air to wind, Earth to dust.

  Call forth, needs must.

  By water and by fire.

  Help sought most dire.

  Trouble to heed and trouble to find.

  Threat to cast behind.

  Compel. Coerce. Constrain.

  Hide away this bane.

  I thee call. I thee command.

  Seek thee quicksand.

  Threat be gone. Power be bound.”

  “What the—”

  Whatever Beavis was going to say stalled in his mouth as the spell took hold. Sweet! The fact the curved walls and ceiling of the tunnels helped echo the spell made for one powerful casting.

  At last, something going my way.

  Now to get the girl away from here before the Were woke from his bound state. I’d say we had a minute or two before his good buddy realized what was going on.

  I grabbed the girl’s arm again, my hold not so tight but just as insistent. “Come on, let’s put some distance between them and us.”

  “What did you do?” she whispered, glancing back at the frozen Were still visible through the opening. At least his head was.

  “Simple binding spell. Won’t hold him for long.” Especially if his buddy just thrust the jammed Were through the hole. Nasty but expedient. I didn’t want to scare the girl with that tidbit either, as I took off running through rock and rubble. Guess fear, confusion, and a constant state of fight or flight must be giving me endorphins I didn’t know I possessed.

  Way to go, me.

  Just wait, Bran. I could take care of myself and would take care of him. And soon!

  But even as determination echoed through me, I searched for him. And found nothing.

  Part of me wanted to gnaw in frustration. How like the warlock to harass me while I was hanging high and dry, but when I could actually use his help, for my own reasons, he disappears.

  But a small part of me flared into worry. That gut-clenching, don’t-let-anything-bad-happen to him kind of worry. If anyone was going to take a piece of him, it was going to be me. No avoiding what he’d set up.

  With a swift kick to my mental hiney, I glanced around, wondering where in the heck I was, other than deep beneath the city. The air was suffocating and humid, the only sounds the drip of water nearby and a pulsing rush farther away. Squeaks and claws skittering against rock warned me rats were around, all around, and by the Mother Goddess, I didn’t want to think about what we were stumbling through, though I was glad we hadn’t actually reached the sewers. Yet.

  Hadn’t I read once that Paris had the largest sewer system in the world, lengthwise? I’d been looking for information on the Mammoth Cave system in the US that was the longest in the world at almost four hundred miles. In comparison, the Paris sewers stretched about three times that length.

  Yeah, I focused on trivia when a panic attack threatened. Damp, stinky, dark places were not on my go-to-for-fun list.

  Getting out of here in one piece, now that was topping my to-do list, especially as shouting voices sounded from where we’d just been.

  Couldn’t a witch get a break?

  “Come on,” I murmured to the girl beside me who was huffing and puffing. We’d already jogged quite a ways. I should be on my knees, but was barely winded.

  What was up with that?

  Leave it to me to be complaining about what was working. It just gave me a creepy feeling that I was acting more like my brothers, than myself. I mean it wasn’t fair at all growing up with shifter brothers who could run, jump, endure and fight harder than I ever could. A sentiment I whined about all the time.

  So maybe I was channeling them? Yeah, I could live with that. Until I had more time to focus on it. Now I had to focus on a V in the tunnel system ahead.

  Crumbling stone walls in both directions. Overhead, rusty pipes to the right, a metal handrail to the left. Silence and stygian darkness in both directions. Which way to go?

  Eenie. Meenie. Miney. Mo.

  Left.

  Why? No logical reason, just my hearing warning me the voices were coming closer. The right looked an easier route so my convoluted logic said that’s the way the Weres would prefer to go. Wasn’t that Occam’s razor? Or was it something else? Desperation speaking?

  I veered toward the left, aware the walls were closing in. Not enough to slow us, unless I was leading us into a dead end.

  Deeper and deeper we trudged, noticing the slope of the tunnel seemed to be angling down, the air getting thicker, and older smelling. Like dry death.

  Keep going.

  I tucked my head, held my breath and hugged as close to the nearest side wall as I could, figuring the air might be better there. I used one hand along the wall to anchor me. My silent travel buddy was brushing against the walls, her foot crumbling small stones as we passed, but the sounds behind us seemed to be receding. Or my own hearing was being deafened by the closeness pressing all around us.

  Didn’t I remember the Teenage Ninja Turtles doing something in the Parisian sewers in one episode of the TV show? But I think they had a boat.

  Lucky reptiles.

  And what about the Phantom of the Opera? He had a boat or skiff, too.

  I was catching a pattern here that wasn’t helping me, being boat-less.

  The slope was getting steeper and steeper. Maybe that was why the metal rail was in place. Something to grab, though it smelled so strongly of rusted metal I didn’t think it’d hold any weight without capsizing.

  My shoulders were beginning to cramp from stooping. My lungs close to exploding from the dry dust as we trudged deeper and deeper into the dim light. I think my hands were bleeding from rubbing them against the rough walls. I could smell fresh blood but couldn’t see them clearly.

  Good news, I hadn’t stumbled on any crocodiles. Yet. Maybe those were just American urban myths.

  The tunnel took another sharp turn to the right and I stumbled over rubble beneath my feet. Rubble and slime.

  I think I had a nightmare that started like this once. Or maybe I was storing up material for future wake-up-in-a-cold-sweat dreams.

  The walls were still narrowing. Each step forward seemed it was squeezing us closer to both sides of the tunnel. Sweat dampened my waist, slipping cold against my skin beneath my cotton shirt as the humid heat intensified.

  Soon I’d be struggling to move forward. At least my companion wasn’t complaining, though I could hear her breaths chugging.

  Suddenly, the hand I was brushing against the wall hit an open space. Like a shelf, or pockmarks of space between crumbling walls. Then I touched it. Peered closer. Big mistake.

  A skull. Lots of skulls, staring out at us.

  Sweet Mercy, where were we?

  The catacombs. It had to be. Good news was my companion didn’t seem to notice where we were. Either that or the beejeebees had been scared out of her, leaving her struck dumb.

  Swallowing a lump of fear I paused, considering going back the way we’d just come. Skulls meant death and death increased the chances of spirits and magic. And magic with death and skulls often meant dark magic. Using the resting place of people who hid in terror gave power to black magic practitioners and the last thing I wanted was to go deeper into spaces where my magic was a liability, or an attraction to someone stronger than I was. Maybe the Weres were long gone, down the right hand tunnel.

  Maybe I was a delusional idiot who deserved to die in a cave-in.

  Enough of the pity party. Noziaks were not quitters. End of story.

  Besides, I thought there might be a small wedge of weak light not that far ahead.

  Far enough. I was panting by the time we drew closer, leaving the shelves of skulls behind. I was also shaking my head to keep salt-stinging droplets from my forehead dripping into my e
yes and blinding me.

  One step more.

  And one after that.

  The light was taking shape. It glowed more red than yellow. Like a demon’s eye, only square.

  What?

  A door. Above a series of worn steps carved from solid rock and smoothed by centuries. There, just past a pool of water where the tunnel widened.

  I wanted to shout hallelujah as the walls receded. Nothing else changed, just a hint more space, wide as a kidney-shaped pool and about twice as long, between those stairs and us. That whole trivia thing keeping me sane.

  This was do-able.

  I stepped forward but my foot found nothing. The girl behind me plowing into me and slamming me forward, her hands clutching my shirt.

  For the second time in less than an hour, the sick feeling of a free-fall engulfed me. Right before I dropped through space and my head went under.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  It all happened so fast. The splash. The girl smacking my shoulders as her weight pushed me deeper into the inky waters. A whirlpool of traction tumbling me round and round.

  I didn’t want to die. Not like this. Not now.

  Bran! The single word roared from my thoughts.

  But there was no response.

  Twisting. Twisting. Scrambling.

  Where was the girl? Where was I? Where was air?

  It seemed like hours but must have been only seconds before I popped up, my head escaping the water long enough to chug a breath.

  There. Dead ahead. A slight shelf of concrete to my right.

  The girl brushed past me. I grabbed her in a macabre water ballet, groping for her neck, to pull her head up. Best I could do was clutch her hair, tug it backwards so her face would raise up as I kicked toward the slab.

  I scraped against it, sure there’d be no skin left on my face as I pushed the girl out first then wrenched myself after her.

  The slab was wider then I’d thought. Which was good because there were no thoughts left as I twisted to my knees and did what any partial human would do after an unexpected dousing in who-knew-what-kind-of-water. I vomited. And vomited again, retching until all I had was dry heaves. Even that wasn’t enough.