Chapter Twenty-Four

Blake stepped into the fray in the wake of Calypso’s ominous words. He put his hand on Mel’s shoulder. In addition to the electric current surging from the Cabochon, her body trembled.

“What?” Her voice was small despite the power contained within her. The demon had gone dormant while the human suffered.

“You can’t sustain the power of the Cabochon. It’s hard enough even for demons. That’s one of the reasons I took up witchcraft, so I could get used to handling power and channeling it. I didn’t want to turn into what the old demon queen had become.” Calypso’s shoulder’s sagged. “You’ve got another day at most before the power surges kill you.”

Melodie only nodded, bobbing her head slowly while she chewed her bottom lip. Her gaze seemed focused on something a million miles away.

Anger bubbled in Blake’s gut. Why on earth would Calypso have withheld a spell that could save Melodie’s life? He wanted to shake the witch, to squeeze a logical answer out of her alabaster pale throat. “We can’t waste any more time then. Helena, are you prepared to do the spell now?”

She glared at him but nodded. He’d take time later to feel remorse for the way he’d used her. She’d told him, upon discovering his true motives for attempting to seduce her, that demons had emotions too, poignant, all-consuming ones, just like humans. He hadn’t believed her then, but her eyes still held the depth of the feelings he’d played fast and loose with in an attempt to get what he wanted. She’d cared deeply for him, more deeply than he’d been capable of caring for her or for anyone at the time.

“I have everything I need.”

“If we do it here, with you and me present, the Cabochon could go into one of us,” Calypso said.

Helena transferred her burning stare to her cousin. “Are you afraid it might be me? Don’t worry, Cal. I don’t want the power. I never did. It was always meant for you, and I wouldn’t stand in the way of the natural succession of things.”

“What I meant was, if we can’t contain the gem, if one of us absorbs it, Blake may never get free.”

Blake shifted his position to face Calypso. Beneath her Goth makeup, she probably looked a lot more like Helena than he’d first realized. No wonder he’d felt an odd sense of familiarity when he’d first looked into the witch’s eyes. He crossed the room and put his hands on her shoulders now, letting the weight of them settle on her. “Why does it matter to you? I’ve never been more than a witch hunter in your estimation. If none of this had happened with Melodie, you would have never given me any more consideration than the old Domaré queen had.”

“You’re right. I wouldn’t have, because I never realized that after Percival died, the curse stopped being about punishment and started being about revenge. If we don’t break the curse, it won’t just be demon blood on my hands.”

Blake wasn’t quite sure he believed in Calypso’s altruism, but he couldn’t dispute it. The bottom line was Mel’s life depended on removing the Cabochon from her immediately. He never thought anything would be more important to him than his own freedom, but right now, his only concern was her survival.

He dropped his hands and stepped back. “Do the spell now. We’ll worry about the Cabochon later, when Melodie’s all right.”

 

 

More than an hour later, Mel sat cross-legged in the center of a circle of salt Helena had drawn on the floor in Blake’s kitchen. Fat white pillar candles burned at five anchor points around her, increasing the already elevated temperature in the room.

Mel felt a little foolish and a bit like a museum exhibit with everyone gathered around, staring down at her. Palmer and Calypso looked anxious, and Helena was all business, bustling around at the stove where a strange-smelling potion boiled in a small pot.

Only Blake’s whiskey-colored gaze held sympathy. Everyone else seemed intent only on results, and it was those results that scared Mel the most. Once the Cabochon was removed from her, what would happen to Blake? Did they dare try to destroy the gem themselves?

Palmer had retrieved a ball-peen hammer from Blake’s basement just in case, but Mel had noticed Calypso eyeing the tool suspiciously. Would the rightful demon queen give up the source of her power so easily? Mel hated doubting her friend, but if she really allowed herself to think about it, she feared there might be nothing inside Calypso that honestly resembled the woman Mel thought she knew.

“This is ready.” Helena’s announcement had everyone shuffling around the circle, taking up their pre-assigned positions. Blake reached out to squeeze Mel’s shoulder, but Helena intercepted him.

“Don’t break the circle. Once the gem is out, we have to be very careful not to touch it. Now that we know a human can absorb it, none of us should go near it.”

“What happens if we just shatter it?” Palmer asked, hefting the hammer. Calypso winced at his question but didn’t respond.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. The release of power could be deadly. We should leave the gem here inside the circle until the Witches’ Council can come for it. They’ll have to decide the safest way to proceed.”

While Helena spoke, Mel stared at Calypso. She wanted desperately to believe that Cal hadn’t known all along how to help her. Now she’d begun to wonder if the mysterious and strangely absent Witches’ Council even existed. “Does that mean I have to stay inside the circle too?” Mel asked.

“We can cut you out later,” Helena said.

“Cut me out?”

“With the athame. We’ll create a doorway so you can walk out of the circle.”

Mel’s sudden panic subsided, and she took a deep breath. “Okay. That doesn’t sound so bad. I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Good.” Helena crouched in front of Mel, careful to remain outside the salt barrier. She addressed the room, but her eyes bore into Mel’s. “Listen to me, everyone. Whatever happens, we can’t break the protection circle. We can’t touch the Cabochon—any of us, for any reason. Do you understand?”

Mel nodded. It seemed reasonable enough. Mel had no intention of ever going near any blue gems again. In fact she would probably chuck all her jewelry in the trash as soon as she got home, just to be on the safe side. She glanced around the circle. “Got it, guys?”

“Yes,” Calypso and Palmer answered together, but Blake hesitated.

“Is this safe for Melodie?”

Helena rose, still not taking her eyes off Mel. “It’s magick. Of course it’s not entirely safe, but it’s the only way. Also, bear in mind, it won’t be painless.”

Mel swallowed hard. Up until that moment, she’d been pretty confident. Now a faint shiver skittered down her spine. Her control was slipping, and her blood ran hot and cold beneath her skin. If they didn’t hurry, she’d break out of the circle and just run away into the night. The allure of the shadows grew stronger each moment they wasted talking. “Can we just get started, please?”

Helena turned off the burner under the pot and waved away a cloud of white steam that rose under the range hood. She’d set a teacup on the counter next to the stove, and now she poured the contents of the pot into the cup. “Give me the athame.” She gestured to Calypso, who retrieved a black-handled knife from the kitchen table.

Helena nodded, and Calypso muttered an incantation while walking around the circle three times, counterclockwise. When she returned to her starting position in front of Melodie, she raised the knife and sliced the air above the line of salt.

Mel could have sworn a faint shimmer trailed behind the dull blade as the witch opened a portal in the magickal barrier. Through the invisible opening, Helena handed Mel the steaming cup. “Drink it all.” She pulled her hand back out of the circle, and Calypso reversed her movement with the knife, closing the breach.

Mel stared into the warm liquid and recalled Cal’s putrid “calming potion”. This concoction looked like coffee and smelled a little like licorice and…dirt, but it was an improvement over the other one, nevertheless. “I usually take cream and sugar in my potions.” She chanced levity, but no one laughed. Blake’s face might as well have been granite. Not a single muscle moved, even the one in his jaw that sometimes twitched when he was annoyed or frustrated. “I guess this will have to do.”

She sipped…prepared for another horrible flavor to slide down her throat, but surprisingly, the demon brew wasn’t half bad.

While Melodie concentrated on reaching the bottom of the cup, Helena instructed everyone to hold hands. Out of the corner of her eye, Mel watched Blake slip his fingers into Helena’s palm. The demon in her stirred. He belonged to her, not Helena. She couldn’t allow…couldn’t abide…

The chanting began just as her thoughts disintegrated into chaos. Anger and jealousy collided with an overwhelming need to flee the scene, but a heaviness settled in her limbs that left her nearly immobile.

Latin words delivered in a tribal cadence lulled her after a moment, and her eyelids drooped. Maybe if she took a little nap, she could sleep through the pain Helena had warned about. With her eyes closed, she slurped the last drops of the potion and let the cup tumble from her fingers, which tingled a bit, just as her lips and her tongue did. “Mmm…this stuff has a kick to it.”

A calm settled over her then, coupled with the faint buzz of the Cabochon. She’d grown used to the odd sensation beneath her skin but not the itchiness. Her throat felt scratchy now that she was without something to drink. Maybe she could ask Helena for another quick sip…?

Before that thought was fully formed, knives twisted in Mel’s gut. The pain hit her like a sledgehammer, and she doubled over with a vicious cry. For the first time, Mel knew exactly where the Cabochon was. The amorphous gem seemed to have turned solid in her belly. She wrapped her arms around her middle, and the added pressure on the hard lump beneath her skin only made the agony worse.

Through the white-hot pain, Mel vaguely registered Blake reaching for her and Helena and Palmer holding him back. She screamed at the sensation of something sharp trying to work its way through her flesh. No one had mentioned that the Cabochon would actually tear its way free of her body. If she’d known that…

“Melodie, concentrate. Listen to my voice,” Calypso crooned to her. Soothing and deep, her voice gave Mel some focus through the haze. “This won’t take long. I promise.”

“Uh…” She tried to respond, but the words wouldn’t form. Her tongue seemed to fill her mouth, leaving no room for sounds. Beneath her shirt, her stomach bulged as the Cabochon seemed to shift position. Would it pop out of her like some alien parasite, leaving her with a gaping wound while it scuttled away in a trail of blood? “Ughod.”

“Melodie, hold on. You can get through this.” Blake’s voice came from somewhere very far away.

“Ikhant…ikhant.” Tears blinded her, and her mouth began to water, heralding a bout of nausea. She clamped her tingling hands over her distended stomach and swallowed hard, hoping to clear the knot that seemed to block her esophagus. Above her, Blake struggled with Palmer.

“Get him out of here,” Helena ordered. “Don’t let him break the circle.”

Furniture scraped on the linoleum, and a chair toppled with a crash. Calypso hurried to right it and move it away from the still unbroken barrier of salt.

Mel keened, and beneath her trembling fingers, the Cabochon rolled under her stretched skin.

“How much longer?” Calypso asked. “She can’t take much more.”

“Soon.” Helena crouched before the circle again, and Mel glared at her through eyelids she could barely keep open. “As soon as she stops breathing.”

“What?”

Mel tried to concentrate on Calypso and Helena screaming at each other. The demon cousins seemed so far away now, but she heard Helena’s final words with perfect clarity. “You know as well as I do, there’s no way to get the Cabochon out of her while she’s alive.”

 

Blake heard Helena’s words too, and every raw nerve ending in his body caught fire. He threw himself toward the kitchen doorway, but Palmer placed his hands on Blake’s chest and heaved him backward.

“We’ll bring her back,” he said, bracing for a linebacker’s tackle. “Helena has a resurrection spell.”

“A demon resurrection spell?” Blake roared. This was not happening. He couldn’t lose Melodie now. “How stupid are you, Van Houten?”

“Don’t worry. Helena told me how it works. She can bring Mel back to life.”

“Yes, as a thrall to the demon who resurrects her. She’ll be Helena’s slave.”

“No—”

“Yes!” Blake put all his strength into moving Palmer out of his way. He grappled with Golden Boy in the living room while Melodie’s screams of agony echoed from the kitchen. “You of all people should know, never trust a demon.”

“I didn’t know she was a demon. She—”

“Exactly.” Blake swept his opponent aside and feinted. They jockeyed position for a moment and came up chest to chest.

“I can’t let you in there, DeWitt. You’ll ruin everything.”

Blake backed down. He hung his head and sighed. “You’re right, but how can I just stand here and listen to that?”

Palmer flicked a glance over his shoulder, and that’s when Blake hit him. The crack of his knuckles against Palmer’s square jaw reverberated up his arm. The All-American went down like a sack of cement, moaning while Blake shook the numbness out of his aching fingers. “Sorry. I didn’t have any pixie dust handy.”

Without remorse, he stepped over Palmer and vaulted into the kitchen.

Helena and Calypso didn’t bother to intercept him. They let him rush to Mel’s side and break the circle as he scooped her up in his arms. “Is it done?” he demanded, cradling her limp body. Her skin was splotchy, her eyes appeared swollen and bulgy and her breath came as a harsh rattle from somewhere deep in her chest.

“No. Something’s wrong. She’s supposed to pass out, to stop breathing, but this isn’t normal,” Helena said. Her voice shook.

“No human has ever possessed the Cabochon. Maybe it works differently,” Cal said. She leaned over Blake’s shoulder and stared at Melodie.

Blake ignored the witch’s scrutiny. “Melodie? Lass, can you hear me?” Blake placed her flat on the floor and knelt over her. He patted her face and lifted one of her limp hands. Her fingers seemed unusually thick, almost bloated. She gurgled something at him and gaped like a fish, struggling to draw in air through her mouth.

Her swollen tongue lolled. “She’s having a reaction!” Blake hauled her back to a sitting position. “She’s going into shock. She must be allergic to something in the potion.”

“Like what?” Helena and Calypso gathered close as if staring at Mel while she suffocated to death might somehow give them answers. Palmer stumbled in from the living room, clutching the side of his head. When the demon hunter saw Melodie, he raced across the room and knelt on the other side of her shivering body.

“She has food allergies. What did you put in the potion?” Blake said.

Helena jumped up to survey the spread of items she’d set out on the counter. “All the ingredients are here…which one? Which one?”

Blake ignored her panic. “In her purse, she has one of those rescue pens. Palmer? Can you get it? I think it’s in the bedroom.”

“I’ll be right back.” Palmer lurched out of the kitchen, and Blake tilted Melodie’s head back, hoping to clear an airway in her constricted throat.

Calypso tore through the items Helena had arranged on the counter. “There’s nothing here. Mel’s allergic to nuts and…oranges I think. There’s none of that here.”

Helena gasped. “The bottle on the end. It’s hazelnut oil. But there’s only a drop of it in the potion for flavor.”

“A drop is enough…” Blake patted Melodie’s swollen cheek. “Come on, lass. Stay with us. Fight it! Calypso, call 911, now.”

Before Calypso reached the phone, Melodie began to convulse. Tremors racked her body so violently that Blake almost lost his grip on her. Her swollen eyes flew open, and she gaped. For a moment, her breathing sounded like sandpaper on glass—then it stopped.

The sudden silence froze everyone in the room, and Blake’s heart seemed to collapse in his chest. After ten years in the dark, he could not allow the only light in his life to die in his arms.

He shook her, more out of fear and desperation than anything. Then he placed her flat on the floor again with her head just outside the salt circle and her body within it and cupped his hand around the back of her neck.

He was no expert at CPR, but he could at least keep her breathing until an ambulance arrived. He was about to begin when Palmer flew into the room. He held the fat, pen-like object Blake had found in Mel’s purse.

“Take her jeans off,” Calypso instructed as she dialed the phone. She reached for the pen and shoved the receiver into Helena’s hands. “Hold this and give me the pen. Mel showed me how to use it once.”

Palmer and Blake slid Melodie’s jeans down her legs, exposing her thighs. Calypso yanked the safety cap off the epinephrine dispenser and jabbed the dull end of it against Melodie’s flesh. Blake heard a faint click as the pen activated, releasing the hidden needle and pumping the rescue drug into her ravaged system.

He waited only the space of one breath before resuming CPR, and after one puff of air through her blue-tinged lips, all hell broke loose.

A brilliant, cold light flared from Melodie’s midsection, and her body went completely rigid in Blake’s arms. The flash blinded him, and the noise of it left his ears ringing. The windows rattled, and something thumped hard against the front door.

“Fremlings—” Calypso muttered. “They’re swarming.”

“Don’t touch it!” Helena’s reverent words drew everyone’s attention. At first Blake had no idea what she was talking about; then he saw it. The Cabochon tumbled onto the floor next to Melodie. The sapphire blue gem glowed with a pulsating inner light. His salvation finally lay within reach, yet all he could think about was the woman he held gasping in his arms.

Gasping.

Melodie’s body trembled now, but at least she was breathing, great desperate gulps of air. He cupped her face and cradled her against him. “It’s okay now, lass. You’re gonna be fine.”

“Back away!” Helena pulled Palmer away from the circle. He scrambled for the discarded hammer, but the two Domaré women jumped him and wrestled it from his grasp.

“You can’t destroy it!” Calypso bodily held Palmer back from retrieving the hammer. “Not now. Let it be.”

“Get Melodie out of the circle, and don’t touch the gem,” Helena instructed Blake. “If you accidentally touch it—”

“I won’t touch it.” Blake scooped Melodie up in his arms. Though still limp, she looked better. Her breathing came in short pants now, and her eyes were mere slits, but her gaze was focused on him, and she seemed coherent. “It’s okay, Melodie. Help’s on the way. You’re going to be okay.”

She croaked his name, and he shushed her. “Don’t worry about me, angel. I’ll be just fine.”

They vacated the kitchen, leaving the Cabochon pulsing and alone in the salt circle.

“What are we going to do about the Fremlings?” Calypso asked. She peered out the living room window.

“The sirens will take care of them.” Palmer swept the curtains aside. The red and blue flash of emergency vehicles illuminated his features as Blake placed Melodie on the couch. “The ambulance scared them away, but they won’t stay gone for long with the Cabochon lying around like that. We need to do something with it.”

The doorbell rang then, and Palmer dashed out of the living room to let the EMTs inside. A moment later, two ambulance attendants and a police officer surged into the room. They crowded around the couch, making it clear by their actions that everyone else should stay back and give them room to work.

Blake caught the odd glance that passed between Helena and Calypso right before the rescue personnel started firing questions at him. He answered them dutifully and squeezed Mel’s still-puffy fingers as they settled her on their portable stretcher and wheeled her toward the front door.

She smiled through the plastic oxygen mask they’d placed over her face, and Blake fell into step behind the entourage.

Calypso stopped him before he crossed the threshold. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To the hospital. Melodie shouldn’t be alone.”

“It’s almost dawn.”

Those words halted his forward momentum, but his gaze followed the stretcher down the front stairs. His neighbors had gathered at the curb, watching the EMTs load Melodie into the ambulance and no doubt wondering what he’d done to the poor girl.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen at sunrise, but I know you won’t remain human.”

Blake cursed and stalked back into the living room, where his sullen gaze met Palmer’s.

“I’ll go with her,” the demon hunter said. Blake might have argued, but all things considered, Van Houten was the only logical choice. Blake waved him off. “Tell her I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“I will.”

“Thank you. And I am sorry about the sucker punch. You saved her life. I owe you for that one.”

“Yeah, you owe me, but not for saving Mel. We’ll talk about it later, when we’re sure she’s okay,” Palmer said before hurrying out the front door.

Exhausted, Blake sank to the bowed couch cushions and lowered his head into his hands.

Now Melodie was out of the equation. He should have been relieved—and he was—but his problem remained. What if the Witches’ Council still refused to break the curse?

A delicate hand rested on his knee, and he glanced up into Helena’s ocean blue eyes. “You care about her, don’t you?”

“It doesn’t matter. Until the curse is broken, what have I got to offer her or anyone?”

“They’ll find a way. The witches know the curse has gone on long enough.”

“And what about the Domaré? Will they agree to give up the source of their power?”

“The Domaré won’t have a choice if the witches make a decision. They’re more powerful than we are, but we’re not weak. We’ll find ways of holding our own, even without the Cabochon to help us.”

“I’ll believe in the witches’ power when someone uses it to break the curse. Until then, it’s all just empty promises.” Blake looked away. Staring into Helena’s eyes reminded him of his darkest hours, the times when he was desperate enough to hurt another living soul to save himself. That all-consuming quest for freedom no longer controlled his actions, but the shame of it lingered.

The soft sound of the door closing interrupted his melancholy thoughts. Both he and Helena glanced toward the kitchen. The insistent blue glow of the Cabochon had ceased, and the doorway was dark.

Their eyes met for a moment; then they both bolted across the room. In the kitchen, the circle of salt still lay unbroken, but the white candles, now extinguished, lay on their sides, anchored to the floor by puddles of hardened wax.

Calypso was gone. And so was the Cabochon.