will no' allow her to put herself at risk.'
'Sebastian saved your life—and he spared you from an unspeakable fate. You owe him a debt.'
MacRieve's gaze flickered over Mariketa and changed color with some fierce emotion. Hardening his expression, he turned to Conrad. 'No' a debt like this.'
Mariketa turned to Néomi on the cot. 'Would you want this, honey? A mortal life?'
When she nodded weakly, Mariketa stood and crossed to MacRieve. Gazing up at him, the witch said, 'I think I can do this. I have to try. I mean, look at the vampire.'
Néomi had just gone unconscious—Conrad knew he appeared on the razor's edge when MacRieve scowled.
'We're running out of time,' Conrad grated.
Mariketa pulled MacRieve farther to the side. 'You said that if I married you, you would never get in the way of my career. This is spectacularly getting in my career's way. Do you know how good this would look on my résumé?'
'I also promised your parents and your coven that I would no' let you get lost in the mirror again. You're no' ready yet, lass! It's too soon after... that last time.'
'Bowen, this has sat ill with me since I did the spell on Néomi. And I know you hate Cade, but he and his brother did save my life. He's been calling for my help with this. If I save Néomi, I'll be able to repay my debt to them.' She took one of his hands in both of hers. 'Just believe in me. I can do this. I feel like I can.' When he clenched his jaw, evidently a sign of defeat, she smiled. 'Will you get my Big-Spell gloves?'
Muttering in Gaelic, he scuffed back into the mirror.
While MacRieve was gone, the witch told Conrad, 'The cost is going to be high, vampire. I'm gonna need ten mil for this one. I accept real estate, stones, or bullion. Or stock certificates from the twenties that are exponentially undervalued. And you have to vow to the Lore to pay it, since we don't have time for contracts.'
'Agreed, ten million,' he answered easily. 'I vow to the Lore to pay it. But you must agree to keep this secret. If the demons know, they will only come after her again.'
'I'm bound by the mercenary code to keep our dealings confidential,' she said, but she was clearly troubled, conflicted about hiding this from her demon friend, a demon who'd apparently saved her life.
'Good, then. For the record, witch, I think you can do this, too.'
Her expression briefly turned grim. 'Just be ready to make hard choices, Conrad, in case I can't.'
Still surly, MacRieve returned with a strange pair of fingerless gloves. The palms looked to be lined with some kind of bendable mirror.
As Mariketa donned them, she took a deep breath, seeming to shake off her disquiet. She told Conrad, 'I like Néomi—I'd have tried this for half that amount.'
'I love Néomi—I'd have paid anything you could dream up.'
'Oh, snap! Live and learn, eh? Okay, one vampire's Bride brought back from the grave.' She slapped her gloved hands and rubbed them together. 'Let's put the fun back in funeral!'
40
Mariketa faced the mirror, tilting her head. 'This is the first time I've really looked at my reflection in months.' To the Lykae, she said, 'No wonder you love me. Could I be any cuter?'
'You will no' charm me from my apprehension, so doona bother,' MacRieve said. 'You're tae pull back if you feel anything amiss. Do you ken?'
She nodded. 'Got it. Now, I need two mirrors standing on both sides of me, stat.'
Conrad eased away from Néomi. 'The broken mirrors on this wall are all there is.'
'Grab them. Bring them to me.'
He ripped a sizable shard from the wall in the studio. Blood from his fingers ran along the edges as he shoved the jagged tip through the wood floor until it stood upright. 'Will this work?'
Gazing at his blood, she absently said, 'It'll have to. Do the second one.'
He repeated the process. As she continued staring at the blood, her eyes went wide as if with realization, before they narrowed on the streak.
'Should I clean that?'
She hesitated for long moments. 'Leave it,' she finally said with a swallow.
Conrad grated, 'Witch, what is it?'
She averted her face, as if with guilt. 'We're ready.'
Once Mariketa was nearly enclosed by the mirrors, she made her hands into fists and closed her eyes. When her lids slid open, her eyes were... mirrors themselves, gleaming and reflecting everything she gazed upon. Her fingers uncurled and light glowed from one of her gloved palms.
Conrad hurried back to Néomi, but she was fading. The more Néomi's form dimmed, the brighter the light in the witch's palm grew.
Just as Mariketa's toes left the ground, a language even Conrad didn't recognize began to spill from her lips, but he could sense that her words were throbbing with power. With one hand, she made a fist around the light, as if physically grabbing onto Néomi's spirit. 'She's going to disappear now,' Mariketa told him, never glancing from the mirror.
When Néomi's hand vanished from his own, madness threatened. Her robe, nightgown and the ring he'd given her remained on the cot. He swallowed. Keep it together.
He took the ring, determined to see her wearing it once more.
'Found her grave.' The witch pointed the forefinger of her other hand down and stirred. 'I'm beginning the body.' Again and again, she circled that finger, seeming to be meeting great resistance. The spell began taking a toll. She grew out of breath, nearly hyperventilating.
'You can do this, Mariketa.' Conrad swallowed. 'Bring my Néomi back to me... .'
The light in her hands intensified even more. The air grew heavier, ominous. As if agitated by the tension, creatures began skittering in the walls surrounding them.
MacRieve peered around him. 'This does no' feel right. As if we're doing something we ought never do!'
'Shut up, MacRieve,' Conrad snapped, though he'd felt the same atmosphere, threatening, like they were challenging a force far greater than they—and might be crushed for their audacity.
She began chanting once more. The light was building, building... . She shoved her hands out, seeming to fuel even more magick into the spell. The house began quaking.
'Have to... break through. Need to age... '
Age?
More unintelligible chanting, louder and louder, until she was practically screaming the words. The studio windows exploded. Papers flew in a tempest. 'Bowen, I'm... losing it!'
'Mariketa!' With a roar, MacRieve lunged for her, trying to heave her away from the glass. But the Lykae couldn't budge the small female from the mirror's hold.
The silver glaze of her eyes darkened, as if ink flooded inside them. They began to turn wholly black. 'This is bad!' she cried.
'No, Mari, doona do this!' He cupped his hand over her eyes, but the skin of his palm began to burn away in two distinct holes.
'Oh, Hekate, no!' she screamed.
The light in her hands exploded like a bomb, so intense it briefly blinded Conrad. 'What was that?' he yelled. 'What is happening?'
Mariketa gasped for breath. 'Néomi... embodied.'
He yanked his head around. 'Where is she? Tell me!'
'There's a problem! It—' Her body stiffened, unmoving. She stared unblinking at the mirror.
'Ah, God, no' again, Mari!' MacRieve used his other hand to shield her eyes, until two smoking holes appeared in that hand as well. He snatched at her again, but even with his strength, he couldn't wrest her from that spot.
