Words of Power (Alice Gray Book 3)

62

The second that my bloody palm hit the charm carved into the doorframe, a trail of electric energy burnt its way through my veins until it exploded in my heart sending shockwaves through every fibre of my being.

The man-poppet that had been dragging me towards the door collapsed. Its hand, holding my ankle smoked as a foul smell of burning skin and chemicals lodged in the back of my throat making me wretch and splutter.

All the life left in the animated corpse was burnt away by the charge that ran from me to it.

So much for human science.

A wall of light connected every place that I'd carved a charm, shimmering with the colourful magic of my ancestors. The contamination of Azazel's crimson veins crept through the pure blue and gold of the Device and Gray energy, creating running fissures like an icy lake cracking under the weight of too many skaters.

The intricate crimson pattern inched continuously forward in diverging increments until it covered the shimmering walls of magic that encased the charmed circle like a web. Next it crawled upwards until it finally reached the ceiling, where the angels continued to pull each other apart.

The crimson web pulsed, calling to the angel blood that had fallen all over the floor and the furniture. The blood-rain had pooled, and the edges of the red puddles shimmered before trickling to the circumference of the circle that enclosed us.

The magic drank it up until the Minster was clean.

Next the blood that soaked my skin started to vibrate before sliding off on its own volition leaving a tingly sensation in its wake.

Not that I wasn't glad to be blood-free for a change, but the spectacle wasn't enough to dowse the worry that crept over me just as the blood left.

I'd seen this kind of magic before.

The Baroness and Mary had created a blood magic circle, their intention to use my blood and Becca's as the sacrifice. Their ritual had gone wrong, and when I'd plunged the Baroness's own dagger into her heart, all her powerful vampire blood had been sucked into the circle's magic.

Right before my father had called it back to himself.

The Baroness's blood had turned Jonathan into a vamp-witch hybrid. It had also sent him insane. If old vamp blood could do that, what the hell was angel blood going to do?

Too late to wonder now.

The flashes of colour overhead suddenly stilled, Azazel, Brad and Ralph finally sensing that something more important than their eternal power struggle in the sky was happening down here on the mortal level.

They dropped to the Minster's floor, sending the few rabid wolves that had escaped the gargoyles cowering back, their destroyed minds unable to bear the intensity of the angels' bright glory.

Brother Jerome's man-poppets stood motionless, cut off from their master's commands by the intensity of the blood circle.

Brad wrinkled his nose in distaste as he looked at one of the huge man-shaped monstrosities that was stitched together out of pieces that didn't fit. A misshapen stone creature held it in a neck-lock, frozen at the moment that its head was about to detach from its body.

They were all still now.

The stone gargoyles; back to their cold inanimate forms. God knew how they were going to get back to their rightful places on the outside walls of the Minster.

I didn't fancy explaining that one to the human world.

The lines of silver power that flowed through the channels of the Minster's ornate arches and geometric patterns had now run dry. The sequence of magic that had been built into the building and been stimulated by my silver life-force had succumbed to the blood-circle's greater power.

The air in the circle was hot and sharp, like the molecules held too much energy, and could no longer support the other elements that combined within it.

My head started to spin, so I focused inwards and tried to feel my silver life-force within myself. The magic writhed and squirmed, dense and heavy in my belly, but it didn't multiply and come to my aid.

One thing that I'd come to rely on was the greed of the silver magic. I'd been sure that it would knit together and feed from any other energy in the circle. I'd forgotten that angel energy was different, that it was too great to be converted by my silver witch life-force.

Unease agitated the churning magic in my stomach as I realised that my life-force was insufficient to control the blood-circle that I'd created. The angel blood had given this thing a life of its own, and even though it had helped me out with the immediate problem of being dragged down into the basement by Brother Jerome's pets, I had no idea what it was going to do next, or how I was going to disperse the energy.

Thomas appeared at my back, sensing my fear through the connection that I'd opened back up when I needed to wake him. He wound his arms around my middle to support me as I faltered at the magnitude of what I'd evoked.

His body against mine felt so right that it took me a second to remember his betrayal. Shrugging out of his hold, the cold absence of his arms was nearly enough to make me forgive him and wrap myself back up in his embrace.

Not quite though.

"Does anyone know how to break the circle?"

My voice came out small and squeaky. I expected some kind of reprimand from the patrician creatures that had ceased their violent business to marvel at what I'd created. But nothing came, and when I looked up to see why they didn't answer, all three sets of curious eyes were fixed on something outside of the barrier.

My eyes followed the direction of theirs. Terror clogged up my throat at the memory of the last time I had seen that billowing dust. Azazel, my angelic ancestor looked at me, his brows drawn together creating deep lines of worry on his beautiful face.

"What have you done, child."

Oh dear! Has Alice gone to far this time?