Finally, she turned to them. “You’re right; there’s a containment spell here. It was cast by a dark practitioner. A very talented one.” She skimmed her fingers over the wall, brow furrowing. “It’s not a typical enchantment.”
“In what sense?” asked Knox.
Her gaze cut to him. “It was boosted by another spell, so the two are tied together.”
Knox frowned. “What other spell?”
“Glamor. What you see there isn’t real. The wall is fake. I can still untangle the threads of the incantations, but it may take some time.”
“We can wait,” said Knox.
“All right. I’ll get started.”
Harper wasn’t really sure what she’d expected Ella to do, but there was no lighting of candles, no drawing of symbols, no calling on the natural elements. She simply stood there, plucking, snapping, untying, twisting, and unknotting “threads” that they weren’t able to see. This was the difference between incantors and practitioners. The latter were able to practice magick, but incantors were born to use it. The magick was part of them.
While they waited for Ella to finish, Larkin updated Harper and Knox on everything they’d missed during their vacation—sometimes telepathically, since speaking of lair business around outsiders simply wasn’t done, even if said outsider was untangling spells for them.
Keenan reappeared, exasperation lined into his face, and announced to Harper that her cousin badly needed a keeper. When Harper had asked if he was volunteering for the job, he’d flushed and adamantly stated, “Hell, no.” And he’d been a little too adamant. Harper had to wonder why the guy preferred to live in the land of denial. She was just about to telepathically ask Larkin what Keenan’s “little issue” was when Ella spoke.
“I have one last thread to snap. Everyone needs to back up.”
With the exception of Ella, they all moved to the center of the basement. Satisfied, she then turned back to the wall and tugged sharply on an invisible thread. Just like that, the fake wall disappeared, revealing a space that was roughly thirty-five square feet … that featured a small bare, iron prison cell. Taking up so little room, it was no more than a cage, really. Manacles hung from its walls. Blood and other bodily fluids stained its floor. Misery, despair, and pain seemed to hover in the air.
“Jesus,” breathed Levi. “A lot of people died here. And they’re severely pissed about it.”
Harper’s eyes shot to him. “Their souls are still here? They’re talking to you?”
“Not in the way that you think,” said Levi. “I don’t hear full sentences. Just snatches of what they want to say. Someone brought them here—someone who promised them drugs and sex. But they were chained. Starved. Brutalized.”
“They were brought here to feed the incorporeal,” Knox realized. “Maybe Alethea and the Horseman thought that putting the hosts through pain would somehow make the incorporeal strengthen quicker—maybe it did.” Or maybe the fuckers had done it for the sheer pleasure of it, he thought. Alethea had always had a mean streak.
Harper rubbed at her nape. “When Isaiah said that people were brought here but he never saw them leave, I had a feeling they were for the incorporeal. It makes sense that Alethea and the Horseman would choose rough areas as their hunting grounds. There are so many drug addicts, prostitutes, and other people who wouldn’t be missed.”
“So, basically, Alethea holed up here while she pretty much nursed the incorporeal back to full strength.” Larkin bit the inside of her cheek. “Maybe she was also killed here. We speculated that she might have died in a basement.”
“If she did, her soul isn’t here,” said Levi.
Keenan frowned. “Why didn’t the practitioner cleanse the area? Why conceal it instead?”
“No amount of cleansing could completely wipe away so much violence and pain,” said Ella. “The containment spell kept everything in that little area from reaching your senses. The glamor helped reinforce the illusion. They were strong spells. The practitioner was talented.”
“But you’re better,” said Harper with a smile that Ella returned.
“I’m better,” agreed Ella.
Tanner stalked over to the prison door, nostrils flaring. “None of the blood in there belonged to anyone we know.” Moving away from the prison, he patrolled the area around it that had also been concealed by the spell. And then he tensed, cursing a blue streak.
“What is it?” asked Knox, voice sharp. “What do you scent?”
Tanner turned to face them. “I can smell Alethea here plain as fucking day.”
“It’s hardly surprising, since she was the one nursing the incorporeal,” said Knox.
Tanner gave a curt nod. “Yeah, but it’s not just her I smell. Someone else we know was here—their blood isn’t here, just their scent. And the scent isn’t heavy with pain or death. They weren’t a victim. They were with her.”
Knox took a step toward him. “Who?”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Back at the villa, Harper slapped her clothes into the suitcase. “I won’t believe it’s him, Knox,” she clipped. “I will not believe he’s the Horseman. How could he be? He’s been in Cuba for fucking years.”
“Or so we thought,” said Knox, voice soft. He stood a few feet away, giving her space, letting her reason it through. If he was honest, he was just as surprised as Harper to hear that Drew’s scent was in the basement, so he couldn’t blame her for finding it so difficult to absorb. Knox didn’t like the hellcat whatsoever, but he wouldn’t have suspected him of being the Horseman or party to anything that would harm Harper.
“What possible motivation could Drew have for wanting to see the US Primes fall?” she challenged.
“He wants me dead, Harper. In his mind, I stole you from him.”
“Yes, and you know that because you’ve literally been in his mind. If he was the Horseman, you’d already know.”
“That’s not how it works, Harper. The mind is a vast space. Trillions of webs of memories, thoughts, views, wants, likes, dislikes, regrets, goals, et cetera. I didn’t root through his mind as a whole, I only explored the web of thoughts and memories he had that were related to you. Still, I’d like to think that I’d have seen some indication of him being the Horseman if he truly was.”
“But you didn’t, did you?”
“No, but why else would he have been with Alethea? What other reason could he have had for being in that house? He wasn’t killed there, Harper. He wasn’t used to feed the incorporeal. Either he was working with her, or he had some other reason for going to that house. Whatever the case, he was with her. I picked up how badly he wants me dead—”
“It’s one thing to want to see you dead. But why take all the other Primes down too?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he’s bitter that Jolene wouldn’t make him Prime—I called her a few minutes ago; she said he told her long ago that he wanted to take her place one day, and he’d seemed upset when she made it clear that she wanted you to replace her.”
It had made Knox wonder if just maybe that was part of why Drew had wanted Harper for himself so badly—as her mate, he would have then also been her co-Prime if she’d taken Jolene’s place. It could even be that the reason he’d waited to claim Harper was that he’d been waiting for her to be declared Prime first. But Knox decided not to say that, since she was hurting enough.
Shooting him a look of impatience, she snorted. “Knox, practically all demons want to be a Prime. We’re typically power-hungry creatures.”