Salvation's Kiss (Tales Of Mython Book 1) by Kathryn Jayne (old books to read .TXT) 📗

There was a menace in his voice that caused even Jack’s hairs to stand erect. “Let’s do this quickly. Every moment wasted increases the chance we won’t find her.” There was the weight of something left unsaid to the sentence, and Jack knew each one of them heard the unspoken concern.

Jack nodded, his feet moving of their own accord, guiding him through the stone circles until he stood upon the quartz stone, his sketchpad clutched in his trembling grasp. Alex motioned that he should sit, while positioning William just outside the stone horseshoe. He leaned in close, his deep voice an inaudible mumble as he whispered something into William’s ear that made him visibly pale as his posture deflated.

“Okay, Jack, now all you need to do is ring the bell, close your eyes, and focus on Ashley. I’ll guide you,” Alex promised.

Jack glanced around and spotted a rope trailing across the floor to the stones. As he pulled it, he felt the smooth movements of pulleys before a bell, somewhere behind him, chimed.

Closing his eyes, Jack allowed Alex’s voice to wash over him, following his every instruction. He thought of Ashley, bringing her image into his mind. His body grew both light and heavy, and it was then that the pain started. It was subtle at first, a building heat, starting at the crown of his head and progressing to his root chakra. With each passing second, the heat became more intense, burning, smouldering until all he could feel was the pain. Alex’s voice had been lost as the pressure intensified. He felt as if his forehead were spitting open. Agony enveloped him, dragging him into a world where it was the only thing in existence. He saw the odd flicker of an image trying to appear, but the shredding sensation radiating from within was too great for any clarity.

Just as he felt he could take no more, as the need to withdraw away from the barrier of pain he tried to force himself through became too great, and he felt his body screaming in surrender while the protective light he had imagined surrounding him turned into darkness, his body turned ice cold and everything stopped. Light as air, free from the burden of pain, he found himself looking down upon an unfamiliar building. He had the sensation of being drawn through its walls into a room forged from mirrors, yet he cast no reflection.

Shackled to the far wall, her arms above her head, was Ashley. Her rust-coloured hair had been styled to perfection, drawing attention to both her pale complexion and her delicate facial features. She was wearing a burlesque dress that fitted her form like a second skin, with long slits up the sides that exposed the jagged scar of her injury. The heaving of her bosom beneath the corset brought him comfort, revealing there was still breath within her body, that she still lived. He tried to call out to her, to stir her from slumber and let her know help was coming, but his voice never came.

A sharp tug yanked him away with nauseating speed. Light exploded around his eyes, replaced by darkness as his arms flailed, fending off someone’s restraining grasp as he spilt the contents of his stomach. His body shivered and the cold sensation upon his skin began to burn. He moved, feeling the icy layer crack slightly, its white texture melting away to water just moments before he realised the strange shimmering had been from a film of frost. His muscles screamed in agony as pain pierced his temples. He felt someone’s hands moving upon him, their motion leaving some manner of warm fluid smeared upon his skin and, for a few moments, a fraction of the pain eased. Turning his head, he saw Will, with blood tracking from his ears and nose. His complexion was so pale that the ruby fluid appeared black. He heard Will cough and noticed the spray of blood left in the cough’s wake. He wanted to say thank you, realising Will had put himself within the circle, at the mercy of the same energy, to ensure he survived, but his arms gave beneath him as his body grew weak.

“No, you don’t,” Alex scolded, dragging the two figures to the outside of the henge.

Jack felt someone slapping his face gently. He tried to fend it off, his hands weakly batting away the unwanted touch. He needed to sleep, to descend into the pain-free bliss of the darkness that beckoned. It took a few moments to realise his assailant was Alex, who stood over him, pushing a pencil and his sketch pad into his hand, ordering, “Don’t rest yet. Draw first.”

Jack blinked, trying to focus his gaze, reminding himself what was at stake should his limbs fail to obey. He saw William lying on his back just a few feet away, bloody, exhausted, and choking weakly on his own blood. He watched as Conrad approached and, with a sharp kick, shoved William onto his side, allowing the blood to spill from his lips. It was a cold gesture, but the fact he had done it ensured Jack understood how much William must have risked for him.

His limbs felt like lead but, as Alex stood over him, a flashlight illuminating the area with its pain-inducing illumination, he drew everything he recalled. They were sketches created from unsteady lines, an aerial view, a picture of the house, Ashley. He only hoped it would be enough. Shadows swam before his gaze and he heard the tip of his pencil crack as darkness finally devoured him.

Vincent smiled as he led the selected bidders upstairs where his Tabus were awaiting, nicely packaged, like china dolls in their over-sized boxes. This location was his pride and joy. It was one of the many discreet houses belonging to his clan, but this was the one he favoured. Its interior had been specifically designed for these events. The ground floor held a large foyer