“Not just any stone,” Carrick murmured. “The Blood Stone.”
“The what?” Zaid queried.
“Nimeyah mentioned a mythical stone called The Blood Stone, which had apparently been dipped in The Crimson River.”
“But that’s a myth,” Zaid scoffed.
“Maybe, maybe not. No one ever knows what’s real or simply great storytelling. But getting our hands on this Blood Stone could help us stop Kymaris in her tracks. I’m hopeful for some leads when I go with Pyke to that party.”
“And you’re seriously going to take Finley as your human pet?” Maddox asked incredulously.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Carrick growled. “I know what happens at those parties, and I’m not about to let her see that.”
“Then who?” This from Zaid.
“I have an idea,” Carrick replied, “but first… I need to make a quick trip to visit Ozigeor to see if he knows anything about the ritual Kymaris will need.”
“Want company?” Maddox asked.
Carrick shook his head. “I want you to stay here and look after Finley.”
Maddox nodded and Zaid muttered something about making snacks for the Scooby Gang as he was sure they were in research mode after Finley unloaded all this same information on them.
“Be back soon,” Carrick said, and then, in a blink, he was gone.
Carrick appeared in Ozigeor’s office a millisecond later. He had felt some wards as he stepped through, but they weren’t strong enough to keep a demi-god out.
Unfortunately for Ozigeor, who was sitting in his office chair with a woman on her knees before him, Carrick Byrne’s sudden appearance caused him to scream like a little girl.
The woman was dislodged, and Ozigeor made haste to button up his pants. The woman merely stood—a true beauty with long dark hair and full lips—turned to Carrick and wiped the corner of her mouth as she looked upon him with interest.
Carrick nodded toward the door. “Leave.”
She did immediately as requested because Carrick used compulsion on her. He didn’t have time to waste.
Ozigeor stood from his chair, watching Carrick warily as he turned to face him.
“I swear I haven’t told anyone about your visit,” he declared, hands held up as if to ward Carrick off.
“Relax.” This, too, was said with compulsion, and Ozigeor’s shoulders drooped slightly.
“Sit,” Carrick ordered, and the sorcerer’s ass hit the chair. For good measure, he added, “Stay.”
Ozigeor’s eyes widened with fear as Carrick rounded the desk, but he merely sat on the edge to look down at the man.
“You left out some information last time I was here,” Carrick murmured ominously.
“Please don’t hit my face,” Ozigeor implored. “I may be immortal, but it still hurts like a bitch.”
“Well, make this fast and tell me what I want to know, and I’ll be out of your hair,” Carrick replied with a genial smile. “Kymaris is going to use a ritual to take down the veil between the Underworld and Earth?”
Ozigeor shook his head, not in denial of Carrick’s allegation, but in refusal to give up his information. “She’ll kill me if I tell.”
Carrick’s expression hardened. “I’ll kill you if you don’t. Did she come to see you in person for this ritual?”
The sorcerer shook his head. “It was the same daemon that approached me for the changeling ritual at the same time. But I knew they were for her, as it was impressed upon me how grateful she would be to me when she emerged on this side of the veil.”
Carrick gave a faux smile of delight. “See… you have nothing to worry about. You did your job, she made it here, and I’m sure she’s grateful.”
“But she wouldn’t want me to tell,” Ozigeor insisted, and Carrick was officially out of patience.
A sword appeared in his hand, and he merely laid it across his lap. Ozigeor’s gaze pinned there in fear.
“I’m going to ask you again.” Carrick ran a finger down the length of the sword in a threatening way. “Tell me about the ritual.”
“Gods have mercy,” Ozigeor pleaded as he looked upward and then brought his gaze to Carrick with hatred burning in his eyes. “Fine. I’ll tell you, then I want you gone—”
But before the sorcerer could say another word, he was struck by something that looked like it caused massive pain. His head tipped back, his back arched, and he screamed as if he were being torn apart.
Carrick carefully stood from the desk, sword in hand, and backed away, watching as Ozigeor’s eyes flew open, red as rubies, and then started melting to run in shiny rivulets down his face. His mouth opened further, but no words came out.
Instead, his entire body started smoking, rising up from his arms, legs, torso, and the top of his head. Horrified, Carrick watched, fascinated, as the man seemed to burn up from the inside until it was confirmed as his body burst into flames.
“Fuck,” Carrick muttered, taking several steps backward to avoid getting singed.
“Such a shame,” a raspy female voice said from behind him, and Carrick whirled to find Kymaris there. “He was such an expert on rituals, too. The likes this world will probably never see again.”