Spirit and Dust by Rosemary Clement-Moore Read Free Book Online Page A

mine. Remnants whispered wordless warnings in my ear, as frightened for me as I was for my family.
    Anything he could do to me was insignificant next to the idea that someone I loved might be hurt or killed because of my refusal. The idea turned everything inside me dark and heavy, filling a noxious pool in the pit of my stomach.
    “I’ll do it,” I said, my voice steady only because I forced it to be that way. The triple vow seemed unimportant when I was already bound by my fear that I would fail—fail Alexis, my family, my duty … everything.
    Maguire smiled, as if I’d said something funny. “I know you will.”
    “But without the binding oath,” I added, because redundant didn’t mean harmless.
    He didn’t seem surprised or impressed by my rebellion. “I’m afraid it’s my way or the highway. Stand up,” he said, gesturing Lauren and Carson forward as well.
    “Is this really necessary?” asked Carson. “She has plenty of incentive not to renege on the deal.”
    Understatement of the century. But Maguire hauled me out of the chair and pushed me toward Carson. “Let’s just say I want no errors in judgment along the way.”
    Carson steadied me when I stumbled and kept his hands on my shoulders, standing behind me so we both faced Maguire. It was probably a good thing. I wasn’t going to run, but my knees were high-diving-board shaky and might not hold me up.
    My cousins and I played with this type of binding spell—
geas
was the old-fashioned term—as kids, the Goodnight versionof a triple-dog-dare. Nothing really mattered but the words and the intent. That was it. But the
witch’s
intent as she pulled a red silk cord from the pocket of her leather jacket and held out her hand for mine made me shrink back.
    “What’s that for?” I asked. “No one in
my
family needs props.”
    Lauren raised a thin brow. “But I know the value of a sense of ceremony.” She grabbed my hand and put it in Maguire’s waiting one.
    The moment we touched, I felt the weight of the remnants that clung to him. Shreds of lives he’d ruined or taken. Frayed tatters of crimson rage and purple grief and black mourning. They hung from him like the chains on Marley’s Ghost, except Maguire didn’t seem to regret his, or even acknowledge their existence. I felt them, though, like a stone on my chest.
    All that haunting pressure didn’t even include the brightness that had staggered me when I’d come in. That was not attached to Maguire. It was anchored to something else, but it was
focused
on him. And, I realized with a start, on Carson as well.
    A remnant? It had to be, or I wouldn’t sense it. Too strong to be just one, yet too uniform in texture not to be the same psychic substance. I had never felt anything like it, and curiosity pulled me further into my other Sight. I wondered what on earth that fierce glow could be.
    Maguire’s fingers tightened painfully on mine, snapping the thread of my question, yanking me back to the physical world and my current problem.
    Lauren wrapped the cord around our linked hands, and I understood what she’d meant by “a sense of ceremony.” Symbols had power. The smooth scarlet against my skin elevated the very simple spell from kid stuff to something resonant and far-reaching.
    I’d never felt magic at work before, but I was sure I felt it then—Lauren’s intent, racing along the points of our triangle.
    “Your promise,” said Maguire, straightening his coat with his free hand.
    I grit my teeth, still fighting coercion. “I promise to do everything in my power—”
    “Not good enough,” said Maguire, almost carelessly, though I wasn’t fooled. “You’re a Texan. Where’s that ‘Remember the Alamo’ spirit?”
    “Yeah, that didn’t work out so well for them.”
    “Then you’ll have to do better.”
    Impasse. I could not clever my way out of this situation.
    When I went too long without speaking, Maguire sighed, then grabbed my chin in his free hand, forcing me