Chapter 6

"Iknew time with you was going to be a wake snakes experience, Miss Crowe," a man said. The voice was familiar, but whatever knocked me out was intense enough that I couldn't focus.

"Wake snakes?" I echoed blearily. My brain felt fuzzy, and my mouth was parched. I tried to reach for my sword as I stepped forward, only to realize that there were metal restraints on my wrists and ankles.

I tried to force my eyes to focus to figure out where I was. I could smell air that felt stale, motionless, and old.

I can't see.

I can't move or see. I can speak.

I sent out a trickle of grave magic to see if I could figure out where I was—or summon the dead to my aid. Old age meant there had to be something or someone dead. If I could wake them, I could—

"Ah-ah-ah," the man said with a laugh. "Bad hexen! No uninvited armies."

I recognized that voice. I'd brought the ghost of the dead Hexen Master to life—and then I'd accidentally resurrected him. He was as alive as I was, but as soon as I got free of the manacles on my arms, I'd set about changing that detail.

"Iggy. This is not okay." I tried to call upon the fae nature-affinity, tugging that magic to the surface, but that was equally futile. Nothing worked. Not a single magician flicker. I couldn't even pretend to be shocked, though. I was kidnapped by a Hexen Master so powerful that the oldest living human had killed him for amassing too much power. He wasn't likely to underestimate me. I'd been bound. Literally and magically. If I ever had a captive, I'd have to remember this . . . well, assuming I got free.

"What in the name of duck dongles were you thinking, Iggy?"

"I'm not sure why duck genitalia would be a factor, Hexen." Iggy laughed. "However, I was thinking we should talk, so I've brought you here to dis—"

"Phones, Iggy. Modern thing. No kidnapping required, so how about you release me?" I reverted to my former light-hearted manner with him, which was fine when he was a ghost. Right now? A lot less fine. I was angrier than a cat in a shower, but I thought I was hiding it fairly well.

"I know you too well, Hexen." Iggy chuckled. "You underestimated me. I shan't make the same mistake."

"So this isn't just a social call." I glared in the direction of his voice. I didn't need my vision to do that, although it was starting to bother me that I couldn't see. "What did you do to me? I can't see anything . . . or feel the dead."

"Bound you," Iggy said simply. "Eyes not working yet?"

"No."

I felt a glimmer of pressure as if someone kissed my eyelids.

When I opened them, I was expecting Iggy to be right there. He wasn't. He sat several yards away, on the opposite side of the room, looking remarkably piratical due to his surroundings. A chest, circa 1700s, was on the earthen ground at his side. What looked like a museum's worth of coins and jewels were heaped in it.

Ignatius Blackwood was more than a little intimidating now that he was alive again. No longer an old man, he still had his walking stick, topped with ebony handle almost as dark as the night, in one hand. It was more of an affectation now. He still wore the same elegant ring and watch, but his suit was no longer the vintage 1800s garb he'd worn when he was a ghost. In its place was a pair of what looked like designer trousers and a shirt that managed to be loose and yet still highlight more muscles than I recalled him having. I wasn't generally up on names, but my assistant was and this looked a lot like some of the John Varvatos pieces she'd added to Eli's closest. Whatever it was, the resurrected Hexen Master looked sharp and modern.

"Well? Do I pass muster?" he asked. "I've worked hard to restore my body to optimum health since you so kindly rejuvenated me."

"You look better now that you're alive," I allowed.

He'd been in his late-40s to early 50s and . . . well, dead when we met. I'd accidentally summoned him from the grave, and since the bit of magic I hadn't controlled very well, he looked a lot better. It was more than being restored to life or exercising. I tried to look past his surface for traces of magic, but my own magical abilities were locked out of my reach.

"Not everyone can pull off a magical facelift, nip and tuck, and turning back the decades," I guessed, but his pleased laughter was proof that I was right.

"Not all of us have the blood of the dead and the fae in our veins to make us youthful," he retorted.

Fear flickered at his words. Iggy didn't have to torment me. He could simply expose my heritage. "You're a monster, Ignatius Blackwood."

"Indeed I am." He bowed his head. "And a liar, Hexen, but as I said when last we parted, let there be peace between us. I truly do not wish you ill at this moment."

"Newsflash, Iggy Pops, kidnapping me isn't exactly how we create peace these days," I tugged the chains that were restraining me.

"Would you have met me for dinner had I called?" He sounded more curious than mocking, which made it hard to maintain my outrage.

"No." I sighed. "Hey, I don't suppose you sent a driver in an SUV with tinted windows to try to smoosh me like a bug?"

"I did not." Iggy shook his head. "You think ill of me, Hexen, but I do not wish for your death. We have shared enemies. I seek to ally with you, protect you—"

"Leech off my magic," I interjected. Then I saw what I'd convinced myself was an illusion. The image of Baron Samedi, loa of the dead, hovered over him briefly, and grinned at me.

Then Samedi was gone, vanished as if the entire image was only in my mind. I supposed it could be a bit of smoke and mirrors, but that didn't seem like Iggy's style.

"Are my eyes working poorly?" I asked.

"No. Geneviève of Crowe, you see what my master allows. I made a vow a long time ago to one who is tied to death, one who leads the way, who can cure and kill. I serve at his pleasure. The transition between dead and alive solidified long-ago vows." Iggy gave me a tired smile. "Once upon a time, fair Geneviève, it was blasphemy to serve him, and so I blasphemed. I was born, like you, with an affinity for the dead. . . although I was alive, wholly and completely . . . unlike you."

"Who are you, Iggy?" I tugged on my restraints again, attempting to get comfortable as Iggy watched.

"I've worn many names, but I am but a man who is in your debt."

I shrugged and stretched, the chains jangling again as I tested how much reach I had. "Send flowers. A gift card. Oh! Allie set up a wedding registry at a high-end weaponry retailer and one at a blacksmith."

Iggy laughed. "I do like that woman." He met my eyes. "Vow on your magic that you will not try to escape, and I shall offer you an equal vow that no harm will come to you while you're here."

"Mmmm. No. An eternity in your lair? Not exactly the future I'm planning."

"If you are left to roam, you will die, Geneviève of Crowe, and I find myself uninterested in that resolution." Iggy walked up to me and stood just out of reach. "I cannot allow you to meet that fate. It would not please Baron Samedi either."

Maybe it was living in New Orleans with a bunch of walking dead folk or going toe-to-toe with the king of Elphame, but the thought that the loa of the dead had an opinion on my life didn't freak me out as much as maybe it should've. Later, perhaps, it would. In that instant, however, all I could think of was Eli. He had to be worried, and more importantly, if I died Eli died. We were bound.

"Iggy, be reasonable! I cannot stay in your dirt pit, even though I applaud the piratical vibe. Very New Orleans history, there." I lunged as Iggy swayed closer, trying to at least catch an ankle to knock him off-balance. Hexen Master or man, a good length of chair around his throat and I could kill him.

Kill the man, end the spell. Even a baby witch knows that.

Iggy stepped back, ignoring my attempt at injuring him, and said, "My heart beats again. For this, I am in your debt. And I find that I like you. You remind me of your—"

"My grandmother?" I interrupted. "Seriously? That's a little gross, you know?"

He shrugged, not looking the least bit sheepish. "I waited over a century to be resurrected, to find someone strong enough to summon me. I played meek to lead you to trust me, to reach a point where you could be convinced to resurrect me. To restore me."

"I'm bonded to Eli. I love him," I reminded Iggy.

He brushed my hair gently. "He's granted you near-eternal life. I'm grateful that you bonded to Eli, but I am unparalleled in strength and patience."

I laughed, pushing every mean, spiteful, angry bit of energy I had into it.

"Tell that to Eli, who waited years for me. Tell it to Chester, the human who murdered you. Tell it to my grandmother, who watched her family for generations." I spat at him. "I'm surrounded by patient people. I'm not impressed."

I didn't mention that I thought Chester was a terrifying creature—or that I hated saying his name. But I liked the flicker of rage in Iggy's expression when I said Chester's name.

I braced for an argument. I wasn't entirely sure if I wanted to debate because I was angry or because I was bored or because I was hoping Iggy would see reason. It didn't matter, though. Iggy simply strolled away into some dirt-walled tunnel, leaving me there in chains.