Regret: the parasite twisting in his gut, reminding him of all that could have been. Of all he’d failed to become.
Even the spell he’d managed to pull off had been a bust. He managed to call up a Guardian. A Guardian who, spirit or not, probably wanted to tear out Logan’s throat just like his packmate had done to Logan’s father.
Ren had barely disguised his aversion to serving as Logan’s connection to the Nether realm. Whatever magic had chained Ren’s will to Logan’s command surely chafed at the wolf’s neck. It made Logan shudder to speculate about what would transpire should Ren find a way to break that hold.
And that left Logan with what? A reluctant spirit guide and a riddle of a message.
You have to get back what you lost.
Logan didn’t doubt the double meaning of Ren’s words. Yes, he’d have to get that box of bones and trinkets back, but he also knew that Ren spoke to the loss of Keeper magic itself. That was what had truly been lost. And Ren obviously knew how desperate Logan was to get it back.
Frustrated and demoralized, Logan lifted the heavy book he’d been poring over with the intent of putting it aside for the night in favor of getting a stiff nightcap. As the pages crackled and flipped, however, an illustration on the back inner cover caught Logan’s eye.
He’d seen family trees before, but none quite like this. The most elaborate illustrated genealogies he’d seen featured trees blanketed by leaves in shades of jade and emerald, with golden branches filled with blooms and sometimes populated by fauna. The vitality of the scene intended to mirror, or at least project, the good fortune of the family’s history.
This tree appeared to be dead. Its enormous trunk and sprawling branches suggested the tree had seen several centuries before it died. In its prime the tree must have been glorious. Why an artist would render such a tree as lifeless eluded Logan.
A gaping hole at the heart of the tree further marred its beauty, but what drew Logan’s eye wasn’t the wound torn through the ancient wood, but the name inked below the black maw.
Bosque Mar
That couldn’t be right. While Bosque ruled the Keepers, he wasn’t . . . human. Logan didn’t know what to call Bosque. He’d witnessed his master’s horrific metamorphosis from effete gentleman into a creature of nightmares: part man, part insect, all terror.
So why was Bosque’s name at the base of this family tree? And what was the Latin inscription beneath his name?
Sanguine et igne nascimur
Something about blood and fire. Logan had taken Latin, but as with all of his studies, he’d been lazy about it. Another regret to add to the ever-growing pile. He ignored the twinge of annoyance with himself and continued to study the image.
The links between marital partners and subsequent generations on this chart weren’t simply lines, but rather chain links rendered in crimson ink. Its symbolism made Logan stir with unease.
The blood oath.
It shouldn’t have surprised him, but nevertheless Logan felt a cool discomfort crawling up his neck. He’d invoked the blood oath to force Bosque to reveal his true form, making the Harbinger vulnerable to Shay’s attack.
And that was how it had ended. Bosque had been exiled to his Nether realm. The Rift was closed.
Logan ran his finger along the curling edge of the paper.
But this is where it began.
“It can begin again.”
Logan yelped and jumped off the bed to face Ren.
“What the—” Logan struggled to regain some semblance of dignity. He glared at Ren. “What are you doing here?”
“Bringing the message,” Ren answered. “Because you’re ready for it.” He shot a glance at the open book. “Or at least you’re nearly there.”
Logan frowned at the wolf. “So you can just show up now? Whenever you want?”
“Pretty much.” Ren smiled. “The gate is open. You opened it. I can walk through at will.” His smile faded. “Though I have to go where I’m told at times as well.”
“Like now?” Logan’s heart had finally stopped ramming his rib cage.
Ren nodded. “Like now.”
“Who sent you?” Logan reached for the book, pulling it to the edge of the bed so he could get a better look at the illustration.
“Do you really have to ask?”
Logan’s eyes flicked to the name at the base of the tree. His throat closed up.
It can begin again.
Was this real? Could Bosque really be sending him messages from another world?
“If this is a trick—” Logan peered at Ren.
“What?” Ren gave a rough laugh. “You’ll kill me? You’re a little late to the party for that, Logan.”
Logan didn’t acknowledge the futility of his threat.
Ren grimaced. “Do you think—if it were my choice—that I would spend any moment of my afterlife, or whatever this is, hanging around you?”
“You make a good point,” Logan replied.
Ren shrugged. “You have the message. Can I go?”
“That’s it?” Logan asked, feeling a renewed surge of frustration. “Cryptic one-liners are all you can give me?”
Baring sharp canines, Ren answered, “I’m just the intercessor. I go where I must and say what I’ve been told to say. From what I can gather, you’re the architect of this scheme as well as its constructor. All I can do is confirm that you have the design and components right.” Ren’s eyes grew distant, then he glanced at the book again. “I can tell you that you’ve found the key.”
“And is there a lock?” Logan asked.
When Ren answered with a smirk, Logan said, “Never mind. Just get out of here.”
“With pleasure.”
Logan wanted to shoot back an insult, but Ren had vanished.
Wonderful. I have a creepy ghost Guardian who can pop into my life without warning.
None of Logan’s plans were unfolding as he’d anticipated. And yet, for all the unpleasant surprises, he couldn’t say things were going badly. He’d made progress. Logan stretched out on the bed to take a closer look at the book.
So this is the key.
His eyes scanned the page. But where’s the lock?
“Well, let’s start with what we have,” Logan murmured.
Bosque Mar’s name was the largest inscription on the page, but the blood chain connected him to a second, only slightly smaller name inscribed near one of the tree’s roots.