Hidden: House of Night: Book 10

pressed one palm of her hand into the fresh, warm blood, stood just outside the circle, and lifted both hands—one bloody, one holding the scarlet-edged knife, and intoned:
“
With this sacrifice I command
    Darkness controlled by my hand.
    Aurox, obey me!
    Rephaim’s death it will be
.”
    Neferet paused, allowing the sticky threads of cold blackness to brush against her and gather all around the circle. She felt their eagerness, their need, their desire, their danger. But above all else, she felt their power.
    To complete thespell she dipped the athame into the blood, and wrote directly into the sand with it, closing the incantation:
“
Through payment of blood, pain, and strife
    I force the Vessel to be my knife!
”
    Holding an image of Aurox in her mind, Neferet stepped inside the circle and plunged the dagger into Shadowfax’s body, pinning him to the field house floor while she loosed the tendrils of Darkness so that they could consume their feast of blood and pain.
    When the cat was thoroughly drained and absolutely dead, Neferet spoke, “The sacrifice has been made. The spell cast. Do as I command. Force Aurox to kill Rephaim. Make Stevie Rae break the circle. Cause the reveal spell to fail. Now!”
    Like a nest of seething snakes, the minions of Darkness slithered into the night, heading away from the field house and toward a lavender field and the ritual that was already underway there.
    Neferet gazed after them, smiling in satisfaction. One particular thread of darkness, thick as her forearm, whipped through the door that opened from the field house to the stables. Neferet’s attention was pulled its way by the muffled sound of breaking glass.
    Curious, the Tsi Sgili glided forward. Being careful to make no noise, and cloaking herself in shadow, Neferet peered into the stables. Her emerald eyes widened in pleased surprise. The thick thread of Darkness had been clumsy. It had knocked one of the gas lanterns from its resting place on a peg that hung not far from the piles of neatly stacked hay Lenobia was always so meticulous about choosing for her creatures. Neferet watched, fascinated, as first one tuft of hay caught fire, sputtered, and then with a renewed surge of yellow, and a mighty
whoosh!
it fully caught.
    Neferet looked down the long line of closed, wooden stalls. She could see only the faint, dark outlines of a few of the horses. Most were sleeping. Some were lazily grazing, already settled down for the approaching dawn and the rest the sun would bring them until it set and students arrived for their never ending classes.
    She glancedback at the hay. An entire bale was engulfed in flame. The scent of smoke drifted to her, and she could hear crackling as, like a loosed beast, the fire fed and grew.
    Neferet turned away from the stable, closing the thick door between it and the field house securely.
It seems likely that Stevie Rae may not be the only one who will be grieving after tonight.
The thought satisfied Neferet, and she left the field house and the carnage she’d caused there, not seeing the small white cat who padded to Shadowfax’s motionless body, curled beside him, and closed her eyes.
    Lenobia
    The Horse Mistress awakened with a horrid feeling of forboding. Confused, Lenobia rubbed her hands over her face. She’d fallen asleep in the rocking chair near her window and this sudden awakening seemed more nightmare than reality.
    “This is foolishness,” she muttered sleepily. “I must find my center again.” Meditation had helped quiet her thoughts in the past. Resolutely, Lenobia drew a deep, cleansing breath.
    It was with that deep breath that Lenobia smelled it—fire. A burning stable to be specific. She clenched her teeth together.
Begone, ghosts of the past! I am too old to play these games.
Then an ominous cracking sound had Lenobia shaking off the last of the sleep that had clouded her mind as she moved quickly to the window and drew aside the heavy black drapes. The Horse Mistress looked down at her stables and gasped in horror.
    It hadn’t been a dream.
    It hadn’t been her imagination.
    Instead it was a living nightmare.
    Flames were licking the sides of the building and as she stared, the double doors just at the edge of her vision were thrown open from the inside and against a backdrop of billowing smoke and consuming flames was the silhouette of a tall cowboy leading a huge gray Percheron and a night black mare from within.
    Travis letloose of the mares, shooing