Stranger by Zoe Archer Page B

did not resent this. For the first time in years, she actually welcomed a man into her mind, knowing instinctively that if anyone was to truly understand who she was as a person—not a woman, not a journalist, but the true and most essential part of herself—it would be
this
singular man, Catullus.
    So she let him look, holding herself open to his scrutiny.
    Peculiar. She hadn’t realized she needed this kind of openness until now. Hard lessons had taught her to keep her deepest self in reserve. Too many times, she’d left herself open, vulnerable, and been wounded by careless, heedless men. Men like Richard. She evolved into a hard-edged reporter and thought herself all the better for it.
    She’d been wrong. Some part of her still yearned for closeness, for connection. And that need revealed itself now as she let Catullus Graves gauge her.
    After many lifetimes, he gave a barely perceptible nod, reaching an internal decision. Gemma’s breath left her in a rush, and she only then realized she had been holding it.
    “Magic exists in many forms,” he said with his rich, deep voice. “Sometimes it’s in families, such as yours; sometimes a single person can possess it. But it is also found in objects that are scattered across the globe. They are potent objects whose powers can run the gamut from the benign to the malevolent.”
    “Like the club that thug was using in Liverpool,” she volunteered.
    “No—that was a simple charm on an ordinary item. The objects I am speaking of hold vast power. These objects,” he continued, “are known as Sources, and Heirs search theglobe for them, seeking to add the Sources to their arsenal, crushing anything and anyone who stands in their path.”
    The idea was beyond horrible. “Something has to be done to protect the Sources,” Gemma objected.
    “Something is done,” Catullus said. “By me and Astrid. And people like us. The Blades of the Rose.”
    The name on his lips sent a shiver through Gemma, as though hearing a long-forgotten enchantment.
    Catullus saw the name register with her, then went on. “It is the sworn mission of the Blades to safeguard Sources around the globe from the Heirs, and others like them. This battle we’re heading into now with the Heirs …” He watched his hands curl into fists. “It will be the biggest any of us has ever faced. We’ve never gone up against the Primal Source, but we have to before the Heirs solidify their power. We have no idea if any of us will survive. But we have to fight. All Blades fight not just for magic, or England, but for everyone.”
    “A noble calling,” Gemma murmured, but her blood was chilled. He spoke so easily of the possibility of being killed! “Like frontier lawmen.”
    “Or errant knights.” He allowed a small smile to tilt his mouth, amused either by the accuracy of their descriptions, or their complete misread. Yet, given the inherent nobility in his bearing, Gemma hopefully suspected the former.
    “But the Primal Source I heard you speaking of,” she continued, “what, exactly, is it?”
    “The Source from which all other Sources arise. The origin of magic, and repository of mankind’s imagination. Whoever possesses the Primal Source has at his or her disposal the greatest power ever known.”
    “And now the Heirs of Albion have it,” Gemma recalled.
    “Have it, and unlocked it.” Catullus scowled out the window, mind almost visibly churning. “Several months ago.”
    She saw the focus in him, the determination and intent.This war with the Heirs was his life—and possibly death.
    “Unlocked?”
    “Accessed the Primal Source, allowing its power to be felt all over the globe, in all magic.”
    “That explains it, then,” Gemma murmured. When he raised an eyebrow in a silent question, she explained, “Around the same time you said the Primal Source was unlocked, something changed with the Key of Janus. I could open more than just physical doors.”
    “Meaning what?” he