Ritual of the Broken (Haunted Hearts)

Chapter 30

Chapter

Thirty

O llie awoke to the grating noise of something being dragged along a floor. The sound came from an open doorway, the only source of light. The room was bare, with plain unfinished walls, no windows, and a single door leading out. He strained to listen, picking up the muffled sounds of traffic, horns honking and distant sirens. Were they in a high-rise building? Or perhaps underground? There was no way to tell.

Where was Adrian?

He attempted to shift his position to look around, only to discover he was immobilized, his wrists secured to the arms of a chair, and his ankles tethered as well. The clank of chains told him he was bound by metal shackles.

Ollie pulled against the bindings, but they wouldn’t budge. He reached for his magic, only to find it beyond his grasp. It was there. He could sense the power. But it wouldn’t respond to him, almost as if someone placed it behind a barrier. He could see no markings on the shackles, so the block had to come from someplace or someone else.

Maybe if he pushed… He closed his eyes and breathed to find a centered state—as best he could under the circumstances.

And it moved. Whatever kept Ollie’s magic from him wavered.

Someone grunted behind him.

Ollie turned from side to side, trying to figure out where the sound came from. There, just out of view, stood someone. He could sense it. The barrier locking his magic came from that person. And from the other side. Ollie turned the other direction and felt it there too. There were two others in the room, keeping total silence, concentrating on locking his magic down.

He could break one of them if he tried. There was some give the first time. This was a battle of wills, and he wasn’t going to sit there and be overpowered.

He turned forward again and focused harder this time, pushing his efforts in the direction he did before. A sound from the person in that direction—a man, if he had to guess from the grunt—told Ollie that he was getting somewhere. It wasn’t much, but it was something. He exerted his willpower even harder.

This time, the man made a sound like he experienced real pain. “I’m losing… my…”

The other person in the room made a noise, too, and Ollie felt the hold shift toward the direction where he focused his willpower.

Ollie forced his determination even more, searching for any other weaknesses in the barrier. Sweat broke out on his brow, and a small niggling tingle touched the center of his forehead like the beginnings of a headache. But there was a weakened place. That’s where he hammered, envisioning his power like a battering ram splintering wood and shattering stone.

This time, both of them grunted against his efforts. How he was able to do this, two against one, he wasn’t quite sure. But it was working.

A punch to his gut knocked the wind out of him.

His focus faltered, and the barrier reasserted itself.

Ollie leaned forward, gulping air back into his lungs. Footsteps moved closer. Ollie lifted his head, expecting the impossible sight of his long-deceased ancestor, Preston Hartley.

“Stop tormenting them, Ollie.” Someone he never expected crouched down to look him in the eye. “It’s not going to end well for you.”

“Morwen? Gods, I wish we were better strangers.” He still worked at sucking in air.

Morwen Solanich, the Synod librarian, close friend of Emmerich, and demoness from the ninth level of hell, regarded him with a cold smile. “I’m here to prep you,” she said, her tone chilling, making it sound as if he were a fish to be served as an entree.

Ollie eyed the small toolkit Morwen pulled out, his gaze lingering on the assortment of components—and ritual knives.

Perhaps his assessment of being gutted like a fish wasn’t too far off.

Morwen caught his apprehensive stare and smirked. “Don’t worry, Hartley. This won’t hurt... much.” She unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt, exposing his chest.

Ollie forced a sardonic chuckle. “For the last time, Morwen, you’re definitely not my type. Shouldn’t you be slithering up to something a little more... reptilian?”

“No, no, Ollie. This isn’t me hitting on you.” She reached over and plucked a thin blade from the selection of tools. “The only reason I’m even lowering myself to touch you is because I get to stick knives in you.”

Ollie eyed the knife. “As usual, you’re continuing to meet my expectations…”

Probably not a good idea to taunt someone while they held a bladed weapon, but it was Morwen. She made it too easy.

“You’re nothing more than a man-child who can barely cast a spell,” Morwen shot back, her fingers tightening on the ritual knife. “I mean, you’re the reason words like ‘unremarkable’ and ‘basic’ exist.”

Ollie grinned, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Whatever, Morwen. I’d try to insult you, but I can’t exceed what nature and your gene pool has already done.”

Morwen’s knuckles whitened around the knife handle. “You know what, Hartley? You always were a smart-ass. ”

Ollie held her stare, his jaw clenched. “At least I’m not a traitorous bitch. I mean, if you’re going to be two-faced, do they both have to be so ugly?”

The smug grin fell from Morwen’s face, and before Ollie could react, she stabbed the knife’s tip into his chest. He grimaced, gritting his teeth against the sharp pain as she carved a rune into his flesh, mimicking the markings found on the other victims.

“I’m not a traitor, Hartley,” Morwen hissed, standing up and wiping the bloodied knife on a cloth. “I’m a part of something you will never understand, something bigger that’s going to make a real change in this world.” She leaned forward and grabbed him by the chin like an angry stepmother until he was forced to look at her. “And people like you are going to become the dirt on our shoes.” Her expression changed again, this time returning to a cold grin. “Oh, that’s right. You won’t be around for that, will you? Your soul is going to grease the wheels of change.”

Ollie glared at her, his mind racing with a dozen ways to make her suffer just for stabbing him, much less everything else. But he kept his mouth shut, jaw clenched tight. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction. She reached down and patted him hard on the rune she carved into his chest. Ollie bit down hard to keep from reacting to the searing pain.

“There,” she said. “Now you’re all ready to have your soul sucked out by a creature from the nether realms.”

“I’m going to enjoy watching him claw out your insides,” Ollie said through clenched teeth .

Morwen straightened and gave him a tilt of her head. “Who? Your little werewolf pet? He’s not coming, sweetie. He’s never going to see daylight again.”

Ollie stared at her with hard eyes. But she gave him one piece of information: She didn’t say Adrian was dead. That meant he was out there. Somewhere.

“Stop it, Morwen.” A male voice startled Ollie, one he knew all too well.

Time stuttered, and the blood drained from Ollie’s face fast enough he felt lightheaded. Emmerich entered the room. Morwen used Ollie’s shirt to wipe his blood from her fingers, then she left. But Ollie could only stare at Emmerich.

“You’re the one behind this?”

Emmerich regarded him with an inscrutable expression, one that could have been resignation or guilt—Ollie couldn’t decipher the emotions flickering across his ex-lover’s face. Refusing to meet Ollie’s gaze, Emmerich moved toward a table and began preparing some sort of oil, his movements precise and deliberate.

As Emmerich worked, a palpable energy filled the room, magic crackling in the air like static electricity. Ollie’s skin prickled with the familiar sensation, and he tried his own magic again, pushing harder at the barrier. Still blocked.

“It won’t work,” Emmerich said to him without turning around.

Ollie stared at the back of his head. He wished he could bore holes into it with his eyes. “Why are you doing this?” Ollie demanded.

Emmerich ignored the questions, his jaw set in a tight line as he continued his preparations.

“I mean, you’re an asshole, but I never thought you were this big of an asshole.”

A slight turn of Emmerich’s head told Ollie that maybe he was getting somewhere. Maybe poking the man holding him hostage wasn’t a great idea, but what other choice did he have?

“I didn’t have a choice,” he said, his voice low. “It was up to the Hidden Hand.”

Ollie frowned, the name unfamiliar to him. “The Hidden Hand? What the hell is that?”

“A group of people more powerful than either you or me,” Emmerich replied, turning his attention back to the task at hand.

Oliver eyed Emmerich warily, his heart pounding in his chest. “Is Preston Hartley behind this?” he demanded, his voice tight with barely contained emotion.

Emmerich turned to face him finally, a look of confusion creasing his brow. “Preston Hartley is dead,” he stated flatly. “He died centuries ago. You know that.”

Ollie’s grip tightened on the arms of the chair. “So you gave me his journal to throw me off? To mislead me?” His mind raced, trying to make sense of Emmerich’s deception.

“I didn’t give you anything,” Emmerich countered, his tone sharp. “You stole that journal from the Archives. ”

“You let me.”

Emmerich stared at him.

“We both know there are probably half a dozen wards that would prevent any book the Synod wanted to keep locked up from ever leaving the Archives,” Ollie said. “I should have been fried the moment I passed through the door.”

“Yet you took the book anyway,” Emmerich said.

“Only because you let me. If you’re behind this, why did you let me take Preston’s journal?”

Emmerich turned back to the table and continued his preparations. “I didn’t let you. They sent trackers to find you and bring the book back.”

There was no question: Emmerich was lying. Why, he had no idea. Frustration bubbled, and he struggled against his restraints. “After everything we’ve been through, Emmerich... how could you do this?” He searched his former lover’s face in profile, hoping to find a flicker of the man he once knew—the man he’d loved. Or he thought he loved. Looking at him now, how could he have ever loved him?

Emmerich’s gaze softened, and a look of guilt passed over his features. “This whole thing...” He trailed off, waving his hand. “I started dating you in the first place because they told me you were to be the sacrifice. It was my job to keep tabs on you.”

The words hit Ollie like a physical blow, stealing the breath from his lungs. Every word said during a fight, every accusation and insult hurled when they were dating, none of it compared to that. It made Ollie sick. Their entire relationship—everything they’d shared—had been a sham, a lie orchestrated by forces he couldn’t begin to comprehend.

Was it true? But this time, he looked Emmerich in the eyes. This time, he wasn’t lying.

“You know,” Ollie said, his voice wavering slightly, “there are forces out there who are going to stop this whole ritual. You can’t possibly think you’ll get away with it. I’ve seen this whole thing play out. My ancestors. My grandmother. She’s been showing me the souls you’ve collected. Someone’s been giving me visions all along. And not to mention, there’s a very pissed-off werewolf who’s going to tear through your door.”

He had to believe Adrian was among those coming to help. The idea of him being anything else put a hole in his chest too deep to even consider under these circumstances.

Adrian. Where was he?

Emmerich’s lips curled into a strange smile, one that Ollie recognized all too well. It was the same expression he’d worn countless times when keeping a secret from Ollie during their relationship.

Then Ollie understood. The bravado fled from his shoulders, and his heart sank.

“You’re the one who gave me the visions,” Ollie said. Emmerich didn’t respond, but his silence was confirmation enough. Ollie’s thoughts whirled, piecing together the puzzle. “It was all a sham. You were telling me where to go. Why?”

“You needed to be a willing participant,” Emmerich said. “It’s a requirement of the ritual.”

“Well then, you might as well let me go. I’m not a willing participant.”

Emmerich gave a mocking scoff that made Ollie want to throw things at him. “It’s too late for that. We only need you to be there for a significant part of the ritual. You’ve already fulfilled that requirement.”

“Then why only three?” Ollie asked, frowning. “There were four murders, four soul harvests, but I only got visions for three of them.”

Emmerich paused in his preparations, his shoulders sagging slightly. He turned to face Ollie, his expression a mix of guilt and resignation.

“I didn’t want to involve you,” Emmerich said. “I would have used your mother.” At the mention of his mother, a bubble of rage began in Ollie.“I gave her the visions first, long before this even began. I wanted her to start down the pat to becoming the willing sacrifice. And she did so well, too, researching Preston Hartley’s involvement in the creation of the ritual. But then she went and got herself killed.” There was a regretful note to Emmerich’s voice. All Ollie wanted to do was watch him burn alive.

In a dizzying moment, the blood drained from Ollie’s face. He could feel it, and it made him dangerously lightheaded. His mother’s death wasn’t just a tragic accident— they were the direct result of Emmerich’s machinations. The visions that had driven his mother to embark on her mysterious quest wasn’t divine interventions or magical warnings. They were carefully crafted lies, planted by the man he believed he once loved and trusted.

His throat tightened as he pictured his mother the day before she left. She had no idea she was merely a pawn in Emmerich’s twisted game. Ollie’s chest ached with a mix of grief and rage. All this time, he’d been in the dark about her final days, and now he understood why. It wasn’t just a quest—it was a death sentence orchestrated by the very person standing before him. If only she’d talked to him about it before she left…

Emmerich gave Ollie a look that might have been meaningful if not for the circumstances—Ollie bound to a chair, awaiting sacrifice. Despite everything, Ollie could see a flicker of the feelings Emmerich once had for him.

Emmerich sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I was ordered to bring you in with the visions. By the time I received that order, we had already procured our first. It wasn’t my choice, Ollie. You have to understand that.”

But Ollie’s heart was cold. “I understand everything I need to right now,” he said. “And the one thing I know is that I’m going to kill you.”

For a long moment, Emmerich stared at him with a frown. What did he think? That Ollie would forgive him? Finally, Emmerich turned back to the table and continued working.