Situation resolved, I dusted off my hands and went to search House Wrath.
I stopped counting how many stone staircases I’d descended somewhere around a dozen. Each magnificent landing ended on a floor that spanned what seemed like thousands of meters. Which must have been deception magic—Wrath’s castle couldn’t be that large.
On the next landing, I stopped to look out a trio of arched windows. A large body of merlot-colored water pooled at the bottom of a valley, smoke rising in lazy tendrils from its surface. A branch from a nearby tree fell into the water, immediately bursting into flames.
I made a mental note to never get near the cursed lake unless I wanted my flesh to burn off my bones. I left the windows and wandered down the corridor.
The castle was mostly built from pale stone, similar to limestone, and there were some wings that had been richly fitted with large, colorful tapestries. This particular wing had an image of angels in battle with monstrous creatures.
It reminded me of art created during the Renaissance; the colors deep and dark against the pale walls and columns. Doors carved from bone opened to ballrooms, and unused bedrooms, and sitting rooms. I stopped outside a towering set of double doors and traced the delicate carving. A tangle of vines with flowers and stars crawled up the edges and top, while the same vines twisted into roots that plunged into the bowels of the earth at the bottom of the doors.
Skeletons and skulls and things left to rot and ruin adorned the lower portion.
I pushed the door open and swallowed a gasp. Inside was a library unlike anything I’d ever dreamed of. Excitement rushed through me as I stepped into the room and stared at rows and rows of glass shelves. They went on for an eternity.
My face split into a wide grin. The goddesses must have been smiling down on me; this was the perfect place to research magic and myths. I marveled at the jewel-toned vellum spines of thousands of books. Someone had arranged them by color, their bindings ranging from the most brilliant shades of yellow to the palest butter creams and pure snow-whites. Reds, purples, blues, greens, and oranges; it was a rainbow of beauty set against a backdrop of ice.
I couldn’t picture Wrath being serene enough for a quiet night of reading, and if he did, I never would have guessed he’d do it with a riot of color surrounding him. Maybe ebonies and gold—dark gleaming wood and leather. Masculine elegance at its finest. This was…
“Haven. Close to Heaven but not quite as boring.”
I spun around, a hand pressed against my pounding heart. “Sneaking up on people is rude. I thought demon princes were supposed to have impeccable manners.”
“We do. Mostly.” Wrath’s gaze traveled unapologetically over my strapless gown, and I became excruciatingly aware of each place the silky fabric slid across my skin. I suspected his perusal had more to do with ensuring I’d dressed the part of future queen, and would not embarrass myself in front of any members of his court, rather than anything else. “My personal library is one level down.”
“Let me guess… Hell? Blacks, leathers, gold?”
“Lots of fire and chains and torture devices, too.” His smile was a quick flash of teeth. Dangerous, disarming. A different sort of weapon he’d honed to perfection. Possibly the most perilous in his arsenal. Especially here. “When you’re feeling brave enough, I’ll show you.”
My stomach did a tiny flip at the thought of chains and dark spaces and Wrath. “Naming your libraries Haven and Hell is dramatic enough to suit you, I suppose.” I walked down an aisle filled with various shades of blue books, the demon trailing me. I needed to stop looking at that smile, or this realm would pounce. “Have you heard from any of your brothers?”
“Envy, Lust, and Greed have all shown interest in hosting you. We received their House cards earlier.” His tone remained light, almost suspiciously so. “They’ve specifically requested your presence at their Feast of the Wolf celebrations. I imagine Sloth and Gluttony will eventually stop overindulging enough to send invitations, too.”
Lupercalia was a pre-Roman holiday that roughly meant “Feast of the Wolf,” where humans sacrificed goats, then anointed foreheads of the wealthy in the spilled blood. Some cut pieces from the creatures then ran naked through the streets, smacking bystanders with the flesh. If the demon celebration was anything similar, I’d prefer to avoid it.
Without turning around, I said, “Will you be hosting a feast?”
He appeared before me, leaning casually against a shelf. Supernatural speed on full display. I couldn’t help but run my gaze over him. His suit was the deep charcoal of shadows. It made me think of nighttime and silken sheets and secret rendezvous and things I shouldn’t.
“No. I’m waiting to see what Pride does.”
“Has he sent a summons yet?”
“No.”
“Why are you waiting to see what he does?”
“It’s one of the few times all seven princes are invited into the same royal domain. Then it’s three days of pomp and circumstance—dinners, hunts, a masked ball, then the feast. We decide where it will be held based on two factors. Where the guest of honor chooses to go, and which prince with the highest rank decides to host.”
“Aren’t you all of equal power?” Wrath shook his head, not elaborating. I locked my frustration away. “What if the guest of honor doesn’t pick the prince with the highest rank?”
“They always do. And if they don’t, they’re strongly encouraged to from whichever House they’re from. Refusing is a grave insult and has caused more than a few bloodbaths over the centuries.” For a fleeting moment, he looked hungry for battle. Then his expression turned contemplative. “Princes all suffer from surges of other sins, it seems.”
Our gazes locked. I understood what he really meant. Wrath was apologizing for our argument earlier. This information was an olive branch laid at my feet. I could kick it aside and continue our fight, or I could accept it and move on.
I resumed my slow procession down the aisle, looking for a particular subject matter, but projecting nonchalance to avoid suspicion.
“Why do you celebrate a pre-Roman tradition, anyway?”
“How very mortal of you to believe they weren’t inspired by our rites and rituals,” he scoffed. “They didn’t even have the decency to keep the correct dates or practices.”
I stopped my perusal of titles and studied him closely. “Why are you really telling me this? Do each of the princes of Hell turn into giant wolves and howl under a full moon? Perhaps I should be worried about you panting at my bedroom door before the feast.”
“We do wear wolf masks, but there will be no panting from me. Unless you ask nicely.”
I swallowed hard, forcing my thoughts away from where this realm—and this troublesome prince—was tugging them. “You didn’t answer my first question. Why are you telling me about this now?”
“You’ve been nominated for the guest of honor.” The remaining humor left his face. “The vote takes place next month. I have little doubt you’re going to be chosen. Your arrival is the talk of the Seven Circles. I doubt anyone else will be half as intriguing this Blood Season.”
Wonderful. “Will I be forced to kill the goat?”
Wrath held my gaze. “There is no goat, Emilia.”
The way he said it made my knees buckle. “Will I be the sacrifice?”
“No.” Relief flooded through me at that one beautiful little word. “Your biggest fear or a secret of your heart will be wrenched from you as the sacrifice.”
“No.” My voice was whisper soft, trembling. I hated it.
“Yes.” His voice was hard, edged. I hated it, too. “And it will happen in front of every prince of Hell and all of our subjects in attendance. Fear is power here. The larger your fear, the greater the power you give us. You would be far better off sacrificing your life. If they take your biggest fear, I promise you will wish for something as swift and final as a mortal’s death.”
SEVEN
“No. I refuse.” My voice was steel this time. “
You said I always have a choice.”
Frost coated his expression. “From recent actions, I was starting to think you’d forgotten that conversation.”
“You want to discuss what happened back in the cave now?”
“Not particularly, no.”
“We’re going to have to eventually—we might as well do it now.”
“Fine.” He crossed his arms against his chest. “You may start by explaining your decision.”
He spoke as if I actually had a choice, his voice tinged with barely suppressed anger. I was so surprised, I stepped back, examining him carefully. A muscle flickered in his jaw and his gaze was hard enough to make diamonds jealous. Wrath wasn’t just angry, he was incensed. I could practically feel the heat of his fury radiating in the space between us.
Clarity washed over me. “You wanted me to refuse Pride.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” For once, his emotions were written all over his face. My shock quickly gave way to annoyance. If only he’d confided in me that night, things would be so much different. We could have come up with a new plan. Together. Anger unleashed my tongue. “Tell me why. I demand to know why you wanted me to refuse him.”
“Stop pushing, Emilia. This conversation is done.”
“No, it’s really not. Will he hurt me?”
The shelves nearest us vibrated. “Do you believe I’d permit that?”
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “I don’t know what’s real or fantasy or part of your newest scheme. You brought me here, to this realm, to marry your brother.”
“Do not confuse your choices with my actions.”
As if I had any good options. “Was I supposed to stay home and watch demons tear my world apart? Murder or torture my family and friends and continue ripping hearts from witches? You keep alluding to the fact I had a choice, but I didn’t.”
“You always have choice.”
“Not with the clock ticking down and the gates cracking. Signing the contract with Pride was my best option to stop the carnage. I made a decision with the information I had. If I made a mistake or if you’re not pleased—for whatever reason—maybe you should have actually talked to me that night. Instead you stood there, cold and furious, and didn’t say a word!”
His gold eyes narrowed. “Has it occurred to you that I couldn’t?”
“Couldn’t what? Talk to me?”
“Interfere.”
“Through magic or a demon edict?” I searched his face, but he’d replaced his annoyance with that emotionless mask he wore so well. I reined in my temper, not wanting to fight. “I thought the devil was the only one who’s cursed. Are you implying that’s not true? Is there something I need to know about you?”
His hands flexed at his sides. He looked like he wanted to rush away to a sparring ring and work off his frustration. “Perhaps that’s a question you should have asked your mortal family. They certainly seem to have selective gaps in their storytelling. Have you ever wondered why, witch?”
“How dare you speak of my family—”
He magicked himself away in a cloud of smoke, leaving me reeling with confusion. My family wasn’t keeping any secrets. Nonna shared stories all of our lives about the Wicked and their lies and manipulations. She warned against the dark arts and the payments demanded from that type of magic. All of that was true.
I paced the aisle of books. Wrath was wrong or he was lying or omitting more truth. Nonna told us about the blood debt between the First Witch—La Prima Strega—and the devil, about how he demanded a blood sacrifice for something that was stolen from him.
The Horn of Hades, the two amulets my sister and I had been given at birth, turned out to be those objects. His horns. Wrath collected them the night he brought me Pride’s contract. He’d used them to lock the gates of Hell, just as he’d promised, then hidden them from me.
Fury rose in me but quickly gave way to confusion. Nonna had known about Star Witches and the devil’s horns and she hadn’t told us.
I’d found out about the horns through my sister’s diary, and Star Witches from Wrath and Envy, though that wasn’t the name they’d used. Envy had called me a Shadow Witch.
Nonna didn’t admit to knowing about either right away when I’d confronted her.
Which made me wonder how many other things she hadn’t been forthcoming about. We learned the bare minimum of earth magic; how to cast simple spells aided with herbs and objects of intent. Charms of protection. Sleep spells and harmless spells that manipulated the dew on a glass to slide it across a surface. Things that hardly required much skill.
A Latin phrase or word here, a pinch of this there and a spell was cast, aided with our magical blood. What else was there about the curse that I didn’t know?
Or our magic, for that matter.
I walked in an agitated circle. Now that I was questioning things, I couldn’t stop finding more gaps in our lives. Nonna spent so much time teaching us the ways of demons, only to stunt our education regarding our own abilities. I couldn’t help but wonder if there was a reason for that. Nonna was much too smart to have forgotten valuable lessons.
Surely offensive magic was just as important as our defensive spells of protection. But she never taught us those kinds of bold spells. In fact, she seemed determined to keep that magic from us at all costs. Was there something dangerous about us using it?
Vittoria and I were told to listen to her, to obey and follow the rules or suffer the consequences. I’d never wanted to anger Nonna or cause harm.
But Vittoria always pushed the limits, unafraid of the consequences.
Wrath’s sharp comment carved deep, infected me. Like it was designed to do. His weaponry was not limited to steel or bullets or sly grins and heady kisses. His words were just as deadly when aimed and fired at a target. I couldn’t escape the gnawing feeling that maybe he was right.
There were holes in my education I couldn’t ignore.
Some spells came easily as if through body memory. Some I had to learn and almost always forgot. I couldn’t recall where or how I’d discovered the truth spell, only that one day I wanted truth and out came a spell that stole away free will. Nonna had been furious when I told her. Instead of being rewarded for using that level of power, I was punished.
I marched to the end of the shelves and found a plush, oversized chair to sit in. A thought I couldn’t run from followed me there. Maybe Wrath wasn’t referring only to Nonna.
My sister had found the first book of spells, used demon magic to lock her diary, and had brought Greed and the shape-shifters together for reasons I didn’t fully understand, given the fact shape-shifters and demons were natural enemies.
I stared down at my finger, startled to see I still wore the olive branch ring Wrath had given me. I absently twisted the gold band around my finger. I wondered what else Vittoria might have discovered before her death. Was it the full truth of the devil’s curse and the blood debt? Maybe that knowledge, more than anything else, was why she’d really been killed.
Something buried deep in my memory stirred, then floated away. A wisp of smoke I couldn’t grasp. I had the strangest impression that maybe the devil hadn’t been cursed at all.
If that was true… then perhaps the witch murders had nothing to do with his finding a bride, and everything I thought I knew had been fabricated from deception. Nonna. Vittoria. The seven princes of Hell. At least one of them had been lying.
And I was more determined than ever to find out why.
It took a few frustrating hours, but I finally found what I’d been searching for. I pulled a grimoire on beginning magic and plopped into a chair near a darkened corner. I swept my gaze around the space; there were no sounds or indications anyone else was in the library. Not that it would seem odd if a witch was studying magic. Still, I didn’t want anyone to realize how much my education lacked. I cracked the worn leather spine and began reading.
According to the witch w
ho authored this book, our magic was similar to a muscle that needed to be exercised. If ignored too long, it atrophied. She also described it as “Source”: a place within us readily available to draw from, like an endless well in our core.
The wise Spinners of Fate say our power is a gift bestowed from the goddesses and therefore has a tendency to mimic their abilities to some degree. Some bloodlines will notice an affinity for certain spells, especially those using the four elements. It is an indication of which goddess a witch should pray to in order to enhance that magic. The lesser spoken of fifth element, aether, is thought to be the rarest, but that may not be true in this context.
I stopped reading and allowed that information to sink in. And with it another emotion I’d rather not examine closely. Not quite suspicion, nor anger, but something related to both. Nonna had never explained where our power came from or how it worked. It was possible my grandmother didn’t exactly know, but I couldn’t quite believe that.
This was also the first time I’d ever heard of the Spinners of Fate and praying to one goddess. We’d always been taught to pray to them all. I searched my memory for any altars Nonna made for any one goddess and could think of none. Perhaps our magic wasn’t closely aligned with any of the elements.
I leafed through the grimoire, searching for more information on the Spinners of Fate, but there were no further mentions. I flipped back to the beginning, concentrating on Source.
Anger at Nonna and my own lack of questioning our education distracted me.
“Focus.”
Skeptical of my abilities, I closed my eyes, cleared my thoughts, and tried to sense that inner source of power. At first there wasn’t anything unusual, then the world quickly faded around me. It grew darker in my mind. I knew nothing, was nothing. I became nothing.
It was almost a void inside me, yawning open into endless darkness. I had the strangest impression that it had been waiting for me to tap into it, and once I acknowledged its existence, I was immediately drawn in. Now I felt everything. I tunneled down, down, down into my very center, near my wildly beating heart, and paused. My magic slumbered here. I wasn’t sure how I knew, but I did. I brought my consciousness around the magic, trying to get a better sense of it. Something ancient and powerful and spitting mad cracked an eye, furious at being awoken.
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