by Kate Martin
“Yes, Alec.”
Not the most reassuring answer, but Alec didn’t press the matter. After all, where could he go? “We’ll be back tomorrow.”
“See you then.”
His resolve was breaking. The temptation to bring Bri along simply so Alec could see with his own eyes that the kid was safe grew greater with each moment of suspicious silence. Before Alec could change his mind, he left. After tonight, this would all be over. Finally.
Bri still hadn’t looked up.
The trip through Hell would be short, but not short enough. Still in the Mortal Realm, the sun had set and the air cooled. Alec waited in the shadows of the trees with the others, eager to have the process over and done with.
Picadilly stretched, cracking her neck and shoulders in anticipation. “Ah, I do miss home.”
“When this is done, stay there then,” Alec said.
“Now, now, children, we don’t have time for your bickering.” Carma leaned casually against a tree, watching as Dorothea knelt nearby, scribing in the dirt. Carma had exchanged her fashionable dresses for something more suited to the evening, wearing a sleeveless top that gave her full range of motion and a pair of pants that fit like a second skin. “When we arrive at the temple, I’m sure it will not be unguarded.” The tips of her silver hair had turned red. If the mission went on long enough, her face would change next.
Picadilly tied her long black tresses back with a leather thong, watching Carma with a jealousy she couldn’t hide. She was already drawing power—Alec could feel it—and he saw the glimmer of pleasure in her eyes at its arrival, despite it being a mere specter of what she had once possessed. “I hope she has hellions everywhere. I need a little fun.”
As he watched them, both embraced by the shadows of the woods surrounding their manor, Alec couldn’t help but hope she was wrong—and right. The tingle of the first stirrings of power caressed his hands. He shook it away. Not yet. Not if he didn’t have to.
Dorothea pushed herself up to stand at his side. Alec reached to steady her, but she didn’t need it. She appeared focused and clear, more like she had been all those years ago when still a young woman. The blood and dirt on her fingers was carelessly wiped on her skirt. “The night carries unnatural darkness with it here. More magic stirs the air than just ours.”
Carma smiled and stepped towards the labrynth, piercing a fingertip on a tooth and allowing one single drop of her blood to hit the lines. “Good. I wouldn’t want to be disappointed by the likes of Lillianna.”
Dorothea motioned them all inside the labrynth, leaving herself for last. Picadilly jumped in, but Alec had to force himself. The impatient push from Dorothea helped. First came the pricking of the witch’s magic, then that unmistakable pull, that oppressive heat that signaled the coming of Hell.
Bri picked at his dinner. Not that it wasn’t good, their cook was a woman from the Wilds, and she knew more recipes than there were days in a year. He just wasn’t hungry. How could he be, knowing where the others had gone, what they were about to walk into? The vision gave him waking nightmares, he imagined it would be worse seeing it in person.
But pushing his food around his plate wasn’t fooling Mrs. McCallahan, who had broken her normally strict rules about what a housekeeper did and did not do, and had sat across the table with him. His bodyguard, Bri assumed. Her meal was almost finished, her plate nearly cleaned. Politely wiping her mouth after a bite of the vegetables, she cleared her throat.
“Is something wrong with your food, Master Bri?”
Even after two years, he had never gotten used to the title. By the raise of her eyebrow, his dislike had shown on his face. It was yet one more thing she insisted on. He was there as a young lord, and he would act like one. Whether he liked it or not.
“No. Nothing’s wrong.”
“Then eat.”
He forced a forkful of food he didn’t bother to identify into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. Then repeated the action.
I wonder if they’ve finished passing through Hell yet. How long does something like that take?
His fork clinked against an empty plate, the sound so surprising him that it pulled him from his thoughts and gave him a new one.
He looked up at Mrs. McCallahan expectantly. Can I leave now?
She sighed, but nodded in satisfaction at his cleaned plate. “Very well. Shall I have a bath drawn for you?”
“Ah…no. Thank you. I think I’m going to do some reading.”
She stood as one of the maids began to clear the table. “I’ll send someone in a turn.”
Her tone left no room for argument. Bri often wondered if this was what it was like to have a mother. He remembered bits and pieces of life with his own mother, but most of them were memories of running and hiding. The few memories he had of her warm arms, of her gentle smile, he clung to. He would never know what life would have been like had they gotten to live a normal life. Bri stood and excused himself from the table before Mrs. McCallahan had the chance to make another pronouncement.
Safe in his room illuminated by a single candle, he sat on his bed with a book. He didn’t have any intention of reading, he would never be able to focus on the story. The myst lingered all around, beckoning and reminding him of everything that was about to happen. Out his window, he saw the black of the moonless sky, and shuddered at the memory of what he had seen. He hoped they managed to change what the myst predicted, that they altered the future, and none of those poor people would die. Next time he looked into the myst, he wanted to see life.
The book slipped from his hands, clattering against the floor as ungracefully as the thought that entered his mind.
The myst. It would change. And he could see it.
He could see it as it happened.
Can I? Could I? I’ve never gone into the myst without anyone here to guard me, to catch me if something went wrong.
No. That’s not true. I used to do it all the time. And I’m much stronger now. I know what to do. I can do this.
Before he could second guess himself, Bri rolled into the center of his large bed and lay down. That would keep his body safe enough, and Mrs. McCallahan planned on sending someone up in a turn anyway. If anything went wrong, she would be able to pull him from the myst just as well as Alec did.
He closed his eyes and reached for the myst. It came all too eagerly.
He wandered through the swirling and curling wisps of blue and white and silver. They licked at him, teased him, showed him futures he had no interest in, and others that chilled him to the bone. But he knew what he sought, had learned well enough what that particular part of the myst looked like.
And, it seemed, it had learned about him as well.
In seconds, it appeared, sweeping towards him, causing other curious tendrils to fall away, making room. Bri reached for it, offering himself. The myst wrapped around his fingers, seeped inside, and invaded his mind.
The vision came on strong, stilling the myst to create a sort of looking glass, while the edges swirled like fog. And in that solid, still part, Bri saw trees and shadows, starlight and the gentle shift of the breeze.
And a crowd of eager people making their way towards a grand stone temple.
Hell was hotter than Alec remembered.
Stumbling, the four of them burst into the heat and darkness of Hell. All around, stone and dirt burned, singed and blackened against the flickering fires. Alec grabbed for Dorothea instinctively, bracing himself against a nearby wall.
“I don’t need your help.” She swatted his helping hands away. Hands—Alec would have liked to add—that had been the only thing keeping her from planting her face in the ground.
He stepped back, hands extended in surrender. “Of course you don’t. I probably just imagined you tripping.”
“Don’t get cheeky with me, boy.”
“Boy? You do remember that I am more than a thousand years older than you, don’t you? Or is your mind that far gone?”
Doroth
ea smiled. “You were always a boy. Even when my body was still younger than yours.”
“Gods. Just a little self-righteous tonight, are we?”
“Battle calls for such things, does it not?”
“You are supposed to stand to the side and work your labrynths, not engage in hand-to-hand combat.”
“We shall see about that.”
Picadilly picked herself up from the ground and brushed herself off, a smear of ash across her pale face. “As cute as your squabble is, aren’t the two of you forgetting something? We were supposed to pass through Hell, not land in it.”
Carma hushed her, passing a hand over one of the strange glass walls that surrounded them.
Picadilly rolled her eyes and lowered her voice, but Alec heard her just fine. “The old woman must be losing her touch.”
Dorothea stiffened, standing straighter than her aged spine should have allowed. “We are not alone. Dark things move around us.” She spun around, as if seeing the entire room all at once. Her fingers worked in small circles at her side. Alec had seen her do things like that before. She could work small magics in the air, lending herself extended senses or other protections. Her eyes were wide with excitement. “Someone has been busy.”
“What do you mean?” Alec kept close to her, watching as she moved about, touching everything, bending down and reaching up with a flexibility he thought she had lost.
“My labrynth should have worked. It was perfect. Someone else laid a trap. They are well prepared for us this night.” She pressed a hand to the glass wall, closing her eyes and breathing deep. “You should prepare yourself. This will not be easy.”
Alec welcomed the power into his body, his palms burning instantly, the heat carrying through his veins, filling the void Carma had created so long ago.
Carma stood before a single stone door; the only part of their surroundings that was not glass and dirt. Her hair was red to her shoulders now, her fingers curved at the end with budding claws. “Who could do such a thing? Who could stop our travel like that?”
Dorothea knelt on the dirt floor, brushing away the loose covering until she found stone etched with black lines. “A witch,” she said, eyes shining. “A very powerful witch.”
Picadilly pushed at the floor with one foot, clearing another section of stone, and revealing more lines. “A cocky witch. This is a workshop, isn’t it?”
“Oh, yes.” Dorothea continued to clear away the dirt, pressing her hands to the lines, causing them to flare with light, then go dark again. “A workshop unlike any other.”
Carma turned, and Alec could just make out the changes in the lines of her face, her lips growing thinner, and her teeth sharper. “A workshop? For a human witch? In Hell?”
“Yes.”
A hum vibrated the air, filling the room and dancing along Alec’s skin. The power in his hands mimicked the feeling with its excitement. “What does that mean for us?”
“It means,” Dorothea said, standing once more, her fingers in constant motion, “we’re about to be attacked.”
“We don’t have time to waste,” Carma reminded her.
“Then you had best keep the springing traps away from me while I work.”
Alec had kept close to her, but suddenly that seemed inadequate. “What traps?”
Beneath the dirt dozens of labrynths, great and small, all lit up. Their light reflected off the glass walls, shimmered in the crystalline particles, and blinded Alec. He stumbled, bumping into Dorothea and sending her cursing and crashing against the nearest wall. He heard Picadilly cry out, followed by the sound of tearing flesh. Carma hissed. And something scaled and slimy wrapped itself about his leg.
— CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO —
Nine people. Bri had counted three times, though he hadn’t needed to. Nine people, all lined up outside the temple, speaking in hushed tones to one another, bouncing with excitement.
In all his life, Bri had never seen nine people get together for anything good. It took nine people to work a complicated summoning, nine people to represent the nine points of a fallen star, and nine people to commune with the gods.
Or, rather, nine human souls.
A witch could work alone—but nine witches was something to behold. Mortals were always in nines. Dorothea had taught him that. His childhood had etched it forever into his mind.
Bri kept his hand on the tendril of myst that followed the path of these people, letting its vision continually slide through his mind. The door to the temple opened as if on its own, but Bri could tell by the faces of the humans that someone stood there to greet them. A demon, most likely, if the myst could not see. They shuffled inside, skirts and trousers out of place in the rundown building. They had dressed in their best for a fine occasion. At the center of the group was a woman Bri recognized; the woman whose touch had shown him this vision in the beginning. Agatha.
The myst grew colder in anticipation of what was to come.
Where were Alec and Carma? It shouldn’t have taken this long… should it?
The myst shifted, bringing with it a wave of dizziness that dismissed itself as soon as the vision stilled once more. Now, Bri saw the interior of the temple, and the awe on the nine people’s faces was a mirror of what he felt himself. The ceiling rose high, arched and carved so that it stretched towards the sky. Likewise, the stone floor had a downward slope, mimicking the ceiling in a subtler manner. The walls, too, were rounded, creating a sphere of air. All around, gargoyles and androgynous seraphic faces gazed upon those who entered, their wings feathered, scaled, or fleshy like bats. To the north, a full-bodied statue stood, carved from obsidian, overlooking the vast room, arms outstretched. But the effect was not that of an offered embrace. Rather, this woman—if it could be called that—offered more…a promise, an envelopment. A devouring.
The statue’s womanly curves and soft lines could not disguise that image from Bri. He had learned long ago what malice looked like. Yet the nine humans gasped and chattered in amazement and adoration, careful of their footing on the sloping floor, for one wrong step would send them sliding to the center, and there they would find no safety.
The very center of the temple floor opened into a deep and dark cavern, a hole that seemed to go on forever, stretching towards Hell just as the ceiling stretched towards Haven.
It was a temple best suited for demon worship. Those who sent their prayers to The One never opened their floors to The Fallen and The Turned.
The visitors stopped a moment, silent, their attention drawn to one single spot. Then, cautiously, they spread out, arranging themselves along the walls where the floor was mostly flat. They each stood beneath one of the carved stone faces. One at a time, circling around the room, they placed a hand over the stone chests, as though searching for the beat of a heart.
Torches flared as if summoned from nowhere, casting light and shadows everywhere. A terrible hiss passed through the temple, sweeping a quick arc past each person there. In turn, they stiffened, their arms rigid and their knuckles turning white. As the ninth person tensed, a mirror appeared beside the statue of the demon woman at the head of the temple. A gilded mirror, polished smooth, shimmering in the torchlight, and far too familiar.
Then the screaming began.
Lillianna had treasured their admiring looks. It had been far too long since she had lived above, in the Mortal Realm, with her worshippers to adore her and tend to her every need. She longed for the times when demons had commanded such faithfulness. The priests of Haven had sunken their claws into the mortal world far too deeply. Only gods received any praise now.
But if that’s what it would take to feel whole again, to feel that rush of loyalty and power, then she would happily oblige those who had changed things.
One could become a god.
When one had the correct tools.
She wrapped an arm around Kai when he appeared beside her, having hidden himself while she welcomed her guests. Stroking his hair as he leaned into her, she close
d her eyes and appreciated the music of their first screams echoing through her long misused temple.
“They’ve fallen into my trap,” he said. “Though I don’t like them in my workshop. Feels…dirty.” He shivered.
“It won’t be for long. You certainly set enough spells to empty out an entire country, let alone your one small room.”
“They’ve triggered more than a handful of them already. I can’t imagine they’ll last much longer. Can I begin here now? Their screams are so monotone. I can make them sing for you.” His scabbed and scratched fingers were twitching at his sides.
His enthusiasm spread through her veins like a drug. “Certainly. Why wait?” She pressed her lips lightly to his, just enough to taste his power before she sent him on his way.
He circled the room, passing by each human and dripping blood from his hand at their feet. With each drop, a labrynth flared to life. As promised, their screams changed pitches and carried through the room like a choir. The magic pulsed, caressing Lillianna like a long lost lover. The blood in her veins sang, exhilarated. The empty space in her chest ached with anticipation.
Kai returned to her side, drawing a knife from his belt and soaking it in his own blood. His fingers worked along the coated blade, drawing fast patterns that could not be discerned by the untrained eye. “I need the reaper’s blood.”
Lillianna drew the vial from her pocket. “Safe and sound, love.”
Pulling the cork from the top, Kai sniffed the black blood. “I thought Olin was coming tonight.”
“Apparently he has better things to do. But I wouldn’t worry. We don’t need him.”
“What if someone shows up?”
“Like who? The only ones who have tried are caught in your net, as will be any others who attempt to enter the temple. Isn’t that right? It’s what I asked you for.”
Kai pressed his thumb to the vial and turned it over, getting the blood on his skin. “Magically, no one will be able to enter. The doors behind us are another matter.”