But why?
Seeing the questions run across her eyes, Elias pinched his lips together. “It’s very difficult to do,” he said, hoping to break the silence. “Not many can pull it off. He must have been very… convincing.”
Esven was slow to nod. She reached out, sliding her hand over the locket, though she left it on the table. “So… this is a key…”
“In a way,” Elias replied, leaning back on his bucket. “It would allow him to pass freely in and out of the Netherworld, at least. So long as it remained in his possession.”
“I see.” Esven’s voice fell away as she tried to piece the puzzle together. She should have been able to figure this out—she was sharp, shrewd, not unlike her mother. The weight of too many considerations clouded her judgment. It felt as if her mental wherewithal was pulled in innumerable directions, leaving her unable to focus on any particular one. Frustration mounted as she sat at the table, still tapping her finger against the wood.
Having finished cleaning his haunches, his tail, and his face from the horrid rainwater that had accosted him, Maritimus gave his paws a final sniff. His whiskers twitched. He ran his prickled tongue over the black fur once more, sweeping away the last fragment of unsavory mud he had collected while trailing after Vahldod for the last several hours.
Finally satisfied with his outward appearance, the feline stretched, and approached Esven’s leg. He pressed his dark body into her calf, his tail curling around it, as he mewled at her.
“Oh, Maritimus—” Tearing out of her reverie, Esven glanced down to the cat. “I apologize,” she added, bending over to scoop him up and place him in her lap. “My mind is pulled in far too many places today. Are you all right?”
Maritimus closed his eyes, his head pointed toward the ceiling as Esven showered affection over him. A single, glowing orb opened. Mrow.
“I saw you at that demon’s feet. Vahldod.” Esven’s gaze narrowed as she scratched beneath the feline’s chin. “What do you know of him?”
A sneeze. A bristled tail. Maritimus allowed a low rumble of disapproval to rattle in his throat.
Esven frowned. “I suspected as much,” she mumbled. “And you didn’t think to mention this sooner? I’ve been sitting here in torment, you know.”
Leaping from her lap, Maritimus padded softly across the table top. He sat before the necklace, flicking Esven’s grip off of it with his claws. When she pulled her hand away in irritation, the cat swatted the pendant from the table. It clattered to the floor.
A brow arched on Elias’ face. “Is… is he trying to tell us something?”
Esven puckered her brows as she stared at the locket. “While he has a penchant for knocking things off of tables, in this instance, you’re right.” Bending down, she gingerly scooped the object up, and tucked it back in her satchel, her concentration somewhere far away again. “He knows what happened to Balvo.”
Elias knew by the sound of her voice that it was unsavory news. Reaching out to stroke the animal, the priest asked, “What did he say?”
She pulled her scattered thoughts back into one central location. Esven pinched her eyes shut, sucking in a measured breath through her nostrils. “He says our new ‘friend’ Vahldod has trapped him back in the Netherworld.”
“I see…” Consumed by a mixture of feelings, Elias tried to show empathy for Esven’s situation. He knew by her posture that Maritimus’ announcement brought her some kind of pain. It was difficult to push aside his belief that demons belonged in the Netherworld long enough to comfort her, but he lowered his voice to a gentle volume just the same. “What are you going to do?”
Esven looked once more at the journal sitting on the table. Her thoughts drifted to Balvo. Of the time they’d spent together. Elias was right; she had only known the demon a short time, and her suspicions about the locket did not paint him in a positive light.
She could resign him to his fate. Leave him to finish out his sentence in the Netherworld, where karma had decided he belonged. He wanted bad things from her. Destruction. Decimation. A slight frown formed on the witch’s face.
No. Demon or not, she would help him. It was unfair to hang him for a crime she wasn’t sure he had even committed. Predispositions made Esven tell herself that it was what her mother would have wanted: for no harm to come to any, demon and human alike. Her nose wrinkled when she realized that sentiment may have been less accurate than she had previously thought.
Maybe it wasn’t just doing what her mother expected of her. Maybe it was something else. A blossoming, nagging feeling surfaced. Esven frowned and shoved the thought aside.
It was decided. She’d help Balvo. But that wouldn’t be the only thing she did while she was down there.
She’d also end the forsaken war between the Twin Gods.
“Vahldod wants me to open the gate,” Esven said slowly, turning her concentration to Elias as the flickering candlelight surrounded them. “I think I will surprise him and comply.”
Elias’ expression darkened as he jolted forward. “Esven—”
“But just for me,” she interjected quickly. “One going in, one coming out.” Two, if she could find Balvonak, return his locket, and bring him back with her. “Someone needs to tell the Demon Lord about His Twin Brother’s deceit. That He did not receive the souls He was meant to. That humanity is dark, disgusting, and riddled with unimaginable flaws, yes, but the flickers of goodness that cower amongst the filth were sent to the Celestialworld instead.” Esven stood, her palms flat on the table. “Perhaps, if He knows that His Brother took the righteous and left Him with the undesirables, He’ll change His mind about destroying humanity.”
Elias’ face paled at her announcement. “If Marumon discovers that His Brother went back on Their agreement, it won’t end a war, Esven. It will only redirect Marumon’s rage to the Celestialworld. Brigovia would be caught between two warring nations. Humans, angels, either way, lives are on the line.”
The witch reached over, laying her hand over Elias’ in the hopes that the gesture would calm his nerves. “I can change His mind. Marumon respected my mother. Perhaps, He will respect the word of her kin.”
The priest did not appear convinced. “And you, charging gallantly into the demon realm—which I in no way support, by the way—this has nothing to do with Balvo?”
He knew her too well. Esven straightened her spine, hardening her resolve. “Two birds, same stone.”
Elias clenched his teeth and leaned away. “Esven, I cannot emphasize how little I recommend this. De’Savaria has been breathing down my neck, waiting for the smallest slip up on my part. I would bet my life that he already knows you’re here, and our lengthy interactions with one another will certainly make you a person of interest. If you leave the church, you risk being at the mercy of not only Vahldod, but the Brotherhood, as well.”
“If I stay in the church, nothing will change. The world will continue as it is, as it has been. And, Elias…” She paused, her disappointment shining through her slumped shoulders, “I do not like how it has been.”
Her mind was set. He saw the determination that clawed to the forefront. Elias scrubbed at his face with both hands, and blew out his cheeks. “I won’t be of much help to you,” he admitted, his words carrying a layer of defeat with them. “If I leave Pinesguard, De’Savaria will follow.”
Esven reached over and rested a hand on his knee. “This is not your burden, my friend. Besides… if De’Savaria stays in town to survey you, that should keep him from interfering. Any members of the Brotherhood who you can keep at bay here, will be help enough.”
The priest was not shy about disguising his disapproval. He began to tap his fingers on the table as well, unable to find any other outlet for his growing anxiety. “How do you intend to open the door and enter the Netherworld without allowing the demons out?”
“If what Balvo said is true, my mother did it countless times over. With any luck, the answer is in there somewhere,” Esven said, gesturing to Fat
her Asher’s journal where it sat on the table’s edge. She would stay up. Read it. Study it. It had to contain something about how Amadeia entered the Netherworld, if that was as big a part of her life as everyone seemed to indicate.
Clouds of nervousness appeared on Elias’ face. He glanced at the journal once, briefly, before pushing his darting gaze back to Esven. “And if it isn’t?”
Esven rested her chin in her palm, thinking. She could try to concoct her own. Many memories existed of her trying to impress her mother when she was nothing more than a youthful little sprite.
She remembered the look in Amadeia’s eyes. The pride of witnessing Esven’s talent, a prodigy in her own right. She also remembered the horror. The emotion that made little sense as a child, made all the sense in the world now.
Her mother was scared. Scared that Esven was too talented. Too skilled to keep her magic away from those who would wish to kill her for what she was: a witch.
It was the fear that had kept Amadeia from teaching her any of the spells that would have served her greatly now.
Esven chewed thoughtfully on her bottom lip. If she had the proper recipe for a spell, and enough practice, she could perfect it. But where did she even begin outlining the suitable components for an enchantment that would allow her to walk through the Netherworld unharmed?
“If it isn’t,” she started, shrugging, “I’ll just… figure something else out.”
The answer wasn’t good enough. Elias needed absolute certainty that Esven had all the tools at her disposal to succeed. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if she didn’t. The priest looked down. He had doubts that Marumon could be swayed with her words, not only to disregard His desire to eradicate mankind, but to put His anger aside and forgive His brother for His trickery…
Belief was a critical part of Elias Deverell’s existence. He filled his lungs with a deep breath. The priest had witnessed vile men change; men the world would have given up on. Men that he had helped get better, through determination and compassion.
If there was even a hint of a chance that Esven could sway the Demon Lord with her words… that was something he truly wanted to believe in. She only needed the tools.
Elias sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he squeezed his eyes shut. “Esven… there is… one last thing that, um… you are its legal heir, but…”
He looked conflicted. Completely beside himself. Esven’s head cocked to the side, her brows coming together. “Elias? What is it?”
He looked at her, hesitating. Slowly, begrudgingly, the priest rose to his feet. He crossed the distance to a wall, resting his fingertips on one of the many vertical planks of wood that crawled from the floor to the ceiling. “Father Asher, forgive me,” he whispered beneath his breath, before pulling on one of the planks.
Esven shifted in her seat, trying to see what it was that Elias pulled from the hidden space in the wall. He cradled it in his hands as he returned to the table. The cloth-bound object remained between his fingers for several long seconds before he finally convinced himself to set it down. “Here,” he murmured, sliding it toward her.
Blinking, Esven carefully reached over to push the cloth aside. Beneath it, a textured cover. It was wrinkled. Imperfect. Bumps and creases brushed up against her fingertips as she ran them over the top. A strong scent wafted up from the thick, irregularly cut pages sandwiched in the binding. “Another book?” she asked, confusion surrounding her.
“It’s Amadeia’s old spell book,” Elias confessed, his shoulders dropping with his confession. “She… gave it to Father Asher. A symbol that she had left her life in the dark arts behind her, after you were born. She wanted nothing to do with that existence anymore.” He lifted a hand to rub his forehead, hoping to quell the rising ache that hammered between his ears. “She knew that fighting for Marumon would hurt William. Most importantly, she knew that danger followed the life she lived, and she wanted none of that for her infant daughter.” He gestured toward the book, though he could not bring himself to look at it. “She trusted William to invoke the name of the Angel Lord, and destroy the book for good.”
The witch lowered her gaze. One hand slid the book closer to her, while the other fidgeted with the hem of her skirt. It was surreal to touch the object. This was the only thing she ever knew of that was held by either of her parents at one time or another. “Why didn’t he do it?” she asked.
Elias ran his hands through his hair and sighed. “Let’s just say… invoking the name of the Angel Lord is a risky thing.” His expression turned into a sad, reflective smile. “All that, and… he said it wasn’t really love if a man only prized the lighted parts of a person. That true love involved regarding their darker parts, too. He told me that Amadeia’s path made her the woman who he adored… and though it gutted him, he couldn’t have any part in destroying it.”
The admission brought mixed feelings with it. For Elias to have given her the journal after much hesitation was one thing, but to avoid giving her the spell book, as well…
Had he intended to keep it hidden from her? “Why didn’t you give this to me before?” she wondered aloud, trying and failing to meet his gaze.
Elias blew out a series of small breaths as he fixated on the floorboards. His fingers twisted around the rosary he kept wrapped around his wrist. Nerves prodded him to pick at the silver pendant’s edge. The symbol of the Angel Lord: a bow with a vertical arrow, that each man could draw his string back, release his arrow skyward, and climb its rope to the Celestialworld. “Father Asher spoke much of your mother’s darkness in his journal, Esven, but this…” His tender voice adopted a strange gravelly quality. It sounded unnatural coming from Elias’ gentle soul. “This… paints a very vivid picture. Some of those pages are still stained with the blood of her victims.” He coerced himself to look at her, to drive home the gravity of its contents. “This won’t just tell you that she killed people. This will show you exactly how she did it, down to the last excruciating detail. I didn’t want you to picture her that way—” He cut himself short, knowing that wasn’t the entire truth. Elias frowned, mentally chastising himself for his moment of weakness. He couldn’t lie to her. “No… I’m sorry.” He reached over, and though he ran a risk in touching her, he grabbed her hand. “I didn’t give you the book because I did not want you to become this, Esven.” His grip tightened. “Tell me you won’t become the woman who made these incantations.”
Something about his touch. His words. Esven felt the thin hairs on the back of her neck stand on their ends. “I… I love my mother, Elias.” Her focus fell to his hand on hers, then jumped to the book. “I—I know it’s a lot to take in, but I can’t imagine shunning any part of her.”
The priest’s head fell. He stared at his feet until he felt the confidence to lift his chin once more. “Remember that this is who she used to be. Amadeia turned away from that life for a very good reason.”
He seemed so resolute, and yet, so broken. Esven surveyed her friend, wetting her lips, as she felt her mouth go dry. “Is it really all that awful?”
Elias did not look away from her. He didn’t answer, and that was answer enough.
Swallowing, Esven glanced once more at the book. It looked almost ominous, half of it still hidden beneath the tattered cloth it was wrapped in. She had a hard time coming to the realization that something her mother made could house such darkness.
As was the theme of the evening, and her entire life, it seemed there was a lot to Amadeia Greenbriar that she didn’t know about…
“If it was meant to be destroyed,” Esven announced, feeling a sting of guilt for what she was about to say, “if that was her wish, then, perhaps you should destroy it, Elias. I hate to ask, particularly if there is a risk to doing it, but know that I will be here to help you however I can.”
The priest released her hand and sat back on his bucket. “I cannot.”
“Why not?” Esven threw her focus toward him, her red hair swinging with the sudden movement.
“Because…” Elias hardened his resolve, and straightened his posture. “If you’re dead set on entering the Netherworld… on dealing with demons… confronting Marumon…” He peeled his eyes off of her and rested them on the book. “…then I fear that this book, and what it contains, is your only chance for survival.”
Chapter Fourteen
The Netherworld. Balvo grumbled as his bruised body staggered through the hellfire. The demon breathed heavily as he gripped his ribs. Each new step made his clenched jaw rattle with the crunch of displeased bones.
It had taken several minutes for the other demons to part after Vahldod closed the door. The more mindless of them always lingered, clinging desperately to an irrational hope that the door might appear again. That they might be able to get through. It didn’t matter that they never did. Wild creatures operated on instinct, rather than logic.
Balvo did not look forward to the day he became one of them. Embarrassing little things.
His nostrils stung from the stench of the brimstone. Heated chunks of mass glowed a red hue in his peripheral vision. Balvo stopped to lean his palm against a jagged piece of igneous rock that shot up from the cracking crust. It hit his skin with a heat unmatched by anything in Brigovia’s surface world. The fire demon glared at a particularly small rock near his feet. For no reason at all, it had incurred his pent-up wrath.
Fucking Vahldod.
Fucking self.
How could he have been so blind to Vahldod’s trickery? It was no secret that his old ‘friend’ should be handled with caution. Balvo’s confidence got the better of him; Vahldod must have known it would. That little bastard was always seven steps ahead of anyone else.
Balvonak wrinkled his nose. The strong scent had burned through the back of his senses, and settled on his tongue. The air tasted terrible. Acrid, scorched, and pungent.
Followed by Fire Page 20