Reaper Undone (Deadside Reapers Book 5)

by Debbie Cassidy

  She balked. “I—yes, I do, but—”

  “We need to do it now, Vi. Azazel is in danger. He might be dying.” I filled her in on what had happened. “Uriel could be the key to figuring out who the Dread really are, and if they’re who they say they are. He could be the key to figuring out how to stop them for good.”

  Vi looked torn. “From what you said, summoning Uriel tonight won’t help Azazel; only this Keon daemon can do that once he has the information you need to disrupt the runes. I don’t see how waiting until tomorrow will hurt?”

  Was she serious? “Vi, Jasper just killed one of their generals; there’s every chance they’ll move up the timeline on their plan now. Waiting isn’t an option. If you have what you need to do the spell, then please, help us.”

  Vi sighed. “Fine. Meet me out back in ten minutes. I’ll need to make my excuses and change out of this wonderful dress.”

  I noticed her outfit for the first time, deep shimmering blue that hugged her frame like a second skin. She looked hot.

  Guilt pricked at my senses. “I’m sorry for ruining your night.”

  She gave me a sheepish smile. “I can hardly complain. I owe you. Big time.”

  I opened my mouth to argue and then snapped it shut. She did owe me, after all, and I needed to collect.

  “Thank you.”

  Vi met us at the back of the mansion and then led us down the impressive garden, following a winding path until we reached a large building that looked like a summer house on steroids.

  “This is my studio,” she said.

  “Studio?”

  “I like to make things.” She unlocked the door and ushered us inside.

  It smelled like the art room at school, and a memory surfaced, sharp and distinct, of a sunflower painted blue. My first creation on an actual easel aged five. I blinked, and the image faded. The lights came on, and the room was revealed. A long wooden table with trays of brushes and pots containing goodness knows what. An easel stood by the wall and sculptures made of paper and wire dangled from the ceiling.

  “You’re an artist.”

  Vi shrugged. “It’s just a hobby. Come on.” She cut across the room to a door on the far side and unlocked it with a key hanging on a peg on the wall. “I set up my storage room. It’s big enough, and I recently cleared it out so…” She pushed open the door, and we followed her in. “Here it is,” she said.

  The room was the same size as my quarters at the Dominus house. Boxes had been pushed up against the wall to make a space in the center of the room, and an intricate symbol was drawn on the ground in white paint and surrounded by a circle drawn in red paint. Four bowls sat on the circle, spaced out evenly. Each contained some kind of herb.

  “The herbs took a little time to source,” she said. “And the symbol wasn’t easy to perfect. I had to practice for hours. It must be drawn in a continuous line, no breaking off. It took several attempts to get right.”

  “Thank you, Vi, seriously, thank you.”

  She smiled, looking embarrassed. “Don’t thank me yet. It might not work. I might have messed up somewhere.” She walked over to one of the boxes in the corner of the room and returned with a sheet of paper and a box of matches. “If one of you lights the herbs, I can start reading the incantation. There’s a space where I need to utter his name. Uriel, right?”

  I nodded.

  “And then what happens?” Mal asked.

  “Then, Uriel should appear.”

  It sounded simple enough. I took the matches from her and carefully lit up the herbs in each bowl. A sweet, cloying smell began to fill the room. I joined Mal and Vi as she began to chant. The words were convoluted but had a melodic cadence to them. They seemed to swell, overtaking the room and mingling with the smoke from the herbs.

  Vi said Uriel’s name and continued to chant; it went on and on until she said his name again, repeating the chant.

  “Nothing’s happening,” Mal said.

  I looked at Vi, and her gaze flicked to mine. She shook her head slightly, mouth still moving in the chant.

  This had to work. “Keep going. Please.”

  “Uriel, please, I need you.” My words were a desperate whisper. “Please.”

  He had to be okay. I needed him to be okay, and not just because of the Dread, but because he was my friend. He was good, kind, and sweet, and he needed to be okay. “Uriel, please.”

  “Something’s happening!” Mal pointed at the symbol.

  It was starting to glow.

  Vi’s voice gained strength, the words more of a command and less of an entreaty. My pulse sped up as the smoke from the bowls turned silver, shimmering as it twined up into the air.

  And then the space inside the circle began to shimmer. A figure materialized behind the wavering air.

  “Uriel…” I took a step forward, but Mal grabbed my arm.

  “Wait.”

  Eerie wails and mournful sobs filled the room, slowly turning up in volume, and then the air around the circles began to move like a cyclone. Uriel’s form flickered like an image with bad reception, and my heart shot into my mouth. No.

  “Uriel, I need you.”

  My scalp prickled, and gooseflesh peppered my skin. The symbol glowed brighter and brighter, the cyclone sped up, and the figure solidified. Vi was practically shouting the chant now, screaming the words above the cacophony of sound that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere.

  And then the world exploded in white, leaving me momentarily blind.

  “Fuck!” Mal clutched my arm. “Are you okay?”

  I blinked, waiting for the dark spots to vanish and my vision to clear.

  “I did it,” Vi said softly. “I fucking did it.”

  I raised my head to stare at the figure in the circle. Naked from the waist up, Uriel was on his knees, arms loose at his sides, chin tucked in, chest heaving as if he’d just finished a sprint.

  “Uriel?” I bridged the distance between us, stopping at the circle.

  “It’s okay,” Vi said. “You can go in now.”

  I stepped inside and crouched beside my friend. “Uriel?” I touched his shoulder lightly. “Can you hear me?”

  He exhaled and slowly raised his head to look at me. “No…How? I tried to keep you away. I tried, and now they know. They know…I’m sorry, Fee.” He touched my cheek, grazing my skin with his fingertips. “I’m so sorry. I won’t get to see you again.”

  “Uriel, what are you talking about? You are seeing me.” I clutched his hand and pressed it to my cheek. “This is me. You’re here. With me.” He blinked slowly and looked about the room for the first time, then down at the ground. He reached out to touch the painted symbol.

  “You summoned me?”

  “Yes. I was worried. You didn’t answer my call.”

  “I’m on Earth.”

  “Yes. Uriel, what’s going on?” He tried to stand, but his knees buckled. “Let me help.” My stomach was in knots as I ducked under his arm to brace him. “I got you.” What the fuck was this? What had the celestials done to him?

  He leaned on me, allowing me to help him out of the circle. He wasn’t as heavy as I’d expected him to be, and when Mal stepped forward to help, I shook my head.

  “I got this.”

  Vi pushed open the door to the main room, and I went first with Uriel.

  Mal sucked in a breath as we passed. “Oh, fuck.”

  “What is it?”

  “Oh, Fee…” Vi said.

  My scalp tightened in foreboding.

  I got Uriel to the nearest chair and helped him into it. He leaned back and then cried out in pain.

  Mal was there to help him, coaxing him to sit forward, and then I saw why. Welts ran across his skin, red and raw, and two vertical wounds sat high up on his back in the exact spot where his wings would meet his flesh.

  His wings.

  My eyes grew hot as tears welled up to blur my vision. “Uriel…”

  “I’m fine,” he said. “I’ll heal.

” He sat with his forearms braced on his thighs. “I need to tell you what I found out, but first, you need to mark me. They’ll come for me. They’ll try and find me. I need a pen, paper.”

  Vi provided both.

  Uriel took the pen. Hands trembling, he drew a simple symbol. “Cut it into me. Do it quick.”

  Cut him?

  “I’ll do it,” Mal said. “Vi, do you have—”

  She handed him a tool that looked like a tiny scalpel.

  Uriel didn’t even flinch as Mal cut the symbol into the celestial’s shoulder, but he exhaled in relief when it was done.

  I wiped away my tears. “We need to get you to Petra. She’ll have herbs for the pain and to heal you.”

  Uriel’s eyes fluttered closed. “I’m afraid I need to pass out for a while.”

  And then his body went slack.

  Mal caught him before he could hit the floor. “Call Grayson. We’re going to need a ride.”

  Grayson hugged me tight as I pressed my cheek to his chest, blinking back tears. “They took his wings. They tore them out.” He cupped the back of my head with his huge hand, holding me to him. “It’s my fault. He was protecting me. I sent him to ask questions, and they did this to him. They want to know who else knows about the Dread claims, it’s the only explanation.”

  “We don’t know that for sure,” Grayson said. “We won’t know until he wakes up.”

  I sucked in cold winter air and snuggled closer to my mate. I’d had to come outside so my pack wouldn’t see me losing my shit.

  While we’d been buying gifts and celebrating. While I’d been happy, my friend was being tortured.

  “I should have looked for him sooner. I shouldn’t have put it off.” I pushed myself away from Grayson and began to pace. “They can’t get away with this. I won’t let them.”

  “We need to be smart about this,” Grayson said. “Whatever the Beyond is covering up is obviously something big. They don’t want it becoming outlier knowledge. We might be able to use that against them somehow, but we need to think about it with a cool head.”

  “And Azazel…What if Keon can’t find a solution? What then?”

  “We will find a solution. Uriel might have some information we can use to help Azazel. Just breathe.”

  I stood hands on hips, eyes closed, breathing in and out to calm myself. My heart rate slowed, and the fire ants in my head dissipated.

  “Let’s go back inside and check on Uriel and Azazel.” Grayson held out his hand, and I took it, allowing him to draw me back into the warmth of my pack house.

  The majority of the pack had been cleared out of the lower floor. Only Dean, Bobby, Bastian, Petra, and Vi remained. The witch had insisted on coming with us to help, and I was grateful for her assistance.

  The lounge had been turned into an impromptu hospital. Uriel lay on his front on one sofa, his back slathered in green herbs, and Azazel lay on the other. My soulmate was deathly pale, black veins creeping up his neck, reaching for his face.

  I crouched by the sofa and pressed my lips to his forehead, opening the connection between us, reaching out to him. But ice and darkness filled my mind, shoving me back. I fought against them, searching for the silver thread that bound us. Petra said our soul bond was intact. I just needed to find it. A glimmer of light filled my mind, and then my chest heated. Yes, there you are. I feel you.

  Azazel.

  Fee. He sounded far away. He sounded weak.

  I’m here. I’m with you. I promise I’ll fix this.

  What is this? Why can’t I wake up?

  The Dread have tainted your voralex, but we’re working on a solution.

  The Dread? Uriel…you must find him.

  Already done. I got this, babe. I got this. Don’t give up. Keep fighting.

  But the heat and the light were fading, and then darkness shoved me out of my soulmate’s head.

  “Is he in there?” Mal asked.

  “Yes. But he’s waning.” My throat tightened. I blinked back more tears and stood abruptly. No time to cry. I needed a plan of action. “Any sign of Cora?”

  “Not yet,” Dean said. He looked pissed. “The spirit hasn’t brought her back yet.”

  Fuck. Azazel, Uriel, and Cora. I was three men down with no idea what was coming, even though my gut told me it would be bad.

  “Mal, can you head back to our quarters? Jasper may have taken Cora there.”

  “Good plan,” Mal said. “I’ll message you when I get there.” He dropped a kiss on my cheek and left.

  “Petra, how’s Uriel doing?”

  Petra sighed. “I’ve never administered to a celestial before. I couldn’t say. The herbs seem to be working, though. His skin is healing. I don’t think he’ll wake for a few hours, though.”

  I needed to use that time wisely. “Vi, if I show you the symbols on Azazel’s voralex, do you think you might be able to help come up with a way to neutralize them?”

  She sucked on her bottom lip in thought. “They’re ancient demonic runes, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have no clue,” she said. “I can try to see if I can find any parallels with the ancient runes we have. I can’t promise anything.”

  “That’s good enough. Hopefully, Keon will have answers, but we need a backup if he doesn’t. Grayson, can you drive us to Lumiers?”

  I was in no fit state to fly, let alone carry a passenger; heck, I had no idea if I could carry someone else.

  “Of course.”

  “And what do you need us to do?” Dean asked.

  “Hold the fort. Call us if anything changes with Azazel or Uriel.”

  I had to keep busy. I had to stay active because if I didn’t, I would lose my fucking mind.

  Keon needed to hurry up. Where the fuck was he?

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Keon

  I am not an errand boy. Not for Seraphina Dawn, and yet I am here in the Underealm, skulking through the corridors toward my queen’s private quarters.

  I slip inside to find her standing on her balcony sipping from a goblet while Minuel, her imp advisor, rambles on about goodness knows what.

  She holds up a hand to silence him as I enter. “Why are you back?” she asks without turning to face me. “I gave you specific orders. I thought we were past the stage of compulsion.”

  Compulsion. How I hate that. The loss of will that accompanies her command. She hasn’t used it with me in decades. I haven’t given her reason to. I always follow orders.

  But not this time. “Your firstborn is dying.”

  She turns to face me. “Ridiculous. Azazel cannot die.”

  “He is linked to the death rune.”

  She goes still. “What do you know of the death rune, runt?”

  I hate it when she calls me names. A part of me wishes to tear out her throat, but the other part, the one that is beholden to her, that worships her, is stronger.

  “I have seen it in your library.”

  “You browsed the forbidden texts?” She looks impressed. “You bypassed my wards.”

  “I did.”

  “And my son is linked to a death rune?” she confirms.

  “Yes.”

  She moves closer. “And who else would know of such a rune? Tell me, Keon, tell me who threatens my firstborn.”

  I tell her what I know about the Dread, who have knowledge of this rune through a demon born of Samael’s bloodline.

  “Ancestral memory unlocked by transition…Minuel, make a note of this fact.”

  She hands Minuel her goblet and strides across the room to fling open her wardrobe. She pulls out her cloak made of shadows and midnight, a cloak any assassin would kill for. A cloak that renders the wearer invisible to anyone he or she wishes to evade.

  “Take me to my son,” she says.

  “Mistress.” Minuel rushes forward. “You cannot leave the Keep. Mammon’s spies are everywhere. If you were to be captured.”

  “I will be fine. I have my Blade to protect me, and I shall return by sunset.”

  “Mistress, I must advise against this.”

  “And I have considered and rejected your advice, imp, because I have no choice but to go. The rune to deactivate the death rune cannot be etched, it cannot be spoken, it can only be visualized and passed down through bloodlines.” Her eyes narrow slightly as if she’s considering something, and then she sighs. “I have it in my mind, and I must have contact with my son to utilize it.”

  She strides past me to the door. “Come, we leave immediately.”

  We head to her private pinnacle, and I watch in awe as her inky black wings materialize. Each feather is edged in crimson, the wingspan unmistakably hers. But her cloak will mask her presence and provide some protection. If we are spotted, then it will be me they see, flying alone.

  She glances back at me with a wicked smile. “Try to keep up, runt.”

  And then she’s airborne. I leap into the air after her, wings bursting into being, span almost rivaling hers but not quite. Her laughter drifts on the wind to my ears, and I can’t help but smile.

  It’s been a long time since I heard her laugh.

  An image flickers through my mind, her smiling face, her tinkling laugh as she lifts me into the air.

  Wait, what is this? This never happened.

  “Having trouble keeping up, runt?” she calls out.

  “Never!”

  I race after her, up high over the walls and into the Underealm proper.

  We fly for an hour, never slowing, but I know we must rest soon. There is a tavern a few miles ahead of us.

  I turn my head to tell my queen this and spot the shadows hurtling toward us. Darkites, daemons. No…How can this be? Darkites never leave the caves of Alaria. They don’t socialize with any but their own kind, but they’re here, which can mean only one thing.

  Mammon has recruited them.

  The queen’s cloak won’t stop them from seeing her. Darkites see through the shadows. They will see through the magic that envelops her.

  And they are zeroing in on us. Three, no, five of them. “Mistress, watch out!”

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