by Reine, SM
What in the world could she be doing in there with Neuma? It had been over an hour, and that was in Hell time. On Earth, it might have already been a full day. There was a lot of ground that could be covered in a day, even on foot.
She couldn’t wait any longer.
Rylie marched toward the door. A former slave was guarding the bedroom, and when he saw Rylie approach, he stepped in her way and lifted the Taser.
“You can’t enter,” he said.
“Try to stop me,” Rylie said, shoving him aside. She only used a fraction of her strength—probably a fraction more than she normally would have, but she was tense. It was enough to toss him into the wall.
By the time he regained his footing, she had already thrown the door open.
Rylie stopped short inside the doorway.
Elise’s bedroom in the Palace of Dis was alien and hostile and black. Obsidian floors, obsidian walls, huge windows overlooking the Palace grounds and the almost-finished tower. Her bed was bigger than any bed that Rylie had ever seen on Earth. It could have slept the entire pack. Its red silk sheets looked like sin against all of the stark, jagged lines of the bedroom’s decorations.
Neuma was lounging in the center of the bed, totally naked aside from a chunky silver ring on her forefinger. She streamed blood from several bite wounds on her breasts, her ribs, her thighs. It didn’t look like this bothered her.
Elise sat on the edge of the bed. She was still wearing her shirt, although it had been torn down the center to reveal glowing runes on her stomach, and her jeans were unbuttoned. Curlicues of smoke drifted lazily around her head. Light flared as she took a long drag of the cigarette, and her eyes met Rylie’s eyes over her cupped hands.
She offered the cigarette to Neuma without looking away from Rylie.
The air didn’t just smell like tobacco. It smelled like sweat and sex, the mingled pheromones spilled by two bodies joined in passion. It told a story that Rylie immediately regretted knowing.
“Oh my God,” Rylie whispered, hands clapped over her mouth. Her cheeks had never burned so hot before in her entire life, and she had once accidentally walked into the boys’ locker room in high school.
Elise stood, jerking her jeans up around her hips, buttoning them under her navel. “I’m pretty sure I told Aniruddha not to let anyone in,” she said without vitriol.
Neuma was smiling around the cigarette. She blew smoke rings through puckered lips.
It took a few seconds for Rylie to think of a response. “He tried to stop me, but I pushed past him. I don’t—I’m really sorry.” She started to back away. Her every instinct wanted her to close the doors, return to the sitting room, hide her head under the couch or whatever it took to smother the horrible embarrassment she felt at interrupting Elise.
When she had said she needed to feed, Rylie had imagined something much more awful and much less private—like eating demons or something.
But she stopped herself from leaving with a hand on the door.
No. Abel was gone. It had been over an hour.
And Elise was having sex? Seriously?
Rylie squared her shoulders and stepped forward again.
“It’s just—this is urgent,” Rylie said. “Abel is missing, his scents are gone from the sanctuary, and we found rune magic.”
Elise tossed her shredded shirt aside. Her right breast had a bite mark on it, too, encircling the nipple in a painful red wound. Magical markings slithered down her spine and over her shoulder blades. “You mean paper magic?” At Rylie’s blank look, she elaborated. “Runes written on scraps of paper. A lot of witches use them these days. Could point fingers at the Union.”
“It was in the basement of an empty house,” Rylie said. “No paper. I couldn’t see it, but I could kind of smell it. Josaiah said that it was glowing.”
Elise’s hands froze on the door of her wardrobe, all expression draining from her face.
“That’s why I summoned you,” Neuma said, sitting up with a wince. “Thought you’d want to know.”
“And you didn’t tell me?” Elise asked, dead-voiced.
Neuma gave Rylie a long-suffering look, as though to silently say, You hear this bitch? “You weren’t in a talkative type mood, doll. Chill out.”
Elise pulled a leather bustier out of the wardrobe and pulled it on, flipping her hair out of the way. “I would have talked about this.”
“Yeah, right,” Neuma said. “When would that have been again? When you were tongue-deep in my cunt, or when I was finger-fucking you with bloody lube?”
Elise glared at her as she buckled the bustier with jerky gestures. “Abel is missing. You found ethereal runes.” She almost sounded like she was in denial.
“Is it the Union?” Rylie asked. “Is that what you’re saying?”
Elise clenched her jaw and jerked a jacket out of the wardrobe.
It was Neuma who responded.
“Not the Union,” she said. “James fuckin’ Faulkner.”
Six
Elise had visited the Sistine Chapel twice before. The first time had been on a Wednesday morning during visiting hours, and her first impression of Michelangelo’s famous fresco hadn’t been positive. It was an old painting and irritatingly mortal in its sensibilities. The humans that had painted it demonstrated no understanding of God or Adam—as though they could be separate entities—and the cherubic angels had offended her so deeply that she had left within minutes. It had been crowded with tourists anyway. Too busy to be worthwhile.
Yet she kept thinking about it after she left, and she had returned for a second visit in the middle of the night. Despite James’s fervent protests, he had gone with her. Together they had broken into the Sistine Chapel, slipped past the security cameras, and taken a closer look at Michelangelo’s masterpiece.
The chapel staff had been performing maintenance on the ceiling at the time. A scaffold stood near one of the walls like a skeleton left behind by long-dead artists, and Elise and James had scaled it in utter silence, their tiniest motions echoing through the chapel.
Elise had climbed to the top and come face-to-face with Adam, the first man.
It was as inaccurate at night as it had been during daytime, but in the hushed silence she had seen beyond Adam’s fair skin to the craft of the artist. She had stared at the confident brushstrokes and aged colors for long minutes with James’s hand in hers. It was only then that she saw the mastery of it. The culmination of decades of study and practice. And she had thought that, artistic liberties aside, Michelangelo might have really once glimpsed God.
Until the police chased them out, Elise had felt deep awe mingled with fear that ached to her very core.
That was the same way she felt looking at the rune left in the basement of the house in Northgate.
Elise circled it without stepping across the lines. It vibrated with such force that it seemed to form a solid wall around its diameter—one that she could touch, but not quite see. The rune itself was a masterwork. It was six feet across and held a hundred smaller runes captive. She could identify a few of the silvery-blue marks. Others were new to her, though she thought she might be able to figure them out if she had enough time.
James had given her an entire Book of Shadows to further her studies. She was now reliably replicating many of his spells and putting them to practical use—mostly against enemies she couldn’t swallow, like the kibbeth.
Studying his magic had given her a new, grudging respect for his abilities. He really was an artist. A genius.
“Is it him?” Rylie asked, breaking the silence of the basement. The glow of the rune that was so obvious to Elise didn’t touch Rylie’s skin. It was invisible, unlike the spells Elise carried under her sleeves and gloves.
Elise’s eyes swept over the tiny marks. She tried to imagine someone else having cast this spell—an angel from Shamain, or an ambitious Union witch. It was impossible. This was James’s handiwork.
“I’m going to dismantle it,” Elise said.
“Maybe it’ll bring the scent trail back. Tell me if anything changes.”
She tried to scuff the edge of the circle, but the toe of her boot connected with the rune like a wall of electricity. It tingled all the way up to her knee.
Elise crouched and held her hand out, careful not to touch the edge. The glow made her fingers ache. “Come here, you little fucker,” she muttered, trying to urge it onto her fingers like all of the other runes that she had taken from James.
The instant she stretched tendrils of magic toward the rune, it vanished.
Elise blinked into the darkness. Without the hum of magic, everything was so much quieter. The pressure in her chest eased.
“What’s wrong?” Rylie asked. “Did you remove it?”
Elise rubbed her hand on the ground. It wasn’t even warm. Hard to believe that something so brilliant should be able to vanish without leaving a trace. James must have booby-trapped it to prevent another witch from dissecting his magic, always paranoid about having his techniques stolen.
“It’s gone,” Elise said. “Can you smell anything?”
Rylie sniffed audibly. “Nothing new.”
Damn it all. “That’s fine,” Elise said. “I don’t need smells to find James.” She smoothed her hands over her hair as she stood. It was sticking up as though she had rubbed a balloon over her head.
“What’s the game plan?” Rylie asked.
Find James. Save Abel. And then Elise would do something about James—something permanent. She hadn’t decided what yet.
“I’ll leave tonight,” Elise said. When she stepped closer to Rylie to approach the trap door, the Alpha stepped back, like she was trying to stay out of Elise’s reach.
“I’m coming,” Rylie said.
Elise’s eyes narrowed. “The pack needs one Alpha.”
“On the moons, yeah, but we just had a moon three days ago. We’ve got ten days to find Abel and get back. Summer and Abram will take care of everything until then.” She waited until Elise had phased back onto the first floor then climbed after her, emerging from the closet looking dusty but determined. “You’re not the only one that’s angry, Elise. I’ve got a lot of good reasons to want to find James Faulkner.”
The statement was so strange coming from Rylie. The slender blond girl looked so passionately angry now when she was usually shrinking and demure. Her gold eyes flashed with wolfish fierceness.
It was that hidden fury that made Rylie such a powerful ally. A werewolf in control of shifting shapes was one of the deadliest monsters on Earth. Maybe the deadliest, after Elise.
And that was exactly why Elise hesitated to agree.
Something needed to be done about James. He had crossed too many lines, pushed all the wrong buttons. Too many people had died because of him—including one that Rylie loved. He was an atom bomb on two legs. The problem was that Elise couldn’t think of a resolution between James and a werewolf that didn’t involve one of them dying.
But Rylie was right. She deserved this revenge.
“Fine,” Elise said, feeling heavy, exhausted, angry. “We’ll take care of James together.”
“Promise?” Rylie asked.
After a moment, she said, “Yes.”
“You can’t just leave.”
“I can, and I will,” Rylie said.
That obviously wasn’t the answer that Abram wanted to hear. He raked his hand through the short curls at his scalp, jaw clenched, tendons flexing in his neck.
They were in Rylie and Abel’s cottage, preparing supplies for Rylie to leave. She didn’t plan to take much. Abel had taught her how to pack light for travel—dress heavy, don’t take duplicates of anything except socks and underwear, bring calorie-dense snacks. Without his guns in her backpack, there was room for her to pack more than usual, but she didn’t know what else she could possibly need. The world beyond Northgate was a giant question mark.
“This is more complicated than you want to think,” Abram said.
Rylie zipped the half-empty backpack closed and slung it over her shoulder, but Abram grabbed it immediately.
“This situation is only complicated if you make it complicated,” Rylie said. “Please give the bag back.”
“You need to listen to me.”
“I am listening. Stephanie Whyte will be here soon. Bekah, too. The two of them can handle everything that you and Summer can’t. That’s four people in charge. Four people can handle the pack and a small town for a week.”
“Elise has left the Palace of Dis too,” Abram said. “Have you no idea how vulnerable that leaves us? This is a war, Rylie, and whether or not you two are capable of seeing it, you’re in charge. People need you. They follow you. When you leave, we’re crippled.”
Rylie’s heart clenched. What would Abram think of her if he knew that she had tried to sacrifice her wolf to stop the Breaking? Would he sympathize, realize that nothing mattered to her as much as saving Abel—even the pack—or would he hate her for her selfishness?
She couldn’t bring herself to tell him.
Rylie took one of his hands. So hard to believe that he was the tiny preterm infant that she had birthed in a muddy, rain-drenched forest. He was twice her size now. He had calluses on his forefingers from where he frequently rested a paintbrush—his passion—and other calluses on his palms and knuckles from hard labor and hard fighting—the things he did for survival.
He cupped her hand in his palm. She closed her eyes and let him hold her.
“This is about more than us and our family,” Abram said. “Come on, Mom.”
Mom. She didn’t think she would ever get used to hearing that.
Rylie took the backpack gently from his hand and slung it over her shoulder. “Someday, you’re going to love someone so much that you’d give up everything for them, too. And I think you’ll understand why I have to do this.”
“Give up everything? Even if it means letting the world die?” he asked, voice harsh.
“What are you talking about, Abram? I’ll be back for the moon. The world isn’t at stake here.”
“I don’t know,” Abram whispered. “I don’t know.”
Rylie stared at him, trying to understand his fear. He had lost Seth too. They had been closer than anyone else in the pack. Maybe this was just his grief getting the better of him.
Gazing up at her son, she could almost see Abel in him—almost. But Abram was so much more sensitive than his father. He was gentle. He had taken a lot from Seth, and not just the Wilder family smile. He had gotten the temperance, too. The ability to see beyond the now to the bigger picture and how people fit into it.
She ached for Seth in that moment, looking into Abram’s silver eyes.
“I’ll come home soon,” she promised, wrapping her arms around his waist to hug him tightly. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll be with Elise.”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” Abram said.
The motorcycle glimmered in the Christmas lights like a present waiting to be unwrapped. Its body was sleek, glossy blue, almost the same color as the Chevelle. The chrome organs sparkled. Its tires had been swapped out for winter, bulkier and studded for ice.
Elise ran her hands over the handles, the seat. She had borrowed this motorcycle once before. Riding it was a pleasure. But she didn’t immediately climb on.
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” she said.
Rylie settled the saddlebags over the rear of the motorcycle. “I said it’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”
“This belonged to Seth.”
“It’s Abel’s, actually,” she said, cheeks flushed even though it was barely twenty degrees under the awning that sheltered the pack’s vehicles.
Elise arched an eyebrow. “And you think Abel would be okay with me borrowing it?”
“No,” Rylie admitted, “but the pack needs the pickups in this weather, and if you want to drive, this is all we have left.” She didn’t vocalize the question that she had already asked twice, smart enough to know t
hat if she hadn’t gotten an answer the first two times, she wouldn’t get it a third.
Why drive at all?
It would be faster and safer to phase from town to town in search of Abel. Elise wouldn’t have to worry about sheltering during the daylight hours if she jumped between states.
But Elise’s stomach still cramped with hunger, and her skin was grayer than its usual porcelain white. She had eaten all of the brutes that the kibbeth had brought through the fissure. She had sipped Neuma’s blood and consumed her sexual energies until the half-succubus had almost passed out.
Elise was still hungry.
So hungry, in fact, that she wasn’t confident she could phase Rylie safely. And since the werewolf was bent on tracking down Abel, they had to drive.
Neuma slunk out of the shadows beyond the awning. She wore a fur-lined coat that hung to her knees, and Rylie tensed at the sight of it. “Down, girl,” Elise muttered, stepping away from the motorcycle to receive Neuma. “Is everything ready?”
“Yup.” Neuma handed Elise a small box. “Everything you asked for in there. Me and Gerard got a handle on everything through December still, so as long as you’re back by New Year’s, we’ll be good. Still sure you don’t want a guard along with you?”
Elise jammed the box into the saddlebags without opening it. “We’ll move faster alone.”
“Still, you know, going after the big witchy guy,” Neuma said. “Backup can’t hurt.”
“Are you suggesting that I can’t handle James alone?”
“Nah. I’m not saying nothing.” She glanced at Rylie, then back to Elise. “Can we talk in private for a sec?”
Rylie took a hint well. “I’ll say goodbye to Summer and Abram.” She headed up the path back toward the cottages.
They didn’t speak until she was out of sight. It might not have been far enough to elude Rylie’s hearing, but it was as good as they were going to get.
“I gotta set one rule for this fun little road trip,” Neuma said, curling her first finger through one of the belt loops on Elise’s jeans. “No sex.”