My scalp tugged and twisted agonizingly.
I floundered for the surface, the pain so overwhelming I thought I was about to gasp and suck down the boiling liquid and burn my insides raw. I breached the surface, gasping frantically, realizing that the water was only waist-deep—if even that.
And the air was pure fog and steam.
I stared down at my body as the pain slowly began to ebb and fade. My wounds…
Were gone. Or almost gone. I felt as weak as a day-old kitten, though. And I was wearing only a silver cross for some reason. I wasn’t sure where I had gotten it, but it looked old. Its heavy weight stuck to my chest rather than hanging free as I glanced left and right in an attempt to pierce the fog and find out where I was.
Or how I had gotten here. I focused on that last one, gripping the cross in my fingers and squeezing until my fingers ached. Then it hit me.
Samael. I’d fought the Greater Demon…and he’d kicked my ass. Did that mean I was in Hell? It was very hot, but it was also…pleasant. And the water seemed to have healed my wounds.
“Would ye look at that, Aidan,” an older man sang in a deep, Irish accent, his face suddenly leaning forward from out of the fog. “Hair as white as a rose.”
I squawked instinctively, jumping back a step upon realizing that I wasn’t alone and that my nudity was on full display. Where the hell had he come from? And who was Aidan?
And where was my brother when I wanted protection from a creepy old—
Cain…
My legs turned to jelly and gave out as a high-pitched whining sound abruptly filled my ears. Instead of sinking, my rear landed on a submerged bench near the outer lip of the apparent hot tub—the seat low enough to leave only my head and neck above the surface. I tucked my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them, hugging myself into a ball as I blinked back sudden tears, resting my chin on my forearms as I pursed my lips to keep from openly weeping.
I no longer cared that a stranger shared the hot tub with me. I didn’t care about anything.
Cain was dead. He had sacrificed himself to save me from Samael. The demon I had accidentally unleashed upon the world. My only friend in this place was gone. My brother was gone. I had the vague suspicion that other important people had died recently, but all I could think about was Cain. Through my tears, I realized I was actually biting my lips, now, a deep ocean of rage bubbling up within my heart.
Another thought drifted in and out of focus through my warring anger and agony, taunting me, but I couldn’t catch a hold of it. It was something about this place—the reason Cain and I had chosen to come here…
What he had died for…
“White Rose, eh?” another man asked from directly beside me, chuckling jovially at my new nickname. I managed not to flinch at the realization that I’d almost landed in this second old man’s lap when I had fallen into my seat.
That would have started an unwanted party.
“The bloomin’ hell did ye come from, then?” he asked, waving a hand to dispel some of the steam between us and reveal a bulbous, red nose and a scraggly beard that dominated a rather small face. He was old and looked wiry—his cheeks were drawn, and sported a long, wicked scar on one side—and his milky green eyes were that of a kindly but crafty grandfather.
“When yer our age, Aidan,” the first man piped back up, leaning forward as if to give his friend a hard time, “ye don’t question miracles. Ye just t’ank the Lord.” He pursed his lips and jerked his chin down, signaling he had stated an unarguable fact. Then he shot me a mischievous wink before leaning back again.
The larger man’s cheeks were red, plump, and round above his thick white beard, and the skin beneath his eyes was puffy, giving him a perpetual squint—or a permanent smirk. He sported maybe three hairs on the top of his head, and his skin was windburned from a life spent outdoors. His emerald green eyes were vibrant, and I sensed a ruthless intelligence in those depths. This man wasn’t just smart—he was also no stranger to danger. I could tell that he was deliberately orchestrating his body language to assure me he meant no harm, but I could tell there was no deceit in it. No trickery. He genuinely wanted me to feel safe.
“Aye, Paddy,” the scrawny man—Aidan, apparently—agreed in mock reverence. “Praise be to Jeezus, and all of that other nonsense.”
Paddy rolled his eyes as he grumbled an apologetic prayer that I couldn’t quite catch, but his tone made it sound like a familiar curse aimed at the blaspheming Aidan.
Despite everything, I felt myself relaxing. Maybe it was the hot water fusing my body back together. The banter of these two old men—and the utter ridiculousness of my current situation—was even forcing a sliver of a smile to creep over my cheeks, even though happiness was the last thing I wanted to feel right now. I was growing accustomed to the fog, and the two men slowly came into focus without me having to squint.
Paddy noticed my obvious discomfort at being nude in a hot tub with two strange men and smiled disarmingly, pointing out a stack of towels behind me. “We don’t bite, child. And Aidan’s as blind as shite on a log. Ye may as well be a sheep for all he can tell.”
“A shite in shinin’ armor, I is!” Aidan cackled, splashing water at Paddy. “But she ain’t no sheep, that’s for certain. She’s a White Rose! Ye said so yerself!”
Paddy wiped the splashed water from his face, rolling his eyes. “Those must belong to ye,” he said, pointing. I turned to see my leather clothes neatly folded up within reaching distance from the pool. The Spear of Destiny rested atop them, and I cringed to see the deep cracks in the haft—the two places where it had once been broken and re-forged now looking hollow and brittle. A flick of the finger might be enough to destroy those weak points.
I turned back to my new pals, frowning thoughtfully. Why weren’t they bothered by the fact that I had just appeared out of nowhere? They hadn’t asked a single question, taking the whole situation in stride. More importantly, why was I here in the first place?
“Where am I?” I asked, prioritizing my needs. Because wherever I was, I needed power. I needed to go find weapons. Magic. Anything that would give me the strength to crucify Samael—to avenge Cain.
“She speaks, she drinks!” Aidan cheered, suddenly holding a glass of whiskey in his hands.
Paddy nodded his agreement, holding a glass of whiskey in each of his beefy hands. I spotted a bottle resting on the edge of the pool but didn’t see a label. “Welcome to Dublin, White Rose,” he said, extending a glass my way. “God invented whiskey to keep the Irish from rulin’ the world, but we keep tryin’ anyway!”
I frowned hesitantly, drinking being the newest last thing on my mind…after happiness.
“No harm in declinin’,” he said gently. Something about the look on my face made his own crinkle compassionately. “I have a niece about yer age—pretty as a red rose, as a matter of fact—and I would hate it somethin’ terrible if I ever saw such sorrow on her sweet, freckled cheeks.”
“Aye,” Aidan growled, suddenly sounding surprisingly dangerous. “Point out the bastard that set such a fright in yer eyes!”
“We’ll roast him on a spit,” Paddy assured me in a calm, promising tone.
“Give him a proper kickin’, and maybe a few more on the ground for good measure!” Aidan added, sounding like he meant it quite literally.
I accepted the glass of whiskey with an uneasy smile and took a sip, hoping to draw their attention back from what they assumed was a boy problem—but I did find it oddly comforting, their sudden protective streak for a damsel in distress.
Chivalry wasn’t dead in this hot tub.
The whiskey hit my tongue like straight smoke and fire, almost making me cough in surprise. It wasn’t that it was bad—it was delicious—but I hadn’t quite expected such a kick. The burn somehow helped to soothe the pain in my heart at the loss of Cain. I glanced about the room, searching for an exit of some kind, but it seemed I would have to get out of the pool to check because the room wa
s massive, illuminated by dim torches that didn’t quite reach the outer walls. Our hot tub was one of a dozen, reminding me of a Roman bath house.
I needed a way out. I needed to get stronger. To avenge Cain. Regardless of why we had ever come here, that was all I cared about now. I stared into my glass of whiskey, imagining it fueling my rage, strengthening me, like lighting a fuse.
“I don’t know what yer lookin’ for, Lass, but ye should stop and smell the roses, ye should.”
I looked up to find Paddy staring at me. “Pardon?” I asked.
Aidan grunted. “Oh, Jeezus, Paddy. This one speaks all proper-like.” I turned to Aidan, leveling him with a stern look. “Bugger off, you,” he snapped right back. “What the fancy idiot is tryin’ to say is that if ye can’t sit back and enjoy a point, what’s the pint?”
I frowned, wondering if we were having a failure to communicate, his accent throwing me off. “I think you have that backwards. If you can’t sit back and enjoy a pint, what’s the point, right?” I asked, switching the words to make sense of his drunken advice.
He snapped his fingers, leaning forward as if he had just trapped me. “Good advice. Ye should take it, White Rose.” And then he pinched a piece of my hair, flicking it teasingly.
I stared at him, utterly gob smacked. How drunk was he?
Paddy cleared his throat. “There’s a time for fire, and a time for water. A time for sowin’, and a time for reapin’. A life of one over the other is a life of pain. Balance, child. Pint,” he said, holding up his glass of whiskey as a figurative example. “Point,” he said, jerking his beard at my Spear. “Wield them both, child, and then ye will always be content.”
“But the world isn’t black and white—” I cut off, realizing my argument was only proving his point. “Balance,” I muttered, holding up my hand before he could point out my flaw. “Live in the gray.”
Paddy nodded sagely. “A life spent at only the bottom of a bottle is no life. A life spent only at the end of a spear is no life.” He winked at me mischievously. “But bring a pint down to the fields of war…with ye all covered in blood and whatnot, sippin’ a cool lick of whiskey after yer victory…” he sighed rapturously. “What more could ye ask for?”
“Blood and whiskey!” Aidan chimed in, clinking his glass.
“But I just want the world to burn,” I whispered, unable to shake the replay of Samael murdering Cain before me. “I want to punish them. All of them. Over and over again…I want them to taste my pain in every fiber of their being. I want their descendants to taste that pain as a genetic trait passed down from generation to generation.”
I waited for them to gasp in disgust, to chastise me, but I heard only silence. I looked up to find them smiling knowingly. “Scales tip back and forth, leanin’ more heavily in one direction at times. Sittin’ in perfect balance is boring. It’s static. Do ye want a life of standin’ perfectly still, too cautious to risk rockin’ the boat?” Paddy asked. Then he made an unflattering flatulent noise with his lips and slapped his belly with a laugh.
“As you skip through the castle of vengeance, be sure to whistle a tune and admire the pictures on the walls. Murder a bastard. Bed a fine Irish lad. Light a field on fire. Taste a cake. Croon a song with a child, laugh with a friend. Stop to smell the roses, even when they’re splattered with the blood of your enemies,” Aidan said, flicking my hair with a finger again.
Paddy took a healthy sip of his whiskey, his deep voice resembling the sound of gravel as a result. “I have never in me life seen somethin’ so beautiful as the moment of fierce silence after the storm of battle. The sun risin’, the birds chirpin’ hesitantly, the laughter of the survivors.” He met my eyes. “Ye don’t focus on the death. Ye learn from it, to be sure. But what happens after a battle?”
I frowned. “I don't know.”
“They make songs...about life,” Aidan whispered adamantly. “Songs of joy, of their loves back home. They celebrate.”
Paddy nodded his agreement. “Ye can't live a life of war without lovin’ somethin’. Without havin’ somethin’ to fight for. Somethin’ to smile about. Someone to drink with.” To prove his point, he held out his glass in a toast. Aidan and I complied and took a drink. “And when you do finally get your justice…” Paddy went on, “well, murder would have never tasted so sweet as one fueled by a lovin’ heart. Make your rage a shrine to the fallen, beautiful enough to make men weep, cruel enough to make Demons flee. But do a little dance, after, or ye will look like a psychopath.”
I was pretty sure doing a dance after making a shrine of my enemies would be the psychotic decision, but I knew what he meant. “You guys are hardcore,” I finally admitted with an easy smile. “Cheers.” They took healthy drinks, looking satisfied they had taught me something.
I idly wondered where they had come to their conclusion, what with all their archaic fields of battle analogies, but what really dominated my thoughts was Samael.
And a healthy dose of rage.
I recalled Cain’s easygoing manner, how he had always made me laugh at the worst times, and felt a grin fighting for a place on my cheeks.
Balance. Not just rage, but something to stoke that coal. A cool breeze to make it white hot.
Samael’s cruel, vicious laugh, and Cain’s dry, sarcastic laugh.
“Who are ye, girl?” Paddy asked softly, studying me with those cunning, dangerous eyes.
I opened my mouth but immediately hesitated. I wasn’t quite sure how to answer. Names were such fleeting things, but they were supposed to be powerful, weren’t they? They were supposed to mean something.
So, who was I?
I almost told them I was nobody. Nameless. It felt right, but it also felt wrong.
And Nameless made me feel like my thumb was cold. It wasn’t right. I dipped my hand back into the water, battling the imagined chill as I thought about their simple question.
What was my name? Who was I?
I knew I wanted to destroy the Demon and that I had lost a brother. But that was it.
I’d had a name, once, but I wasn’t sure it still applied. I had discarded it at some point. When Cain had taken his last—
A slow smile came over my face.
“I’m a demon’s last breath. I’m a sinner.” I smiled at them. “I’m the White Rose.”
The last one fit the best, like a tight glove—but they all felt correct to some extent. The two men nodded somberly, sensing the depth to my answer. “And I think I’ve got some dancing to do.” I knew there was more to my name, but I’d just have to figure that out later. After I leveled up enough to defeat Samael.
I cast Aidan a stern look. “Turn your head before your ears curl,” I told him, and then I climbed out of the pool, setting my glass down on the ledge. I ignored Paddy’s booming laughter and Aidan’s standing ovation as I toweled off and dressed, careful not to nudge the Spear. Then I scooped up the Holy weapon with both hands, closed my eyes, and focused on keeping it safe. The Spear winked out of existence, disappearing somewhere within my body where I had been used to carrying it up until recently. Even though I couldn’t quite remember when I had pulled it out in the first place.
I paused to find a bone dagger had been tucked beneath my clothes. Cain’s blade…
I scooped it up, testing it between my fingers. The hilt was warm, and I pretended the heat was a parting gift from my brother Cain—a reminder to stop and smell the roses, my balance, a loving, comforting hand on my shoulder.
Even though it was obviously only warm because it had been sitting on the warm stone of the bath house.
Two doors lay before me all of a sudden, gleaming silver. Their glow seemed to thicken the steam, obscuring the edges of the room. About six-feet of empty space separated them.
I knew one door represented vengeance.
The other door represented a sister’s love for her brother.
I gritted my teeth, lifted my hands, and clapped them together. My fists suddenly glowed silver, and the t
wo Doors hammered into each other with a great gonging sound that made the steam in the air suddenly pulse with agitation.
I placed a hand on the center of the double doors and shoved, flinging them wide open.
“Don’t forget to arm yourself, lass,” Paddy reminded me.
“With pints and points,” Aidan added with a wink.
I felt a heavy weight in my pocket and pulled out an unfamiliar silver butterfly brooch that I must have picked up at some point. It made me smile for some reason, like a red-hot kiss in my palm. I pocketed it, deciding to use it—and Cain’s dagger—as my pint. Because Cain and that cute butterfly both seemed hungry for blood and laughter.
I glanced over my shoulder, nodded, and then I danced through the Doors.
“Our little psychopath is a’ dancin’!” Aidan cheered, clinking glasses with Paddy.
The Doors groaned closed behind me, leaving me to dance in the darkness alone.
Chapter 34
I couldn’t remember how many Doors I had used, and I didn’t really care, to be honest. I only cared that I grew stronger for it—picked up some item each time I went through, some weapon I could use against Samael.
Because I had a very clear list of priorities, and they were the only things keeping me from breaking, from listening too closely to the ghosts of whoever I had once been.
Open Doors.
Gain power.
Slaughter Samael.
Stop to smell the roses.
With each Door, I grew stronger, deadlier, and less compassionate.
And more and more, I discarded pieces of myself—whoever that naïve person had been. But since I kept my priorities at the forefront of my attention, I no longer cared about that. It was a trade-off. Each step through a Door showed me wondrous, terrible things and places and people, replacing who I had been with a new person and a new name.
On a distant level, this troubled me, but I told myself I would turn my attention to it after dealing with Samael. After hurling my silver butterfly brooch through his heart like a bullet.
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