by Bella Jacobs
If we were ordered to the kitchens, we’d have to go. There would be no bargaining, no escape. We’d understand that and go without a fight. This is Atlas’s kingdom, his universe. He is a god here, and all of his decisions are final.
Once a woman is bound to him, there is no out clause.
Except with her help…
“We’ll try to find Millicent first,” I say, pausing on a landing near the top to give Creedence a chance to recover. “If we can get her to help us, we’ll hit Atlas where it hurts without throwing a punch.”
“And if we can’t find her, or if we’re separated inside,” Dust says, “we head for his study, try to draw him through the portal there, out into a plane where he’s more vulnerable.”
Even though we all know the plan, it’s nice to hear it out loud, refocusing us after the rough start. Still, I pray that the Time Reeler is real and that I can find her and convince her to help us take Atlas down a few wives.
Thirty or so should level the playing field.
Breath held, I open the door, peeking out into the world above. We’re at the end of a short marble hallway I don’t remember seeing before, but thankfully, it’s deserted. There’s nothing but a narrow table against one wall with a flower arrangement on top to watch us emerge from underground.
We hurry silently across the polished floor until we reach the end of the passage and another hall, this one with a familiar poppy-patterned carpet runner covering the marble. My heart jumps.
Glancing left and right, I whisper, “We’re near the common rooms for the wives. The bedrooms aren’t far.”
“Should we split up?” Dust asks. “Search both at once?”
“I don’t know if I can hold the shift without touching you, but let's try.” I open my fingers, but the moment Dust’s palm leaves mine, he and Cree both man-up again, shooting several inches taller as their pants snap back into place around their longer legs.
Creedence winces, sagging against Dust’s side.
“Stay here with him and keep both of you hidden,” I say, making a spur of the moment decision. I hate to split up, but I don’t want Creedence moving any more than he has to. “We’ll see what we can find and—”
“No, we’re coming with you. I can conceal us both and carry Creedence at the same time.”
Cree scoffs, but weakly. “I don’t need anyone to fucking carry me. We’re wasting time, let’s move.”
I’m about to pull rank—remind them both that they agreed I was calling the shots on this mission and insist they stay put—when feminine voices sound in the hall. We all fall silent, drawing back into the marble passageway as they move closer. Cree and Dust wink out of sight on one side, while the three of us stay put in harem girl disguise on the other.
As long as I haven’t dressed us up as any of the women on their way toward us, we should be okay. Or maybe we’ll get really lucky and they’ll walk by without seeing us lurking by the flower arrangement.
“He’ll kill us all if he finds out,” one woman warns, fear thick in her words.
“And if he doesn’t, we’ll finally be free,” a softer, calmer voice says. “Trust me, love, I’ve seen it. She can best him, but only if we help her get a leg up.”
There’s a beat of silence, and then a woman with shining dark brown eyes and thick black curls pokes her head around the corner. When she spots the three of us against the wall, she smiles. “Hi. I’m Delilah. Welcome. I’ve been waiting for you for a long time, Wren.”
Chapter 36
Wren
Delilah. Atlas’s seer…
I release Kite’s hand, sending us shifting back into our own bodies as Dust and Cree flicker into sight on the other side of the hall. Behind Delilah, three other women shuffle into view, their expressions pinched with worry, but their eyes reflecting the hope rising in my heart.
“You’ll take us to Millicent?” I ask, stepping forward. “And to first-aid supplies for our wounded?”
Delilah nods emphatically, her curls bobbing as she motions us to follow her. “Yes, yes. Millicent is waiting in the greenhouse with the others, and we have bandages in the harem. But we must hurry. Bran is hiding us from Atlas, but he’ll sense we’re not in our beds sooner or later.”
With a quick glance at the boys—they are a mix of hopeful, skeptical, wary, and, in Cree’s case, suffering—I turn back to Delilah. “Thank you. So much.”
I understand the wariness and skepticism coming from my mates, but trusting Delilah is our only choice. And surely the other women realize that unless we have Millicent turn back time, unmating them from their husband one by one, the only way for us to weaken Atlas is to eliminate their connection to him in a more violent way.
The last thing I want to do is hurt innocent women, but they can’t know that.
Well, Delilah probably can—she’s got the same Kin Gift as Creedence—but the rest of them have every reason to be afraid to cross me. I’m a Fata Morgana like the man who enslaved them, and I’ve got more power at my command than most supernaturals can even imagine.
Power…
The word pricks something in my head, catching and tearing, unraveling my thoughts and stitching them up in a new shape. There have to be powers I’ve yet to discover, things I can do that only someone who’s lived with another Fata Morgana would know.
“You talked about helping me get a leg up,” I say as Delilah leads us down the hall, through the harem doors, and into the common room with its overstuffed cushions and built-in bookshelves filled with novels, art, and musical instruments. “Can we talk while Millicent works? I’d like to pick your brain about what he’s capable of. What I might be capable of.”
“Absolutely.” Delilah pauses in front of the steamy glass door to the greenhouse, turning back to press a finger to her lips. “Quiet as we go inside. We don’t want to disturb Bran’s concentration while she’s cloaking.”
“I can help her,” Dust says. “Concealment is one of my Kin Gifts, too.”
Delilah smiles. “Good. Two heads are always better than one.” She touches gentle fingers to my elbow. “That reminds me. We’ll set Thisby free first, and she can join us for our chat. She’s been mated to Atlas the longest. She remembers more than most people have seen, and she’ll be happy to help.”
She pushes inside, and we follow her into the muggy room. Scattered gas lamps span the darkness like a dozen miniature suns, illuminating the features of the nearly forty women who turn our way. Their faces are of every color, shape, and size, but they all have one thing in common—when they see me, they light up.
I’ve given them hope.
I pull in a breath, silently praying that I don’t let them down. “Thank you for your bravery. And for letting me stand with you tonight. I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that, by the time the sun rises, we all walk out of here free women.”
Smiles flicker on some of their faces, while others’ eyes fill with happy tears, and when Delilah says, “Let’s line up and get started, then, ladies,” none of them hesitate to file into an orderly line in front of Millicent, who’s seated on a padded bench near the fountain.
“Thisby first, please,” Delilah says, motioning for a petite, light-brown–skinned woman to move to the front. “Wren and I need Mama Bear advice.”
Thisby flashes yellowed teeth our way, her eyes crinkling at the edges as she flashes two thumbs up. Delilah leans in, adding in a softer voice, “She hasn’t been able to speak for a long time, but Millicent should be able to undo the damage. Worst case, Thisby is very quick with a pen.”
“Why can’t she speak?”
“Atlas cut out her tongue,” Delilah says flatly. “He caught her telling stories to some of his new wives and didn’t like what she had to say.”
I wince, but can’t help asking, “And what was it that she had to say?”
“That he’s a water hose.” Delilah’s eyes harden. “He might have the force of a mighty river flowing through him, but he’s still ju
st a hose. Small, weak, and sprouting more holes with every passing day.” She steps closer, glancing over at Dust and the rest of my mates. “You’ve chosen well. Four with the Fata at the center is a good number. More than five or six mates and the power becomes unstable. Atlas isn’t simply mad; he’s self-destructing. Has been for years.”
I sigh, wishing I could find her words comforting. “Well, he’s still been kicking my ass.”
Delilah shakes her head, her brow furrowing with what looks like genuine confusion. “No. He hasn’t. He’s tricked you into believing he’s strong, but he’s not. For centuries, he’s had other people doing the heavy lifting. He’s too scattered to stay focused on one thing for too long, even a battle to the death. If you stay fixed on your goal and harness the full power of your bond, you’ll win. I’ve seen it.”
“I have, too.” Cree’s voice is weak, but certain. “And that future isn’t one in a million anymore, Slim. It’s all clicking into place, but you can’t be afraid to go there. All the way.”
I shoot him a doubtful sideways look, but before I can ask what he’s talking about, Thisby is beside us, looking at least thirty years younger, but still with those same bright, defiant eyes. Even better—
“Look what I’ve got!” She sticks out her tongue, once again whole thanks to Millicent’s magic. “And I’ve got a story for you, pretty girl,” she adds, her English lilting up and down in an accent I can’t quite place. “But we must hurry. He’s crazy, that one, but he’s not stupid. We’re already on borrowed time.”
“Thank you so much.” I take a bracing breath and follow Delilah and Thisby to a quieter corner of the greenhouse, where Thisby tells me a story about her earliest days with Atlas. Back in ancient Greece.
My surprise must show on my face because she immediately breaks into a husky laugh, “I know. None of us look our age here. That’s the best and the worst thing about being mated to a Fata Morgana. You get to and have to live forever.”
I cut a sharp glance Delilah’s way—that’s news to me. She nods, confirming my immortality, but it’s still hard to swallow. “But I thought the only reason Atlas had lived so long was because he kept taking more mates and…” I trail off, not wanting to say the rest of it aloud.
“Atlas couldn’t deepen the bonds with his first mates with love or devotion,” Thisby explains. “He’s a broken soul—a psychopath, you call them in these times, incapable of spiritual growth. So he made up for what he lacked in quality with quantity. More mates to compensate for what a shallow, broken creature he is.” Thisby sniffs. “But a hundred potholes don’t form the Grand Canyon, not even if you’re able to unite them, which he hasn’t been.”
I cock my head as I consider her words, but I think I get what she’s saying.
“So he compelled the mate bonds, but he couldn’t strengthen them,” I say. “Or form a connection between all of his mates, the way we have.”
Thisby grins and claps her hands softly in delight. “You’re already stronger than he’ll ever be, lovely, and he knows it. You’ve formed love bonds with your men, and they’ve formed love bonds with each other. And the more you fight together and love together and work together, the stronger you’re all going to get. That’s why the old man was so obsessed with getting the timing perfect.”
I frown. “Perfect for what?”
“He wanted you mated with them.” Delilah nods over Thisby’s shoulder to where my men are gathered by the door, having a strategy session of their own as mate after mate is freed from Atlas’s control and Creedence gets patched up with proper first-aid supplies. “But he didn’t want you to get too close. He wanted you strong, but not too strong.”
“That’s why he wanted them captured alive?” I ask. “He said it was so he could use them as leverage to force me to bond with him. He made some…ugly threats.”
“He always does,” Delilah says, a shadow passing behind her dark eyes. “He’s also a liar. He wanted you powerful enough to give him the world he’s always wanted, a world where his every dream becomes reality. But in order to make that happen, you would have had to do more than bond with him. You would have had to become like him.” She glances back at my mates. “To murder and consume the people closest to you.”
My stomach knots, and acid burns the back of my throat. It’s a horrifying thought, but it really isn’t that much of a surprise.
“But he’s waited too long.” Thisby bounces on her toes. “Now you’re the strongest Fata Morgana on the block. Even if he could trick you into joining with him, he’d have to take the back seat. Your power would outshine his, your dreams would be the force shaping reality. You’ve already won.” She shrugs. “As long as you believe you have. And don’t die.”
“I don’t plan on it,” I promise, buoyed by her words. “So what are his weaknesses in combat? I was holding my own hand-to-hand and with fire earlier, but—”
“Not your own.” Thisby snorts. “That’s where you’ve gone wrong, lovely. You don’t hold your own, you hold their hands, their hearts. You draw them as close as your skin and bone and then even closer.”
Brow furrowing, I shake my head. “I’m not sure I understand. You mean that we have to fight together, or—”
“No, no,” Thisby cuts in. She holds up her hands, threading her fingers slowly into one fist. “As one. No distance. No separation. One heart, one will. They’ll give you their trust, and you’ll give them the world.”
I turn my head, meeting Cree’s gaze across the flourishing plants. He’s clearly been waiting for me to look his way. He sends a pulse through the line connecting us, and Kite and Dust lift their heads, emerging from their huddle as a glimpse of what’s to come flickers through our shared thoughts.
Die. They might die. All of them.
Thisby lays a gentle hand on my arm. “Once the eggs are baked into the cake, they can’t be pulled out again. But the cake, the union of those ingredients, is a beautiful thing.”
“I can’t see anything beyond the battle right now, but I know they’ll always be with you.” Delilah lays a hand over her heart. “No matter what.”
I bite my lip, fighting the tears rising in my eyes.
No one ever said this was going to be easy, and I knew there was a chance some or all of us wouldn’t make it out, but to face it down like this…
“It’s the only way,” Delilah whispers. “Your man sees it. And he’s ready. They all are.”
“Not Luke,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. Regret. “He’s vision-blind. He won’t know what’s coming until we tell him.”
“So maybe you spare him,” Thisby says.
I press my lips together and shake my head. “No. I couldn’t lie to him. Especially not about this.”
“Sometimes a lie is the kindest thing we can do for someone we love.” Thisby gives my arm a gentle squeeze before adding in a whisper, “I remember love. Even after all this time, all the suffering…my real husband is still the last thing in my heart before I go to sleep at night.”
And they will always be the last thing in mine—forever.
I’m going to live forever. Maybe without them. It isn’t enough to take out the bad man steering the ship. I’ll have to fill the void Atlas leaves behind, to chart a course away from despair, towards love.
Hopefully I’ll still be able to find my way there with a broken heart.
Kite starts toward me, tears shining in his eyes, because he knows exactly how I feel. This is his Kin Gift, to suffer with the world. It might not seem like much of a gift at first glance, but it’s given him the biggest, strongest, kindest heart.
Suffering hurts, but it can also make us better. Wiser.
I reach for him, desperate to feel his arms around me, to promise him I’ll try so hard to make him proud, to let the pain make me kind instead of bitter, compassionate instead of cruel.
But before I can close the distance between us, the ground trembles, shakes, and a high-pitched shrieking fills the air. A moment later, the glass
overhead shatters and nightmares swoop down from the starry sky.
Chapter 37
Luke
It’s all going to shit.
It was going to shit before the sky started falling—one look at Dust and Kite’s faces was all I needed to know that Wren wasn’t getting good news from Atlas’s women—but there’s no time to worry about that now.
Because there are dragons blasting fire from the sky and the things that almost killed us in the tunnels are back, streaming in through the broken walls. The fucked-up unicorns cut themselves on the jagged glass, sending black fluid oozing from their wounds, but they’re clearly feeling no pain.
No pain, no fear, no anything but hunger and rage.
I draw my handgun and take aim, firing at their heads, trying to get a bullet into as many zombie horse brains as possible, but it doesn’t do much good. They slow, but they don’t stop, and there are too many innocent people in the way for me to lay down more aggressive fire.
“Luke, come on,” Creedence shouts, motioning for me to follow him. “We have to get to Wren.”
I start toward him, but a blast of fire from above cuts me off. I stumble back, falling on my ass as Dust screeches overhead. With that unearthly, scary-as-hell griffin sound, he grips the dragon around the neck, decapitating the thing with a single powerful squeeze of his claws.
The body crashes to the ground in front of me, still twitching, but I don’t hesitate. I crawl over its pulsing corpse—it’s half the size of Wren in her dragon form and not much of an obstacle aside from the slipperiness of the scales. I’m over in a few seconds, catching Creedence under one arm and helping him hustle toward Wren.
She’s standing in front of the two women she was talking to before the attack, blasting fire out of her hands at the unicorns. It’s slowing them down, but not putting them out of commission. The fire is hot enough to melt the flesh from their bodies, but the bones aren’t burning.