“Ah, see, there’s the catch I was waiting for,” grumbled Vic.
The Morrigan chuckled. “Perhaps I still find you amusing after all, little liar.”
“Bully for me,” said Vic.
The Morrigan’s veil slipped over her face of its own accord but Johnathan knew her gaze was on him. It was a physical thing, keen as the caress of a knife. “Once the rift is sealed, the Nether will reclaim any unfettered ilk.”
Johnathan watched her fade into the shadows. He knew when she was gone. It was easier to breathe.
Vic knelt in front of Johnathan and gently took up his hands. “Did you know?”
Johnathan shook his head. “Not really. I don’t feel any different.” He looked out into the woods. Did the Society agents manage to kill the beast that attacked him? “When Sykes came at me, he injected me with the Judas Choice, same as you. They must have thought you turned me to save my life.”
Vic cleared his throat. “Similar reaction, I take it?”
“I didn’t think about it at the time. We grappled. I got Sykes in a chokehold by some fluke.”
“And snapped his neck,” Vic finished. “I wondered how you managed that.”
“I didn’t mean to. I was trying to make him pass out,” whispered Johnathan. “How long do you think I have before I become a servant of Cernunnos?”
Vic’s grip tightened, his brow set in a hard line of determination. “I will help you figure this out, John. I swear it. We will seal this damn hell rift and we will fix this. Together.”
“Right. First we have to find it.” They had a Devil’s bargain to undo, though Johnathan couldn’t shake the sensation his time was now short as well.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Was he human anymore? That was the worry.
Johnathan didn’t know if he could answer such a question yet. His thoughts were a mess, and he’d be damned if he could figure out how to trigger whatever otherworldly ability he had the two times he’d been poisoned. Twice in less than four hours—that had to be some sort of precedent.
Vic played sentinel beside him, clearly lost in the churn of his own thoughts while Johnathan contemplated the possible changes to his state of being. If he wasn’t human anymore, what was he? He couldn’t be the same creature as the unfortunate Lydia Fairchild, could he? Wouldn’t he have already turned into the same wretched misshapen beast as she did? He wasn’t a ruined ghost like Mary Elizabeth either. Least, he didn’t think so. Surely, someone would have told him if he displayed specter-like qualities.
He didn’t feel like a demonic creature was about to burst from his human skin. Actually, he had a hankering for a bowl of stew or a decent sandwich. He was fair famished. Food, sadly, did not appear to be in his immediate future.
Alyse waited for them at the edge of the wood, hunkered down in a copse, hidden from sight of the main road. Her perceptive gaze flitted between the two of them. “What happened in there?”
Johnathan squinted at her. “Does your father ever protest your gallivanting about with two unspoken-for gentlemen?”
She raised a brow. “I’m a spinster. Nobody cares a wink for spinsters.” She turned to Vic with a head jerk in Johnathan’s direction. “Where did the sudden lecture in social etiquette come from?”
“He’s having an existential crisis,” said Vic.
“God, you can’t go telling everyone that,” snapped Johnathan.
Vic pointed at his human accomplice. “I didn’t tell everyone. I told Alyse. She’s an oubliette of secrets.”
She glanced between the two of them, her fine brows raised. “What sort of crisis?”
“Johnathan is now one of our mystery beasts,” announced Vic. Johnathan groaned into his palm.
“Oh, does this mean he’s a werewolf, like the Faoladh of Ireland? They don’t follow the cycles of the moon, you know, not that we are close to a full moon. We’re about to hit the new moon, full dark,” said Alyse.
“No, I’m not a bloody werewolf—how do you even know the cycles of the moon?”
Alyse shrugged. “Seemed relevant to cover my bases when these murders took a turn to the preternatural. I read all the folk tales and legends I could find, everything from barrow wights, Hellhounds, pixies, and kelpies to find a supernatural cause. You don’t have to be sensitive about it. I bet lycanthropy is perfectly manageable.”
Johnathan heaved in exasperation. “For the last time—wait, why are you here now? Weren’t you watching Evans and his men?”
She crossed her arms. “They’re gone.”
The two men stopped in their tracks. “Gone,” Johnathan repeated, unable to recover his wits. “What do you mean they are gone?”
Alyse rolled her eyes. “That mad Dr. Evans and his men cleared out of the town while you were out here bickering with fairies. Left on this road barely an hour ago.”
“But they can’t just leave,” Johnathan sputtered. “The threat is still here!”
She made a face. “Well, looks like it’s up to us, like it was before they showed up and tried to kill everyone. Learn anything useful this time?”
“We know how to stop it,” said Vic. He relayed what the Morrigan told them without mention of the poison incident.
Alyse tugged on her bottom lip. “Seems awfully simple.”'
“Well, we do have to find Fairchild’s bargained gold and the rift before sunrise, or the Nether will consume the town,” said Vic.
Alyse cocked a brow. “There’s always a catch.”
“Maybe not as difficult as we think,” said Johnathan. “I encountered the creature behind Fairchild’s estate. The rift likely formed close to where the bargain was struck, one would think.”
“A bit of luck then,” said Vic. “Pray that it holds.”
Alyse grinned. “Let’s ransack a house, boys.”
The Fairchild estate sat untouched, despite the demise of its occupants. The trio had to wait until dark to approach the property in order to avoid suspicion. Alyse spent their remaining daylight hours attempting to cajole and convince her father to take her siblings to visit her aunt two towns over. It wasn’t until Vic finally stepped in and added a nudge of compulsion that the pastor agreed to take the Shaw household out of immediate danger. The harried Pastor Shaw loaded his brood into their cart and set out with the sun nipping at their heels. Alyse insisted it made her feel better to know her family would be momentarily safe if events took an ill turn. With their head start, the Shaws might be able to outrun whatever emerged from the Nether if she, Johnathan, and Vic failed to stop it, for a time. It was a healthy dose of pessimism, but it kept Johnathan from focusing on his own woes.
Cress Haven did not exist on the same crunch and grind of time as the city. Mr. Fairchild was dead more than a week, his death reported by none other than Vic, but since there was no body recovered, the service was brief and quiet in customary country fashion. Since Vic last saw Mrs. Fairchild wandering off into the woods, she was presumed missing, though Johnathan had a glimpse of her fate. No one truly mourned or questioned the death of the man and his wife, though whether that was due to Cernunnos’ influence on Cress Haven or Mr. Fairchild’s nature was unclear. Word had been sent to the next of kin, but it would be days before anyone arrived to handle the estate’s affairs, which meant their luck held as they proceeded to burgle a dead man’s house.
“If you were to store demonic coins in your house, where would you keep them?” Johnathan asked.
Alyse’s resourcefulness came through. She produced a lantern from somewhere in the house. It emitted a mellow orange glow that scattered the shadows of the Fairchild residence like a dozen startled ghosts. Johnathan couldn’t help but think of Mary Elizabeth’s ghost, and a shudder chased down his spine.
“He was a businessman,” said Vic. “We’ll check his study first, then his rooms. John, care to scout the grounds?”
“I doubt he buried his gold in the backyard,” said Johnathan.
“True, but the demon’s servants might be clo
se, and I don’t think they'll attack…one of their kind,” said Vic. He gave him an apologetic look. Even Alyse shot Johnathan a sympathetic glance.
“Oh. Right,” he said. He supposed it made sense, though the realization left a bitter, ashen taste in his mouth.
The shadows of the house re-established themselves once Alyse’s lantern vanished into the interior. Quiet as the grave, the sounds of Johnathan’s companions were muted by the thick walls of Nathaniel Fairchild’s home. He wondered what the man thought as he signed away his soul, if the gleam of gold blinded him to the nature of his bargain. What had Fairchild felt when the demon claimed his daughter as payment?
“How was Lydia Fairchild tainted and pure?” Johnathan mused aloud, a vain attempt to break the silence that lay over the house like a layer of grave dirt. What desire let Cernunnos twist his influence over her mind, body, and soul?
A ripple of movement tugged at the corner of his vision, something seen but not seen. So subtle that he wondered if his senses were haywire too. But he turned his head.
Mary Elizabeth shuffled across the room without a sound, clad in a translucent white shroud with a train dragging on the ground behind her like the Grim Reaper’s bride. She paused at the mouth of a hallway opposite to the one Alyse and Vic took, which led to the family's living quarters, and turned to Johnathan.
A nonexistent wind caught and teased her dark curls, her face as lovely as he remembered. The front of her dress bore the stain of her death, a grisly mass across her abdomen. She held up an outstretched hand and curled her fingers in an unmistakable gesture.
Johnathan followed.
She didn’t speak to him now. Maybe she couldn’t. He didn’t exactly know the rules for ghosts. They usually had something to say, and it was best to listen.
He was still surprised when she led him into Lydia’s room. It was mostly unchanged from the day he dove through her window, but there were a few key differences. The mirror to the vanity was cracked, a shatter-star pattern, as if someone took their fist to it. The pretty dress that had been hanging from the back of the changing divider lay scattered in torn ribbons across the floor. Did Lydia enter the home and do this herself? The window to her room was still open, wide enough for a girl to climb in and rage against her lost humanity.
Johnathan touched his fingers to the cracked mirror, saddened for the child she’d been. What did it matter how she was tainted and pure? She was a girl, not yet a woman, lost to violence and the stupidity of a father who should have protected her.
The thought made him angry, so very angry. None of his “fathers” protected him either. Abandoned by the father of his flesh, bitter and afraid of the father he loved, and left to die by Evans, his mentor, his caregiver. The one who subsumed Sir Harry in his heart, though he didn’t deserve it. His mind echoed the sentiments of that shattered mirror. He wanted to put his fist through the glass until he could no longer see his reflection in the shards.
Mary Elizabeth appeared behind him, sadness in her eyes, perhaps mourning the lost girl who once occupied this room, or the lost man who occupied it now.
Johnathan stared at her. “Why did you bring me here?”
She shook her head and pointed to Lydia’s empty bed.
He frowned and turned away from the mirror. “What do you want me to see?”
The specter was gone.
Johnathan circled the room. The bed was untouched, the sheets stiff and tight, neatly made, only to gather dust. The porcelain doll sat propped up against the headboard, emotionless glass eyes reflecting the shattered mirror.
What did Mary Elizabeth want him to see?
He lifted one of the silk-covered pillows. The doll fell forward, synchronized with a peculiar pull in his gut. With two fingers, he plucked the back of her dress. A hum vibrated up his arm so hard that he nearly dropped the blasted thing.
Johnathan grabbed the doll with both hands and sucked in a breath. The coin’s presence rolled through his bones, a thunderous chime that left a ringing echo in his head. A painful sensation, he wanted to clap his hands over his ears, but he knew the action was useless. The sound was internal, an unused sense he suspected was a result of his “altered state.”
He tore open the back of that petite taffeta gown. There, where the porcelain neck attached to a cotton-stuffed body, tucked into the seam, was a crude cut gold coin. A symbol was stamped on it, the face half-hidden, but Johnathan knew what he would see when he pulled it free.
Some newfound instinct made him hesitate to grab it. He could hear the low, ugly song of the coin every time his fingers drew near.
The need was worth the consequence.
He braced himself and grasped the gold. Pain hissed through his teeth as if he’d plunged his hand into a bucket of molten lead. Pulling it free, the edges of the coin cut into his fingers, a payment of pain and blood. The same horned symbol was carved into its face, the same he’d seen repeatedly in bone, in ash, etched in wood, and branded into the palm of his hand.
“Cernunnos,” he whispered.
The metal burned hotter. His vision cut out, shrouded in a thick gray fog. Johnathan threw back his head at the rush of wind that caressed his skin, the sensation of his body moving to a separate location while he remained stationary.
Faster, faster, the wind howled in his ears, echoed by the mournful cry of a lone beast. The hair on his arms rose as other beasts joined the howl. He picked out nearly a dozen voices. Their call itched at his skin, an instinctual prod at the heat nestled inside him. He resisted it, but he couldn’t resist the other pull.
The call abruptly stopped, and his body rocked at the cessation, the world coming into focus in shocking clarity, tinted by shades of midnight.
The Nether rift stood before him, a gaping maw that bled nightmare creatures into this world who slipped and slithered off into the night. It undulated beneath his gaze, an exposed wound, and when he peered deep, he swore he could see the writhing mass of the Nether’s inhabitants, gathered, waiting. The rift pulsed in time to his heartbeat.
Johnathan jerked his gaze away. His lungs couldn’t get enough air. He panted, trying to observe as much as he could, to take advantage of whatever magic pulled him here, and bring the information back to Vic.
Two rough-cut stone braziers lit the scene. The flames blazed so hot that their hearts burned blue. There was a clearing of a sort, the brush and bracken tossed away, and lined with some sort of crude fence. He took a closer look. His stomach clenched. A barrier of discarded bones, cracked open, the marrow scraped clean.
Across from him, on the other side of the rift, the horned demon rose, the same creature he encountered in the woods, but changed, altered by its time and wielding influence on this plane. Cernunnos now appeared complete, limbs thick and strong, his primeval body fuller. That glowing red gaze bore into him. Johnathan wasn’t afraid. He was excited.
“No!” The coin slid through his blood-slicked fingers. Johnathan found himself hurled back from that eerie in-between space so fast that he gagged and dropped to the floor. He vomited bile, strands of saliva clinging to his lips. Vic and Alyse rushed into the room while he fought not to heave up his guts.
“What happened to canvassing the perimeter?” Vic smoothed Johnathan’s hair from his face. His cool hands were blissful against Johnathan’s too-hot skin.
“Vic, look,” Alyse whispered.
The damned coin lay between Johnathan’s splayed hands. He could sense it, humming.
“You found one.” Vic sounded worried. “We tore half the house apart. How did you even think to look here?”
“I can hear it,” Johnathan rasped.
Vic moved in front of him and cupped Johnathan’s face with his hands. He forced Johnathan to look into his calm gray eyes. “Still human, John.”
The relief was palpable. How could Vic possibly have known Johnathan needed the assurance?
“There’s someone outside,” whispered Alyse. She dropped beside them, her hand on Johnathan’s sh
oulder.
Anger flashed in Vic’s eyes. “It’s the Society. I can hear Evans ordering them about.”
“What? But I saw them leave!” Alyse’s hand rubbed circles on Johnathan’s back. She scooped the coin off the ground and deposited it in one of the hidden pockets of her dress. “Can you move, boy?”
“Here I thought we were past you calling me boy,” he said, his voice hoarse.
“I’ll consider you a man when you have more than a hint of scruff on your chin and can remain upright for longer than a day,” said Alyse. “Come on, up and at ’em.”
Vic and Alyse seized Johnathan’s arms and levered him to his feet to move away from the window.
“Do you think they heard me yell?” Johnathan asked.
Alyse raised a brow. “I’m certain half the town heard that bellow.”
“I saw the rift,” whispered Johnathan. “I know where it is.”
“Excellent. Now we simply have to evade your Society friends,” said Vic.
“Friends don’t kill friends,” said Johnathan.
Vic held a finger to Johnathan’s lips. Understanding, he nodded, falling in behind Alyse. His legs grew heavier with every step, but he managed to keep up with Vic, who sidled along walls and peered around every corner. They were near the main section of the house when Vic pulled back with a hushed curse.
A crossbow bolt sprouted on the wall an inch from his head. He looked up and met Johnathan’s gaze.
Dr. Evans was here.
The whine of a bowstring pulled tight creaked across the room. Their attacker reloaded another bolt while they stood gaping at each other.
“If you’re still alive, I suspect my young protege is with you.”
Johnathan jumped at the matter-of-fact tone.
Dr. Evans continued. “Tell me, fiend, did you break Sykes’ neck or did Johnathan?”
“Don’t say anything to him,” Vic mouthed.
Johnathan swallowed. The muscles of his chest were too tight, pinched around the wounded beat of his heart.
A Bargain of Blood and Gold Page 24
