Moment of Truth

by Edwards, Hailey

  Without meaning to, I had given her the perfect opening to grab them, and the perfect excuse for walking out wearing a pack big enough to hide the box where the hearts were kept.

  How had she known where to find them? How had she taken them without alerting Bishop?

  Duh.

  The urge to smack myself in the forehead itched in my palm.

  Remy was an accomplished spy. I just hadn’t expected her to use her tricks on us.

  The chanting swelled as the coven marched closer, their voices echoing through the creepy chamber, and I took comfort from Midas’s steady presence.

  As the notes hit a crescendo, a spasm twitched and itched in my chest, and I grimaced at the sensation. I tilted my head back to convey the problem to Midas, only to find him wearing the same expression.

  Oh.

  So, that really had been his problem earlier.

  Whatever the chant’s purpose, Ambrose wasn’t a fan. He fought against it, and that hurt, a lot, but I had no choice but to endure. I wasn’t sure if my bond to Ambrose was enough to protect me in and of itself, or if he had to physically occupy the same space as me in order to keep out spirits.

  Midas was managing without Ambrose in residence, but he wasn’t directly bonded to him either. Given the circumstances, I wasn’t willing to take it on faith that I could kick Ambrose to the curb and not be swarmed by spirits in search of a vessel.

  Footsteps crunched on loose stone, and I jerked my head up as the sound translated to intent.

  The coven had left the staircase.

  They were coming our way.

  Twelve

  Midas wedged his back against the door as best he could to prevent it from being opened through mundane means. Magical ones were out of his wheelhouse, but he trusted Hadley to handle those.

  A wringing sensation tightened his chest, giving him some idea of what Hadley must be experiencing.

  Ambrose was not happy to be confined, and whatever purpose the coven had for their chant left him thrashing to free himself. Hadley’s will alone contained him, but her grip was slipping. He could feel it. Midas wished he could help, but he was a third wheel in their partnership.

  The scrabble of feet across shale brought his inner beast to the forefront of his mind with a silent growl, and his fingertips burned where claws threatened to burst through his skin.

  Remy’s loyalties were about to be tested. Midas hoped for Hadley’s sake she passed with flying colors.

  A known associate of Hadley’s, Remy wouldn’t have to out Hadley. If the coven found Remy, they would pick these tombs apart until they located Hadley and anyone else she might have drafted for this mission.

  A thready exhale passed Hadley’s lips, and she mashed them into a white line to hold in her pain.

  Ambrose’s thrashing eased within Midas, as if sensing the hurt he inflicted, but he was unable to stop.

  Midas rested his forehead against hers, willing her his strength, and she relaxed into him the tiniest fraction, as though she had received a trickle of his intent. He doubted that was how their bond worked, but he hoped she took some relief from him, even if only through him holding her.

  “Sisters.” A warbling voice cut the chant short. “Do you smell that?”

  How they scented anything beyond their own potent stench amazed him when he was all but nose-blind thanks to their presence. Even knowing Remy must have the hearts, he couldn’t scent them, and he’d been trying.

  “Blood of our own,” the rest answered in unison. “Hearts’ blood.”

  Confirmation the hearts were in the archive crumpled Hadley’s expression, and he held her tighter.

  “The spell…” another dared. “It grows.”

  Midas drew in short breaths in an attempt to identify what she meant, but the overwhelming stink of so many practicing coven members together made his nostrils tingle.

  “Weakling,” the older woman spat. “Can you not ignore the summons for a moment longer?”

  “Summons?” Hadley mouthed to him. “Do you hear anything?”

  Straining his senses, he detected nothing beyond the nervous shifting of feet and rustle of murmurs from the gathering. He shook his head, and Hadley cradled his cheek in her palm to show him it was okay.

  “I cannot,” the girl confessed. “Nor can my sisters.”

  A soft murmur of agreement circulated through them. The others had been too afraid to admit their frailty, but the speaker had made herself the target of the elder’s wrath to spare them. It was more empathy than he expected the coven to show, even to its own, but she sounded young. Painfully young for that grim life. Perhaps not all the witchborn fae were beyond saving.

  “The pull toward the surface…” she whispered, “…it is too strong.”

  The summons must be a means of guiding their novices through an archive they couldn’t traverse alone.

  “I must guide the others to the surface,” she continued, “before they attempt the stairs alone.”

  A frown gathered across Hadley’s brow as she listened in, and he bet she was thinking along the same lines. They could spread the word once they returned to Atlanta that any coven member who wished to surrender could do so. That was the biggest concession they could afford to make. He doubted they would have any takers, the witchborn fae were too devout in their hatred, but they could try.

  “Go.” The elder hissed in a rattling snarl. “Flee.” She spat. “I shall remain here.”

  “Forgive us, sister.”

  “You were called too soon,” the elder grudgingly admitted. “Your training is not yet complete.”

  That perked his ears. The show of force in Atlanta might be just that. A show.

  If the coven was drafting novices to beef up their numbers, they were at a bigger disadvantage than he first assumed. They wielded great power, but untrained coven members wouldn’t have access to the archive. It would be too dangerous for the coven to allow in anyone unable to control the soul who inhabited them. Plus, it risked the destruction of the soul itself if it was mishandled or damaged.

  This news shifted the odds in their favor.

  But there was no way to send word to the others in time for it to matter.

  Softly, the chant began again, and the footsteps grew fainter until the ring of metal underfoot reached his ears.

  One adversary was no mercy. Armed with the archive, one practitioner could destroy them all.

  “I will give you a moment to reveal yourselves to me,” the elder said. “Then I will come and find you.”

  Midas pressed his lips to Hadley’s forehead then withdrew, but her fingers dug into his arms, holding him in with her. She refused to let him go, but she was the one who mattered, not him.

  “I do not know how you came to be here,” she continued, “but I smell the blood of my sisters on your hands. That, I cannot tolerate. This is a sacred place for my people, and you have defiled it with your presence.”

  A sharp exhale, dangerously close to a snort, blasted out of Hadley’s nose.

  “You prolong your death needlessly.” The elder clucked her tongue. “I did try to offer you succor.”

  Shuffling steps moved closer to them.

  Closer.

  Closer.

  And then she passed them.

  “How did you kill one of us?” the elder wondered. “How did you slay one of the many-faced?”

  Hadley’s lips moved over the word, filing it away, but no sound passed them.

  “It wasn’t all that hard,” Remy bragged from nearby. “Beat one witch, beat ’em all.”

  Several impacts struck the loose shale, and footsteps slipped and slid across the stone floor.

  Remy must have multiplied, and her selves jumped down to square off against the elder.

  With the elder in sight, Remy’s voice and actions were no longer muted but loud in the cavernous space.

  “You are not what I expected,” she mused. “Macalla are rare indeed. We do not have one. Yet.

 
“I do not understand.” Confusion thickened the wizened voice. “What does that gesture mean?”

  Midas had known Remy long enough to guess at the gesture she, and her other selves, were making.

  “I might not know how to kick your ass, old bat. Two, Three, Five, Six, and Seven might not either. But Four? She’s taken a few centuries of hand-to-hand combat. She’s the muscle of this operation, and she’s willing to beat the curly black hairs off your chin if you don’t stand down.”

  “The Mother will be well pleased with you.”

  “I’m not the kind you take home to mommy.”

  The Mother?

  With their witch roots, he couldn’t be sure, but he was willing to bet the coven worshipped an aspect of Hecate. Hadley had been explaining the three-faced goddess to him, but what stuck with him was how she represented the stages of life. Maiden, Mother, and Crone.

  A screech from the crone snapped him out of his thoughts, and he grimaced as a Remy yelped.

  Unable to bear the sound of her friend’s pain, Hadley fought him to break free.

  “The hearts,” she breathed, knowing that would sway him the fastest. “We can’t lose them.”

  As much as he wanted to keep her locked in, he agreed with her. The hearts were too valuable.

  And Remy deserved a shot at clearing her name before they passed final judgment on her.

  He had developed a soft spot for her, and he hoped she had a good reason for what she had done.

  Pinning Hadley against the rear of the tomb with his hips, Midas wedged his shoulders into the opposite corner to make space to crack open the door.

  “Is that a roll of quarters in your pocket—” Hadley’s eyes twinkled, “—or are you just happy to see me?”

  “You’re still not funny.” He kissed her quick, hard. “Sorry in advance to your toes.”

  The angle cost him skin as the door scraped over his arm, but he got out without crushing Hadley’s feet and located Remy in seconds. One of them, anyway. Until her speech, he hadn’t realized each part of her had a specialization, but it made sense. He had been in battle with her more squeamish counterparts and been curious how that worked. Now he knew.

  “Lady, I’ve got places to go and a city to save.” Hadley stepped onto the ledge beside him. “Let her go.”

  “Ah.” The crone flung a spell at a Remy that staggered her. “You’re the little potentate.”

  “What’s with the height joke?” Hadley anchored her fists on her hips. “You’re like four feet tall.”

  That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say.

  The elder withdrew into herself, shrinking in, then exploded into a towering cyclops with a golden eye.

  “I never did like Cyclops much.” Hadley met its gilded stare. “The whole Jean Grey thing.”

  The creature was twice Midas’s height and four times his width. Its single eye, its most vulnerable spot, was the size of his hand. That should have made it easier to hit, but its lid was reinforced with chitinous plates that would protect it when closed. The coven truly had impeccable, if murderous, tastes.

  With the cyclops distracted, three of the Remys moved into position behind the towering figure.

  “You rooted for Wolverine,” Midas guessed, diverting its attention. “Why does that not surprise me?”

  “I love a good underdog story.” Hadley winked at him. “Plus, Logan is so growly.”

  “I will wear your face while your city burns,” the cyclops promised in a thundering voice that boomed through the archive. “The screams of your people will be music to me as the fat renders from their marrow.”

  “You had to go and make this personal.” Hadley slanted her eyes toward him. “Help me hold on to him.”

  Him?

  Ambrose.

  “Hadley,” he breathed. “Are you sure?”

  “That we’ll die if I don’t have more than my witty geek banter to save us?” She shrugged. “Yes.”

  “Witty geek banter,” a Remy echoed from nearby. “That’s an oxymoron.”

  Unable to resist the opening, Hadley quoted back at her, “You’re an ox, and a moron.”

  The quote was from Oscar, one of Midas’s favorite movies. “How long have you been waiting to use that?”

  “Months.” Hadley huffed. “It’s harder to get people to use that word in a sentence than you might think, aside from Linus, and no way was I going to name-call him.”

  A shiver rippled through her at the thought of antagonizing him.

  Midas still hated that Linus’s grim reaper aspect would forever be her own personal boogeyman, but he had grown to respect the trust and sacrifice required on both their parts to make their friendship work.

  She was lucky to have him, and he couldn’t have picked a better heir to his title and his city.

  On some unseen cue, the Remys who had clustered behind the cyclops leapt onto its back. It thrashed, raking at them with its thick, twisted fingers. It fisted one’s hair and ripped her off like a Band-Aid then flung her aside where she skidded in the shale only to bounce right back onto her feet.

  Ambrose, in a rush of deepest shadow, seeped from Hadley’s pores until he stood beside her.

  “Take her down,” Hadley ordered. “We need to be gone when the reinforcements arrive.”

  A quiver ran through the dark outline as Ambrose adopted the form of a gwyllgi, his gwyllgi, and charged the elder. He bayed at the cyclops she had become, then tore into her, ripping flesh off her bones. Blood pooled beneath her, and magic glittered in the open wounds. Ambrose lapped at them both with relish.

  Midas cranked his head toward Hadley. “How…?”

  “I told you things got weird. This is what I meant.” She kept a close watch on Ambrose. “Bishop said that Ambrose couldn’t assume his human form, or speak, without spending a significant amount of time soaking up ambient energy.”

  “He’s still a shadow.”

  “But I think I’m starting to hear him, in my head, so…”

  “And he’s eating the cyclops.”

  “Yeah.” She rubbed her arms. “Either we’ve been down here longer than we realize, or the mojo running this place is more powerful than the ambient energies on Bishop’s winter road.” She looked at him. “Much longer, and Ambrose will be walking and talking with us.”

  “I would prefer that not to happen.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  “Are you guys going to stand here jawing all night,” a Remy demanded, “or are you going to fight?”

  “Stop whining,” Hadley yelled. “You’re holding your own.”

  “Of course I am.” Remy dodged the swing of the cyclops’s meaty fist. “I’m amazing.”

  “Well?” Midas figured Hadley was testing Ambrose before joining in. “Do you think it’s safe?”

  “I don’t feel any different.” She looked down at herself. “Bonus, the spirits aren’t swarming me.”

  As much as it pained him to risk her, Midas accepted this was as close to certainty as they would get.

  “The chant,” she said thoughtfully. “I believe it’s a lullaby.”

  “Makes sense.” Midas rubbed his jaw. “The spirits want out, and there’s a lot of through traffic tonight.”

  He doubted they could escape without a host, but all that meant was they would try their luck hijacking novices or practitioners too weak to fend off their attack without the stronger ones keeping them docile.

  “We can’t take for granted that we’re safe.” She jabbed him in the arm to drive home her point. “Not with the coven exerting influence over the spirits. Our luck might run out when they finish up down here.”

  “Fair enough,” he agreed. “We shouldn’t bleed in here either.”

  “Hard to know if only the coven’s blood or any blood would whip them into another frenzy.”

  “Whatever,” the nearest Remy huffed and joined her sister selves in battle. “I’m going in.”

  The beast within Midas was eager for the fight as
well, but he waited for Hadley to decide.

  “Ambrose.” She held out her hands. “Swords.”

  Without slowing his attack, he flung them at her with a shake of his head, almost projectile vomiting them.

  Midas wasn’t squeamish by any means, but that was a bit much even for him.

  By some magic, Hadley caught the hilts without slicing off her fingers, toes, or, as Midas stood next to her, his head.

  The grooves in the handles fit her fingers, and the blades became extensions of her. She leapt off the stone shelf and hit the ground running, weaving in and out of Remys and dodging Ambrose to get behind the cyclops.

  A split second was all the time he allowed himself to admire her, then the change took him.

  Crimson magic splashed up his legs and torso, welled over his head, and sucked him down into his other self. With a hunting cry, he flung himself into the fray, herding the cyclops with the shadowy gwyllgi the way he would a packmate.

  Hadley darted in behind the cyclops and slashed its left Achilles tendon. An agonized roar erupted from its gaping mouth, and it sank onto one knee. Torqueing its upper body, it set its meaty fist on a collision course with Hadley’s head.

  Ambrose knocked her aside, but the hit spun him across the hard ground with a pitiful whine.

  Midas waited for Hadley to rise, but she had curled on her side where she landed, clutching her ribs.

  Right where the cyclops had hammered Ambrose.

  The same cyclops dragging itself closer to the shadow gwyllgi, one fist lifted, ready to smash him flat.

  Throwing on a burst of speed, Midas raced for Ambrose, ignoring every instinct that warned he was heading the wrong way, that his mate was the one in danger. Except Ambrose was a part of her, and here, where he was a physical being, he required physical backup to protect her.

  Skidding around the back of the cyclops, Midas clamped his jaws around its fresh wound and thrashed his head until its flesh ripped and its muscle shredded in his teeth. It fell forward, forced to brace on its palms to keep from kissing the ground, and Ambrose used that opening to limp out of range.