by Sadie Moss
Her gaze alights on Trin, and she gives a sharp-toothed smile.
“Not money. I have money, don’t need more. In payment for this spell, I want her.”
One bony finger points straight at Trinity.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Trinity
Um, what?
The entire atmosphere in the little shop’s entrance seems to shift as silence follows on the heels of her declaration.
I’ve been creeped out since the moment we stepped through the door. Although Morrigan isn’t exactly covering herself in skulls, there’s something very unsettling about her, something that makes my spine squirm when she looks at me.
It feels like spiders are crawling over my skin, and I’m torn between conflicting impulses to run, to fight, or to curl up in the corner in a ball like you’re supposed to do in the event of a bear attack.
She doesn’t want money as a payment. Not even some insane sum from these uber-wealthy supernaturals.
Nope.
She wants me.
My stomach tightens into a hard knot, and I feel ice cold.
“No. Trinity is not a bargaining chip,” Beckett says sharply. “She’s not up for trade.”
My eyes fly wide, and I turn quickly to look at him in surprise. As I do, I notice that Ford looks equally murderous, his arms folded, while Remington and Phoenix close ranks around me just like they did when the demon bit down on the magic poison capsule back at the casino.
Even though fear is still crawling through my veins, a little starburst of warmth bursts in my chest.
I would’ve thought they’d all be glad to get rid of me. None of them seem to have any fondness for angels, or me specifically. They’ve been stuck with me because we’ve all got the same objective, but if they hand me over to this witch, they can go and deal with the portal on their own without a pesky angel sidekick.
But they don’t look relieved at all.
Instead, they all look furious.
Could it be that they actually care what happens to me?
That doesn’t make any sense. Remington does seem to like me a little, although it’s hard to tell if that’s real or just his sin—his feeling of home—seducing me. But the others? No way. Ford kissed me like he wants to destroy me, Phoenix finds me annoying because I dragged him out of his peaceful life in his bunker, and Beckett’s got this hot and cold thing going on that leaves me reeling.
I do owe two of them favors though. If I’m gone, they can say bye-bye to an IOU from an angel.
Morrigan looks around at us, smoothing out her dark skirts. “I don’t mean all of her. Now, now, boys. Do calm yourselves.” She seems amused by their reaction, and she hasn’t wilted at all beneath the combined force of their glares. “I only want some of her blood. Angel blood, yes? Very powerful magic is done with such blood. Only a little. I will only need to take a little.”
Oh.
Okay, then.
That’s better than I thought it would be, although it still creeps me the frick out. I feel kind of like a piece of meat, being talked about like this. Hearing them negotiate over pieces of me.
“Um, I can speak for myself, you know,” I put in, raising a hand and stepping forward a little. “I’m right here.”
Morrigan cocks her eyebrow at me, like she’s surprised I actually can speak for myself. Then a slow smile spreads across her face. “Mmm. Yes. So you say. Will you do it? Agree to the terms?”
All four of the men around me shift a little, their faces hard. I glance around me, chewing on my bottom lip. None of them look happy about this, but unless Morrigan can somehow use my blood to mind-control me, I don’t see how the risks outweigh the benefits here. We need this information, and time is running out. If she’s not interested in their money, then that doesn’t leave us a lot to bargain with.
“All right.” I nod firmly, even though my hands shake a little.
Morrigan’s smile widens, and she nods enthusiastically as she beckons me. “Then follow me, my child.”
I shrug at the men and do as I’m told, following her into a back room. Ford grunts as I step out of sight, and the last thing I see is Beckett’s stone-cold face, his lips pressed into a thin line.
Then I’m alone with the death witch.
She takes me down a small hallway into a back room. The place seems to be some kind of laboratory, a room that could be straight out of Frankenstein. Morrigan gestures for me to sit on a chair by a table. She reminds me of a bird, the way she bobs her head a bit and moves with an odd, stilted grace.
Once I’m settled on the chair, she lays my arm out on the table and sets up a syringe with a tube attached to it. It’s basic medical stuff, and my eyebrows pull together a little as I stare at it. I would’ve thought she’d use a golden dagger and slice my palm, then have it drip into a sacred bowl or something. Proper witch stuff.
Not that I necessarily know what “proper witch stuff” is.
Morrigan chuckles at me. “Ha. I can read the look on your face, yes, little angel. Your kind has always been judgmental. Modern medicine and science can make magic stronger. Do not turn your nose up at the things that make our lives more convenient.”
Huh. Good point, I guess. And I’m not going to complain about the fact that she’s not slicing me open with a dagger.
This is my first time voluntarily letting someone take blood from me though. I mean, I lost a lot of blood during my fight with the corrupted when I temporarily closed the portal—but that definitely wasn’t voluntary.
Now, I have to sit here calmly and quietly as blood is drawn out of me. Ugh.
I feel a bit woozy and still rather sick about all of this, so to distract myself, I say, “So, death magic, did you pick that as your major in college, or…?”
Morrigan gives an odd, trilling laugh. “It was the way that my gift turned. There is power in death, little one. More than most people realize. I knew my life would be unusual, but to see an angel come in with the brothers of sin? Ha! That is a new one on me.” She looks at me shrewdly. “You’d best be careful. Oil and water don’t mix. Nor do sin and redemption.”
“What do you mean?” I lick my suddenly dry lips as I glance at her. I feel sick and hollow.
Does she know about my mission? Can she see it in me somehow? Will she tell the men?
Or did she just use the word “redemption” because I’m an angel and that’s what we represent?
Oh, man. I’m so not cut out for this secret mission business.
Morrigan peers at me, her eyes narrowing. “You do not know? Well, then, hmm, yes, their lives are in even greater danger.”
Her face seems to waver in front of me. My tongue is heavy and thick in my mouth. “I… I don’t know what…”
Morrigan clucks her tongue. “Ah. So your innocence is not an act then, is it? You have no idea what you really are to them, do you? Poor little angel. You will find out one day.”
I don’t like how vague and cryptic she’s being. And I don’t like how she says “angel.” It’s not like how Beckett says it. It doesn’t make me feel warm inside, or safe.
Does Beckett make me feel safe? As stoic and hard-edged as he is?
Ugh. Everything is swimming, including my thoughts. My head is so heavy, but my body is light.
What is happening? This doesn’t feel right.
This is… wrong.
Something is wrong.
I try to speak, but my tongue doesn’t work. My jaw drops open and refuses to close. My eyelids can barely stay open.
I’m so… so heavy…
Everything goes dark.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Ford
“I fuckin’ hate witches,” I mutter, clenching and unclenching my hands as I pace around the small antechamber. The demon’s corpse mocks me with its slumped, relaxed pose, and I want to revive the fucker just so I can kick his ass again.
“Yeah.” Nix grimaces. “Why can’t they just take credit cards like every other sane person? Serious
ly. We should’ve been able to do this online from the comfort of Beckett’s apartment. With free shipping.”
He sounds like he’s half-joking, but the thought only pisses me off more. I hate that we had to come here. I don’t trust magic, and I definitely don’t trust those who use it. Give me a fuckin’ fistfight any day.
Technically, it’s magic that makes the wrath inside of me infect the people around me, influencing their emotional state. But it doesn’t feel like magic—not compared to the crazy shit true witches and sorcerers can do.
“This is taking too long,” I growl, scrubbing my hands through my hair before pivoting to stare down the dark hallway Morrigan led the angel down. “What the fuck is she doing back there?”
I expect Remi to tell me to calm down and wait, to tamp down my wild emotions like he always does. But instead, he shifts his gaze toward the back hallway too.
“Yeah…” Concern flashes in his eyes. “It is taking a long time. She should be done by now.”
All right. That’s fucking it.
Not bothering to consult with the others or wait for them to follow, I storm down the hallway and throw my shoulder against the door leading into the back, forcing it open.
“Motherfucker!”
The furious shout rips from my throat, and the witch looks up from where she’s bent over Trinity.
The angel is slumped in her chair in a pose that’s eerily similar to the demon in the entry room, and the sight of it sends pure rage shooting through my veins. A needle is sticking out of Trinity’s arm, and several bags of blood hang from hooks on the wall.
So much fucking blood.
It’s dark and viscous, so dark inside the opaque bags that it looks almost black. But that hardly matters, because a haze of red overtakes my vision, making everything look like it’s bathed in blood.
Storming forward, I pull the needle out of the angel’s arm, stopping the witch from stealing any more of her lifeblood. Then I grab the old woman by the throat and slam her against the wall so hard the plaster shakes.
“I should kill you right now,” I rasp, a rushing sound filling my ears as my fingers dig into her dry skin, feeling the muscles of her throat move as she tries to speak.
I want to.
Fuck, I want to end her right now.
A twist of my wrist, a little more pressure, and—snap. It would be over.
But I don’t know what she’s done to Trinity. What if she cursed her or put a spell on her or something, and we can’t undo it without the witch’s own power?
It takes every bit of strength I have in me, but I ease up just a little on the old woman’s throat. She draws in a ragged gulp of air as I drop my head, putting my face inches from hers. She smells like cobwebs and musty dirt, but I ignore it as my gaze bounces between her rheumy blue eyes.
“You’ve got three seconds, witch. And then I will kill you. Tell me what the fuck you did to her.” My lips curl into a snarl, my entire body shaking with the need to unleash violence. “Three… two…”
“It was an accident,” she chokes out, her voice even thinner and more high-pitched than it was before. “I took too much, too much by accident. How is Morrigan to know how much blood an angel has? My mistake, my mistake.”
“That’s a fucking lie. You don’t accidentally fill up multiple bags of someone’s blood.”
“M-mistake.” She tries to shake her head, but my grip on her neck is too strong to allow any movement. “Not an accident. A miscalculation.”
“Ford.”
Beckett’s voice behind me draws my attention away from the witch, and I glance over my shoulder. Trinity’s eyelids are fluttering. She’s not dead, at least, but she’s in rough fucking shape.
I catch my brother’s gaze, reading the expression on his face. The angel needs help. With a curse, I turn back to the witch, pressing her hard against the wall.
“Give me a damn healing potion right now. The strongest you have. And I don’t care if death witches don’t deal in healing—if you don’t have one, make one. You get me?”
“I have one, I have one.” She flails wildly, like she’s desperate to give me what I want. “I’ll let you have it, no charge. Free. Then I’ll start working on the charm for the dead demon right away. For controlling the dead demon, yes? Yes?”
Fuck.
We still need her for that motherfucking charm. Not that I give a shit about it right now, but that’s the whole goddamn reason we came here.
I slam her against the wall one more time for good measure, ignoring Remi’s noise of disapproval behind me. She slides to the floor as soon as I release her, then quickly scrambles to her feet and hurries over to grab a small box off a shelf. After pulling a vial from inside, she wheels around and practically hurls it at me.
“There. There. You see?”
I pluck it out of the air, wrapping my fingers around the cool glass. Then I turn away from her. I’m done with this bitch. If she doesn’t make the charm we came for, she’ll get to see up close and personal what pure wrath looks like. But until that moment, I have no more use for her.
Striding over to Trinity, I heft the fallen angel into my arms. She feels as light and fragile as a butterfly, and I try not to think about how much damn blood she’s lost as I carry her back out toward the front.
When I’m halfway down the hall, I look back over my shoulder. “Nix, stay with the witch. If she tries anything, you better kill her first, or I will.”
“On it.”
For once, my lazy-ass brother doesn’t complain about being given a job to do. The witch closes the door behind us, but before she does, I see Nix watching her with folded arms and a scowl on his face.
A second later, I re-enter the front room, Beckett and Remi right behind me. I use my foot to dislodge the dead demon from the chair. His corpse tumbles to the floor and lands with a heavy thud; I kick it aside and settle Trinity into the creaky seat instead. Her head lists forward, and I steady it with one hand as I tug the cork from the bottle with my teeth, spit it out, and bring the small vial to her lips.
It’s possible the witch lied to me, and that this will kill the angel. But she’s dying anyway, and I’ll be damned if I don’t at least try to save her.
I pour the liquid down her throat and close her nose, making her swallow it.
“Come on…” I mutter. “Come on, goddammit.”
Remi and Beckett are behind me. I can feel their focus on Trin just like mine is, and my heart slams angrily against my ribs as we wait for several long breaths.
Finally, she blinks her eyes open.
The dark brown pools of her irises are foggy and hazy, and that little line I recognize appears between her brows.
“Wha… what...?” Her whole body jerks as her vision snaps into focus, and she tries to leap to her feet, panic radiating from her. “No! No, you can’t—”
I shove her back down as gently as I can, keeping a tight grip on her shoulders to prevent her from rising again.
“It’s fine,” I tell her roughly. “You’re fine.”
The angel’s eyelashes flutter like bird wings as she blinks again, and she shifts her gaze from me to my brothers behind me. Her fingertips lift up to graze over the spot inside her opposite elbow where a small drop of blood wells.
“I…” She swallows and shakes her head. “She… she didn’t stop, did she?”
“No.”
“I realized what she was doing, but it was too late. We were talking, and then…” A shiver moves through her. Fear glimmers in her eyes as she trails off, and my jaw clenches with renewed fury.
Then Trinity’s expression shifts. The horror in her eyes fades a little, and her tongue darts out to wet her lips as she looks from me to Beckett to Remi. “You… you saved me.”
Something sweet and almost hopeful breaks across her features, and my breath freezes in my lungs. The look in her eyes hits something deep inside me, clawing at an old wound.
A wound that’s never fully healed.
Her sweetness.
Her hope.
Anger and fear rise inside me like a tidal wave, and my heart lurches in my chest, pounding at my ribs like it’s trying to break them.
I hate the emotions she brings out in me. I fucking hate the way this small, beautiful creature makes me feel.
I want to destroy her.
I want to save her.
I want—
Surging to my feet with a growl, I almost shove her away. She looks shocked at the sudden loss of my touch, and I turn on my heel, a dangerous cocktail of emotions churning in my stomach.
Storming down the hall, I pound my fist against the closed door that leads to Morrigan’s back room.
“Witch!” I bellow. “Hurry the fuck up!”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Trinity
I’m still incredibly woozy, and I jump as Ford bangs on Morrigan’s door at the end of the hallway again. His fist sounds like it’s as heavy as a sledgehammer.
“Careful, please.” Remington glances at me as he speaks, and I know he’s thinking about my head, which throbs in time to my heartbeat.
Ugh, I’m so dizzy. The world seems like it’s spinning around me.
“How long am I going to feel like this?” I ask, forcing my tongue to form the words.
“For a bit,” Remington admits, sounding genuinely apologetic. “I’ll make you something to eat. That’ll be the best thing for you.”
Ford storms back into the room, glancing around like he’s looking for something to hurl at the wall. Beckett gives him a stern look, then comes to sit next to me.
“Phoenix is keeping an eye on her, Ford,” he tells his brother. “You can calm down.”
I drop forward, bracing my elbows on my knees, and Beckett begins to rub my back slowly. My body goes tense under his large palm for a moment, but then I relax and just allow the touch to comfort me. I don’t look at him or give any outward acknowledgement of the gesture though—I’m certain he’d pull his hand away if I draw attention to it.
