Soul Hook (Devany Miller Book 5) (Devany Miller Series)

by Jen Ponce

  The door burst open and the terrifying Skriven with eight arms stood glowering at them both. “Come. We need you downstairs.” Her contemptuous eyes flicked over Arsinua and away, dismissing her.

  That was fine, she disliked the Skriven too.

  “We’ll be right there.”

  “What is this you cook up?” the Skriven asked, eying the magical accoutrement suspiciously.

  “A present for Vasili,” Elizabeta said with a bright smile. “The kind witch has helped me become more … durable.”

  The Skriven grunted, sneered at Elizabeta’s Skriven, and said, “Hurry.”

  The moment she left, Arsinua scrambled to her feet. “Take me home now. Please?” She hated the wobble in her voice, the way every bit of her hope dangled on those words.

  “I will, as soon as we’re done downstairs. They might need you! Come, it won’t take long and then I’ll have you home. All right?” Elizabeta removed their working with a wave of her hand and then squeezed Arsinua’s hand gently. “I promise.”

  Tytan wrapped fleshcrawler Devany in several layers of material, a mask made of thick canvas over her expanding, ripped mouth like a muzzle. He would have used magic, but Nex reminded him that fleshcrawlers were very good and ripping holes in magical constructs. It meant the transfer of Devany’s soul would be even trickier—he didn’t want Devany Two to get destroyed by the raving thing in his arms.

  He could pull the soul from her in the temporary cell he’d made, but he wanted the transfer to be as quick as possible. That meant they needed to at least be in the same room.

  It bothered him that Gaius was out there, free. Why he hadn’t already come by to try to kill them all worried him more. The Originator wasn’t exactly subtle or shy about wreaking havoc. And he knew how to kill them, which meant he was a bigger threat than anyone had thought him to be.

  As soon as they were done, they would go to Baow and make sure the damned Originator knew what Gaius was capable of. Perhaps self-preservation would get the testy thing to act when nothing else had.

  The door banged open and Zeph stood in the doorway with one of Gaius's Skriven. Tytan could see the crawling, sickly yellow of Gaius's signature all over her. In the Skriven’s arms hung Mal, limp, his aura flickering desperately. He was dying. Sort of. Tytan took Mal from the Skriven and snarled, “Why did you bring that here?”

  “Because she helped me,” Zeph snapped back. “Who here can save him?”

  “We aren’t gathered to save your boyfriend,” he said, though he took care to ease the wounded man onto a bed in the next room. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know. I found him near the center of the blast. He—”

  “Is my brother,” the Skriven said, her eyes on the broken form before her.

  “Brother?”

  “Of sorts.” The Skriven tipped her head. “I remember you. You liked to scream.”

  Tytan narrowed his eyes, studying her. He didn’t remember her, but that wasn’t too surprising. He’d been rather preoccupied as Gaius and Ravana worked him over. And over. “Brother.”

  “Another of Gaius’ experiments. One that didn’t work to meet his needs, I guess you’d say. Abandoned, but useful enough lately, since he served his purpose to free him from Ravana’s cell.” Anwen lowered herself to the floor, legs crossed, eyes still on Tytan.

  “She helped you?” he asked Zeph, not sure he was hearing the story correctly.

  Her brow was drawn, and she was sitting on the bed next to Mal whispering into his ear. “Yes, she did. Helped me get down to him and dig him out of the rubble.”

  He grunted. “I’ll get Elizabeta.” His first choice would have been Vasili, but he needed to be there when they transferred Devany’s soul. “We have to get Devany back as soon as possible,” he added, though he didn’t know why he was explaining himself to her. Elizabeta was a good healer and she would serve Mal well, at least until they were finished and Vasili could assist her.

  Zeph didn’t look around but nodded, her worry focused on the prone man before her.

  In the other room, Tytan whispered the need to Elizabeta and waited until she left the room to collect fleshcrawler Devany. “Would you hold her, Kali?”

  “Of course,” Kali answered, wrapping all eight of her arms around Devany’s body and holding her away from the construct on Tytan’s request. “She’s strong.”

  Yeah, it worried him. Already more skin had sloughed off, more hair was gone, and her teeth were longer, too. Perhaps it was the Originator magic fueling the transformation. Whatever the reason, it made their task urgent. He’d wanted everyone who knew her to have a chance to say something to remind her of who she was, but there just wasn’t time.

  He shut his eyes and sought out Devany’s soul using his Skriven magic, bolstered by his new role as Originator. It was easy to find but the state of it made his chest ache. It was still intact but looked the worse for wear with ragged holes tripped clean through the middle. He reminded himself it could regenerate in time if he saved it now. The key was getting it out without the fleshcrawler venom taking hold of it and rotting it clean through before he got it free.

  He didn’t want to just yank it out—he might leave a piece behind and wouldn’t that make a mess of things? He dropped down into that calm place he’d once guided Devany to so she could do this same task for Arsinua, the ungrateful witch. Her soul slipped and slid in his mental grasp, bits of it shredding as he handled it.

  It was falling apart before his very eyes. Damn it.

  How could he get it out?

  He saw a small black spot, thick despite the thin, ragged appearance of the rest of her soul. It was his, wasn’t it? Unaffected by the venom because Devany had locked it away inside her, had packed it up tightly so not even Gaius could sense it.

  Could he release it and let his soul gather up hers?

  Would his soul even know what to do?

  He worked on the locks on the blob, working at them until his soul snaked free of its confines. Everything inside him sung at the touch of his soul and he yearned to yank it to him. He’d missed it, much more than he could ever thought possible.

  His soul slithered around hers, gathering it up, pulling it close until his encircled hers in a protective black skin that the venom couldn’t penetrate. When he tugged this time, his soul pulled away smoothly from the thrashing fleshcrawler. It floated toward him, wanting to be reunited and he yearned for that, but first he had to get Devany’s inside the construct before it disintegrated completely.

  The construct gasped as he fed his soul and hers into it, her mouth opened, her eyes staring wildly at the ceiling. Lucy hadn’t reacted this way when Devany had transferred Arsinua’s soul to her. What was different? Was it the venom? Had it already destroyed her soul beyond repair? Was this the result.

  Her soul was inside the construct, he could see it, could see his, too, but the glow of the union between body and soul wasn’t there. He knelt at her side, putting his hand in hers as her friends came closer to look, to touch, to see.

  The moment he touched her, his soul slithered into him, filling him with its light and peace. Everything in him went back to the moment his mother had first held his soul out to him, his real soul. He’d felt over full and overwhelmed by the emotions suddenly flooding him.

  He knew what to expect this time and it still almost knocked him over.

  When he could open his eyes, he saw that she was looking at him, though her face held no emotion, no hint at the success of his venture.

  “Devany?

  She blinked slowly like a woman woken from a deep sleep. Her lips parted and he leaned in, waiting.

  A long, low sigh slipped free and then her eyes slid shut.

  Arsinua stood crammed in a corner with Travis. Tytan had expanded the room in order to fit everyone in, but still they were elbow to elbow to large, segmented chythraul leg. She’d almost made it home, almost gotten away but once again, Devany ruined everything.

  Always Devany
.

  The construct lay on the couch, asleep and expressionless. Arsinua remembered another time when Lucy had been in the same position so that Devany could push Arsinua into her. She had taken over Lucy’s memories, had completely crowded out the woman Lucy had become. It hadn’t seemed fair at the time and it still felt wrong, all this time later. She hated that she wore a Skriven-made meat suit and wished she’d never survived the blast that night in the tent. Better to be dead than living a life such as this.

  She didn’t know who all was there—every time she looked around she saw another horror of a Skriven and had to stare hard at the floor so she wouldn’t hyperventilate.

  And Devany called them friends.

  “Why do we have to be here?” she whispered to Travis.

  He shrugged. “Well, I’m guessing they’ve figured out a way to bring her back.”

  Arsinua gestured angrily at the still figure in the center of the room. “That’s not bringing her back. That’s cheating.”

  “I know you hate this place, but it doesn’t seem too bad. Weird, but no one’s tried to hurt me or you, for that matter.”

  Arsinua snorted. He didn’t know, didn’t understand. She’d been trapped here for what had felt like decades by the Skriven scum. They were monsters and whatever playacting they were doing right now was just that, an act. They couldn’t feel—they were soulless. They couldn’t empathize or have relationships like normal people. “They haven’t hurt you because they need you. As soon as that changes, you’ll wish you’d never come.”

  “What happened to you here? Can you … can you tell me about it?”

  She shuddered. No, she couldn’t. Couldn’t think of it without needing to scream. “It doesn’t matter. It’s done. I just want to leave.” If Elizabeta kept her promise. Otherwise, there was no telling what would happen to her. Would Tytan keep her? Send her back to that awful prison on Earth? They might as well kill her—she would die there, no matter that they said she would be released in a few years. Years. She couldn’t stand the droning monotony, the magic-less days and the long, sleepless nights. She couldn’t do it.

  “Well, I’m sorry it happened to you and I’m sorry you’re so scared.” His arm went around her shoulders and she leaned into him, glad for his warm, solid presence, even if it didn’t afford her any protection. His parents were a very powerful Witch and Wydling, but they’d conceived him on Earth. If he had any magic, it was minimal at best. And his strength, while good on Earth, meant nothing in this place between worlds, where demons could rend him in two with a snap of their fingers. “Hey Tytan?”

  Arsinua froze. “What are you doing?” she hissed, but Travis ignored her.

  “Yes?”

  “Can you take us home now? I mean, if we’re done here. I need to get back for Bethany and Liam … even if they aren’t exactly my niece and nephew.”

  Tytan would kill him, or maybe strip him of his skin, or perhaps take him to Earth but drop him in the middle of an ocean.

  “Still thinking bad thoughts about me, witch?”

  She glared at him, not wanting to look at him but unwilling to show her fear. She hated him, had found a way to tolerate him, but she’d never felt more vulnerable than when she was in the Slip and that hadn’t changed.

  “Prison, was it? I think that’s where you belong?”

  She set her jaw, unwilling to talk about her deal with Elizabeta in case it got the other woman hurt or killed. “If it gets me away from here, then yes. Anywhere but here.”

  “Don’t you give a shit about her? You don’t want to stay to see if we can save her? She saved you. Several times over.”

  “No.” She didn’t know which question she was answering, maybe both. She’d come a long way from the day she’d met Devany in the hook between Midia and Earth, where the Theleoni had taken them both. Once she might have cared what happened to Devany but now?

  “And you call me soulless,” he whispered, the words only for her.

  She flinched.

  “Fine. To Earth with you.”

  The world fell out from under her feet and she found herself back in her cell staring up at a grey ceiling.

  She could have cried.

  Perhaps she did.

  “Did it work?” Sharps asked, her fingers playing with a piece of her hair. “I mean, did you get her soul back?”

  Tytan shrugged. He’d never felt so helpless or lost since … well, ever. When Devany died, his soul was gone, and the ache had been muted. Now, though, his soul was back, and it bashed around inside him, ripping him to shreds. At least if she had died, he would know what to feel, but this? This waiting game to see if she’d wake up, if she would know who she was if she did, if she would be Devany and not some broken thing, this was hell.

  Kroshtuka moved forward and Tytan got out of his way, resenting the man but hopeful his presence might spur Devany’s consciousness. The man’s clan magic tingled along Tytan’s skin, making him antsy and angry all at once. He slipped through the crowd of people and left the house, left the Slip completely, going back to Devany’s house though he hadn’t known exactly where he’d intended to go until them.

  He made sure her bedroom door was locked and then laid in the bed, remembering.

  He could still smell their night of pleasure. It permeated the room. It had been the one and only time he had ever gotten to hold Devany that way—and it hadn’t even been her.

  How was he going to live with that?

  Especially now that he had his soul?

  Perhaps he would leave. As an Originator, he was no longer bound to anyone at all. He could visit other worlds, other universes, none with Devany in them and wait until the hyena man died, until Devany was without even her children to comfort her.

  What a pitiful thing he was, wishing for the death of all she held dear so that she would have room in her heart for him.

  He pushed himself off the bed and glared down at it, though he was angry with himself. He wouldn’t leave. He would learn to live without her and do it peacefully and with grace—however long that took him. That he could give her, even if she would never take him as a lover. He could be her friend.

  It would have to be enough because that was all he had to offer.

  Nex stared down at his friend and saw the way her soul knitted itself slowly into the new body. When he saw the sparks of magic, he knew the transfer would be successful. It would take time, but she would heal. It made him feel good that he’d been a part of that, that he had found her when no one else had the heart to look.

  He had no heart. Perhaps that’s why he was able to find her.

  And now he had a new role, that of savior. According to Zeph, Reach had been destroyed and with it, therefore, the fleshcrawler kingdom, perhaps even the king. Those that had survived would need a leader and Nex thought he could be that to them. No, he was no longer a fleshcrawler, but he was something better—a pegnon and friend to two powerful Originators. Who would stand in his way?

  Cazsada said the young ones wanted revolution. Well, revolution would be what he’d bring them. He wanted to go now but he couldn’t leave without saying goodbye to his dear friend, which meant waiting until she woke up. And she would; he could tell by the way the silver threads wove in and out of her aura, healing her, stitching her back together.

  “Will she be okay?” Jack had been hovering around him ever since they got back to the manse. Nex wasn’t sure if he should be flattered or annoyed by all the attention. Perhaps the boy just needed to be with his own kind. Okay, he didn’t really have a kind since his blooding hadn’t happened despite the fleshcrawlers force feeding him. He was different like Nex was, an anomaly in a culture that killed things that were different. Maybe Nex would have a use for the boy in his new venture.

  “Yes.” He was certain of it and eyes turned his way at his certainty. “I know my kind and have seen many transformations. Her soul will heal and Devany will be back to her old self in no time.” She was a survivor. She was tough. It wa
s part of the reason why he enjoyed her company so much. That and she could be funny when she wanted, though she didn’t know as many good jokes as he did.

  He floated closer to Devany’s prone body, letting his intestines dangle against her bare ankles. Skin to intestine contact helped make a connection between her and him. “I am very glad I found you, my friend.”

  Electricity tingled between them and he smiled. Yes, she would be okay.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  My head pounded as if someone held a jackhammer to it. Everything hurt, from my toes to my eyebrows and I wasn’t sure moving was in my best interest.

  The last thing I remembered was the lightning bolt of pain that had zinged through my neck when Gaius took my head between his hands and twisted. Though that wasn’t quite true, was it? I remembered a frenzy of fleshcrawlers. I remembered meat and blood. Oh, the scent of blood. It had been so sharp and delicious, like the scent of a perfectly grilled steak and onions. Just the thought of it made my stomach growl, which was gross.

  I heard people around me, but I didn’t want to open my eyes and look at them. What if I was paralyzed? What if the pain I felt in my legs was ghost pain or whatever it was called when you could feel something in an amputated limb? Did that happen if you were paralyzed?

  Someone squeezed my hand gently and I cracked an eyelid to peer at whoever was by my side.

  Kroshtuka.

  His lamp-yellow eyes smiled at me. Had I said his name out loud? Or had he heard me speaking inside his head? Everything swam around in there, memories jumbled, and I couldn’t quite focus on any one thing. Except his eyes. I wasn’t sure I could form any coherent sentences either, so I didn’t try. It wasn’t until I heard my children that I forced both eyes open.

  “Mommy!” Bethy landed on top of me and Liam wormed his arms around my middle.

  “Mom, we heard you were dead but you’re alive!” Liam kissed me on the cheek and again on the chin, something he hadn’t done in a while. “You’re okay.”