by Kyra Quinn
I didn’t know what to believe. A small, childish part of me hoped Daeva told me the truth. After eighteen years without a mother and losing the only father I’d known, a mother who cared about me and put me first would’ve been a blessing. Remiel’s voice popped into the back of my head, his voice stern as he whispered, “Be objective.”
“No.”
“No?” Daeva’s eyebrows drew together.
“I don’t want it. I don’t want a throne or a castle in the Shadowrealm.”
Daeva frowned. “When my demons told me you’d entered Shadow City of your own free will, I’d hoped you wanted to talk.”
I briefly considered lying but settled on a half-truth. “I came to buy a weapon.”
“Here? They don’t have blacksmiths where you’re from?”
“They do. Some talented ones, too. But those blacksmiths craft weapons with the human male in mind. I am neither. I wanted to find something that would work a little better with my inherited strengths. My companion suggested we try here.”
Daeva rubbed her chin as she nodded. I could almost see the wheels in her head turning as my little white lies worked their magic. “Did you find nothing useful?”
I laughed. “Found nothing at all. This place differs from what I pictured it in my head. I didn’t expect things to be so...civilized.”
“I see the temple hasn’t updated their narrative.” Daeva shook her head and huffed. “If you’d only asked me, I have access to more potent weapons than you’ll find anywhere else in the universe.”
Daeva snapped her fingers. The surrounding room whirled and mixed like watercolors. My stomach lurched as the ground beneath my feet spun. I blinked, and by the time I opened my eyes the bedroom chambers had vanished.
Stone walls surrounded us on all four sides. A thick metal door stood in the back-center wall. Weapons adorned almost every inch of the room. Bows, swords, and maces all hung from various hooks and nails. A glass case lined most of the right wall, the weapons inside glowing an electric blue to match the bars of the prison cell.
“Where did you even get all this?” I asked, my voice breathy.
Daeva winked. “My husband is a collector. Most of this junk is useless, but he’s found neat things over the years.”
That was when I saw it. The scythe hung from a hook on the left wall buried between a club and a sword with a curved blade. A soft blue aura glowed around it, the light extinguished.
“Something you like?” Daeva asked when I didn’t speak.
“W-what? No. I mean, nothing specific. It’s impressive.”
She sighed. “He thinks so, at least.”
Daeva snapped her fingers once more. The same sickening sequence repeated until we stood in her chambers once more. She took her place in the chair by the fire and patted the seat across from her.
“Have I shown you enough for you to sit down and listen yet?”
I sucked in a breath, torn. Now that she’d shown me where to find the scythe, all I wanted to do was run back to the cell and tell Aster. The more she tried to convince me to trust her, the more I heard Remiel’s voice in my head listing all the reasons I shouldn’t.
“I shouldn’t be here. I need to get back to Astryae.”
“Unfortunately I can’t let you do that.” She winced, but her voice lacked any trace of remorse.
I clenched my fist. “So you will hold me prisoner to convince me you’re sorry about the past? How warm and maternal of you.”
“I tried the nice way. But the longer we talk the more I realize you take after your father.” Her nose wrinkled. “I don’t need you, or your permission. I need your powers.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Desperate Measures
Remiel and Viktor raced back to Aster’s house as fast as they could run. Viktor focused on the rhythmic sound of his feet against the ground to steady his breathing. He wanted to hope Elijah had lied, but it seemed unlikely. Angels occasionally bent the truth, but they never outright fabricated things. They lacked the imagination.
Viktor tried to picture what sort of demon or Shadowfey might possess the strength to impersonate a god. Nothing sprang to mind. Plenty of Feyfolk could adopt glamor or shift physical forms, from the shifters and jinn to the more experienced mages and Naga. The uncertainty of what to expect made his gut twist.
When they reached Aster’s road, Viktor paused outside of the gate. “I have no weapon.”
Remiel’s face hardened. “You are a weapon, Viktor. Channel it if you must. But do so with care. We need one of these sons of shadows to take us to the girls.”
Lili’s face flashed into his mind, her eyes wide and afraid. A dull ache spread through his chest. He nodded and clenched his teeth, ready for the fight. He pushed the gate open and marched up to the door with Remiel on his heels.
Viktor motioned for Remiel to be quiet when they reached Aster’s door. He tiptoed up the steps and held his breath as he pushed the door open. His heart jackhammered against his ribs as he crept into the house. He pressed the door closed behind Remiel and perked his ears to listen for movement.
“Back so soon?” a voice called from the kitchen. “Your friends have already left.”
Viktor gestured towards the kitchen with his head. Remiel took the lead, Viktor only a step behind as they stalked towards the back of the unit. Osius sat on the corner of the work table with a toothy grin. Aster’s stolen spell book sat open in front of him. His fingertips drummed against the page as he waited for them to approach.
“How did you get out of Aster’s trap? Who the Fey are you?” Remiel demanded as he clutched the flaming sword closer. “No one has seen Osius in over a century.”
The impersonator cackled in response. “Your mage is skilled, but her trap would have failed as stupendously on my brother as it did me. Any magic in this world is droplets compared to what courses through us. The attempt was cute, though. I have to admire her spunk.”
“Your brother? No—”
Osius lifted from the ground. His body shook and distorted as his limbs bent around each other at impossible angles. Within the space of a heartbeat, a creature made of pure shadows and smoke replaced the God of Judgement. Red eyes glowed beneath a dark hood. He cackled once more, his fangs glistening in the candlelight.
“Zanox,” Remiel exhaled.
The God of Chaos grinned. “Clever. Osius wouldn’t have helped you much anyway. My brother-in-law is responsible only for weighing and reading the fates of men. A glorified secretary. He has no more control over the outcome than I do. Only your actions in life can determine your fate in death.”
“Why?” Viktor’s blood boiled. “Why pretend to be Osius and send them to the Shadowrealm? You could have killed her here.”
“True.” Zanox shrugged. “But this is far more entertaining. Besides, I wanted to see what Daeva’s little mistake was capable of. Since they have yet to return, my guess is she won’t. Shame, really. I liked her.”
Viktor lunged for the god. Zanox jumped to the side and out of the way. He threw his head back in a maniacal cackle as Viktor crashed to the floor. He snatched the spell book from the table and waved. “I am certain we’ll cross paths again soon. For now, I have a new weapon to add to my collection. I’ve searched for this book for centuries. Until next time.”
He winked one of his red eyes and snapped a finger above his head. A crack of thunder echoed through Aster’s kitchen. Viktor lunged for him once more. His arms passed straight through the god’s torso. Zanox disappeared like smoke, his creepy ivory fangs the last thing to fade from view.
“Son of Cimera!” Remiel slammed his fist against the wall. “Now what?”
Viktor shook his head. “We have to get Lili and Aster out of there. We need to find Andras.” The name burned his tongue. Bitterness flooded his mouth.
Remiel arched a brow. “You would have to set the past aside for a moment. Do you think you can?”
Viktor shrugged, his body tense. “Only one way to find out.
”
Remiel’s eyes flickered towards Aster’s altar. “There are not enough ingredients left to summon him again. We must find him the old-fashioned way.”
Viktor’s lips curled. “Not necessarily. I think it’s time we embrace the benefits of my duel nature and pray I can keep it under control.” He held up a hand to stop Remiel’s protests, his mind made up. “Come on. Let’s try to sniff this bastard out.”
* * *
Even after Viktor swore to set aside his murderous thoughts, Andras proved to be a difficult demon to track down. Viktor stalked through the streets of Carramar with Remiel a step behind him. He pressed the tip of his nose to the soil as he prowled, but the demon’s scent remained elusive. Storm clouds lingered above their heads, the smell of snow on the horizon.
Viktor wove his way through the back streets, careful to avoid the busier sectors of town. Frightened humans rarely made rational decisions. As welcoming to the Feyfolk as Carramar appeared on the surface, he couldn’t rule out the possibility of a startled human drawing a weapon on sight. The less attention he drew to his primal state the better.
The moment he picked up a faint whiff of sulfur, Viktor’s fur stood on end. His body vibrated as he growled. He cocked his head and scanned the area for movement or spots a demon might take interest in. Whatever demon he sensed couldn’t have gotten far.
Remiel knelt and gave Viktor’s head a scratch between the ears. He nodded towards a row of buildings across the street. “How much do you want to bet our demon is in there?”
Viktor squinted his eyes in the direction of Remiel’s finger. Nothing about the red brick structure stood out as special. Heavy curtains covered all the windows. A crooked sign slapped to the top of the building declared the place ‘The Devil’s Den.’ Viktor shuddered and took a couple of hesitant steps closer. His skin crawled beneath his fur.
“Probably a tavern.” Remiel pursed his lips as they paused in front of the steps to the door. “The name is a bit on the nose, no? Should we go inside?”
Viktor glanced down at his paws. With his shirt and trousers on the floor in Aster’s washroom, shifting into his human form hardly sounded like his best option. But he couldn’t imagine the patrons reacting well to a giant wolf in their midst. He snorted and glared at Remiel.
“Good point.” Remiel frowned. “I can lend you my coat, but your lack of trousers may still pose an issue.”
Viktor huffed. So close. Sulfur and a sweet smoke seeped through the cracks in the bricks. He sucked in a deep inhale to determine how many humans might lurk inside. When he sensed none, he stomped towards the front door. His throat tightened as he waited for Remiel to let him in. His nudity aside, his lack of weapon made his claws and fangs his best defense against a building full of monsters.
Remiel must have sensed the danger as well. He shuffled towards the door of the den as if his feet were made of stone. As his fingers wrapped around the metal door handle, he shot Viktor a skeptical glance. Viktor could almost read the question in his icy blue eyes: since when were they the sort of idiots who marched into a trap?
The moment the door swung shut behind them, Viktor had to wonder if they had stepped through a portal by mistake. The den’s interior bore no resemblance to the outside of the building. Elegant glass lanterns along the wall drew attention to the black and silver wallpaper. Instead of tables and chairs, lavish settees and armless cloth chairs were strewn around the room. An empty bar was tucked in the far-right corner of the room. A cluster of men sat to the left of the door, a pipe clutched in each of their hands as they spoke in meandering tones.
Remiel made his way to the bar without hesitation. Viktor followed close by his side. He tucked his head and hunched his back some as he walked. If no one spared a second glance his direction, perhaps he could convince them he was Remiel’s dog.
The bartender scrunched her sharp nose as they approached. Her pointed ears sported gold hoops down the sides. Spirals of pale blue ink decorated the left side of her face. A thin gold hoop dangled from the center of her nose. She scowled as Remiel took a seat at the empty bar.
“We don’t allow dogs in here.”
“We will not be here long.”
“What do you want?”
“Information, if you have it.” His hand disappeared into his pocket and returned with a handful of silver and gold coins. He slammed them on the dull countertop. “And perhaps a drink.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “You with the Crown?”
“No, nothing like that. My friend and I were hoping you might help us find someone.”
She lifted a brow. “Who?”
“Andras. They tell us he frequents your establishment.” They’d been told no such thing, but the way her frown deepened suggested Remiel had guessed correctly. “Don’t worry, we desire no trouble. We need to make a deal.”
“Hmm.” The girl reached forward and snatched the coins from Remiel’s hand. She shoved them into her pocket and smirked. “I thought you looked smarter. I guess it’s true what they say about not judging a man by his suit.”
“You know where he is?”
“I do, but you’d be better off leaving him alone. Andras is not the sort of demon you want to strike a deal with.”
“I am afraid we’re out of other options.” Remiel offered a sad smile. “His location?”
The bartender pointed towards a nondescript wooden door on the back wall of the den. “He likes to hang out in there with the a few of his demons. If I were you, I’d grab a drink and wait for them to come out. It’d be suicide to walk in uninvited.”
Remiel and Viktor exchanged grins. “Sounds like our kind of mission. Thanks, you’ve been a big help.”
Remiel nodded towards the door. He and Viktor pushed through the crowd once more, the sound of the barkeep’s protest drowned out by the sea of conversations around them. They stopped in front of the door, Remiel’s hands on the knob.
“Stay behind me,” he muttered as he pushed the door open.
Andras sat with five other demons around a wooden table. His long, bony hands clutched a stack of playing cards. A pipe rested between his lips as thick, sweet smoke perfumed the air. He froze as they entered, his face equal parts amusement and disbelief.
The demon to his right rose from his chair, his eyes narrow. “You lost, angel?”
“I’m looking for the demon Andras,” Remiel answered. To his credit, his voice didn’t waver. He stood tall and imposing, his arms folded over his chest.
“An angel and a shifter.” Andras’s mouth curled into a grin. “You must be the camphelem’s friends. Sorry, your girlfriends aren’t here.”
“We want to make a deal.” Remiel lifted his chin. “We need you to get us into the Shadowrealm as well.”
Andras cackled. “I never thought I’d hear such a strange request. Let alone twice in one day. Astryae has changed over the years. Everyone’s gone mad.”
“Will you help us or not?”
“Not.” Andras drew a hit from his pipe as he rose to his feet. He towered over them both and grinned, his eyes wild. “Your friends are gone, boys. I dropped them off at the veil hours ago. Those girls are knee-deep in shadows by now. Even if you follow them in there, the only thing you’ll reach them in time to do is die with them.”
“We can handle ourselves. Whatever your price, we will pay it. Take us to the veil.”
Andras lifted his brows. “Whatever my price? Careful what you wish for, angel. I am certain the Archangels warned you about the dangers of demons.”
“Name your price.”
Andras pressed a finger to his chin. “Hmmm. Sorry, no can do, boys. The veil is clear across Astryae. Without the blood mage to poof us there, the trip itself would take the better part of a week on foot. Your friends will be long dead.”
Remiel’s face hardened. “I can get us there. Name your price.”
“Oh? How?”
“I bet he suggests the railway,” one of the demons seated at the table snick
ered.
Remiel’s expression remained unchanged. “Name. Your. Price.”
Andras leaned back and studied Remiel, his chin cradled in his hand. His mouth twisted. “Fine. I will get you into the veil in exchange for the shifter’s soul.”
Remiel paled. “His soul?”
Andras’s smirk stretched. “Oh come, what use are they to the living? You give me the boy’s soul, and I will take you to your stupid little friends.”
Viktor’s heart froze. Remiel’s eyes flickered between him and the demon, his mouth a thin line. Viktor bowed his head and prepared to surrender his soul. Would the demon take it from him now? Or would Andras wait until the afterlife to claim his prize?
Remiel shook his head. “Take mine instead.”
Every demon in the room hissed in confusion. Andras took a step back, his eyebrows wrinkled. “Y-you want to take the shifter’s place?”
“Fallen or not, angels are bound by honor and loyalty. You may have my soul if you take us to the veil.”
Andras rubbed his chin. “An angel’s soul is certainly more valuable. Have you considered this offer? Even if your friends are dead before you arrive, your soul will belong to me in the afterlife.”
“Looking forward to it,” Remiel said, his voice flat. He stepped forward and reached out a hand. “Do we have a deal or not?”
Andras exchanged a look with the demon next to him. His face stretched into a wicked smile as his cold hand clutched Remiel’s and shook. “Very well, angel. Consider it a deal. Let’s get you two through the veil before the sun rises.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
A Final Offer
“What happened?” Aster asked as the guard hurled me back into the cage. The bars shot up into place. Aster’s eyes filled with tears. “I thought she’d killed you.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” I groaned as I rose to my feet. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m sure murder is next on her to-do list.”
I filled Aster in on the conversation with Daeva. She leaned in close as she listened with her mouth in a perfect circle. By the time I told her about the scythe, her eyes bulged from her skull so far I thought they might hit the ground.
