He unfolded his arms and grinned at me. “Thought you’d never ask. Of course.”
“We will go in light. Vanzir, Shade, Trillian, and I will go, along with the vampires Roman assigns me. Better we keep the party light, to escape notice. That makes nine of us.”
Nine, to walk into the darkness. I thought of The Lord of the Rings and was vaguely comforted that the Fellowship had contained nine members. But they had Gandalf and we didn’t. And they, at least, knew where they were going. Although we had coordinates, that wasn’t quite the same. Or at least it didn’t seem so to me.
I turned to Wilbur. “When do we leave?”
“I need at least three hours to prep a Demon Gate. Come back at five A.M. Not a moment sooner or you may distract me and that could disrupt the spell or cause it to fuck up in a way that would make Witchy-Boobs proud.” He leered at Camille, but even I could tell his heart wasn’t in it. He seemed downright depressed.
“Wilbur, is something wrong?” I glanced at the clock. We’d be cutting it close before sunrise, but we’d make it if everything went right.
He frowned, staring at the floor. “I’m just pissed. Your old lady, she’s always been nice to me. Even when I copped a feel, she just smacked my hand and told me to fuck myself. But . . . she always had a smile for me, and a civil word. It’s just wrong that they took her from you.”
As he looked up into my eyes, I understood that he really did understand what it was to lose someone you loved. I glanced over at Martin.
Delilah shifted, then blurted out. “Wilbur . . . Martin . . . he’s still—”
Camille broke into a coughing fit, so loud she startled Delilah into silence. Delilah glanced at her, then at me. I gave her a subtle shake of the head. Who knew what finding out the truth would do to Wilbur? It might flood him with guilt over animating his brother’s body. It might send him over the edge.
Wilbur’s nostrils flared. “What were you saying, Puss-Puss?”
Delilah let out a long sigh. “Just that . . . Martin . . . he’s still . . . his suit needs cleaning, I think. It kind of smells.”
The necromancer gazed at her, as if trying to fathom her leap in logic. He shrugged. “I’ll take care of it in the morning. Martin cares about his appearance; he wouldn’t want to think he had a bad case of B.O.” And with that, he shooed us out of the house.
As we left the house, Roman drew me off to one side. “I will leave you here. I have business I cannot ignore, my love. But . . . if you need me, I will do my best to rearrange my meetings.” He took my hands, kissing the palms softly but with so much restrained passion that I wanted to propel myself into his arms and just stay there, safe and hoping that everything would work out for the best.
I let out a soft murmur, then said, “No. You go take care of your business. Roman . . . if I don’t . . .”
“I will not listen to defeatist talk. You will return and you will rescue your love and my second wife. I have more faith in you than I think you do.” His gaze never left me as he leaned down and gently brushed my lips with his. “Menolly, you were not my choice for princess based on looks nor on your name, nor on how sexy you are. You were made for the throne. You have the heart of a warrior and the brilliance to lead. And you have one trait I lost long ago. Compassion. These things make you fit to wear the crown. I’ll send the vampires to you. Now, go get our Nerissa and bring her home.”
And with that, he clicked his heels together, then bowed and—in a blur—was gone.
I joined my sisters as we headed across the street to our property. Vanzir had vanished ahead of us. Delilah, Camille, and I were walking arm in arm up the driveway. We had paved it because it had become a perpetual mud hole every time we got heavy rain.
The night sky looked like we might be headed into clear weather. The temps were running in the low sixties, but it felt almost balmy. On either side, brambles reached out to snag our clothes as we passed by, and huge trees shadowed over the drive. There were crystals and wards hidden in those trees, and they surrounded the entire acreage. It had taken days for Camille and Morio to supervise setting them up and then another couple of days for them to enchant the grid. For the most part it held and worked, though there were always exceptions that slipped through.
As we strolled along, it occurred to me that—if things went south—this could be the last time we’d be together. I stopped as the house came into view. The three-story Victorian was home, now. It was home, and the basement was my lair, and the thought of moving into Roman’s mansion left skid marks in my stomach. But we couldn’t freeze our lives as if nothing were changing. The world thrived on change, and without it, stagnation would rot anything from the core out.
I motioned for them to join me on one of the benches that we’d placed along the walk.
“Listen . . . I’ve been thinking. If things don’t work out—if something happens and I get stuck down there, or worse . . .”
“Don’t even say it.” Kitten was in full denial, but then she paused and a dark look washed over her face. “What do you need if that happens? What should we do?”
“Don’t come after me. Don’t try to save Nerissa or me if anything happens. Somebody has to be here to fight against Shadow Wing. Somebody has to carry on the family. I want to know that you two will be safe—following your destinies, if I meet the final death. I’ve already died once. If it has to happen again, I want to know that you’re both still alive and safe.”
I hated saying the words. They felt like an invitation to Fate. But then again, Fate had never played kindly with me. The Hags of Fate had spun me a difficult path, and the threads of my life couldn’t go on forever, no matter how long I lived. At some point, even vampires faded, stretched too thin by the days and years and millennia.
Camille took my hand, and Delilah’s. “We promise. Menolly, when you died, when you were turned and sent back, for a long time you remembered things differently than how they happened. You broke my arm, you almost killed me—and you blanked that out. But I’d do everything again, if I had to. I’d do it all over. We want to go with you, but we’ll respect your wishes.” Her voice was throaty, as if a wellspring of emotion were struggling to break free.
Kitten nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I hate this. It feels like we’re saying good-bye.”
I kissed both of their hands and then stood, pacing across the drive to stare at a rowan tree that was blossoming up and over the road. The leaves were young but they would grow, and the berries would turn brilliant red. They were protective, rowan were—keeping away the lightning. Mountain ash . . . that was another name for them. I plucked a branch and played with it before turning back.
“We are, at least until I rescue Nerissa. But so many people never get to say good-bye to their loved ones. So many times, someone walks out the door and they’re gone forever—hit by a car, or their heart gives out, or a random bullet from a maniac’s gun finds them. And their families are left without ever having the chance to say good-bye. Let’s face it, I’m headed on a very dangerous mission. I’m going to the Subterranean Realms. Maybe we’ll be graced by the gods for once, maybe we’ll find Nerissa and rescue her without a struggle. I’d love that. But . . . maybe we won’t. I just want to make certain I’ve said everything I need to before I leave.”
As I handed Camille the branch, she stared at it softly. “Then I guess I’ll say what’s on my mind. I love you, Menolly, and I want Nerissa back. But a part of me wishes you’d just let her go—chalk it up to the horrid collateral damage that we seem to leave in our wake.”
She held up her hand before I could speak. “I know you can’t. And I wouldn’t respect you if you actually did. But the selfish part of me doesn’t want to worry . . . doesn’t want to wait and watch for someone to come through the door who might not make it home. The selfish part of me is the one who’s talking right now. And I need to be honest, and get it outside
of me.”
She shrugged. “But I also know that if it were one of my husbands, I wouldn’t hesitate to go hunting him down. Which brings me to another thing. I lied when I made my promise. Because if something happens to you, then something will have happened to Trillian, and I’ll have to come after you, if only to save him.”
“Same for me and Shade.” Delilah took the branch. She played with the leaves. “But . . . I mostly want to say that you’d just damned well better come home. Because Camille won’t watch Jerry Springer with me, and she won’t watch the old sci-fi movies I love, not without protesting. And if you don’t get your ass back here, then I’m going to come looking for you in my Death Maiden guise. Because nobody can stop a Death Maiden. Not even a demon.”
And that was it. We stared at one another, and then I began to laugh and threw my arms around their waists as we started back to the house. We had said all we could. I just wanted to spend the rest of the night listening to them chatter and playing with Maggie, before I walked into the gates of hell.
* * *
Vanzir had news for us—good news, actually. “I managed to connect with Trytian’s contact who is still over Earthside. He finally answered his cell. I told him what was up. Don’t even bitch at me about it because you’re going to thank me.”
“All right, as long as Trytian doesn’t hand us over to Shadow Wing.”
“Trytian will meet us at the coordinates and help us from there. He and one or two other trusted guards.” Vanzir’s eyes flared, and he gave me a cockeyed grin. I realized he was trying to help in the best way he knew how.
“How did his contact get in touch with him so quickly?” I still wasn’t buying it, not all the way at least. But if it was true, then we had another leg up and every bit of help we got counted.
“They’re soul-bound, like Camille and her men. Only they can trade thoughts. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. I’ve known some other demons who have that ability and unless you’re very careful, it leads to somebody eventually killing somebody else for a stray thought.”
I wanted to believe it, but I was afraid to. Instead, I decided on a wait-and-see approach. “Thank you, Vanzir. It will be good to have help on the other end.”
“I know you aren’t sure about this . . . but trust me. It will work out.” And with that, he vanished into the kitchen.
At five, we were standing at Wilbur’s door again: Trillian, Shade, Vanzir, the vampires—who were named Ron, Jacob, Sandra, Tico, and Jorge (who were twins)—and me. The faint hints of dawn were creeping over the horizon, and in half an hour, the sun would rise from its journey across the other side of the world. Of course, it was the Earth that had done the traveling, I thought, not the sun, but either way . . . morning would arrive.
I knocked on the door. Martin answered and led us to the basement, where Wilbur always did his work. After his house had been torched and he had lost his leg to the arsonists, he had the staircase revamped so it was much easier to descend. He’d added in one of those motorized chairs that would carry you up and down the stairs, and he used it on days when he just wasn’t feeling up to snuff.
We descended to the newly renovated basement. It was finished now, spotless in a way that I never would associate with Wilbur, and well lit. As we stopped in front of one of the three doors leading off the small central chamber, Martin clumsily raised one hand and tapped at the door. A moment later, it opened.
Wilbur stood there in a brightly colored robe that looked straight out of the South American jungles. None of us were sure if the runes emblazoned on both his robe and headband were Aztec or Mayan, or maybe something more obscure, but they were obviously from that region. The headband was woven, blue and yellow, with runes beaded on it. The central point over his forehead—his third eye—contained a brilliant sapphire, the size of a half dollar. A necklace of bone—snake vertebrae—embraced his neck, with polished spikes from what must have been a massive smoky quartz geode.
As he silently led us into the room, I was taken aback. The chamber was massive, not a particularly high ceiling, but it must have taken up half the space of the first floor. Tables and chests lined the room, and a chair and sofa were next to a bookcase that was overflowing with books. The pervasive smell of musty roots and herbs filled the air, even though the walls and all surfaces were a bright, shiny white. But what caught my eye more than anything was the brilliant flaming archway in the center of the room. The flames gave off no heat, and they flickered but did not spark or hiss. Magical fire—a fire that did not burn. The Demon Gate.
Runes floated in the air, inscribed within the transparent flickering flames. I shivered, and beside me, Vanzir let out an appreciative whistle.
“Nice, very nice. I can feel the power emanating off it, and it’s extremely clear. Wilbur, you do good work.” Vanzir shook his head. “I never thought I’d be going back. I swore I would never again cross worlds to that place, but I guess once you say ‘Never’ the gods say, ‘Game on!’ They like to fuck with us, don’t they?”
“That they do.” I glanced over at Trillian. “How about you? Are you ready to head back into the Sub-Realms?”
“No, but I’ve been there many times and always managed to keep myself out of trouble. We’re a resilient lot. If we have to face down the demons, I’d rather put my lot with you than anybody else. So, are we ready to head out?” He was wearing black jeans, a black turtleneck, and a motorcycle jacket. He had brought his sword with him. Vanzir had armed himself with a set of nasty-looking daggers.
I, on the other hand, was wielding the battle-ax I’d taken off a cave troll when we rescued a dragon-shifter named Shimmer. I had opted for a pair of black leather pants, a gray turtleneck, and a crimson leather jacket. The crimson was a nod to my status as vampire princess. Even as the words crossed my thoughts, I let out a snort.
“What’s so funny, Dead Girl?” Wilbur had picked up the nickname for me from Ivana—the Maiden of Karask. She was a deadly and freaky Elder Fae, and we had made all too many deals with her. I had the feeling the pair had been spending far too much time in each other’s company.
“I’m a princess. I’m a princess and I’m off to rescue my . . . other princess. Just call me Princess Charming.”
“I think you’d make a better Leia than Cinderella. Leia had guts and could shoot like a son of a bitch.” Wilbur snorted. “Unless you want a pink palace, and then we can call you Snow White when you fall asleep each morning.”
“Please, no. I like dwarves but I’ve never slept with one, and I’m not cut out to be anybody’s housekeeper.” I stared at the Demon Gate, realizing that my laughter was covering up one hell of a deep-seated fear. Walking into the Sub-Realms was an insane thing to do. What I’d told my sisters about if we didn’t come back . . . that wasn’t just hyperbole. No, there was a very real chance this was a head-on suicide mission and I knew it. But I couldn’t leave Nerissa there, and we couldn’t give Shadow Wing the spirit seals. So, there was nothing else to do.
“I’m ready.” I shivered, a goose walking over my grave.
Trillian rested a hand on my shoulder. “We’ve got this. We’ll bring her home. Just pay attention to Vanzir and me—we’ve both been in the Sub-Realms. If we say duck, duck. If we say jump, jump. Got it, girl?”
I nodded. “I understand. I just hope to hell Vanzir’s right about Trytian and that he’s waiting there for us.”
“There’s only one way to find out.” Vanzir nodded to Wilbur. “We’re ready. How do we get back?”
“I’ll leave the Demon Gate up as long as I can—as long as nothing else comes through. But you have to be aware that any sorcerer or necromancer with enough power can destroy it from the other side. That’s one thing I can’t control.” Wilbur’s expression was solemn. “I’ve taken strides to combat that possibility, however.” He handed each of us a bone charm on a leather thong. “I made these. Consider them . . . a ma
gical GPS signal. I’ll have a chance to track your signature with them. They aren’t guaranteed, but there’s a chance I can pull you through, if something does happen to the Demon Gate. I made one for Nerissa, too.” He handed me the extra. “When you go through the gate, it’s not quite the same as walking through one of your Fae portals. It’s going to hurt, so be prepared.”
I stared at the flaming maw, tucking Nerissa’s charm into my pocket and zipping it closed. “I guess . . . the only way to find out is to go. What do we do?”
“I set it for the coordinates that Vanzir gave me. So you just . . . step through.”
I realized we were stalling. With a glance at Vanzir and Trillian, I moved toward the gate. Shade swung in behind me, silent in his support. Wilbur stood beside the portal and, as I met his gaze, he gave me a solemn nod. I silently leaned up and planted a faint kiss on his cheek.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“Thank me when you get back with her. Now go, Dead Girl, and stay safe. But . . . when you get back, if it’s still during the day, you’ll pass out immediately, I assume. There are no windows in this room, so the sun won’t be able to harm you, but if that’s the case, whoever is with you can just lift you onto one of the tables and let you sleep out the rest of the day.” He looked at the other vamps. “That goes for your friends, too. But you might want to warn Nerissa so she doesn’t panic.”
“Got it.” With a deep shudder, I turned back toward the gate. There was nothing left to say. Anything more and I might lose my nerve. I glanced up at Shade and he nodded. Without further ado, I steeled my shoulders and stepped through.
The flash of runes startled me as I passed beneath the magical gate, and then—a deep searing pain wrenched through my body. Hot like a blade off the forge, it pierced through my soul, burning deep to my very core. Bathed in fire, I froze, unable to move.
This must be what it’s like to step into the sun. So bright, so hot, so brilliant and transcendent in its pain. Like the phoenix, burning to ashes before being reborn into the dark of the night. I danced with the flames as the runic symbols coiled around me, shifting me body and soul into a realm where I did not belong. Every fiber of my being resisted the energy. The very air was acrid, filled with desire and hatred, with a power so deep that it coiled at the base of a mountain, greedy and ancient, older than the wyrms of the earth, older than Kesana, the Mother of the Crimson Veil. Here, evil ran free and easy, and base emotions were elevated.
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