Torn by Fury

by S. M. Reine

  “You dreamed it?”

  “Yes. A boy showed me. I know it sounds absurd, but I spent time in Araboth. I know the power of dreams. That boy was no fabrication.”

  Nathaniel?

  James looked at the rune again. It could have been his son’s handiwork. It was complex enough that he had no idea what it was meant to do. “Why the arrows?”

  “Because I don’t think you’ll need to take the long way through Limbo if you can cast that rune,” Ariane said.

  Anthony shuffled over carrying a suitcase, which he loaded in back with the canned goods. James stepped away from Ariane, slipping the paper and photograph back into his pocket before Anthony could see them.

  The freshly healed pink scar on the inside of Anthony’s forearm seemed to catch the sunlight and glow.

  “How’s Brianna?” James asked.

  Anthony leaned one elbow against the side of the truck bed. “She has nightmares every night. She hallucinates sometimes. She still can’t control her magic. The Talamh Coven left in part because she was draining them.” His smile didn’t touch his eyes. “She’s great.”

  “Brianna’s a good witch. She’ll be a fantastic aspis once she heals.”

  “I know,” Anthony said.

  James slipped the photo back into his shirt. He couldn’t return to Hell soon enough. Funny—he’d never thought that he would actually look forward to going back to that black pit, but everything really was so much simpler down there. Life and death. Demons and humans. Pain and war.

  “I’ll see you in Oymyakon, I hope,” James said.

  Anthony rubbed his chin, glanced at Elise. He seemed to debate with himself for a moment. “We need to talk before I leave.”

  James stared at him blankly. Whatever the boy had to say, he wasn’t sure that he had the energy to hear it. He’d had enough hate thrown at him to burn in the pit of his belly for a lifetime. But he let Anthony pull him aside.

  They moved behind the bushes against the side of a cottage. The wall had been sheltering them from the wind, but now it struck them fully, blowing through the cables of James’s knitted sweater.

  The young kopis glanced around again to make sure nobody was listening before speaking in a low whisper. “It’s Elise.”

  “Isn’t it always?” James asked.

  “Shut the fuck up and listen to me,” Anthony said. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but—Jesus, I don’t know what else to do. She tried to kiss me.”

  James waited for the jealousy to hit. It didn’t. There was only a slow-roiling sense of self-hatred that he’d become too familiar with over the years. “Is that a problem?”

  “She thought that we were still dating. That’s not normal. I don’t know what’s normal for her anymore, but I know that can’t be normal.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, glaring at his feet. “Something’s gone wrong. I think she’s sick.”

  Anthony wasn’t trying to tell James that they were involved. He was saying something much, much worse.

  James’s heart sank as the reality of it hit him.

  “Just like Lincoln,” he murmured.

  He leaned around the corner to watch Elise deep in conversation with Abel. She was still standing outside the open door to the cottage, a box nestled in her arms. She was smiling. It wasn’t the same smile she had for Marion, but a colder smile. That was the look of a woman contemplating violence. Abel shared the expression. They might never like each other, but they had found kinship in the shared desire to murder the angels.

  She leaned into Abel as he patted her shoulder instead of leaning away, accepting the gesture with uncharacteristic grace. James had no idea when she had learned to make friends, but she had—many friends, many people who would follow her to Hell, or to more frightening places beyond.

  There was no sign that she might also be dying.

  When Brianna came out of the cottage, swaying on her feet, Elise didn’t offer to help her. She just shifted the box to one hip and followed the witch to the pickup. She remained within arm’s reach, waiting to help her.

  Dying.

  “Thank you for telling me,” James said faintly.

  Anthony didn’t say anything else. He hurried over to the pickup and lifted Brianna through the door to sit beside Ariane. His aspis smiled gratefully at him. She didn’t even look at James, and neither did Ariane. Nobody was interested in saying goodbye to him.

  Before following his new aspis into the truck, Elise tapped Anthony’s shoulder. James watched as they embraced. Anthony whispered something to her.

  All he heard was the thudding of his heart. He felt sick.

  If Elise hadn’t told James that she was suffering from the anathema powder, then that meant she had already made her decision.

  She didn’t want to be healed. She was preparing to die.

  Fifteen

  “SEVEN,” ELISE SAID, massaging her temples. The gesture didn’t help alleviate her headache.

  Jerica looked guilty. “Seven.”

  Seven demons had responded to Jerica’s call for help. Four were nightmares—friends of Jerica’s, not fans of Elise’s—and the other three were other kinds of demons that could phase between dimensions.

  All seven of them milled around the cafe in the Palace of Dis. Someone had located the last of the coffee store and was brewing a pot. The smell wafted over the tables as a reminder of fashions come and gone in Hell, administrations long since passed. Neuma was already serving appetizers to their guests, all smiles and giggles. Elise wasn’t sure where Neuma had found organ meat kebabs, but the demons seemed happy to take them.

  “It won’t be enough,” Elise said. “It’s not nearly enough.”

  “It’s all we have,” Jerica said.

  Each one of those demons would be able to take no more than two people on a single trip across dimensions. A few might be able to make a second trip with a single passenger after that. Elise would be too busy carrying Rylie, Abel, and James to take any others.

  That meant that they might be able to get a dozen people from Dis to Coccytus, circumventing the rebellion in Malebolge.

  A dozen werewolves, plus Abel.

  Not much of an army.

  “You’ve only got to reach the pack and you’ll have tons of werewolves,” Jerica pointed out. “This’ll be enough to get you there. It’s a solid plan. It’s going to work.”

  Elise gave her a sideways look. “Do you really think that?”

  “I’ll get the coffee,” Jerica said tactfully.

  She entered the kitchen. She was only staggering slightly now, and her flesh filled out her clothes enough that she didn’t seem to be in danger of melting out of them. She was almost indistinguishable from the nightmare she had been before sacrificing her life to Elise’s war.

  The smell of meat suddenly overwhelmed Elise. She looked down to see Neuma offering the last kebab on the tray to her.

  “Eat,” Neuma said.

  Elise had to admit that the lightly cooked pieces of liver, kidney, and heart smelled good, but she didn’t immediately take it. “Who’d this come from?”

  “It’s out of the flesh farms. Cruelty-free meat, just the way you like it.”

  Cruelty-free wasn’t the best descriptor of the flesh farms, but it was more or less victim-free, and Elise was hungrier than she’d realized. She took the kebab. “Thank you.”

  “That’s not all I have for you. Eat up. I’ll grab something to wash it down.”

  “Coffee sounds great,” Elise said.

  “No such luck, doll. Coffee’s going to our grumpy guests that still kind of hate you for killing the Prince of Nightmares. You get something special.” Neuma stepped away and returned from the kitchens in moments, carrying a mug that smelled of hot sick. “Salut, hot stuff.”

  Blood. Dead, reheated blood.

  Elise held the mug away from her as she ate the kebab, trying not to allow the stench to put her off of the more edible part of her meal. “I have a favor to ask.”

>   “Hmm?” Neuma asked.

  “Will you keep an eye on Ace for me? Make sure he gets walked and fed and watered.”

  “I always watch him while you’re out on missions,” she said.

  Elise bit off another piece of liver. “I know. Just watch him for as long as I’m gone. It could be a while this time.”

  She must have sounded more serious than she intended. Neuma gave her a worried look.

  “You’ll be back, right?” Neuma asked.

  Elise shrugged. “No guarantees.”

  “I’ll watch him as long as you need me to. I’ll make Gerard walk him and everything.”

  A knot of tension in Elise’s shoulders eased. “Thanks. Now, go tell the demons Jerica gathered that we’re congregating at the top of the new tower in a half an hour. And that they’ll need to carry at least two people.” Hopefully, if there were enough volunteers.

  “Will do, boss,” Neuma said.

  “Thanks.” She set the empty skewer on Neuma’s tray and carried the mug of blood out onto the walkway.

  The café was only two floors above the courtyard. Elise could see Rylie and Abel below, moving through the tents with Gerard. The three of them looked to be alone. Disappointment sank into her, itching along her scalp. No volunteers at all?

  Elise scratched at the nape of her neck. The top layer of her flesh stripped away, peeling free as easily as though she had been trying to skin an apple. She spread her fingers in front of her. Black ichor and amber blood caked underneath the nails.

  “Damn,” she whispered. Lincoln hadn’t worn away this quickly, had he? Or had he just been hiding it?

  Movement in the courtyard drew Elise’s attention. Rylie had a hand over her head, waving up at the walkway.

  Elise waved back.

  They were too far apart to speak, but Rylie’s smile translated fine across the distance. Humans were emerging from the tents to stand beside her, many of whom Elise recognized—Azis, Hank, Edwin, Chantal, among many others. Elise had extracted them from Houses around Dis personally.

  Now they were standing with Abel and Rylie. More than fifty prepared to become werewolves.

  Elise felt a strange mix of satisfaction and sadness. She had saved them, earned their loyalty, and now she was going to turn them into werewolves. It wasn’t right. That wasn’t the freedom she had planned for the slaves.

  She couldn’t look at them for long. She stepped back into the café’s kitchen.

  They had the people they needed to attack New Eden. They had the demons to carry them to the frigid pit of Coccytus.

  Now there was nothing to do but go to war.

  Elise lifted the mug to her mouth, prepared to drink, but she stopped. Just the scent of it made her feel like she was going to vomit.

  What did it matter if she tried to feed herself now? Her chances of returning from New Eden grew slimmer with every beat of her demon heart, forcing the anathema powder deeper into her tissue, poisoning her to her core. Her sweat had burned all the way through the back of her shirt.

  It wouldn’t be long before Elise couldn’t remember who she was, and then shortly after that, every fiber of her body would liquefy.

  Any meal could be her last, but it wasn’t going to be this one.

  She poured the blood down the sink.

  Rylie was the first to arrive at the tower rendezvous point. She stood at the bottom of the shattered bridge to watch the smoke blow over the crystal shards, wondering if her home still waited beyond or if the strange distortions of time and space had already pushed Dis away.

  A breeze stirred her hair, and Elise suddenly stood at her side. “You probably shouldn’t breathe too much of Dis’s air right now. Can’t imagine the pollution’s good for puppies.”

  Rylie’s hand reflexively went to her stomach. “It’s not a puppy.”

  “Sure it’s not. I’m thinking…golden retriever.”

  “I know you think you’re being funny, but that idea seriously freaks me out. My mom bred goldens. I have nightmares about giving birth in the back of her closet.”

  The corner of Elise’s mouth twitched. “Your nightmares are cute.”

  “To you, maybe, but you’re not dreaming about having litters.”

  “In any case, your odds of producing offspring that looks human will be better if you stay away from the windows.” Elise elbowed her gently. “Magic makes the air in here cleaner for the mortal residents. Take advantage of it.”

  Rylie stepped back. “Thanks.”

  Elise nodded. She hadn’t moved away from the archway. She had changed clothes for the journey through Limbo to Araboth. She wore leather pants, a long-sleeved shirt open over a tank top, and enough guns and knives to make her look like a pissed-off Ninja Turtle. She’d tucked veils in her belt, dangling off of one hip.

  Seth’s Beretta was on the opposite hip. Rylie suddenly itched to touch it, but she stuffed her hands under her arms. Touching the gun wouldn’t bring her closer to Seth, and it wouldn’t give her any answers about Abram.

  “Elise…”

  The demon turned, lifting a questioning eyebrow.

  As soon as Rylie had Elise’s attention, her mouth went dry. She wasn’t even sure what she’d been about to say. She couldn’t tell Elise about Abram. That was at the very top of the “worst ideas ever” list.

  Then she remembered why she’d come to the tower early, without Abel.

  “You have got some really good guys working for you,” Rylie said. “Super nice. Really dedicated. Abel loves them.” She drew in a breath, steeling herself for the next thing she’d planned to say. “So you can’t make them werewolves.”

  Elise went still. She might as well have been a painting of herself for all that she showed signs of life.

  Chills rolled down Rylie’s spine. God, but Elise could be creepy sometimes.

  “I just have a better plan,” Rylie said weakly. “That’s all.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Abel will bite them. That’s okay. That’s not a problem.” And that was a lie. The idea of deliberately biting someone, much less several someones, made Rylie feel more nauseous than she had since the morning sickness faded.

  She had been fighting the urge to attack people since she had first become a werewolf at fifteen years old. She had promised several times that she would never let werewolves reproduce. Now she was going back on all of that, and she did not feel good about it.

  “But?” Elise prompted, still emotionless.

  “These guys are most loyal to you. It’s not much thanks to turn them into monsters and leave them that way. Let us change them and then exorcise the wolves.”

  Surprise flickered through Elise’s eyes. “Like Katja.”

  Oh thank God. A sign of life. “Yes, like Katja. Her wolf was sick when you exorcised her, but I think it was just because she was poisoned. I believe you could pull the wolf spirits out and I could probably lead them just like a normal werewolf pack.”

  “That’s a hell of a guess you’re making.”

  “You saw Draga,” Rylie said, a little more confident now. “She said she was a shapeshifter, but she dissolved when she died. She wasn’t a human carrying some kind of animal spirit. She was that spirit. I think werewolves could be like that too.” Elise seemed to give it consideration. Rylie pushed on. “I can’t force brand new werewolves through a complete transformation anyway. They’ll be part-wolves, part-men. That’s not going to be enough to fight the angels, is it? But I bet if we pulled the wolf spirits out immediately, they’d be complete.”

  Elise shook her head. “It’s a nice thought, but that’s all it is—a thought. We have no reason to believe that.”

  “Come on, it’s worth attempting, isn’t it? You can have your werewolf army, and maybe you can do it without subjecting really good guys to this curse.”

  “It was never meant to be a curse,” Elise said.

  Rylie blinked. “What?”

  “You’re useful. Powerful. I wouldn’t call you
cursed.”

  “Being a werewolf sucks,” she said. “Trust me. Couldn’t we try it, at least?”

  Elise massaged her temples, grimacing in pain. “I don’t know if we have time. We can’t take risks. We can’t mess around. There are lives at stake.”

  Footsteps shuffled up the stairs. Abel appeared, leading the men he had picked out of the volunteers into the room. Rylie edged closer to Elise and lowered her voice. “There are lives at stake. Good ones.” She gave a pointed look at the approaching humans.

  “I’ll think about it,” Elise said in a way that made it incredibly clear she didn’t plan on thinking about it at all. Disappointment wormed through Rylie’s heart.

  “Please,” Rylie whispered.

  They didn’t get a chance to continue the debate. James jogged up the stairs and pushed past Abel, looking breathless. He shoved a notebook at Elise. She took it from him, frowning.

  “What is this?” Elise asked.

  “We don’t need to go through Limbo,” he said, pointing at the paper. “I can open a portal directly to the garden from Coccytus.”

  Elise’s eyebrows lifted. She looked at the notebook again, but recognition failed to register in her expression. “How? Araboth’s been quarantined for centuries.” Rylie peered over her shoulder. One of James’s runes was drawn on the page with notes all down the margin, words in languages Rylie didn’t recognized written and rewritten and then slashed out.

  “When I first went to Araboth with Nathaniel, he used a spell to move a Haven dimension so that it was closer to Malebolge,” James said. “That was incredible, but it was nothing compared to this.” He tapped the rune. “I initially thought this symbol was ethereal, but it’s not. It’s like the spell I designed to heal Lincoln—it’s ethereal, infernal, and gaean, and I can use this to tunnel straight to Araboth, bypassing Limbo and the quarantine.”

  “But you can’t reach New Eden directly?” Elise asked.

  “This is magic unlike any we’ve seen before. The fact it can get us that close is amazing.”