by Kim Faulks
She cut him off. "The alley?"
He looked at her, clearly confused. "The alley behind Langbecker’s? Where the coven is. It's where you told us it would be."
The fuck I did. "Did this woman go into the covenstead? She wasn't the witch, Fate, was she?"
He flinched. "Yes and no. She wasn't the witch, Fate. Did you hear what I said, Advisor? We lost one of our own in there. He tried to go after her and became sick, diseased... we had to leave the body behind. We're unsure if he'll even return to us."
She lost patience with listening to his disjointed tale of woe. She was trying to fit all the pieces of the puzzle together. Maybe the woman was from another coven, a witch she didn't know about? But she knew all the witches. There weren't many left. "Did you get a sense of who her deity is?"
"No." The beast turned on her with a snarl. His desperation filled her nose with a foul odor. "I think you need to understand what your purpose is here, Advisor. You help us navigate the coven so we can obtain followers—"
She was tired of being told what her place was. She focused on that cold fist until the fire inside made her stomach quake. Like a drug, the ancient power raced through her. This power was pure, flowing from the one god before all gods. The true source of darkness—and in that darkness, she found herself once more.
She lunged, grabbing the elder and shoved her energy like a spear through his body. His eyes widened as her darkness filled him, expanding until there was only obsidian left. The demon’s power slid like rancid syrup down her throat. She licked her lips and pulled him in closer, savoring every drop of his demise. The elder let out a choked cry, barely even a whisper. "They will find out."
She was over playing by the rules, while the Elder Army went behind her back. As the last drop of energy flowed into her, she growled. "Let them."
CHAPTER SIX
The woman reached for her hood and slid it back in one motion. Helaine couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. The woman’s face. Her face, her beautiful face was torn in two. Thick scars covered one side and the most perfect skin gleamed on the other. The woman strode forward.
Helaine fought the urge to step back or glance toward the door. She didn't want to do this, not here, not now. There was more at stake here, the dog... Claire. Danger sparkled like stars in this woman's eyes and in between those glittering constellations she caught the flicker of pain and loneliness. Hurt was something Helaine understood. The woman growled and took another step. Helaine's breath hitched in her chest and she swallowed the air like a hard pill. A buzzing sound carried from underneath the closed door. She felt herself drawn to the sound and to the feel of energy that drifted with it.
"Creed tells us that you're dangerous. Said you can't be trusted."
Helaine snapped her focus back to the woman, her words replaying over in her mind. Can't be trusted... dangerous. With each breath her chest caved in, pain tore through her. The hurt needed an out. She clenched her hands, rocking with the agony inside. She refused to cry, not in front of these people, not in front of this woman. "Just... get away from me."
One eyebrow shot high as the woman stalked forward. "This is my home, naïve. You came to us remember? Maybe you should get away before you get hurt."
The buzzing grew louder, rubbing her raw nerves, inciting panic inside. Her whole body shook. She wanted to get away. She wanted to run and keep on running and never look back. She had no fight left. She took a step toward the woman, meeting her face to face. "Don't you speak to me like that. You have no damn right! You want to hurt me? Go right ahead, I have nothing left to lose!"
She was numb. Numb from the cold. Numb from everything. Even her tears had left her now—all that remained was darkness and ice. "I have nothing left... nothing." The scent of jasmine floated to her, dampening the stench of moldy bread from the hallway.
"Jesus." The woman snarled. "I was just kidding. Calm the fuck down."
The ice inside cracked. All she saw was this woman, all she felt was the loss. Helaine lunged forward. The woman's eyes widened. She backed up, side-stepping as Helaine towered over her. "Do not tell me what to do. Do not tell me anything! I came here thinking that somehow you'd help me. I came here,”—her chest caved in with the weight of her despair too much to carry—“because I have nowhere else to go!"
The rage washed away like an outgoing tide. She was washed up. She was abandoned. She had no strength left to care. Her knees gave way and Helaine crumpled. Her body hit the floor. Pain lashed her side, her head. As the ice inside her melted, her tears flowed. She hid her face in the crook of her arm and wept. The dog saved her. The damn animal put her life before its own and now he was dying or dead.
In her heart, she knew the animal was gone, just like everyone and everything in her life had gone. Just like Claire. The hollow of her abdomen ached. The constant reminder came to life in her grief.
“I know what that feels like. To belong to no one and nowhere.” Something brushed her. The touch—light, constant—drifted over her head and down her hair, only to stop for a second and start again. The rhythmic petting soothed her, allowing the turbulence inside to seep from her eyes until she no longer trembled. From inside the room came the piercing chirps of cicadas. Helaine wiped her face against her sleeve and looked up at the woman next to her.
There was no longer a cruel anger in the woman's eyes. There was softness, a vulnerability she desperately needed to see. Helaine's voice was barely a whisper. "I lost my baby. I lost my boy and now I have nothing left."
The woman's hand never stopped moving and she remained silent for what felt like forever until she spoke. "Sometimes the burden of being a woman is too great. I’m sorry for your loss, I can’t imagine what that must feel like, to have a life ripped from you.”
Helaine shuddered, the raw pain a constant reminder that she was no longer whole. “I’ll never have children again. I’m worthless, half a damn woman.” She sniffed back her tears, swallowing the hurt whole.
“Half a woman? I don’t think so. I think you’re more powerful than you give yourself credit for. You’re a fighter.” She gave one long sigh, her touch constant and reassuring. “We both are.”
A growl from inside the room stole the moment. Helaine glanced toward the door. "Do you think they'll save him?"
"I don't know. All I know is that if there was a chance he could be saved it’s with those two. They've saved all of us, in one way or another."
Helaine pushed herself up from the gritty linoleum. The woman's comforting hand left her head. They sat side by side, their backs pressed to the concrete block wall, two complete strangers, and stared at the door to the room while the growls and the sound of cicadas continued. Yet there was now a sense of familiarity between them. A sense of something shared. Something only they could understand. Or, at least, that’s how Helaine felt. She had no idea whether Fate sensed the same thing. But it’d been so long since she’d felt anyone was on her side, she let herself hope that she was no longer alone.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The animal lay on the wooden table. Its chest rose in short, sharp bursts. The hound barely had enough strength left to whimper. Creed could feel the life of this animal slipping away. He looked to Loc. "Can you save it?"
The hard gaze flickered. His brother shook his head.
Jesus, what would he say to her? The animal had sacrificed its life for hers. This was the way of a witch's familiar, even for one who didn't know she was a witch. Creed felt himself mourning this animal as though its loss was his to mourn. He cast another look at Loc, the only one who could offer this animal a chance. "Can you at least try?"
Loc hesitated before he nodded and moved from the table to a bench, reaching for a wide copper chalice. The cup he gripped was plain. There were no jewels, no inscriptions. All the power it needed was inside this man. Creed watched as the massive man moved quickly, preparing the surface. His lips moved in a wordless chant that spoke to only one, his god, Tlaloc. Creed stepped back. He had no power her
e. This was not his domain. Loc was a life giver, unlike him—all he ever did was destroy.
Creed swallowed the air as the temperature and humidity inside the room rose. Sweat broke out on his brow as Loc moved his hands over the animal. Before long, moisture ran down his face. He wiped salty droplets from his eyes as heat increased. His chest ached, fighting against the pressure as he tried to breathe. Through the heat and moisture he smelled the sweet scent of grass and earth. The energy grew, surging, as Loc whispered.
A buzzing echoed inside the room. The tone was soft at first, but with each crest the sound grew annoying, sharpening into chirps, until the call of cicadas became deafening. Creed clamped his hands over his ears. Sweat stung his eyes, clouding his vision. He wanted to brush the droplets away, but the sound was unbearable, so he couldn’t take his hands from over his ears.
No matter how many times he'd seen the power of Tlaloc, Creed still flinched and stood in awe when confronted by its manifestation. Out of the heat, the sound, and the power came the head of a monster. Loc's hard eyes turned hungry. Creed's heart pounded and suddenly the painful chirping was forgotten as his brother disappeared. In his place came the eighth ruler of days and ninth lord of the nights.
Loc's head morphed into something resembling a crocodile's. His pale skin turned earthy and hard. Hard bumps, like armor, grew from the center of his neck. From those bumps shot long, thin spears to fan out at the back of his skull, forming a fierce headdress. The god snorted and shifted his head. Spliced green eyes blinked and seized Creed's gaze. A shiver raced along his skin, standing the hair at the nape of his neck. He didn't move. The gods didn't care for them. They served a purpose—that was it—no more, no less. In this moment, Creed was under no illusion regarding how fragile his existence was.
The god turned to the animal on the table, taking his sweet-ass time to see that the hound needed help. The deity moved with deliberate haste, using Loc's body as though it were its own. Tlaloc kept Creed in his sight as he shuffled around the table. He swept one hand over the body of the animal without touching his fur. Creed knew the god was sensing the animal's spirit and seeking any hope of life.
His stomach tightened. He kept himself straight by sheer fucking will alone. He glanced toward the door, knowing the woman would be out there, knowing he'd left her with Fate—and that was never a good thing—for anyone.
A guttural growl filled the room. The vibration sent shockwaves through his body. The air in the room thickened. Creed wondered, not for the first time, if Loc’s god would turn his sweat to blood.
Inside, he felt Ares come alive with a snarl, coiled tight and caressing Creed’s sternum with his forked tongue. He clenched his fists and fought the overwhelming need to reach for the dagger at his side and challenge god with god.
The rumbling from Tlaloc heightened. Creed felt his stomach quiver with the deadly beat. The humidity intensified, power expressed as water vapor, and along with Tlaloc’s presence, the rotting stench of rich loam tinged the air. Sweat stuck his shirt to his chest. Through the rich scent of loam came a sweeter scent.
Jasmine cleaved its way through the viscous air. Creed moaned and wrenched his gaze back to the doorway. He could feel her fear, her desperation, as though the feelings were his own. He should've never left her out there alone. He should've never brought her here. He turned back to the deity. Please Tlaloc, hurry.
Condensation ran in rivulets down the wall to pool around his boots. The place was turning into the damn San Juan River. At least cleaning up the mess would give Heath something to do. Creed was getting damn indigestion from all the man’s ill-cooked food.
A flash of light yanked his attention back to the center of the room. Lightening cracked, leaving the sharp scent of ozone in its wake. The crescendo of the cicadas finally broke.
His heart raced at the sudden, pregnant silence.
Tlaloc snatched up the chalice from the table with one hand. With the other, he extended a nail, curved and thick, the end razor-sharp. The god drew the nail along the forearm of the hand holding the chalice. Blood shot high and Creed held his breath. Tlaloc grasped the vessel, catching the liquid and hurled the stream over the dying animal.
Creed held his breath as he waited. His heart thundered inside his still chest as the drops of Loc's blood soaked into the fur and ran off the table. Creed's lungs were on fire. The overwhelming need to take a breath mirrored his desire to see this animal move, but there was nothing. No movement, no sound—nothing. The deity waited, staring at the still body, while an inferno raged inside Creed.
Unable to wait any longer, Creed inhaled and felt the scald of overheated oxygen. At that moment, a whimper echoed. The soulful song took him by surprise. He stared at the animal. The glistening black coat shivered.
His mind was still. All he could do was take in the magic of life as the massive dog moved. Tlaloc remained rigid as the animal heaved its huge form onto shaking legs. The hound stared into the eyes of the life-giver and then sat, lowering his head to the god. In this moment there was no ego, no constraint of greed, nor pride. There was only the humble gratitude for sharing life, a gift only the most powerful could give.
Tlaloc bowed his head as though to acknowledge the gesture from the animal, then the deity threw its head back with a growl that shook the walls and windows. And during the howl, the long spears withdrew into Loc's neck and the mossy, thick skin smoothed, turning pink as Loc's body returned to normal.
The smell of jasmine grew stronger. The huge hound lifted his head, sniffing the air. His tail thumped against Loc’s chest with the force of a cricket bat, knocking him aside. The big beast crouched, then leaped. The animal’s shoulder struck Creed’s arm as he shot past, spinning him into the wall. The dog reached the door in one bound, but didn’t slow, flinging his chest against the sturdy oak with a ferocious bark that made the hair on Creed’s chest prickle. Inside, Ares hissed. The reptile banged his nose into a rib, sending a vibration to the soles of his feet.
The perfume thickened as the dog began to shred the thick slab of wood. His bark changed to a whine.
Loc cocked his head and grinned. “You gonna piss yourself or put him in a cage?” Before Creed could respond, Loc’s eyes rolled back in his head and his huge frame buckled.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The elder’s body was a dead weight in her arms. She dropped the corpse and stepped back, his final words ringing in her ears... They will find out.
What had she done?
A sound came from behind her. She spun and searched the curtain to the church, catching a ripple of movement.
Her hands trembled at her side. She blinked and inspected the curtain again. The ripple was gone. Maybe she was confused. No one had seen her. No one knew. She swept her hand across her forehead, catching a bead of sweat as she stared at the body of the monster. She had to get rid of the corpse and forget this ever happened.
What if the elder comes back? What if he talks before I can get to him? She held out her hand, trying to gain a sense of the demon’s spirit. Did they just appear into another naïve’s body instantly, or did the demented spirit linger in this world for a while? Or did they stay in the underworld? She shook her head. She didn't understand these beasts. She hadn't really cared to, until this point. The body stared up at her with vacant eyes. Maybe it was time she found out?
She made her way to the curtain and peeked through. Only a few of the elders were on duty tonight, pacing back and forth behind the praying naïves. The snap of their whips cracked like lightening inside the chapel. They chanted a dialect even she couldn't understand. The ancient Sumerian language sounded like grunts and groans amidst the screams of the naïve.
No matter how loud they screamed, no one would ever hear them.
She dropped the curtain back into place and turned to the body. The large altar knife lay on the table. The sacred blade was used for offerings and casting. But if anything, she was resourceful in times of need, and in this moment she was definitely
in need.
Her grip was sure and steady as she met flesh with steel time and time again, hacking and sawing until she was done. She bent, exhausted and bloody. Tying the ends of the altar cloth together, she cast an eye at the pool of blood on the floor.
A woman's snarl made her flinch. "What happened in here?"
She spun to face another beast. Her inquisitive eyes found the blood on the floor and the crumpled body of the blonde.
"She was dumped here by an elder. She fought. I had to subdue her."
She waited for a response and involuntarily glanced toward the mound of arms and legs, only partially hidden in the shadows. The beast scowled and stared at the blood. "Where did the elder go?"
She shrugged. "How should I know? And don't ask me who it was. You all look the fucking same to me."
She jerked her head up, eyes blazing. The Chosen held the woman's stare, mentally preparing herself to kill another, if she had to, until the Elder stepped past her and grabbed the blonde by the hair.
Before she could take another breath, the unconscious woman came to with a piercing scream.
"Quiet!" The beast whipped her hand forward, catching the blonde on the side of the jaw, silencing her. The elder jerked her gaze toward the pool of blood. She curled her claw-like hands into the unfortunate woman’s hair and disappeared through the curtain, dragging the whimpering woman behind her.
She waited, making sure the elder was gone before breathing a sigh of relief. The tied sack was heavy. She heaved the pouch up, balancing it against her body. Shuffling out of the back door, she left the mess behind, a problem for another time. A fiery vortex swirled around the church like a child's wind-up toy. She stepped forward. The Underworld’s energy shifted, parting for her as she crossed the blazing air.
The souls of the damned screamed around her as she pushed through the energy. The church was more than a focal point for worship of the Ancient. It was one of many main points of the great ley line that circled the Underworld, siphoning the hate, the evil, and the greed of the world and funneling it into power for the Ancient, through the prayers of the naïve.
