by Allison West
"You're just outside Hell's door, Princess."
Chapter 44
"Emblyn!" Wynter's voice echoed against the stone walls as he remained trapped in the passageway waiting for her to return. Minutes passed, but it had felt like an eternity when the door finally creaked open.
"What's gotten into you?" Emblyn asked. "Where's Leila?"
"Gone! Erebus took her, Emblyn. I tried to stop him, but I couldn't do anything." His words raced together, matching the tempo of his erratic heart.
Several sets of tourists' eyes landed on Wynter as he kept repeating his words. "Erebus took her, Emblyn. She's gone. I couldn't stop it." Regret filled him to the very core, making every ounce of his body ache.
Emblyn pulled Wynter's arm and tugged him outside into the frigid air. "What's going on? Who's Erebus?"
"A trucidator appeared in the passageway—"
"Whoa, hold up," Emblyn said, quick to interrupt him from further explaining what happened. "What the hell is a trucidator?"
Wynter grimaced, realizing he'd said too much. There were rules in place, and though he'd clearly just broken one, he hadn't explained anything yet. It was a borderline break.
"Wynter!" Emblyn's voice grew louder and more insistent. "What aren't you telling me?"
He shifted anxiously on his feet. He had to tell her. She could help him, right? "Trucidators are another form of undead entities. Sometimes they take human form. Other times, they look like a beast risen from Hell." He glanced behind her, watching a couple walking by and lowered his voice so only Emblyn could hear what he said. "I screwed up on my soul save recently. Like royally screwed up. The kind of mistake that leads to a trucidator threatening your life on the way home." He stared at the ground, worried for Leila's safety. He had to save her; there were no other options.
"Well, at least we know what we're dealing with. Where's Leila?"
Wynter sighed. "My guess. Probably in Hell."
Emblyn's lips curled to the side in disgust. "Seriously? You couldn't antagonize a saint or something?"
Wynter glanced up at her. Was she trying to make a joke? He didn't laugh. "What do we do? I can't leave her all alone."
"Yes, you can." She paused and buttoned up her coat. "Just for a little while." Emblyn took Wynter's arm and walked him toward the horses. "She's tough; we both know that, and Erebus is going to find out what he's gotten himself into."
"How do we get her back?" He had no idea how to travel to Hell or any other realm in which Leila might have been taken. Aside from breaking the dark angel rules, transport seemed to be an option.
Emblyn patted his arm. "We pay a visit to the caretaker. I'll travel to the asylum as fast as I can."
Wynter reached for the reins of his horse and fidgeted with them. He didn't mount the horse yet. "I worry about leaving her. What if a gateway between the realms opens up again, and I'm not there to help her?"
"If what you say is true, that you're in part responsible for Erebus taking Leila, then our best chance is to seek the advice of someone who's lived several hundred years. Surely, the caretaker must know something!"
Emblyn climbed atop her horse.
"You go find the caretaker. I'm going to take Leila's horse back to your home. I'll meet you there," Wynter said.
Emblyn rode swiftly toward the city. Wynter waited until she disappeared over the horizon before gripping the reins of Leila's horse and guiding them both back to the cottage.
The ride went slowly for Wynter, managing two horses. His hands were numb, and the temperature dropped quicker than it had the previous day. Hell, was the last place he wanted to visit, but at least it'd be warm. He hoped Leila was comfortable, wherever she was at the moment.
After Wynter arrived back at Emblyn's place, his eyes widened, surprised to find Emblyn's horse and a carriage he didn't recognize. He hopped down off his horse and tied the reins up before knocking on her door. He still didn't feel comfortable letting himself inside.
"Good, you're back!" Emblyn grinned.
"How did you…" Wynter could not fathom the trip she'd made in such a short time.
A woman with rich black hair in a white winter hat and matching scarf sat at the table with a mug of steaming liquid between her palms. She didn't appear to be staying long. "I have the ability to manipulate time, in some respects. The name is Coralie," she said, introducing herself, though she made no attempt to hold out her hand.
Wynter studied her features. He'd met the caretaker and Coralie was not the gentleman who had given him books at the asylum and offered him a few brief words every so often. "Who are you?"
"Do not trouble yourself with more questions, Wynter," the woman said. She showed no sign of wings and being a dark angel. There was no way to know if she was a reaper or another undead entity that he had yet to be privy to.
"Coralie has offered a suggestion that I think we should consider," Emblyn explained.
Wynter shut the door behind him and took off his coat. Although still chilled, he walked to the table and took a seat. "I'm listening." Right now, he would do anything to save Leila's life.
"Trucidators are not allowed to bring living reapers into the Underworld. Aside from breaking thirteen covenants, it's unheard of and completely unacceptable," Coralie said. "I suggest we take it up with the royal council. They are the marksmen of death, the true deciders of how fate will go."
Wynter rested his icy, red hands on the table. "Why would they help us?" Leila had done a number of things that had finally put her in front of the royal council, and they'd recommended a suspension. Would they be glad she had disappeared?
Coralie nodded. "It's okay not to trust them, but it is their job. They created the rules, and it's their duty to uphold them and live by them. Which means, by dragging a grim reaper to the Underworld, the trucidator has gone rogue."
Wynter grimaced. "About that bit with Leila being a grim reaper. The royal council just suspended her. Would the rules still apply?" He hated even bringing it up, but he didn't want to waste a trip if it wouldn't help.
Coralie asked some follow up questions about Leila's unpaid vacation and only provided unsatisfactory answers. "Until Leila's thirty-day suspension is over, I'm afraid the royal council's hands are tied. There is one option, but it isn't easy or pleasant."
When was anything ever simple for Wynter? "Do you know how to travel between realms?"
Coralie nodded thoughtfully, pursing her lips together. "You will need to procure a mixture which consists of a drop of blood from a family member that will bind Leila to this realm. A drop of future reaper blood that will bind her current existence to both past and present, a rock of lava from Mount Incendia that binds her to the Underworld, and an enchanted dagger to pierce the layers between both worlds."
"I might have that enchanted dagger you're talking about." Wynter grimaced. Who was the old woman he'd met in Seora? She'd warned him of Erebus. How had she known?
"Where is it?" Coralie asked, raising an eyebrow. "An item that rare isn't easy to come by."
"Long story." Wynter sighed and his wings retracted against his back. "I bought it at a small market before my soul save. The one I screwed up. It's the reason Leila's in danger."
Coralie took Wynter's arm and led him to the sofa to sit down. "Stay for a moment."
"I don't have time." Wynter glanced back to the door. Time was not on his side.
"Five minutes, then you'll be on your way. I want to hear more about this dagger and the person you bought it from."
Chapter 45
Wynter climbed atop the horse and braved the snow as he traveled to the refuge in the northern part of Seora. His insides felt as though they had frozen. He'd worn wool gloves, but nothing helped with the cold. Hunter and animal footprints littered the snow-packed ground. The sun had begun to peek over the horizon. Thankfully, the snow wasn't terribly high this time of year, but it did make the ride slippery. When would spring come? The horse skidded a few times, nearly losing her balance. Wynter hel
d on, grateful he hadn't gotten thrown and ended up with a broken neck. Then he and Leila would both be in serious trouble.
Arriving at the refuge, Wynter took the reins of the horse and walked the animal into the stable before he tromped up the old wooden stairs to the front door. Already, he had asked Jasper and Violetta to procure a vial of the queen's blood. He could not imagine it an easy task, but it was the only chance at saving Leila's life.
He knocked. Walking in unannounced seemed a tad premature, even by Wynter's standards.
Juliana opened the door, evidently surprised by his appearance. "Well, look at you." Her eyes moved over his snow-covered frame. "Come in before you freeze off your wings."
"Can that happen?" Wynter asked, hoping Juliana had a sense of humor. He'd never seen one in her. He removed his hat and coat, snow falling onto the floor in the foyer, as it had previously settled on his clothes.
"Depends on the person," Juliana said and smirked. The smile faded as she stared into his eyes. "Something's wrong. You shouldn't be back so soon."
"It's Leila." Wynter walked further into the refuge toward the fire burning in the hearth. His hands quickly moved toward the flames to seek their warmth. "The trucidator I pissed off went after her in Stile. He dragged her to the Underworld. At least that's where I assume he took her. She was standing in front of me one second, and the next, like a ghost, she disappeared. Stranger still, I could see her for a few moments but couldn't touch her. Like we were communicating in two different places."
"The Underworld and Earth, our world." Juliana sat down on a cushioned red chair, sitting back and looking quite relaxed. "If she's down there, we've got trouble."
"I've already spoken to Coralie." Wynter wasted no time explaining all he'd already accomplished. "Emblyn is acquiring lava rock, and Jasper and Violetta went to get blood from Mara. All we need is the blood of a future reaper. I hope that you might be able to point me in the right direction."
Juliana tapped her fingers on the armrest. "I can't." She glanced down the hall, noticing something in the dark.
Wynter turned around, only to hear a door shut rather abruptly. Had another dark angel been spying on their conversation? He'd barely gotten to know anyone but Juliana during his short time at the refuge. Would someone else there know where to go to procure the blood he needed to get to the Underworld?
"It's not that I don't want to help you. It's just that I don't have that information. None of the dark angels here, at the refuge, could help. You might try the Oracle. She often provides guidance for young or troubled dark angels. She's not easy to find, but she would be the only one with the knowledge and ability to give the blood to you. The royal council may also know, but they'd never tell, even if their loved one's life depended on it."
Wynter walked toward Juliana. He stood in front of her chair, blocking the light of the fire from her view. "Where can I find the Oracle?"
"There's a cave between the coast of Morro and Palick, in the mountains. It's not heavily guarded, but it is nearly impossible to find. The only way you'll gain entrance inside is if the Oracle wants to help."
"But she doesn't know I'm coming."
"The Oracle knows what we cannot. She sees multiple futures like trees sprouting in the forest. Each possibility holds a new future. If anyone can provide you with information about who a future reaper will be, the Oracle can." Juliana pointed toward the cabinet against the far wall. "She will, of course, want something in return. Open the cabinet for me and grab the small blue satchel."
Wynter did as instructed. The wooden cabinet held an array of parchments, some used and some new, four satchels, and a ring. He reached for the blue satchel. "What's in here?"
"The payment you'll make for the information you require to retrieve Leila. Do not open the satchel for any reason."
"How will the Oracle know what's inside?" Wynter asked.
"She sees all, Wynter. Don't worry yourself with the trade. That's the least of your problems. I suggest you sleep a few hours here and travel by day." Juliana stood. "I'll show you to your room."
"It's not necessary." Wynter wanted to be on his way already. Every moment he wasted sleeping was another moment Leila stayed trapped in the Underworld.
Juliana rolled her eyes. "You may not think you need rest, but your horse does. Sleep. Eat in the morning. Then travel. Leila is tough. She'll survive one more day."
Wynter reluctantly agreed. Perhaps by morning, the horse would be rested and he could make it to the cave to visit the Oracle.
Chapter 46
Leila sat in the darkened crook of the cubiculum. The hard dirt offered little comfort as she waited. For what, she wasn't sure. Would Wynter ever find her? She couldn't count on it. By the looks of things, Erebus had dragged her into the Underworld. How would she find her way home again?
Already, she'd lost count of how long she'd been held captive. The stones in the room held a faint red glow, even in darkness. She could no longer tell day from night, hour from minute. Sitting alone made time stretch on.
The trucidator had left her water and food. She tried to keep track of her meals. Had he been feeding her three times a day or two? The meals were always the same, never differentiating breakfast from dinner. A bowl of slop and a tall glass of disgusting murky water arrived on a silver tray. Erebus had enjoyed calling her Princess each time he arrived. She swallowed her annoyance, deciding that fighting with her captor wasn't going to help her get out any sooner. She didn't dare ask how he knew who she'd been before she'd become a grim reaper.
"What do you want with me?" she asked on the third, or had it been the fourth, day of her imprisonment? Would counting the day's matter? She couldn't depend on anyone to get her out of this mess.
"I care little about you, Princess," Erebus said as he paced the length of the room. "I wish to torment your dark angel friend, Wynter." A vicious smile spread across his face. His eyes grew bleak, more sinister. He would never let her leave.
"So why do you keep me locked in here like your pet?" she asked, goading him. She needed to find a way to escape, and every inch of the room surrounding her was made of stone. Unable to move it, Leila would be forever trapped in the Underworld.
Erebus laughed. "You are free to roam my cubiculum."
"I demand you set me free to roam in the Underworld." She doubted her insistent request would work, but she had to try something. Maybe the trucidator was born with a pea-sized brain?
"Set you free with other demons?"
"Isn't that what you are?" Leila asked, confused. She'd seen his talons and wings when he'd dragged her into his realm. Now he appeared mostly human, except taller and stockier. His voice hadn't changed, though, still as gruff as the day she'd met him in the passageway when it echoed off stone.
"I am no demon." His top lip sneered. "Repulsive!"
Leila hadn't been sure if he meant the idea of him being a demon was repulsive or if he found her repulsive. "Prove it!" She stared Erebus down, not caring that his large claws could easily crush her. Offending him was the last thing on her mind, and angering him, well, that happened quicker than she had planned. Leila wasn't always one to think ahead.
Erebus stomped from one end of the room to the other, pacing anxiously. "I do not take orders!"
Leila swallowed nervously. Oh, yeah, she had definitely pissed the beast off. Now she had to tame him or escape, neither a likely scenario.
"I will let you wander the Underworld on one condition." Erebus stopped walking and stared at her. "You bring me fresh blood of a dark angel."
"What?" Leila couldn't believe what she heard. Aside from the fact she had no desire to hurt anyone, how would she do that? She had been chained to the Underworld, thanks to the trucidator. "Where am I supposed to get that?" She'd never betray Wynter, and how would she even find a dark angel in the Underworld? Weren't they supposed to be protecting humans on Earth, saving their souls from death?
"You're not the only pet I've got locked up." He nodded toward
the stone wall at the far end of the room. "I want her head. Bring it to me, and you can wander the realm of the Underworld at your leisure."
Leila swallowed nervously. "How? I can't leave this cubiculum, and I have no weapon." She didn't even get into the fact that grim reapers didn't kill people or other undead entities.
Erebus nodded and the wall between the rooms fell. A small knife lay at Leila's feet. She bent down, grabbing it fast in case the dark angel had any ideas about killing her.
Across the room, sat a girl no older than five or six, with white wings. Her legs were pulled tightly against her chest as she rocked back and forth, upset.
"She's not a dark angel," Leila said, confused by the color of her wings.
"She will be one day soon," Erebus said. "When her wings turn black, she becomes immortal. I can't have that. Take her head or take her wings. Either way is fine with me."
Leila tossed the blade to the floor. She couldn't do it. "I won't do it." Killing had not been part of her responsibility as a reaper. It had been the one thing that made the job easier, knowing she helped souls depart from one realm to another. "Why haven't you killed her?" Leila asked, unsure she wanted to know the answer.
The trucidator glanced between the two girls. "I get enjoyment watching others squirm." Erebus vanished into thin air.
"You're vile!" Leila rushed to the young girl's side and reached a hand out to gently touch her shoulder, wanting to make sure she was both unharmed and real. The blonde child flinched, afraid. Could the beast still watch them, unseen?
"It's okay," Leila said in a whisper. "I won't hurt you."
The young girl held a knife in her grasp, her hands trembling as she flipped it over repeatedly. "No, but I'm supposed to hurt you."
Leila swallowed the lump forming in her throat. "Give me the knife." Her voice remained calm, steady, as she tried to talk sense into such a young child. Did the little girl have any idea of what she held in her hand and the danger it presented? Leila held out her hand, gently reaching for the handle in the young girl's palm.
