Suddenly, there was a loud scratching on the front door. Tessa went to open it, but Harrow pulled her back. ‘We don’t know what that is, little one.’
‘He’s right,’ Tahlia said. Her eyes raked Harrow, and she obviously felt guilty for her part in his sentencing. Tahlia moved ahead of them and opened the door as she shimmered. And then a black cat streaked inside with an impatient meow. Tahlia gasped and stepped back, her hand still on the door.
‘Salem,’ Hella said, bending down to greet the animal. ‘Did you follow us here?’ Hella petted him fondly.
Hunter and Lola had come to check out the commotion in the foyer. ‘You know, there’s a spell to find that out,’ Lola said, tying her long blonde hair back. Piper had said something similar, but Hella had forgotten about the cat’s adventures.
‘Oh, wouldn’t that be interesting?’ Tommy murmured. ‘Is that blood on his claws? Look, it’s black.’
‘Is that Mettalum blood?’ Tessa, still encircled by Harrow’s protective arms, peered closer at the cat.
Harrow’s head snapped up to Hella. ‘Wyatt,’ he breathed. ‘He’s a Mettalum.’ Harrow looked down at Salem seriously. ‘Cat, did you find the warlock we’re looking for?’
Salem meowed emphatically.
‘I would take that as a yes,’ Lola suggested. ‘A witch’s familiar is very loyal.’
Tahlia rubbed at her eyes. She looked as though she needed to sink down into a chair. ‘Hella, why don’t I get you a meeting with the council tomorrow and we can all discuss this further?’
Hella nodded. ‘Good, please do that. Does Melvin have to be there?’
At that, Tahlia chuckled. ‘I’ll set it up for early morning. The old man sleeps in.’ Tahlia peered at the cat suspiciously then took her leave.
Tessa sat on the ground and started playing with the black ball of fur. ‘Salem is a good name,’ the little faerie told him. ‘Did you know, cat, that witches used to be hunted too?’
Salem meowed indignantly.
‘Yeah, I think it’s wrong too,’ Tessa told him, rubbing between his ears. ‘Now, we’re the hunted.’
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Azazel
Azazel paced back and forth, his teeth grinding together in a way his mother used to admonish (better to use your teeth on other people than yourself, she would say). He wore the grass into the ground, the blood squelching under his already-stained black shoes. He surveyed his surroundings with a bittersweet bile rising in his throat as the sun rose over the Thames, bathing everything in bloody hues.
‘What was that?’ Azazel snapped. The demons had gathered around him after their feast, the surviving humans (in this land there were too many to devour in one meal—there were bound to be leftovers) had scuttled far away from this now blood-stained place. The demons squirmed uncomfortably. It had been a very, very long time since humans had been able to raise arms against them. That kind of theatrics went back to the days before ‘mankind’ was the term for them.
‘I don’t know,’ one demon said, coming toward him. ‘They appeared, and then they were killing us,’ the demon offered uselessly.
Well, of course Azazel had seen that much.
‘Only a few, yes, but those weapons…’ Azazel trailed off. They hadn’t done much damage to his forces, but if those blades could kill demons, then he must be wary. ‘We need to find out what they are, and from whence they came. And devour those who made them,’ he ordered, leering at the rest of his now post-meal-lazy kin. They’d likely want to go off to a cave and hibernate for the next year. It was ridiculous how alike some demons were to bears.
They all blinked up at him sleepily. ‘Yes, yes, okay off you go then. But I expect you all to go out in search of them as soon as possible,’ he barked, and they all drifted off, out of London, and off to a dark corner of the world where they could digest their filling meal.
Azazel would let them rest only because—aside from this whole weapon thing—he was feeling rather giddy with happiness. He’d done it: he had attacked thousands of people.
And no angels had come to thwart him.
They were really and truly gone.
He was free to do as he pleased.
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Hella
There was a lot to think about, plan, and organise to thwart the demons. It was enough to make her want to pull her hair out from anxiety and stress. To distract herself, Hella decided to do the tracking spell on Salem. Tessa seemed pleased to be up well past her bedtime. Hunter, Lola and the little faerie had led her to a small potions room—which appeared to double as a library—and set up a pewter cauldron. Harrow hovered to her, always close.
‘Up you get,’ Lola told Salem, indicating that he should get inside the cauldron. At an indignant meow, Lola clarified. ‘Beside the pot.’
Salem obliged, his emerald eyes glowing. Lola took his paw and Hella was surprised when she allowed him to dip it into the bubbling potion.
‘Don’t worry, it won’t burn him.’
Salem withdrew, his part done, as Lola stirred the mixture.
‘How exactly does this work?’ Hella asked.
‘Come and see for yourself,’ Lola said, peering over the lip of the cauldron.
The meeting Tahlia had scheduled—the what do we do about the demons meeting—was first thing tomorrow morning. In the meantime, they were welcome to stay here, but Hella was too jittery to think of resting. Besides, if Salem really had been with Wyatt, they should find out now.
They all gathered around and watched as a live-view of Salem’s adventures over the past few days played out like a less-than-thrilling movie. As they watched, Salem sat perched on a nearby bookshelf, high above them all, peering in.
‘You lick yourself a lot, you know that?’ Harrow told him.
‘Okay, can we fast-forward?’ Hella said.
Lola stuck her finger into the pot and swirled, the images flickering more quickly than before. ‘Look, he’s in a street. That’s by Warlock House. Salem, why did you get into a car— oh, hey, is that Wyatt?’
Harrow peered closer. ‘His hair is now ridiculously blond, but yeah, that’s him.’ Harrow glanced over his shoulder. ‘You snuck into his car?’ he asked Salem, who meowed proudly.
‘Why?’ Hella asked.
‘To get his scent,’ Hunter said with a smirk. ‘Good kitty.’
They all watched as Wyatt/Immego climbed out of his car, Salem slipped inside, and Immego closed the door. He carried a duffel bag with him and disappeared in the direction of Warlock House (before it collapsed). Lola stuck her finger into the potion again, the image of Salem sharpening his nails on the leather backseat rippling forward until the warlock approached the car again.
The duffel bag looked full now, tight at the zipper. Wyatt jumped back a little at seeing Salem in the car. Harrow chuckled at that. The sound was muffled. Lola squinted her eyes, concentrating. ‘Cats transmit audio differently than people,’ she explained. ‘Poor Salem.’
They watched as Salem got out of the car then swiped at Wyatt’s ankle, drawing a small amount of blood. Wyatt was visibly angry and made as if to kick at him, but the cat had already taken off. Then the spell ended.
‘Oh,’ Hella said. ‘I thought it would take us to where he is.’
Lola shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not, it followed Salem, not Immego. But,’ she brightened, ‘we have his blood now. With that, we can get an exact location. Just using his name might not have worked, even with you and Piper, but this will.’
‘We’ll work on it,’ Hunter said. ‘You two should go and rest.’
‘Big day tomorrow,’ Harrow murmured, collapsing on one of the two single beds in the room.
‘Don’t remind me,’ Hella said, rubbing her eyes. When was the last day she’d had that wasn’t big? She couldn’t recall. It must’ve been months ago, it seemed like. She lay down on the bed, on her back, staring at the blank ceiling. A part of her wished that she c
ould lay beside Harrow, but she was just too exhausted to be thinking romantically.
Harrow lay on his back as well, then held out his hand that bridged the space between the beds. Hella smiled and reached out, briefly grasping his hand. ‘Everything will be okay,’ he said, ‘because it’s you. Not because you’re the promised witch, but because you’re Hella. We’ll figure a way out of this. I believe in you and your powers. Not you because of your powers.’
Hella felt herself grinning in the near darkness. She wanted to hug him. Instead she just whispered, ‘Thank you, Harrow.’ She paused. ‘I’m really glad you have your soul back, you know.’
Their hands fell apart. ‘It sounds weird, but it feels like I never lost it. Like I was just asleep for that middle part—even though I remember it—and now everything is back to normal. Well, not quite, but better.’ He smiled at her, his eyes shining.
Chapter Seventy
Harrow
Harrow peered at Hella, her red hair splayed over her pillows. It brought him comfort just to be near her. Since he had realised it was Immego—Wyatt—who was creating those Deme blades, a painful fear had gripped his chest. That same boy who had gotten in his face when Harrow was thirteen years old. A part of him didn’t blame Wyatt for what he’d done—someone he loved had been violently taken from him, which was horrible—but then it’s not like Harrow had killed him. But this? Wyatt had changed his name and become something entirely different. Sacrificing Harrow had been a misguided, desperate attempt at answers. Making weapons out of Cambion Marks, abducting them, cutting them off…
Harrow rolled onto his stomach and stared out the window at the head of the bed, gazing up at the full moon. Wyatt, now Immego, had risen to a whole other level of wrong, and, short of demon-level-eating-people, Harrow could scarcely think of a soul blacker than what Wyatt’s had to be now. That fear gripped him with an iron fist, twisting and clenching inside him. If that misguided boy had tried to have him killed once, Harrow knew he would do it again.
Looking over at Hella, her chest rising and falling steadily, gave him a small fragment of calm. The smallest of purple sparks danced through Hella’s hair while she slept. He hoped that someday he would again be the ice to her fire.
Chapter Seventy-One
Hella
Hella gasped as she woke, sitting up straight. She had fallen right to sleep, despite her nervousness, but had had disturbing dreams of blood, fire, and Deme blades. Her forehead was beaded with sweat. Hella remembered where she was and noticed that there was a pile of clothes on the end of the bed both for her and Harrow, who was still asleep. She glanced out the window.
The sun rose spectacularly on a new day, the horizon awash in hues of pink and gold. Hella was glad to see no shades of red to indicate the day would be filled with spilled blood. There was a note by her clothes from Amara, letting her know where the bathroom was so she could wash up and change into a set of Amara’s clothes. The faerie dressed much more swankily than Hella did: she had left her a pair of smooth black leather pants and a tight-fitted red top. That would be a look, she thought, but what she had worn the day before was crumpled. She could conjure new clothes, but that would be stealing, she reminded herself. She padded down the corridor and into the empty bathroom.
Hella had come to find relief in the smaller, more human things in her life since she had found out she wasn’t strictly ‘human’. Showers were one of them: the scalding, invigorating water beating down on her skin was a perfect distraction from the looming meeting, and the weight that came with it. Hella knew that she was expected to save the world again. And soon.
The shower was a perfect distraction until she found herself wondering if Harrow’s icy blood and veins meant that he preferred cool showers. Or, he used to. When he was still a warlock. She wondered if he felt physically different: not being able to shimmer or have his magic must be very strange. Then Hella was picturing him in a shower, and got a whole other kind of distracted for what could have been several minutes.
She shook herself, the heat of the water and the steam in her eyes finally pulling her back to reality—at least mostly—and she finished washing her hair then turned off the water. She towelled herself dry and wiped off the mirror. Hella changed into Amara’s clothes and as she looked in the mirror her eyes widened in alarm. She had never taken any interest in fashion: jeans and shirts did the job and boots or canvas shoes worked too. Hella wondered what Harrow’s reaction would be to these new clothes that were much sexier than her own. She dried out her hair, letting it fall in curls around her shoulders. The black leather pants were surprisingly comfortable and easy to move in as she walked back to their shared bedroom. Hella wondered what kind of clothes he had been left to wear.
Harrow was sitting up in bed, facing the window, when she came in. He didn’t turn around as she closed the door behind her. He was staring out at the sunrise, now all shades of red and gold. Her previous hopes that it would be free of crimson stains vanished and she hoped witches—or Cambions—didn’t believe in such omens.
‘It’s nice, isn’t it?’ Harrow said. He still hadn’t turned.
Hella wanted to voice her thoughts, but didn’t think he would understand her worry. ‘Sure is,’ she said instead. A part of her wanted to crawl back into the bed and sleep through the day, knowing what it was likely to bring.
‘You got up early,’ Harrow said. ‘How did you sleep?’
Hella climbed back up on her bed and faced the window with him. He was clearly absorbed in the shades that painted the sky, and maybe it would be better if her thoughts were absorbed with his instead of her own. Thankfully, the pants allowed much bending and stretching, so she crossed her legs and leaned against the wall.
‘I had bad dreams,’ Hella admitted, staring out the window. The pink hues were nice.
‘Do you want to tell me?’ Harrow offered.
She glanced at him. He was in the clothes he had worn yesterday—and much of every day she had known him—a black shirt and rumpled jeans with a dark hoodie. He had not outwardly changed at all really, since she met him. His black hair was a little longer, perhaps. It curled slightly at his temples now, more prone to falling into his deep blue eyes. She remembered her fingers twining through that fine, silky hair.
‘I just hope I didn’t dream of the future.’ The energy and fervour the shower had given her had faded already. She wondered if she could find a cup of coffee here in Faerie House.
‘Was it filled with blood and death?’
‘And those Deme blades, yeah. How’d you know?’ Hella asked.
‘That’s not the future,’ he said quietly, staring out at the scarlet stripes along the sky. ‘That’s the present.’ He finally turned to look at her, and she would have sworn someone had slapped him in the face, he looked so shocked.
‘What?’ she said, wondering if there was suddenly a demon looming above her head. Or worse, a giant spider.
He shook himself a little. ‘No—no, nothing—at all—you look—I mean, did you change? That’s a nice—I mean, the colours,’ he choked the words out, his eyes roaming all over her. ‘You look great.’ He managed at last, then swivelled on his bed, directly facing the window. ‘I was saying… um, just that all that stuff might be happening now.’ He cleared his throat, flustered. ‘But it won’t be our future.’
Hella smiled to herself. She was pretty sure he liked her outfit. ‘What makes you say that?’
He peeked another glance at her. ‘You,’ he said simply.
Chapter Seventy-Two
Harrow
Harrow couldn’t believe his eyes. If Cambions believed in a higher power (not the one who sent angels to kill them, but someone else, someone who cared) then he would pray to them now and thank them for this gift. Instead, he sent a silent message to the stars.
Hella was awash in the gold and scarlet light streaming in from the window. Her hair was set in fresh, neat curls about her shoulders, still damp, which led hi
s eyes to a vibrant-red top with a deep and complimentary V-neck, her amulet around her neck. He was momentarily glad she wasn’t watching him gawk at her. She was just so beautiful. Her eyes lit up like stars, then she tore her gaze from the sunrise—which paled in comparison to her—and stared at him in a shade of alarm. He must look like an idiot, he thought.
‘What?’ she said.
He finally averted his gaze and smiled instead at the sunrise. He would have to tell her, in more complete sentences, how absolutely stunning she was. One day. His stomach lurched at the idea of trying to come up with something that could fully encompass her on the spot. He would have to think on that carefully, to make sure he got it just right.
The conversation turned, and he had to give her the confidence he felt. ‘You,’ he said simply. He hoped she knew what he meant. That the world was about to change. There was a lot of danger now, but he knew that she would save them all, and he hoped that this time, he would be alive to see it.
Chapter Seventy-Three
Hella
Hella stood in a grand room. A long wooden table took up most of the space, lined with matching wooden chairs. It was just before ten in the morning, and they were waiting on council members to hear her speak.
Hella was pacing, a faint line now worn in one of the rugs. Harrow finally took her hand. ‘Hey, relax. Come sit down.’ She squeezed his hand gratefully. Earlier, Amara had re-bandaged his wounds after his shower. Harrow still looked drawn and in pain, but a little better than yesterday. She looked down the end of the table and decided to sit at the end, opposite the head. Harrow was on her left, Tommy on her right, and Tahlia on her nephew’s side. As the minutes ticked by, Hella’s nerves hardened in her stomach, and she wished she hadn’t eaten breakfast. The adrenaline consumed the coffee she had drunk, overriding the caffeine entirely. She had to maintain control of her powers, for this meeting, she was presenting herself as the title she had been born with.
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