by Angel Lawson
“The Queen wants to see you.” He glances over my stained hand and paint-covered smock. I try my best not to stare at the gnarled scar at the base of his jaw. “Now.”
I wipe my hand on a rag, leaving my paintbrush in a jar of turpentine. The painting behind me has begun to take shape. My mind is sharper in the Otherside—or at least, my magic is.
I follow Casteel out of my room in the tower and down the stairs to the main section of the castle. He wears a traditional uniform: black leather tunic, heavy pants with pockets and slits for hiding weapons. His boots are made from the hide of an animal I never want to see in person. Thick and bumpy, with soles made from the tar pits in the northern territory.
Even with the dark fabric I see and smell the blood splatters of my brothers. They are fierce warriors—the Raven Guard—and to elicit the screams of pain and misery that echo from the dungeons up to my rooms must mean Casteel has refined his level of torture.
Payback sucks, especially if you’re not the one that committed the crime.
Casteel does knock before entering the queen’s chambers, he’s not that much of an arrogant fool. I lurk behind him, head bowed, counting the stones on the floor. A slave—The Morrigan does not pretend the people in her castle are anything but owned by her—opens the door and nods for us to enter.
“Reznick?” The Queen calls from the other room. It takes me a beat to recognize my given name.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Come to me.”
I spare a glance at Casteel, who is well aware he’s not been invited to the inner chamber. He smirks, as though it may be my final act. It could be, but I don’t think so. He’s unaware of our relationship. How we work.
The Queen is still in bed, her cheeks unusually flushed. A sheen of sweat covers her overheated forehead and there’s a look of hunger in her eyes. She grimaces as if a bitter taste is on her tongue. I have little doubt what caused the reaction. I too felt the echo of pleasure rattle across my bones. Even across realms, we’re connected. Something happened with Morgan, something that increased her strength. I assume she mated with Dylan, just as she has every other day since I tore the Guardians away from her.
In this realm, the Queen pushes back the heavy, midnight blue covers draped over the bed. She swings her slim but muscular legs over the edge. She pauses, taking a moment to catch her breath. The pause implies an expectation.
I step forward and offer my hand. “Please, let me.”
She smiles, white teeth against too-pale skin. Without the flush on her cheeks, she’d look like one of the hordes of dead that roam the Wastelands. “So sweet,” she says, allowing me to help her off the mattress. “Tell me, Reznick, tell me about your dreams.”
It’s a trick question. If I tell her I don’t have any, she’ll know I’m lying. If I tell her that I do, she’ll want my head for confirming Morgan’s strength and Dylan’s virility. I hold her eye and declare, “I don’t sleep, my Queen.”
My words hold the truth, but not the reality that I feel the heat between Morgan and her Raven lovers regardless of where I am. It’s a double-edged sword. I’ve never been able to contain my jealousy over her connection to the others, but I accept the flow of energy through our bond. It makes me stronger. It keeps my hands warm and my powers alert. From the way the Queen looks at me, I suspect she hasn’t a clue to the lengths in which our bond travels.
The Morrigan passes me, entering the bathing room. The slave nods, encouraging me to follow. I step inside the room of marble and brass, observing her splash cold water on her face. The slave stands quietly in the corner, waiting for instruction. They’re to wait. To predict. Never to speak.
I watch the Queen’s reflection in the mirror, pretending not to see her flinch as she takes in the dark shadows under her eyes or the fine lines crossing her forehead. She hasn’t aged like this in over a millennium, not since she took on the mantle of her reign, which implies something has changed.
I am not sure why she allows me to see her in such intimate moments. Her mind works in twisted and depraved ways. I stay alert while giving the air of innocence. She sighs, tugging at a wiry gray hair spiraling out of the thick, dark mane near her temple. She yanks out the offending hair without a hint of the sting of pain, dropping it into the sink.
“Tell me,” she says, holding out her hand in the direction of the slave. The girl steps forward, a silver vial ready and uncorked. “Have you completed the next stage of our plan?”
“Almost. I just need a few more days.”
She tips the vial into her mouth, swallowing in one gulp. Her tongue flicks out to get the final drop before tossing the vial back to her slave. She saunters past me, slipping her robe off her shoulders. The slave lunges for the robe but I catch it single-handed before it hits the floor. The Morrigan arches her eyebrow, either in amusement or displeasure that I’d interfered with the girl’s work. It’s impossible to know. I force myself to stare at the Queen’s naked body as she lowers herself into the ice bath. It’s expected. Looking away…it would suggest I don’t find her attractive—a deadly move.
Do I find her attractive? I should, but despite my actions, my heart belongs to one woman. I don’t find the Morrigan arousing, regardless of her beauty. I can’t help but notice the wrinkles and sagging lines. Her hair hangs to the middle of her back, just above the twin dimples dotting the smooth flesh of her backside. Sinking into the porcelain tub, she exhales, clearly invigorated by cold. I know, and she knows that I know, that even from another realm, Morgan brings a fire through our conduit. The fire of lust that brags of her power, of the emotions that build against her flesh. She knows as well as I do exactly what Dylan does to Morgan, and it disgusts her.
The Queen will do anything to extinguish the heat, including submerging her body in ice.
She leans her head back against the pillow, the slave holding it between two hands. She cuts her dark eyes in my direction. “I need the gate reopened.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Don’t make me wait much longer, Reznick, or your brothers will pay for your ineptitude.”
I swallow. “Soon. I promise.”
She waves me away with her hand and I bow before leaving the bathing chamber. Casteel waits for me, no doubt having heard every word exchanged between us.
I pass him, heading back to the hall. Casteel may know the Queen’s commands but he does not know her wants, her pains. She’s weaker than I thought, and I fight a smile as we walk back to my tower where I will continue my work.
Chapter 7
Morgan
Cool air wafts across my face and I snuggle against the warmth next to me, warding off the chill. I only want a few more minutes of peace before the day begins and I wrap my arms around Dylan, feeling something has shifted between us. We’ve broken part of the curse that the Morrigan chained us with when she stole my guardians.
Dylan rolls into me, tightening his arms. I feel the heat of his kisses across my shoulder, the hard length between his legs. I push back and raise an eyebrow.
“Don’t even think about it.”
“Good morning to you, too,” he says with a smile. A bit of the angst he usually carries is gone for the moment.
His eyes look a different shade, a brighter blue, and I want to ask him what he’s thinking—about his words the night before. His jaw clenches and I think maybe he’ll say it—speak the truth--but he licks his lip and then licks mine.
I squirm beneath the weight of his body, loving the feel, loving this brief moment in the wake of war.
“Dylan,” I say, successfully pulling away from him. “Do you really think we can beat her?”
“Yes. And we’ll get them back.”
My stomach knots, snuffing out the flicker of hope. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
His hand clenches around my wrist. “I never do, Morgan.”
I brush my thumb over his lip and again the heat and intensity boils between us, the kind that fuels my powe
r and makes me stronger. I’m realizing that I’ll need all the strength I can get when the doorbell echoes up the marble floors and wooden stairway.
Dylan frowns. “Are you expecting someone?”
“No.”
He groans and rolls over, taking the heat with him. “Then we probably need to go see who it is.”
Chapter 8
Dylan
Professor Christensen stands in the foyer, looking every bit the part of University faculty. His suede jacket is only missing the patches on the elbows, and a pipe would make an excellent prop. His gray hair makes him appear distinguished as well as trustworthy.
I’m never exactly sure if he is either one.
“Dylan,” he says as I walk down the stairs. I straighten the wrists of my shirt. “It’s good to see you. I wish it was under better circumstances.”
“Good to see you, too. If you’re looking for good news, sadly we don’t have much.” I do tell him about Sam’s camera and my attempt to recover the photos. “I haven’t been able to access them yet but hopefully later today.”
Christensen lowers his head and asks in a soft voice, “How is she handling all of this?”
I rub the back of my neck. “Twelve hours ago she was on the brink of a breakdown. Paranoia, rage, regret. She feels guilty and lost. She’s overwhelmed by the loss of the other guardians. But we’re working through it. I think we made some progress last night.”
“She needs to be strong.”
“I know. She does, too. She’ll be ready.”
We both look up when we hear footsteps on the stairs. Morgan slowly walks down, dressed for the day in jeans and a fuzzy blue sweater. Her hair is twisted in a knot behind her head. She’s wearing boots, ones I know have a sheath next to her ankle for a small blade Damien gave her. Her cheeks carry a reddish blush, and pride swells in my chest knowing I helped put it there.
She’s the opposite of the Goddess of War, yet just as lethal. I’m learning that. Heat makes her grow. It makes her strong, and I’ll do my part to stoke the flames, but we’ve got to get the others back.
“Professor,” she says, reaching the final step. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“I got your message about your, uh, guest downstairs. Thought maybe I’d take a crack at her.”
“You can try,” she says, glancing at me.
“I’m going to get to work on the camera.” I turn and head for the stairs. “You two have fun.”
Morgan rolls her eyes. “Yeah, like talking to a psychotic bitch is going to be fun.”
Christensen holds out his arm, offering to escort Morgan to the dungeons. It’s a ridiculous pose, knowing what’s downstairs and what we’re dealing with. Morgan accepts and links her elbow to his. They’ve just rounded the corner when I hear him say, “I suspect this may be more entertaining than you may realize.”
Chapter 9
Morgan
I still find it odd that the Professor is part of all this. That he’s as old as the Guardians, if not older. His role is historian, documenting the Morrigan and her destruction through the centuries. He and Dylan hope that I will continue the trend by writing a firsthand account of the current attempt at evil taking over the world.
“Where’s the Valkyrie?” Christensen asks as we get to the dungeon door. It’s locked and I fish the key out of my pocket.
“She needed a break.”
The look he gives me is questioning, but he doesn’t say anything further. The door swings open and we’re assaulted by the smell, the stench from Anita’s cell. I flip on the exhaust fan built into the ceiling. An empty tray of food left this morning by either Davis or Sue sits on the floor. Anita’s expression doesn’t change when she sees her former supervisor, but unlike many other times I’ve been down here, she does speak.
“Came to see it for yourself? Gawk at me like a monkey in a cage?”
“I’m saddened to see it come to this. It didn’t have to.”
“No?” she asks. She bares her teeth. Maybe she is a little like a zoo animal. Is that what being caged does to a person?
“You could have told Morgan or Dylan how Bunny got the gate open. How you jumped from realm to realm.”
“And what? They’d let me go?” Her eyebrow arches. “My secrets are the only thing keeping me alive.”
“We’re not killers,” I tell her. “If anything, we’re the opposite—trying to stop this bloody virus from spreading further.”
She leans into the bars, clutching the iron with both hands. She glances between the two of us. “What if you could only get one thing from me? One secret, which would you pick?”
I sigh and rub my forehead. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re right, I do know things. I know how to get back to the Otherside. I know where Bunny is. I know how to stop the virus.” Her blue eyes skim over me. “I know where your precious guardians are being held.”
I shake my head. “I don’t believe you.”
She shrugs. “You figure out what you want to know the most, and maybe we can make a deal.”
Christensen has been silent next to me this whole time. I don’t know what he thinks of his former student. Or even what he thinks of me allowing her to live in such conditions.
“What sort of deal do you want?” he asks.
“I want to go back to my mistress.”
“Even though you’ve failed?”
Her body stiffens. “I’m bound to her—like you are to your little birds. In every lifetime, we find one another.”
Christensen’s eyes narrow, studying Anita closely, as though he’s searching for a memory.
“Tell me what you know,” I declare, “and I’ll send you back—in a casket.”
“You get one secret, Morgan. Only one. Choose well.”
I shake my head. Why does this girl think she dictates anything? Is it because she’s a spoiled brat? Is she delusional? Maybe I need to let her shower—have a little sunlight.
“What will it be? What will you pick?” She begins, in a sing-song voice. “Save three and spare one. Save a million but lose them all. Cut off the head and kill the rest. Wings and fingers. Ash and bone. Mix them together for the elixir of life.” She giggles, eyes glazed, and I sigh, gesturing for Christensen to follow me out.
Once we’re outside and the doors are locked he says, “I assume that’s why the Valkyrie needed a break?”
That and I tried to strangle her. “Partly.”
“Keep an eye on her. She may admit some truth in her delusions.” He stops in the stairwell. “I’m going to do a little research. See what I can come up with.”
“We can’t let her go back to the Morrigan. If she’s part of the three, then we need to keep her far away.”
He nods. “Her and you.”
I lean against the wall. “I have a feeling there’s little chance I’m avoiding a fight with the Morrigan, don’t you think?”
“Anita may be right. Certain moves may always come into play. You thought you could hold the Morrigan back by splitting her in three. You accomplished keeping her in the Otherside, but she still managed to slip her virus through before that. To stop it all you may have to all be bound once again.”
“And then what?” I’m trying to follow his train of thought.
He frowns, a sad expression that makes me not want to hear what he has to say next. “Morgan, you have to consider what Anita has already accepted.”
“What? That I’m batshit crazy?”
“No,” he shakes his head. I’m not ready for what he says next. “It’s possible that to achieve success and beat the Morrigan once and for all, you may have to embrace the Otherside and the Darkness that rules it.”
“You want me to join her?”
“No. I don’t want anything but to stop her. You’ve just got to figure out the best way to do that.”
He speaks in riddles—similar to Anita down the hall. I’m not sure what they want and I definitely don’t know if I can trust either of t
hem.
“How do I embrace it—her?”
Again he answers, but in a most unhelpful way. “I suspect you’ll find out when the time comes. Do everything you can to be prepared for that moment.”
Chapter 10
Morgan
When Hildi doesn’t return that afternoon, I decide to go find her. I knew I’d been a jerk, (out of control, really,) but the Valkyrie is a fighter and it makes no sense for her to hold a grudge.
Dylan stays at The Nead, close to recovering the images on Sam’s camera. He asked his friend Marcus, a security guard at the Empire State Building by day and underground demon fighter by night (Snakehead is what I’ve come to call him,) to watch over Anita. I told him about our visit this afternoon and enough of it unnerved him to make the call to keep her on closer watch.
I didn’t tell him what Christensen said, about the possibility of my embracing the Morrigan and the Darkness in order to beat her. If I know Dylan as well as I think I do, he probably already figured it out.
They probably all already figured it out.
I have no expectations when I arrive at the address he gives me. These people live in a world beyond my understanding. From seedy bars to penthouses and mansions with secret dungeons, I have no idea what to expect when it comes to my new friends in the supernatural world. Where do they get their money? How do they survive? When you’ve been around for eons, maybe you’ve got investment money in Swiss bank accounts.
I’ve got bigger things to worry about.
I take the train to Brooklyn, noticing the distinct lack of subway riders. More masks. One woman dumps a massive glob of hand sanitizer in her palm and nearly bathes in it. A discarded newspaper headline declares people should work from home until the experts at CDC get a handle on the sickness.
Even though I suspect I’m immune, it makes me paranoid and I shove my hands in my pockets and try not to touch anything—anyone—on the way out of the subway. Two blocks later, I double check the address to make sure I’m in the right place. It’s a small, hipsterish community. Definitely not a mansion. I climb the steps and ring Hildi’s apartment bell.
