by T. M. Cromer
“It could be argued you just did with that statement.” Alastair chuckled when Preston shot him the bird. He quickly sobered, staring down into his mug. “I’ve missed these moments with you, Pres. Having you beside me whenever the world turned upside down or we needed to fight scum like Lin, Salinger, and Beecham. It’s not the same without you here.”
Preston’s chest grew heavy, and he was forced to blink back the tears forming behind his lids. He swallowed hard against the rising tide of emotion. “I know, Al. I know.”
Alastair smoothed his tie with one hand and pointed his cup toward the house. “Go. Have a hearty breakfast to keep up your strength. I fear you’re going to need it.”
Alastair watched Preston stride away, and with each step separating them, he wanted to call his brother back. What he hadn’t said—and what he desperately needed to—was how much he loved him. How proud he was of the man Preston had become, and how grateful Alastair was to call him kin. He wanted to tie him up and shove him in a closet to protect him from what was to come.
Of the two of them, Preston was the better man.
Regret for the lost years settled heavily on Alastair’s heart: the ones spent at odds over Aurora, the ones lost when he was kept prisoner by Zhu Lin, and the most recent ones since Preston’s death. If Alastair could trade places with any of those journeying to the Nether, he would in an instant. Sitting this fight out went against his nature. As did failing to protect those he loved. He’d failed all of them at one point or another.
With a grimace of distaste, he tossed his coffee in the bush below the balcony railing. The lone figure under the tree caught his attention, and he set the mug down before descending the steps to join her.
“I’m surprised you’d risk speaking to me, Alastair Thorne.”
“I’ve risked a great many things in my life, Exalted One. The least of which is speaking with a goddess who looks upon me without favor.” He offered up a self-deprecating smile. “But you wouldn’t have made your presence known if you didn’t wish to talk to me, Serqet.”
Her eyes narrowed marginally, but she gave a quick nod to acknowledge he was correct. “My sister has impressed upon me the severity of this upcoming trial. You understand it is in my nature to take advantage once the danger has passed?”
“I do.” Dread curled in his belly and shook its tail like a rattlesnake. “Are you warning me to be on guard?”
“Not from me, child. Not this time. But I would urge caution regardless. Your enemies bear you great ill will, and they won’t be keen on returning to the Underworld. They’ve lived there twice as long as those in the Otherworld and a hundred times that of those on this plane.” Her gaze was void of standard spitefulness, and Alastair could physically feel the truth of her warning. “Their souls have been tortured. Should they get the opportunity, they will try to remain here, Alastair. Be prepared.”
“Is this your way of offering my family an olive branch?”
“Yes. The Aether helped me to see what I’ve always known. He took from me a good portion of my hatred and bitterness with his touch.” She must’ve recognized the surprise on his face for what it was. “He didn’t tell you that part, did he?” She smiled and shook her head. “He’s worthy to hold the honor of Aether, and he uses his powers wisely. As I should’ve done from the beginning.”
“I’m glad he was able to ease your suffering, Exalted One. It seems none of us choose who we love, not even your kind, huh?” He softened his comment with an understanding smile. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you hold Damian in esteem. Maybe it will give our side the boost we need.”
“If I can repay his kindness, I will.” She looked beyond his shoulder to the house. “I believe your family is returning. But first, I wish to give you something to give Knox.” Serqet held out a chain mail bag.
Alastair’s heart began to hammer, the sound drowning out all other noise. He couldn’t seem to look away from the item in her hand, nor could he lift his to accept her offering.
“Don’t be afraid, child,” she said gently. “I’m returning it to your family to use or to dispose of.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Exalted One, but if I never see that wretched necklace again, it will be too soon.”
She laughed, and the sound was as light as the air around them. “With the help of my sister, I’ve tweaked the curse. The Red Scorpion will bring with it great power without the death sentence.”
He lifted his gaze to meet hers. Honesty shone back, and he could detect no falsehoods. Still, he was filled with trepidation. “How do I protect the others from it, should the need arise?”
“You hold no trust for me.”
“No offense is meant when I say I don’t. But I do find it difficult to reconcile the woman in front of me with the goddess who spent centuries trying to wipe out my family. Trust doesn’t come easily to me, of all people.”
Understanding was in the smile she gave him. “Here. Take my gift, Alastair Thorne, and be grateful for it.”
“I’ve never known a gift from the gods not to contain a catch. Hence my inability to swear without summoning locusts,” he said dryly.
Her eyes twinkled as she said, “You are wise to be wary of our offerings, and because you are, I’ll promise you this; no death shall come to you or your bloodline as a result of my pet here. Fair enough?”
“What about those things worse than death? You could cause my pecker to fall off.”
He was only half kidding, and yet she laughed as if he were the greatest jester.
Then he recalled her words. “My bloodline? What about the extended family?” His tone grew hard, but he was damned if he could help it. His in-laws would be protected if he had to lay down his life to do it.
“I cannot promise that, child. My deal with Isis and Set was to spare your lives. Should anyone but a Thorne touch the scorpion, they risk death. Remember that.”
Chapter 17
“Do you trust her?” Both Alastair and Damian seemed to be swayed by her change of heart, but Preston found it difficult to believe Serqet wouldn’t betray them all. Of course, he had a lot more to lose. Spring was his daughter, and Selene had been paired with Victor as her counterpart. If anything happened to either woman, Preston would lose his damned mind and do something stupid—like try to end the life of a goddess. He wasn’t impulsive by nature. Hell, he was more methodical and predictable than the average Thorne. But when it came to family, he’d kill first and ask questions later.
“I do.” Alastair wore a thoughtful expression as he stared out the window toward where he’d met with Serqet. Finally, he shrugged and faced those gathered in the dining room. “It’s rare to have someone fool me, but it isn’t impossible. The best we can do is keep our eyes and ears open to be on alert to betrayal.”
Damian appeared to be in agreement.
Preston’s nerves got the better of him, but he pushed them aside. “Okay. If that damned necklace can’t hurt us, let’s give it a try.” He rose and grabbed the chain-mail bag, only stopping when Spring cried out.
“Dad, don’t! You haven’t seen what that thing can do.”
Actually, he had, through Isis’s looking glass. Victor Salinger had used the twin sister of Nash’s girlfriend to force him to put it on as she held Spring hostage with a knife to her throat. One nick of that poisoned blade, and Spring’s life would’ve been forfeit. As it was, Nash had barely survived and only due to Ryanne’s sacrifice on his behalf.
“The surest way to know if Serqet is lying is to put it to the test. My life has technically ended so I’d rather be the guinea pig of the group.” Preston gave her a warm smile. “What’s the worst that can happen? I die again, and Isis sends me back?”
Selene approached him and rested her hand on his arm to stay his motion. “I don’t find this amusing in the least, agápi mou. Nor is it the wisest course of action.”
“At some point this week, we meet with those soulless devils, Selene. We need to have a game plan and
weapons at our disposal. Ones that won’t backfire and kill us all.”
She shot him a glare at his testy tone. “I may not be one of your inner circle, but I know my brother. He was Serqet’s minion for years. On her orders and Zhu Lin’s, Victor became a ruthless killing machine. But make no mistake; he enjoyed it.” She released Preston’s arm and backed away. “And he’ll enjoy it this time around.”
“I won’t let him hurt you, my love.”
“You won’t have a choice if you’re dead and waiting to be revived, will you?” She scoffed and shook her head. “I know you’re fierce, Preston, but this goes beyond the boundaries of what a normal man would do or how he would react. Victor is a rabid dog.”
“I tend to agree with Selene,” Alastair said with a steely-eyed look at the two of them. “When Lin and Victor held me prisoner, their favorite game was torture. Victor being the more sadistic of the two. Lin hated me and wished me dead, but Victor? He was pure evil.”
“Tell me. What’s the alternative?” Preston snapped. “What do you, oh-holier-than-thou Alastair Thorne—”
“Sonofabitch!” Knox entered the room and immediately scooped up the bag with the necklace. “What the fuck is this doing here?” He didn’t wait for an answer and stormed toward the exit.
When Preston would’ve charged after him, Spring latched onto his arm. “Dad, wait!”
He glared down at her. “What is it?”
“The necklace has the power to alter moods. Did you notice how angry all of you became? How quickly it happened?”
He twisted to look at his brother. The wrathful expression on Alastair’s face confirmed what Spring had said. When Preston would’ve spoken, Alastair gave a subtle shake of his head. He held up both hands and quietly uttered the words to Granny Thorne’s cloaking spell. As soon as they were free of outside prying eyes, Alastair swirled a finger as if to say “go ahead.”
“So I was right. Serqet hasn’t removed the curse,” Preston said grimly.
“It would appear so. The other option is she failed to remember that fun side effect of the blasted thing.” Alastair’s tone was equally grim. “Dethridge, what do you think our next move should be? How do we go about cutting her legs out from underneath her?”
Damian uncrossed his arms and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. Fighting a goddess is new territory for me. I try not to piss them all off as you are all wont to do.”
The air around them crackled, and Alexander Castor stepped through a rift in the corner of the room along with Quentin. Castor glanced around in his confusion. “Where are they? The timing—”
“Unless I miss my guess, they’ve cloaked themselves.”
Cupping his hands around his mouth, Castor called out, “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”
Quentin cast him a scathing look. “You think this is a game, old man?”
“Son, you’ll learn all the world’s a game, and we are mere chess pieces to be sacrificed at the whims of the gods. Some of us are kings and some, the lowly pawns.”
“I’ll be sure to note that in my diary of useless things my sperm donor told me.” Quentin didn’t bother to hide his disdain.
“How many times must I apologize to you, boy?”
“Don’t bother. You’re wasting your breath.”
From his place in front of the two, Preston could practically feel the tension. Quentin’s hatred was real, and he wondered why a son would despise his father to such a degree. With a quick amendment to Alastair’s initial cloaking spell, Preston added their names and altered the charm to encompass them. Castor laughed when they all appeared. It seemed Quentin was correct in assuming everything was a joke to his father. It bore consideration.
Preston purposefully reached out a hand to shake Quentin’s first, letting Castor know where his loyalties lay. The truth was, Preston wasn’t as trusting of Alexander Castor as his brother and cousin were. “Hello, son. Let’s update you on what’s happening.”
Castor narrowed his eyes as he registered the slight but returned to his jovial self within seconds.
“I should go find Knox,” Quentin said after hearing what Preston had to say.
“I’ll go. He hasn’t heard the worst of it, and I fear he’ll want to choke Serqet with that necklace when he finds out I’m one of those going to the Nether.” Spring gave her father a quick kiss on the cheek. “We’ll find the proper weapons and plan accordingly, Dad. It’s what we’re good at.”
After Spring left, Preston turned to Alastair and Damian, effectively ignoring Castor. “We need to speak to the trio. I want Spring removed from those going.” By trio, he referred to Isis, Serqet, and Set. His tone was hard when he said, “None of my children are to be put at risk. Not. A. One.”
“They can’t be budged, Pres. I tried.”
“Then we try again,” he snapped. “I mean it, Al. I’m not allowing my daughter to go there. Not Spring. Autumn, I’d consider. She can handle her own. But Spring is innocent.”
“You aren’t giving her enough credit, brother, and you’re allowing the past to influence your thinking.” Alastair rubbed the back of his neck, a sure sign Preston’s high emotions were chipping away at him. His expression turned contemplative, and he shot a sharp look at Damian. “Tell me what you know of the Nether, Dethridge. Would enchanted items and spells work, other than the one we intend to use to trap the Evil there? Say, if I created tanzanite rings for us all to communicate telepathically, can it be done?”
“There isn’t much information about the Netherworld, Al. I can see what my ancestors may have written in our records, but no one can go there without the Yin and Yang balance, both male-female and the good-evil. It’s likely why there isn’t much information on it.” His look was sardonic as he rhetorically asked, “Who in their right minds would go anywhere with the person who most wished them dead?”
“Enter the Thorne family,” Preston muttered. “If this bullshit works, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle.”
“Well, technically, you’re a monkey’s grandfather, does that count?” Quentin teased.
“No. Summer’s ape is a menace.”
Alastair chuckled. “He’s quite sweet, if a bit mischievous.”
“Okay, back to the subject at hand. Time is short.” Selene pinned all the men with a hard look. Here was a woman used to issuing orders and expecting to be obeyed. Preston admired her take-charge attitude. “Mr. Dethridge, please go see what you can find in your records. Preston and I will visit Georgie Sipanil. As the oldest living Council member, she may have an idea about what will and won’t work.” She faced Alastair. “It’s well known you hold Isis’s favor. Perhaps you have a female enemy sporting a grudge. You might be able to convince the Goddess that you and this person should take Spring’s and Lin’s places.” Next, Selene turned to Caster and Quentin. “Speak to Athena, if you can summon her. She seems to know the most about your family’s history. Before we go into the Nether, I want to know what you two are truly capable of.”
Preston grinned in the face of her directives. Selene was simply amazing. She caught his eye, and a light blush tinted her cheeks.
“What is it, agápi mou?”
“You’re magnificent. I feel you should be the acting commander of this op.” Especially if she prevented Spring’s endangerment with her militant planning.
Selene rolled her eyes, but a small smirk danced on her lips. “Someone had to. The testosterone in this room was suffocating. Nothing was getting done but posturing.”
“Apparently, we need more Yin and Yang energy,” Damian quipped.
She chuckled. “Agreed.”
“Perhaps we should bring in the lovely Vivian for more female balance.” Castor’s grin was pure wickedness. His quip earned him a glare and a magical shove from the Aether.
“Leave my wife out of this,” Damian growled. He signaled Alastair, who murmured a spell to counter their cloaked enchantment.
“I forgot how territorial you were in regard to your mate,
Dethridge.” Castor conjured a mason jar of what looked to be moonshine. “Anyone up for a swig to get this party going?”
“Are you never serious, Castor?” Preston shoved the hand offering the rotgut.
A sneer twisted Alexander’s lip. “Why do I need to be when the lot of you are serious enough for a hundred people?”
Hands curled into fists, Preston stepped into his space and stood toe-to-toe with him. “Maybe because my family’s lives are at stake? How about that, you fucking asshole?”
“It’s not like the Thornes don’t continually come out on top, right?” There was a steely edge to Castor’s words, and Preston hoped like hell either Alastair or Damian could tell what was behind them. If Alexander Castor was a liability, he needed to go, seventh elemental or no.
But Quentin’s reaction was swift and immediate. He grabbed his father by the throat and slammed him into a wall. Castor brought his hands up, and electricity danced along his fingertips. Quentin didn’t appear concerned that he was about to be shish kabobbed. Their pose was like a sculpture of two larger-than-life Titans ready to go to war.
“I fucking dare you, old man,” Quentin growled.
“Do you think I don’t have control over this power after so many years, boy? I could kill you and shock you back to life in the blink of an eye.” Castor’s eyes turned icy, and Preston shivered at the contempt.
When he would’ve stepped forward to intervene, Damian halted him with a hand on his shoulder.
Don’t intervene. Castor’s anger is an act.
Preston frowned as Damian’s voice echoed in his mind.
This was all an act? Why?
A jolt shot through him, and he almost cried out from the strength of the current. Along with the energy came a vision of Damian’s conversation with Castor early that morning. The two men felt it was best to make Castor appear recalcitrant and have him throw verbal barbs whenever possible. All in an effort to fool Serqet into believing he was being forced to help the Thornes and not through any desire of his own.
