Dark Descent

by Marlene Perez

  Dark Descent

  Nyx Fortuna: Book Two

  Marlene Perez

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  For my best friend Michelle

  Chapter One

  If I cannot deflect the will of Heaven, I shall move Hell.

  —Virgil

  The whispering woke me.

  “Nyx, get up. You’re in danger.” I recognized the speaker as Sawyer Polydoros, but that was impossible. I was on the couch, TV blaring, with a tower of empties on the coffee table beside me, but all I could hear was the sound of Sawyer’s panicked voice.

  It had to be a dream. How else could I be hearing my dead uncle’s voice?

  But I was the only son born to a Fate and stranger things had happened.

  I inched up into a sitting position and listened. The whispering had stopped.

  There was someone in my apartment. Whoever or whatever it was barely drew breath, but a strange odor enveloped the room. Less pungent than a troll, but stinking of death nonetheless. A thin stream of moonlight lit the room enough for me to make out a long shadowy figure.

  A wraith. I’d tangled with one a few months ago, managing to hack off its arm. I was guessing it was back for round two.

  The thing was blocking the door between me and my bedroom, which is where my athame was. I’d need my knife if I had any hope of making it out alive.

  There was another shadow by the front door. He’d brought a friend. Fantastic.

  Sawyer’s warning had given me a few precious seconds. The wraiths didn’t know I was awake.

  Wraiths used to be human and still retained a certain humanlike appearance, until you got close enough to look into their cold dead eyes and then you realized they weren’t human in the least. By then it was too late. The trick was not to let them get too close or they’d rip out your heart and have it for a snack.

  I needed to get to my athame. I jumped over the coffee table, but my foot caught on the cans and sent them falling. The noise distracted my guests for a split second while I made a run for the bedroom.

  I charged the wraith in my way. As I had suspected, it was the same one who’d attacked me at Hell’s Belles. Its arm had been hacked off. I needed to finish the job this time.

  Only a necromancer could summon and control a wraith, but Sawyer had been the only necromancer in Minneapolis, and he was dead. It was finally occurring to me that Sawyer might not have been the only necromancer in town, just the only one I knew about.

  The wraith saw me coming. I kicked its legs out from under it and ran into the bedroom. I grabbed my athame and pivoted, but the thing was already upon me.

  The wraith opened its mouth and the smell of rotting flesh filled the room. I threw a lamp at it, but it kept coming. I choked back vomit and lunged. The knife went in with a wet noise and the wraith fell to the floor, gushing dark, noxious blood all over my floor.

  I’d momentarily forgotten about the other wraith. Until it came up behind me and bit me on the back of my neck.

  My body went numb immediately. I fought to hold on to the knife as an icy sickness traveled down my spine.

  “Nyx Fortuna, you will die this evening,” it hissed.

  It knew my name, but not that I couldn’t die? Interesting.

  “I can’t die, you rotting piece of filth,” I said. Or that’s what I wanted to say, but my tongue was swollen.

  “Not yet,” it replied. “But soon.” The wraith clawed at my neck. I thought it was trying to rip out my throat, but it latched onto the thin silver chain around my neck and yanked.

  There was no way it was getting the only thing I had left of my mother. I gathered my remaining strength and stabbed it in the eye. It shrieked with pain.

  The knife clattered to the floor and I fell next to it before I lost consciousness.

  When I woke, Talbot was leaning over me. His eyes shone silver light in the darkness. “Nyx, what happened?”

  “My knife,” I said. “Where is it?” I started to get up and then swayed as the icy sick feeling hit me again. I put a hand to my neck.

  “Don’t get up,” he ordered. “Tell me what happened.”

  “Wraith. Bit me,” I managed to get out. “My knife. I need it.”

  “Where did it bite you?” he asked. His voice went from calm to panicked.

  I pointed to the back of my neck.

  “I’m calling my dad.”

  “Knife first,” I mumbled.

  Talbot’s hunt for the athame took so long that I was starting to think the slow-moving poison from the wraith’s bite would paralyze me before he found it.

  To my relief, he came back with the knife in his hand. “Got it.”

  “Good,” I said. “You’re not going to like the next part.”

  He looked at the knife like it was a three-headed snake. “What?”

  “Put it in the wound,” I said. “You’re going to have to draw the poison out.” My mind was slowing, thoughts spiraling lazily out of control. “Not much time.”

  “You want me to stab you?” My best friend sounded horrified.

  I managed a nod. “Yeth, now!”

  There was a sharp pain when the knife went in and sensation immediately returned. I bit back a scream, but the feeling, even an agonizing stab wound, was welcome. It meant the athame had stopped the poison. It would leave a scar, but what was one more?

  I was shaky, but the sickness was passing. I groped around for the silver chain, but my fingers were still numb. “Where’s my necklace?”

  Talbot couldn’t understand me at first, but finally realized what I was asking. “It’s around your neck.”

  I relaxed. I could deal with everything else, but not losing that.

  “We’ve got to get you to a hospital,” he said.

  “No hospitals,” I said. “Just your dad.” The swelling in my tongue had disappeared, but my brain was fuzzy with strange images and I couldn’t stop shivering.

  Ambrose would know what to do. At least I hoped to god he would. Talbot made the call.

  “He’s on his way,” he said. “He’s across town, though.”

  “Help me to the couch,” I said. There was no way I was going to lie in bed like an invalid.

  “You can barely walk,” he protested. But he slung an arm around me and dragged me to my feet. Moving sent my muscles screaming in agony, but I made it.

  While we waited, the shivering intensified. Talbot piled blankets from the bedroom on me, but I couldn’t stop shaking.

  “Can I get you anything?”

  “Tea,” I said through chattering teeth. Maybe liquids would help flush out whatever was still in my system. “Top shelf.”

  By the time Talbot had put the kettle on, I was sweating profusely. When he handed me the tea, I was shaking so much that most of it spilled onto the floor. He took it from me and gave it to me a spoonful at a time.

  Ambrose, Talbot’s dad, burst through the apartment door a few minutes later. My vision was blurring.

  He didn’t bother to ask what happened, but shoved his son aside to examine the bite mark.

  “It hasn’t turned black,�
� he said. The relief in his voice was obvious. “Talbot, run back to our place and get some slippery elm and thyme.”

  “I already gave him tea,” he replied. “I managed to get about half a cup down him.”

  “He’s not going to be drinking it,” he said. “I need to make a poultice to get the rest of the poison out.”

  By the time Talbot came back, my vision was almost gone and I’d heaved out whatever was in my stomach. Would I live forever, but without my sight?

  Ambrose mixed up a concoction and then rubbed it over the wound. He pressed a steaming hot towel over my neck.

  I instinctively reached up to remove it, but he slapped my hand away. “Leave it.”

  “He’s burning up,” Talbot said right before I passed out.

  *

  When I woke up, I was in my bed. The room was dark, except for the glow of the bedside lamp. My mouth felt furry, but the shivering had disappeared and I was no longer sweating. Whatever Ambrose had given me, it had worked.

  “You’re awake,” Talbot said. He’d been sitting in the shadows and I hadn’t even noticed he was there. I was getting soft.

  “A little fuzzy-headed,” I admitted.

  “No wonder,” he said. “I saw that impressive pile of cans in your living room. You’re drinking too much.”

  He was right. If it hadn’t been for Sawyer’s warning, the wraiths would have had the jump on me. My reflexes had been dulled by the gallon of beer I’d consumed.

  “So what’s new?” I was trying for flippant and failed miserably.

  He snorted. Talbot was a good friend. Willow was another. I didn’t have many. They had a tendency, thanks to the Fates, to die gruesomely.

  My aunts, the three Fates, couldn’t kill me because my mother had hidden my thread of Fate. I was sure it was in one of my mother’s charms, which had been lost after her death. I was in Minneapolis to locate them, but was sidetracked when the Fates blackmailed me into looking for my missing cousin, Claire.

  I trusted Talbot and his dad, and I didn’t trust many people. At least not after Elizabeth betrayed me. It had been to save her brother, but the knowledge wasn’t any comfort.

  “Dad thought you were going to die,” Talbot said.

  “That’d be quite a trick,” I said. “I can’t die, remember?”

  “Want a cup of tea?”

  “I’m not helpless. I spent an hour putting new wards on the apartment.” Despite his protests, I staggered to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of absinthe. Tea, my ass. I was going to get good and drunk. I doubted the wraiths would be back, and if they were, they’d have a nasty surprise waiting. I passed out on the couch and, in the morning, woke to noises in my kitchen. Talbot was making himself at home. He stood at the stove making eggs. A steaming cup of coffee was next to him.

  “That looks good,” I said. “I’m starving.”

  “That’s your breakfast there,” he said. He pointed to a bowl of thin gruelish mixture. “Doctor’s orders.”

  “Can I at least have some coffee?” The absinthe had been a bad idea. The smell of the gruel was making me want to hurl.

  He shook his head. “Herbal tea with a little honey. No coffee or alcohol for at least a week.” His glance was stern.

  My alcohol intake had become legendary, at least at the Red Dragon.

  “You’d drink, too, with a family like mine.” Not the most tactful thing to say, since he was dating my cousin, but it was true. The Wyrd family would win any dysfunctional family contest, hands down.

  He carefully avoided my gaze. “I thought you were going to take it easy. Is that why there are so many empty bottles in the living room?” Talbot had gone to bed before I’d finished the first of the bottles.

  “Yes,” I told him. “And I was betrayed by my girlfriend.” Elizabeth’s deception had hurt worse than any hangover. “That’s ex-girlfriend.” I corrected myself.

  “Nyx, you’re not in love with her. You never were. You want to be in love with Elizabeth,” he replied. “It’s not the same thing.”

  “The only person who ever truly loved me is dead,” I said. “Do you blame me for trying to find happiness? After two hundred years of being alone?”

  “You’re not alone, Nyx,” he replied. “But you will be, if you keep it up.” He slid a plate of dry toast over to me.

  Was Talbot right? Was I clinging to Elizabeth because she looked so much like my lost love, Amalie? Two hundred years was a long time to be lonely, but had it all been an illusion, orchestrated by my aunts? I knew the answer, but it didn’t mean I liked it.

  “So I remembered something about last night’s attack,” I told him as I munched on a piece of dry toast. “Apparently, someone thinks they can kill me.”

  “Thinks they can or just wants to?”

  I grinned at him. “The line is long for the people who want to kill me, but apparently, someone thinks they can actually get it done.”

  “You don’t seem worried about it,” Talbot replied.

  “If my aunts can’t find my thread of fate, I don’t think some third-rate summoner is going to do the trick.”

  “It’s dangerous to underestimate your enemy,” he warned.

  “But I have so many of them,” I said. “It’s exhausting to keep track of everyone.”

  He laughed in spite of himself, but sobered quickly. “I mean it, Nyx. You need to be more careful. And stop drinking so much.”

  “I can stop any time I want.” God, I sounded like such a cliché. An alcoholic in denial. But I wasn’t an alcoholic, only self-destructive. I really could quit, I just didn’t want to. Booze alleviated the boredom of my too-long life.

  “Prove it,” he said. “Maybe you’d have better luck finding Claire with a clear head.”

  “No drinking tonight,” I said. “I promise. And I’ll find her. I’ve got to catch a break soon.”

  I should have known better to be the slightest bit optimistic. Because the one thing I could be sure of was that if the Fates could mess with me, they would.

  Chapter Two

  After breakfast, I headed for my job at Parsi. I’d lied my way into a job there when I first arrived in Minneapolis. Killing my aunts and then myself had been the original intent.

  It was still on my to-do list, but it had moved way down in priority. The shit had hit the fan once they figured out who I was, but my aunts never fired me. Morta’s golden scissors practically had my name engraved on them, but she couldn’t do squat until she found my thread of fate. They probably just wanted to keep a close eye on me, which suited me fine. I wanted to do the same to them.

  There was no time to sit around wallowing in my misery, not if I wanted to keep Elizabeth safe. Even though I’d never even met my cousin Claire, my aunts had blackmailed me into finding her. Claire had gone somewhere she thought no one, not even the Fates, could follow her. Unfortunately, it was my job not only to find her, but to bring her back. I had to find Claire, but every clue led to a dead end. For once, being the son of Lady Luck hadn’t helped me one bit. Maybe my luck had finally run out.

  How could someone I’d never even met be such a monumental pain in the ass? Claire was a Fate in training, that’s how, and the Fates, my three aunts, gave new meaning to the phrase.

  I still showed up there when the spirit moved me. I couldn’t be bothered punching a clock, though, and the workers at Parsi never let me forget it. My cousin was no exception.

  “Nice of you to show up,” Naomi quipped when I walked through the reception area.

  Trevor, the receptionist, looked up from his People magazine and then quickly looked down again. I didn’t blame him. It was out in the open now that I was the son of the lost and forgotten Fate, Lady Fortuna, also known as Lady Luck. That didn’t mean anyone from the House of Fates was going to welcome me with open arms.

  “Is your mom in yet?” I asked Naomi. Nona would know the name of the new necromancer in town. The Fates had run most of them to ground a long time ago.

  I tensed at th
e thought of the conversation ahead. The wound at the back of my neck throbbed. The sick feeling, worse than any hangover, returned.

  “She’s here. Why?”

  My cousin took one look at my face and followed me down the hall to her mom’s office. My feet sank into the thick carpet patterned with the House of Fates symbol, a pair of shears.

  I burst in without knocking. “Two wraiths showed up at my place last night,” I said. I didn’t mention her dead husband had warned me before the attack. Sawyer’s death was fresh for both Nona and Naomi.

  “Not possible,” Nona said flatly. She’d recovered poorly, the steel in her spine slipping away after her husband died. She still looked a little crazed around the eyes.

  “Why would Nyx lie, Mom?” Naomi inserted herself into the conversation.

  Nona and I turned and glared at her.

  “The only necromancer I know would never cross me,” Nona finally said.

  “Who is he?” I asked.

  She gave me a thin smile. “He dated your girlfriend’s roommate briefly, I believe, after Gaston,” she said. “I’m surprised you don’t remember him.”

  “Danvers? You think that golf-shirt-wearing blowhard had the balls to send wraiths after me?”

  “I never said that,” she said. “But he is the only necromancer I know of in Minneapolis.”

  Elizabeth’s roommate, Jenny, was drawn to trouble, so it was possible there was more to Danvers than I’d previously suspected.

  Nona returned to staring at Sawyer’s photo on her desk.

  I left her to it. Naomi followed me out into the hallway.

  “Who else could have sent the wraiths?”

  “My money is on Deci,” I said. Nona was too drunk most of the time and Morta wouldn’t stoop to sending someone else to do her dirty work. That left Deci, my least favorite aunt.

  “Aunt Deci is too busy trying to replicate the ambrosia formula to worry about you,” Naomi replied. “And she’s not stupid enough to use black magic.”

  The conviction in her voice almost convinced me. “But she could call a wraith if she wanted to,” I persisted.