Phyre secures a tight grip on his collar, her fingers digging into the cloth, urging him closer. But Cade places a hand on her chest, holding her at bay as he glances over his shoulder.
“Her kiss is lethal. She’s a poison woman. Trust me, you do not want to do this. I’m sure there are plenty of other girls you could make out with.” The words come out in a rush.
“Hundreds,” he says, eyes flashing, tongue working the side of his cheek. “Thousands.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever. Just know, it you insist on kissing this one, it’ll prove to be your last.”
His face creases with rage, as he hisses a stream of curses under his breath. Turning to Phyre, he shoves a hand hard against her chest and pushes her into the chain-link fence.
I heave a little sigh of relief. Ready to turn my focus to locating Dace, when Cade looks over his shoulder again and shoots me a wide feral grin.
“Just how long did it take you to figure it out?” His fingers inch toward Phyre’s throat, squeezing so hard most of her air is cut off. “’Cause I’ve known since the first day she got back in town. I could smell her oleander breath a mile away.” He switches his focus between the two of us, and I struggle to stifle my growing alarm.
He knew all along!
This whole thing’s a setup!
I think about the athame in my pocket, longing to use it—but what good would it do? Hurting Cade means hurting Dace—it’s a truth I can’t afford to lose sight of.
“It’s like I’ve told you before, Seeker—Coyote has formidable senses. It’s to your great disadvantage that you always seem to forget that. And as you’re about to see, underestimating me will prove to be deadly. I’ve been planning this ever since that unfortunate incident when you set me on fire.” He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, emitting an ominous, ticking-clock sound. But whether it’s meant to scold me or scare me, I can’t say for sure. “This will prove to be a big night for me, and—spoiler alert!—it will go just like this: I kill you—Suriel kills Dace—and no one kills me.” He punctuates the news with a wink and a grin. “In case you’ve forgotten, all I have to do is shift so that my brother’s demise doesn’t affect me.”
Despite all that followed, I’m still stuck on the part about Suriel killing Dace.
I glance behind me, glance all around, but we’re the only ones here.
Surely Dace will steer clear of Suriel—like I warned him to do?
Cade’s calculating, beautiful, monstrous face looms before me—an exact replica of Dace’s, and yet so entirely different. “Nothing happens in Enchantment without my knowing. I’m always dismayed at what a slow learner you are. You should know that by now. I control this town and the people within it. And as it turns out, Seeker, that includes you.” He clenches and unclenches his fist, grinning with great amusement as Phyre gasps and sputters for each shallow breath. Finally tiring of the game, he releases his hold and, bored, watches without interest as she sinks to the ground in a spasm of coughing, before turning his attention to me. “I’m tired of you messing in my business. I’m tired of you skulking around my club and my town.” He takes a step toward me, then another, until we’re nearly touching. “I’m tired of you, Seeker. And you know what happens when I tire of something?”
“You donate it to charity?” I quip, seeing him standing before me with his arms raised to his sides, his eyes red and blazing, all too aware of what happens next. Massive growth, followed by clawed feet, scaly skin, and two-headed snakes shooting from the place where his tongue ought to be.
I take it as my cue to leave.
I’ve no interest in fighting him. While I don’t doubt for a second his intention to kill me, I also know he’ll do whatever he can to delay the deed. Keep the fight going, drag it out much longer than necessary, if only to allow Suriel enough time to kill Dace without my interfering.
Not on my watch.
With only a breath spanning between us, I slip off my mask and toss it at him. An act that’s undeniably lame, but it does buy a few seconds’ delay which allows me to spin on my heel and run like the wind.
Racing across the snow-covered field, following the frenzied tracks Phyre left in her wake.
forty-two
Daire
When I reach the mouth of the alleyway, Phyre’s tracks vanish into a wasteland of crumbly asphalt and well-trampled snow. Leaving me with no way to discern which way she went.
I curl my fingers around the soft buckskin pouch that hangs from my neck. Summoning the wisdom and strength of the elements, my ancestors, and the animal spirits that guide us, when I’m alerted to the crash of breaking glass—the screech of raised voices. One in particular rising above all the rest.
“The blasphemous will not be tolerated! Repent now, before it’s too late!”
Suriel.
I bolt down the alleyway to where a disorderly crowd is beginning to form. Edging up alongside a trio of drunks, I stoop my shoulders and duck my head low. Careful to stay sheltered among them, until I can get a sense of what’s going on.
“Those who follow false prophets, do so at your own peril!”
I slink a bit closer, lifting my chin just enough to make out Suriel dressed in his usual stark black suit, scuffed shoes, and white shirt, preaching from his place behind the pulpit. A makeshift plywood stage and podium to match, bearing all manner of strange, Apocalyptic images crudely painted on its front and sides. Snakes with sharp fangs and hungry eyes, horned beasts with spiked tails, angels with drooping halos and broken wings, crying copious rivers of blood while a sea of flames licks at their feet.
My gaze roams the stage, expecting to find Phyre right alongside him, and having to stifle a gasp of surprise when I find Dace in her place. Bound to a chair placed at center stage, he’s surrounded by a number of tall cathedral candles with smoky, hissing wicks.
“It’s not too late—there is still time to be saved!” Suriel steeples his hands to his chest as one of his rattlers slithers around his shoulders and neck.
But despite the deliberately dramatic tableau and the ominous tone of his well-rehearsed speech, the crowd’s more interested in drinking and heckling than taking his message to heart.
Someone laughs.
Another yells something foul.
While someone else flings an empty beer bottle at the side of Suriel’s head.
But Suriel doesn’t so much as flinch.
He’s a man of conviction. Truly believing his own undeniable righteousness will save him from any abuse a sinful mob can hurl.
In that particular case, it does. Well, either that or a little thing called gravity combined with a really poor aim. The bottle veers wildly, landing several yards away from Suriel’s stage.
I return my focus to Dace, trying to get a read on why he’d choose to be up there.
Surely he chose to be up there?
He’s so much bigger and stronger than Suriel. There’s no possible way Suriel forced him.
Even so, what the heck is Dace thinking?
With unwavering concentration, Dace focuses hard on the writhing, hissing snake, oblivious to Suriel standing beside him.
“Don’t be fooled by outside appearances!” Suriel’s voice booms and pitches, his limbs shake with fury. Pointing an accusing finger at Dace, he urges the mob to move forward, get a better look.
The crowd quickly obeys, surging toward the stage while I remain firmly in place. Reluctant to make myself known until I have a better idea of what Dace has planned.
“Demons rarely appear in true form. They come in all manner of disguises, and one must remain vigilant at all times. Come now, boy.” Suriel retrieves a dagger from the top of his podium that reminds me of the one his daughter used when she tried to annihilate Dace’s soul. Thumping it hard against Dace’s shoulder, he prods at him roughly and shouts, “Show yourself to the crowd. Let these sinners see the true face of a demon!”
To my dismay, Dace is quick to submit. Rendering the drunks temporari
ly sobered as they watch Dace smile and wave.
“That’s not a demon, that’s Dace Whitefeather!” someone shouts, causing the crowd to roar, as another beer bottle is flung toward Suriel’s head, this one narrowly missing.
“This is a demon disguised as a human!” Suriel shouts. “And I’m here to prove it!”
The crowd, hungry for a spectacle worth watching, begins chanting, “Prove it—prove it—prove it!” As I stand shadowed among them, my fingers instinctively squeezing the pouch at my neck, desperate for answers.
What the heck is Dace doing? What is he thinking? And why is he staring at the snake when he should be watching Suriel?
“A righteous man, a truly righteous man of the Word, is always protected. I myself am living proof. Thirty years of handling the most venomous snakes in the world, and I’ve never been bit. But you, boy … I’m afraid you won’t be so lucky.” Suriel turns to Dace, places a hand on each of his shoulders, and gazes intently into his eyes. “Well, look at that!” Suriel lifts his chin, stares down the bridge of his nose. “Seems you got your soul back.” He flicks his tongue twice around his lips. Wipes his palms down the front of his cheap, poly-blend suit. “Don’t know how you managed it, but as far as I’m concerned, the pot just got sweeter!”
“Demons don’t have souls!” someone yells. “You’re a false prophet! You’re a—”
Before he can finish, Suriel shouts, “Demons are tricksters—abominations! And demons with souls are the most dangerous of all because they’re free to walk among us in human form!” Satisfied by their stunned silence, he returns to Dace and says, “Boy, I’ve just accused you of being a demon. Would you agree that my assessment is true?”
Dace shrugs. His vision not once veering from the snake, he says, “Guess we’ll find out.”
It’s a crowd-pleaser. Prompting the mob to break into loud, roaring laughter, whooping and cheering and egging him on. A few even run inside the club to tell their friends to come outside and watch.
“Don’t be swayed by what you see and hear before you!” Suriel cries, desperate to regain control of the mob. “A demon, a true beast, would never admit to his true identity. There’s only one way to separate the righteous from the sinful…” He carefully uncoils the snake from his neck and offers it to Dace. And that’s all I need to see to begin shoving my way to the front of the stage.
Maybe Dace isn’t up there of his own accord.
Maybe he really was coerced.
While I have no idea how he got there, I’m determined to stop this madness before it can escalate further.
I jostle against the bloodthirsty crowd, gagging on sickly puffs of ethanol that waft from their lips, seep from their pores, as I make my way to the front. Only to watch Dace willingly lower his head, allowing Suriel to drape the hissing, writhing rattler around his neck, as a hand clamps down hard on my arm, dragging me back into the belly of the masses.
“Almost time for me to shift.” Cade tightens his grip. His fingers leaving sharp imprints in my flesh, his fathomless, icy-blue eyes meeting mine. “And just as I planned, my timing is perfect. Seems you and Dace really are fated. Destined to die at the exact same time. Tragically romantic—all the way to the bitter end.” He uses his free hand to shove a cold sharp knife hard against my side, before I have a chance to reach for mine, leaving no doubt of his intention to use it.
I push against him in protest.
Jab my elbow smack into his gut as my foot finds his shin.
But Cade’s freakishly strong. He just laughs in my ear and holds me in place. “Watch,” he hisses, twisting the knife until it pierces the tight weave of my sweater, rips a hole in the tank top I wear underneath, and pricks at my flesh.
At the moment, the state of my flesh bears little consequence. With only the vaguest awareness of the shock of icy-cold metal piercing my skin, the warm trickle of blood that streams down my side, I continue my struggle against him in a desperate fight to reach Dace, as I gape in horror at the spectacle unfolding before me.
Dace.
Tied to a chair.
With a venomous snake draped over his neck.
“One strike and he’s history!” Cade’s voice buzzes with excitement. His words reverberate hard against my cheek. “It’s all over, Seeker.” He focuses hard on the snake with an intense, burning red gaze. Waiting for just the right moment to complete the shift, cleave his blade deep into me, and claim the ultimate Coyote victory.
If I had any clue what Dace was doing, or how he ended up there, I might have a better idea how to help. But while I don’t know a thing about reptiles, I do know that animals tend to strike when they feel hungry, threatened, or both.
Which means I need to rethink my earlier plan to ambush the stage. I can’t risk startling the snake when doing so could cause it to turn against Dace.
Left with no choice but to trust that Dace knows what he’s doing, I turn my focus to summoning my athame into my hand. While I’m committed to not killing Cade, if he goes too far, injuring him is not out of the question.
From somewhere within my back pocket, the blade begins to vibrate and move, as Suriel stares transfixed at Dace, and Cade’s hot, labored breath pelts hard against the back of my neck—the second sign (after the glowing red eyes) that the shift is at hand.
He adjusts his grip, digs the blade deeper into my flesh, as I steal a moment to close my eyes and call upon my collection of helpers and tools. Using every bit of magick I possess to ask for their help in moving the athame from my pocket to my hand.
The blade flips out of my pocket. Finds its way to my palm. As Cade curses under his breath, and Dace says, “I think he likes me.”
What?
My lids snap open, my athame all but forgotten, when I see Dace still on the stage, still tied to the chair, a good-natured smile lighting his face as the venomous rattler lovingly nuzzles his cheek.
“Does this mean I can keep him?” Dace lifts his gaze to meet Suriel’s, laughing when the snake creeps up to his head, coils itself on the crown, and hisses at Suriel when he tries to snatch it away.
“Did you see that?” Outraged, Suriel whirls on the crowd. His voice thick with indignation and fury, he shouts, “Did you see the way he looked at that snake? He has possessed it with his demon spirit—just as he will soon possess all of you. None of you are safe!” His eyes bulge, his crooked index finger stretches toward the sky. Only to have the mob respond by sending a half-full beer bottle soaring toward his head, this time grazing his ear.
But Suriel’s so far gone, so unhinged, he remains completely unaware of the wound—the jagged flag of flesh left bloody and dangling, dripping onto the frayed white collar of his shirt. He stoops toward the large basket he’s placed by his feet, dips a hand in, and faces the crowd with a feverish gaze, and an armful (seven if I can trust my hurried count) of venomous snakes.
“Still feeling brave?” He dangles the nest of snakes before Dace. “You’ll never survive this one, boy. You can’t get to them—they know who you are!”
Dace flinches. The move slight, nearly imperceptible, but I caught it. And from the way Cade laughs under his breath, he saw it too.
“Here comes the money shot!” he sings. Having regained his confidence, he inches the knife deeper into me. “I change, and the Seeker and my abomination of a brother say bye-bye forever.”
Cade’s eyes glow a deep burning red, as he watches Suriel toss the tangle of hissing, venomous snakes into Dace’s lap. And I know I have just a matter of seconds to use my weapon against him while I still can.
“Sure you want to do this?” I say, my eyes never once leaving Dace, as I tighten my grip on the hilt. “Sure you want all of these people to see you in demon face?”
“You kidding?” He laughs, the sound he makes somewhere between animal and human. “They’re so ripped they won’t know the difference. Besides, they’re about to get used to it. As soon as I rid the world of you, I plan to spend most of my time in my altered form. I’ll
have no further need to blend in.” He pushes the knife just a little bit deeper, but still enough for me to let out a small squeal of pain. The sound as startling to me as it was to him. And I know that no matter what happens on stage, it’s time to fight back. It’s just a matter of time before Cade punctures something, does serious damage.
I pull a slow quiet breath, aware of his body shaking in anticipation of the change about to take place. But I can’t let him get there, can’t let him reach his demon state. The moment he transforms, I won’t stand a chance. None of us will.
Intending to wound just enough to delay him without causing any real harm, I lift the knife and sink it into his forearm. Using his moment of shock to jerk free of his grip and bolt for the stage.
By the time I reach the platform, Dace is sitting silent and rigid, dripping with snakes. As Suriel stands right beside him, lips parted in anticipation, eyes wide and glittering, waiting for the first one to strike.
I push against the platform, about to shout Dace’s name, when he turns to me with a strange silver gaze warning me to stay where I am. But I’m not sure I can do that. While I want to trust that he knows what he’s doing, I’ve yet to see any real evidence to prove that he does. For all I know, the first snake could’ve been a fluke. And, from the deep, guttural roar coming from the crowd, his brother is in the midst of transforming.
I step onto the stage, ready to deal with Suriel on my own terms, when a lone voice from the crowd rises above all the rest, urging them to join in.
“They’re fake! You’re a fake!” they all shout in unison, as though singing the chorus to the latest hit song. “You’ve removed their venom glands!”
And that’s when I notice what Dace was urging me to see.
Just like the rattler before, instead of striking, instead of sinking their venomous fangs into his flesh, these seven deadly snakes choose to slither lovingly over Dace’s shoulders and neck. Sidling up to his face, where they fondly flick their forked tongues at his cheek.
“Looks like I win,” Dace says, gazing upon an outraged Suriel. “So what do you say we end this charade, so we can all go inside and celebrate the New Year in peace.”