Charlie nods, only just, and then forces his gaze back to his hands.
Mack spins back to us wearing the usual diplomatic smile he wears when something is turning in his favor. “I think a meeting is warranted. Shall we convene in the war room?” This is a rhetorical question, of course. “A report needs to be filed about the transgressions that took place tonight. A plan needs to be implemented in dealing with the uprising that will surely come with the death of the king of hell.”
He presses the button to shut Charlie’s cell, and then extends a hand out, directing us toward the exit.
Jaxen pulls away from the room as if he’s done this a million times. As if he isn’t walking away from the man who left a gaping hole in his childhood. The man who has an answer to every question he’s ever worried about. I take his hand in mine, and the action seems to rattle him awake. He looks down at my fingers linked through his, and then back up to me, eyes fogged with masked strength.
I tell him with my gaze that we will make it through this… together. We can face anything. We did. We’ve survived so much, and despite the cause of tonight’s victory, every part of me wants to embrace the win. Bael is dead. Checked off the list. Another name I vowed to erase from this world that can no longer haunt my dreams.
The name of the man who pulled the trigger on my mother.
I’m too high on the thought to want sleep. When we cross the threshold of the war room, I take my seat next to Jaxen, across from Weldon, and wait for the Divine. Seamus anxiously taps his fingers against the table, eyes fixed on the doorway as if his will alone will make them appear. Mack fiddles with a computerized screen on the wall, pulling up contacts, one after the other.
When the Divine show, Sterling and my father are with them. My father’s eyes immediately fall on me as he goes through his mental checklist of what I looked like before. Sterling has the smile of someone who’s just crossed a finish line. Victorious and fatigued. Wistar and Alesteria move to the front of the table while Garrick and Cecilia take seats on the other side of me.
“It seems a very real problem has been solved tonight, all thanks to you,” Wistar says, eyes shifting over to Weldon and me. A hot rush of pride spills over my skin, warming me through.
“Don’t mention it,” Weldon says, feet planted on the table and arms crossed over his chest. Mack pins him with a look, eyes bulging slightly as he stares at Weldon’s feet and then his face, and then back down to his feet again.
This does nothing to throw Weldon off.
“But we aren’t out of the woods yet,” Mack feels the need to add.
Bael might be dead, but our victory is encased by the one pockmark on our Coven that has yet to be erased—Mourdyn.
For a moment, no one speaks. There are only the usual sounds of the printer buzzing and the ticking of the clock on the wall, making everything that happened at Whiskey Hallow replaying through my mind feel as if it wasn’t real. Everything happened so fast I barely had time to process it all.
“But Mourdyn will surely be setback without the king of hell,” Alesteria says, looking to Wistar. “Has there been any updates on the status of the Underground?” Her gaze shifts over to Mack. He’s standing in front of the large computer screens mounted to the wall.
“Per the reports streaming in from the Elites on duty, chaos would be an understatement. There are demons vying for the position left open by his death, so much so that their numbers have drastically dwindled on the street,” Mack says as his fingers move over a keyboard.
“They won’t stand a chance with Mourdyn’s presence,” Alesteria says, voice taking on a hard edge. “If he’s caught word of Bael’s demise, he will surely do everything in his power to take that throne.”
“What better way to control the Underground than to become its king,” Wistar adds, following the same line of thought. “With Bael out of the way, his reach will extend further than ever.”
I don’t like that I notice the shift in his demeanor. The unmistakable look of fear slithering around his irises.
“If he can take the throne,” Weldon tosses in. The attention of the room is shifted to him. “Look… it’s been a while since I took my little vacation down there, but I know for a fact that Bael had a second in command. This was a demon just as evil as Bael, and he knew all the details around Bael’s job. He also kept himself surrounded by those who wanted to take his place should the opportunity ever arise. You know, the whole enemies-closer thing. With Mourdyn hungering for magic, I doubt he can just roll up in there and lay claim to the throne. My guess is they’re probably in the midst of a war. Darkyns versus demons. Man, I’d love to watch that fight.”
No one laughs. Wistar pulls a chair out for Alesteria, and then sits beside her once he pushes her toward the table. “This is good,” he says as he rubs at his chin, eyes shifting back and forth in thought. He straightens out, palms flat on the table as he takes in a reassuring breath. “Yes. Very good. This is what we need to cling to. Maybe even assist.”
Alesteria’s head tilts ever so slightly to the side as a question mark forms between her eyebrows. Wistar must sense the questions being passed around the room between all our expressions, because he adds, “We have demons under our control, do we not?”
I feel like I can see the lightbulbs flickering on, one by one, above everyone’s head.
“If we can send them in and have them push to keep the control with the demons, then we can keep Mourdyn occupied long enough to formulate a plan of taunting him out into the open so Faye can finalize what we could not,” Wistar says. It surprises me how easy the words came out. How painless the plan sounds even though we all know it’s a lot harder than that.
“Yes,” Alesteria says, catching flight on Wistar’s hope. “Yes, and this will keep eyes and ears in the midst. What about the demon who helped tonight?”
“Charlie?” Mack asks through a yawn.
Jaxen tenses beside me, body as stiff as a block of ice as a hot, writhing itch works its way up my spine. My stomach clenches for him.
“He’s proved his loyalty to us,” Seamus says, jumping on the bandwagon with them. “Not only that, but the one he had to hide from is now dead. He could blend right in.” He stops mid-sentence and squints his eyes, almost like an idea just popped in his head. “But what if he could do even more than that? What if we can get him into the position of power?”
“You mean help him gain the throne?” Mack asks as if the idea is too far-fetched.
Seamus tugs on his beard again, shaking his head against Mack’s tone.
Weldon leans forward. “Brother, I think he might be on to something,” he says as Mack whips his head in his direction. “I’m serious,” Weldon continues. “He knows the nuts and bolts of it. I’ve talked with him. He was Bael’s…” He spares a glance in Jaxen’s direction, an apology looming in his gaze, and then finishes, “Well, he was his bitch. Bael used him in every way he could, and by doing so, Charlie overheard more than his fair share of important information. He knows the inner workings. He understands the flow of power. And we have the body. If he drops Bael at their feet, they’ll have no choice but to bow down to him.”
“And if he can successfully take the throne, under our watch, then we will have a permanent hand in the dealings of the Underground,” Seamus concludes. “He can push out the Darkyns.”
There’s a thick silence that follows. The Divine look to each other, passing thoughts around the table.
“That can be dangerous,” Alesteria weighs in, shifting eyes between Wistar and Mack. “If he betrays us…”
“He won’t,” Weldon assures. “I will vouch for him.” He looks to Jaxen again, another apology spoken through his eyes, and says, “Charlie is a victim of circumstance. He is deeply twisted, yes, but there is still a small piece of humanity left inside him that he clings to. So long as he has that piece, he is on our side.”
Jaxen hasn’t moved. I don’t even know if he’s breathing. He’s that still. That locked away
behind the brick face he holds.
“It’s worth a shot,” Alesteria finally says, her shoulders relenting. She looks to Wistar. “If we could have the upper hand in the Underground, that’s our ticket to forcing him out. That’s our ticket to putting an end to this for good.”
“Can you make this happen, Maddock?” Wistar asks.
Make takes in a deep breath, exhales, and then plasters a confident smile on his face. “It’s like I always say… Nothing’s worth dreaming if it can’t be done. I think using Charlie is an excellent idea. I will get him started right away.”
His mantra doesn’t seem to sit well with Jaxen. It doesn’t change the fact that they are about to send his father back to the place that stole him away from Jaxen and Gavin in the first place. And all before they even had the chance to settle things.
“Good,” Garrick says. I almost forgot he was in the room. It always surprises me when he speaks, because it’s something he doesn’t do often. He shifts in his seat, opening himself up to Cecilia, and asks, “Can you see him? What does his future hold now?”
She closes her eyes, a small, easy smile streaming across her lips. “I see fragments of images. Blots of time I can’t quite make out. He’s using a lot of power to shield himself from me. He will be surrounded by a grove of dark green. Rotting wood. A dark hole. Bloodied hands.” Her eyes flash open, the smile long gone as she looks from Alesteria to me. “You. Unmoving in a pool of blood.”
“No,” Jaxen says, reaching for my hand under the table. “Maybe you’re seeing it wrong.”
Weldon’s feet come off the table in a flurry. There’s an icy shift in the air, a whisper of a storm on the cusp of emerging. “It doesn’t necessarily mean it was Faye’s blood,” Weldon says, almost as if he’s trying to convince himself of this.
But, when I look to Cecilia, I see a truth completely different. I see darkness. An ending.
The finale I should have already had.
Her words are like needles stuck through my hands, pinning me down beneath a looking glass to a fate I can’t escape. A fate she can see… that everyone can now see. I breathe it in and force my chin out. I’m not afraid. I refuse to be. I cheated death when Alesteria reached into the Dwelling and pulled me out.
Now, death knocks on my door, holding up a clock, seconds falling away until my
Time
Runs
Out.
I HEAR HIS VOICE BEFORE I open my eyes. It’s in my mind… all around me.
And then I find myself in a forest, standing in front of three little boys dressed in rags with skin the color of chocolate. Their accent is strong, their English heavily broken and almost incomprehensible. They’re staring at something behind me with so much intrigue that I turn, leeching off their curiosity.
It’s another boy, slightly older than them and dressed in an outfit suited for an era I’ve only read about. With pants puffed out at the hips and a neatly buttoned-up shirt, he looks like he’s been plucked from a history book. Dark brown hair slicked back and a wild look in his eyes. He takes a bold step forward, passing through me as if I’m made of smoke, and stops in front of one of the boys.
“Tell me what I want to know,” he says to the boy whose hands tremble at his sides. The other two standing behind him look to the boy with pale skin as if he’s a lion moving through a field of grass.
“Momma says I can’t, sir,” the boy says, keeping his eyes lowered.
“Your momma is nothing but a stupid whore. If you don’t tell me what I want to know, then I’ll make you sorry,” the older boy in front of me says, looming over the other boy.
“Please, sir,” one of the other little boys says as tears clear a clean path down his cheeks. “He don’t know nothing ‘bout magic. Promise.”
It’s then I realize who the older, well-dressed boy is. With eyes so bright they’re almost colorless, there’s no mistaking him.
Mourdyn.
My stomach curdles like sour milk as the little boy in front of a young Mourdyn begins to whimper like an animal caught in a trap. Mourdyn takes another step forward, forcing the boy to take a step back, which brings his legs up against the rocky edges of a well.
Even then, as a boy, Mourdyn had an air of power and a will so thick it clogs the air. “I saw your mother using her magic on you after my father whipped you for stealing from our vegetable garden. If she has the talent, then so must you. I will only ask one last time. Tell me how she does it.”
Cries burst from the boy’s mouth as he realizes there isn’t an answer he can give that will satisfy Mourdyn. The other two drop to their knees, begging Mourdyn to leave him alone as if they already know what comes next, and it makes me wonder what he’s already done to instill this amount of fear in them.
“Please,” the little boys beg.
This seems to annoy Mourdyn.
“Stupid idiots,” he says. With one hard shove to the chest, he knocks the boy in front of him backward, down into the well.
The screams that follow, I fear, will haunt me forever.
I reach out for the boy, as if I could stop it from happening as the other two boys take off running, feet crunching through the underbrush. Mourdyn’s head kicks back, laughter overshadowing the distant screams of the boy in the well. I wait for the sickening sound of a splash, but the sound never comes. The well is that deep. That endless.
“Maybe Sanura will understand me now,” Mourdyn says down into the well. The boy’s screams no longer echo around us.
Rage takes my hand and passes its power to me. “I’m going to kill you!” I shout out, feeling a new form of hatred. An ink black kind that swallows me whole.
Mourdyn spins around, almost as if he heard me, and then opens his mouth.
I wake myself out of the dream, covered in a sheen of sweat and shivers.
My hair is matted to my forehead. Jaxen is propped on his elbow, watching me in worry. “Are you okay?” he asks, the sheets rustling as he brushes the hair from my face.
I nod, because I’m afraid I can’t find the words to describe what I just saw. But, even more so, I’m afraid that what I saw was real. I look past his shoulder to the clock beside our bed and blow out a breath as I fall back against the pillow. One more hour until I need to be up and ready to meet with Alesteria.
My legs itch to move. To carry me to Mourdyn’s lab so I can dive back into his journal and search for hints of what I just witnessed.
“Was it a nightmare?” Jaxen asks, still watching me.
I swallow thickly. “Yeah.”
“It’s probably because of what Cecilia said,” he says, and the fatigue I hear in his voice causes me to look at him. There are deep, hollow circles under his bloodshot eyes.
“Did you sleep?” I ask, combing my fingers through his hair before pulling him down to me.
His silence says enough.
“She can’t be right, Jaxen. I won’t let it happen, okay?” I say, trying to reassure him despite not believing my own words.
He pulls me against him, tucking me as closely as he can, as if this alone will protect me from the future. But the seconds continue ticking by. Continue setting minutes and hours up like dominoes, waiting for the chance to knock them over so they can all rush me toward an end I have no choice but to face.
THE SUN IS ONLY A thread of gold along the horizon when I head out to meet with Alesteria, The Seven following quietly behind. The sky is a deep shade of purple with splats of pink, like an artist became bored with the solitary color and decided to sling a paintbrush across it. I bury my hands in my jacket pockets, my breath swirling out in fogging wisps as the chilled air invades every part of my exposed skin.
It’s too cold to think, to move. Hibernation has covered our city in a blanket of fatigue. Even the water in the channel flows sluggishly, like its having a hard time waking up within the winter air.
I stop at the cart I always grab my breakfast from and ask for my usual witch’s brew to help warm and wake me up. As I hand the woma
n my card to pay, there’s a tap on my shoulder.
“Hey, you,” Katie says from under Chett’s arm. Her smile is bright and wide and matches the twinkle in Chett’s eyes.
“Hey!” I say, opening my arms to her.
She jumps into them, hugging me tight, and, for one small moment, I forget everything that’s happened since we left for the academy. For one second, it’s just me and her, and this friendship that has dove off the ledge and survived the fall. Even if it isn’t the same… even if we moved on to new places in our lives, I’m still grateful to have moments like these, no matter how scarce.
“How are you?” I ask as I turn and take my brew from the vendor, my heart feeling like it could take flight at any moment.
She talks animatedly while Chett watches her with an adoring smile. “Really good! Been busy training with your dad so I can be assigned to Elite duties. How about you?” My eyes flit over her and notice the way her arms are more defined than I remember. Her legs have always been thicker than mine, but there’s cordage where there wasn’t before. Even her skin is a few shades darker.
“Look at you,” I say, pushing playfully at her shoulder. I squeeze her bicep and smirk. “You look great, Katie. Really great.”
“You think?” she asks, looking down at herself.
This makes me laugh. The Katie I used to know never needed to ask for assurance. She knew she was beautiful in the way that always had boys turning their heads, and she owned it in a way that always made me wish I had her courage.
“I keep telling you,” Chett says, pulling her against him. “You can definitely see the progress you’ve made.”
Roses bloom on her cheeks. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and then skims her fingers over the scar slashed across her eye before looking to the floor.
Of course. She had never felt defective before the night of the trial when she was attacked by a werewolf who would forever leave his mark on her. She never had to question it before. Scars have a way of teaching you how to appreciate the little things.