Devour the Dark (Devourer #2)

30. Hook

CHAPTER THIRTY

HOOK

The Crocodile’s transformation is as swift as a storm cloud rolling in.

He brings the darkness, the wreckage, the chaos.

Asha runs toward us, Vane and Winnie just behind her.

The Myth Maker is on her feet, a dagger stuck in her eye, half her face covered in blood. Of course she wouldn’t be dead. Myths are hard to kill.

But the Crocodile is on her in an instant, devouring her whole.

I grab Wendy by the wrist and yank her from the room. “We need that hat. Now. Malachi ?—”

“He was a shapeshifter,” Asha says. “I don’t think that was the same Malachi we met.”

“He has to be somewhere in the manor, don’t you think?” Winnie says.

Screaming tears through the air behind us.

We’re all running down the hallway, directionless.

“If you were holding someone hostage in your manor,” Asha asks Vane, “where would you hide him?”

More screams. Glass breaks.

“The wine cellar,” Vane decides.

“How do we get there?”

“This way.”

We change directions, go down a flight of stairs to the first floor. In the distance, the party is still in full swing, everyone in attendance oblivious to the chaos going on just out of their sight.

Through another hall, down another flight of stairs, we come to a damp stone floor, chilly air.

There’s a single sconce flickering from the wall to the left.

Vane disappears into the cellar's depths, but his voice echoes back to us. “There are seven holding rooms down here,” he explains, checking one, then a second. “The third has a hidden room…” He disappears inside. “There you are, you fucker.”

We gather into the small room surrounded by honeycomb shelves full of bottled wine. One of the shelves has been pushed in revealing a hidden alcove where more kegs are held. Malachi is inside, gagged and tied up.

Vane undoes the gag. “Tell me you have the hat.”

“Thanks. Nice to see you, too. I’ve only been stuck down here in the dark for many fucking hours,” Malachi says.

Vane crouches beside him. “Tell me you have the hat, or I’m feeding you directly to my brother. Bones and all.”

Malachi licks his lips. “Fine. Yes. I have the hat. Is the Myth gone?”

“The Crocodile just ate her,” I say. “That’s two Myths he’s devoured. We need that hat right fucking now.”

“I left it in the library. In the piano.”

We were just in there earlier. We were so fucking close to it. It was within our reach.

Asha stays behind to untie Malachi while Vane, Winnie, Wendy, and I return to the library.

The piano hood is opened, the hat revealed.

I’m not sure what I expected, but a crushed velvet top hat was not it.

Vane retrieves it with a careful grip.

“It’s really a hat?” Winnie says.

“I said it was a hat,” Vane answers.

“Yeah, but I was sorta expecting that to be some kind of metaphor.”

“It’s a hat,” he says and makes his way back upstairs.

“But like…a magical hat?” Winnie asks.

“Something like that.”

We approach the open doors to the conservatory with apprehension, with urgency beating at our backs.

It’s silent inside.

All of the bodies are gone, all of the Myth Maker’s guards.

There is only the Crocodile, propped up against the outer wall, blood covering his face, his neck, crusted beneath his fingernails. Firecracker is batting at a torn piece of fabric hanging from Roc’s shirt.

When we enter, he looks up slowly, sees the hat, and laughs. “Fucking finally.”

He sets the cat aside, then struggles to all fours and vomits black ichor.

When he’s done heaving, he collapses to his side. “Hurry.”

“Get up.” Vane is by his side. I quickly take the other and together we hoist Roc to his knees. To me, Vane says, “When I put the hat on him, you stand back. Far back.”

What kind of hat is this anyway?

“You ready?” Vane asks his brother.

Roc trembles, then nods.

Vane holds the hat over Roc’s head like he’s about to place a crown. It’s deliberate, slow, calculated.

I can’t feel my legs, but I’m determined to run the second it’s on Roc’s head.

Time seems to slow.

My ears ring.

When the hat is finally placed, the air snaps.

I let Roc go and race across the room, pulling Wendy behind me.

Vane takes Winnie, then Asha.

Light flickers over the room. Bright red, then silver, then red again. The flashing intensifies, snapping like lightning.

Roc’s hands curl into fists. The sound he makes is more monstrous than any he’s ever uttered. A primordial roar.

The ground vibrates beneath us. I pull Wendy into my side, tight against my hip.

In the flickering light, veins pop across Roc’s forehead as he grits his teeth.

And then?—

Silence.

The sudden absence of the flashing light has me momentarily blind.

When my vision adjusts, I spot Roc across the room face down on the stone. The hat has come off and rolled on its side.

Wendy and I race to him, our footsteps echoing across the conservatory.

“Thank god, he’s breathing.” Wendy drops to her knees. “Roc?”

“I need a drink,” he mutters.

Wendy groans, but there’s a smile of relief pulling at the corners of her mouth.

“Is the witch gone?” I ask him.

Slowly, he climbs to all fours, then sits back on his ass. “Yeah. She’s gone. Along with her sister.”

Asha, Winnie, and Vane come up behind us.

“You dumb shit,” Vane says.

Roc gets up on his feet. He stares down at Vane. “I love you too,” he says and then wraps Vane in a hug.

Vane is stiff for all of two seconds, and then he hugs his brother back.

“Thank you,” Roc says.

“Stop devouring every random inconvenience. We only have one hat. If something happens to that one, I’m not going through the glass for another.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll behave.” Then Roc plants a kiss on Vane’s forehead.

Vane curses beneath his breath.

“ Through the glass ?” Wendy mouths to me.

I shrug. I’ve never heard either of them reference glass.

When Roc breaks away from Vane, he comes over to me and Wendy. He’s still covered in blood, his clothing in tatters. But he pulls us in. “I love you too,” he says. “I guess I need four words.”

We laugh.

“I need to hear that story,” Wendy says.

“I’ll do one better,” Roc tells her. “I’ll show you.”

Bloody hell. Thank god it’s dark in the conservatory because I’m fucking blushing.

“Now come on. I was serious about that drink.” He makes his way for the door. “And I suppose we need to discuss whether or not I’m making a claim on my title.”

“You can’t seriously be considering becoming king—” Vane is cut off by a sharp look from Winnie. A silent conversation passes between them.

“You’re right,” Vane finally says. “I need a fucking drink.”