Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Enzo
The houseboat’s gangplank groaned under our weight as we stepped onto the weathered dock.
Angelo’s vessel rocked gently in our wake, lanterns still glowing like golden fireflies against the dark bayou water.
Spanish moss draped the ancient cypress trees around us, their branches creating a tunnel of shadows that led deeper into Louisiana’s mystical heart.
The hot shower had washed away more than just blood and grime—it had stripped away the despair that had been clinging to me like a second skin.
Steam had filled Angelo’s marble bathroom, carrying with it the metallic scent of violence and the sharper sting of my own fear.
But as the scalding water pounded my shoulders and Angelo’s blood worked its magic through my system, strength had returned to muscles that had been like overcooked pasta.
Fresh clothes made all the difference. My ruined shirt—torn and stained with evidence of our battles—now lay crumpled in Angelo’s hamper.
I’d changed into one of my suits from the cabin—dark, well-cut, the kind of thing I wore when I needed to project control.
Clean shirt, polished shoes. Looking the part helped me feel the part.
Angelo moved with his usual fluid confidence beside me, while Serenity’s footsteps whispered against the wooden planks.
The bayou air hung thick and humid around us, heavy with the scent of stagnant water and blooming night jasmine.
Somewhere in the darkness, an alligator’s bellow rolled across the water like distant thunder, the bayou’s own soundtrack to violence.
St. Louis Cathedral waited for us deep in this primordial wilderness, and with it, our answers. Ari. Marsha. Faas. All of Ari’s twisted followers who thought they could tear Joy away from me. They had no idea what was coming for them.
My fingers flexed at my sides, feeling the power thrumming just beneath my skin. Angelo’s blood hadn’t just healed me—it had awakened something fiercer. Something that would tear through dimensions if that’s what it took to bring Joy home.
Mayhem and the unknown waited for me in the Elder Dimension. But nothing would keep me from her.
Angelo and I shifted into bats while Serenity spread her luminous wings. We took flight toward St. Louis Cathedral, following the trail of charred tree tops that marked our path through the bayou.
I scanned the grounds below, searching for any sign of the others. Were they alive? Dead? Had Marsha left the portal open or sealed it behind her? Each possibility churned in my gut—bodies in the rubble, or worse, nothing at all. No portal, no answers, no way forward.
In a clearing near the cathedral’s shadow stood Dimitri, Alice, and the remaining Unseelie. Thank god. They were alive. Battered, probably, but breathing.
We touched down beside them. Angelo and I shifted back to human form, our feet hitting the scorched earth with soft thuds.
Dimitri’s sharp gaze swept over me, taking in my renewed strength. “Back from the dead, I see.”
I rolled my shoulders, testing my restored mobility. “Thanks to Serenity. What’s the situation?”
“Frustratingly quiet,” Keir said, his wings rustling with agitation. “Ever since Ari dragged Joy through that portal, it’s been like a tomb here.”
Nyx stared at the cathedral. “We can’t get past those vines. Even if my harpies were here, they couldn’t get past them.”
My shoulder throbbed at the mention, phantom pain from where the vines had wrapped around me, squeezed until I thought my bones would shatter. I knew exactly what those things could do. They were sentient, vicious—and apparently, impenetrable.
“Your harpies? They’re not here?” Angelo’s voice carried a thread of unease as he studied the cathedral’s empty rafters, shadows stretching where wings should have been perched.
“I sent them with Morden into the Underworld.” Keir’s words fell like stones into dark water.
“That was Morden’s mission?” My chest tightened with dread. The Underworld wasn’t a place you sent someone you cared about—it was where you sent people to die. “Why?”
“It’s a long shot, but I’m hoping that there’s an Unseelie royal in the Underworld, willing to give Morden his blood.” Keir’s jaw clenched, the admission clearly costing him.
Angelo’s face darkened, his protective instincts flaring. “And why do you need their blood?”
“Because the Anchoring Obsidian Stone is dying. Only royal blood can revive it. I may be a powerful Unseelie, but I am not of royal blood.” The words came out hollow, defeated.
“And you think Hades will open the doors to allow Morden and your harpies in?” Angelo’s voice rose with barely contained fury. “The Underworld is dangerous. He might not make it back alive.”
Keir shrugged, but I caught the slight tremor in his shoulders, the way his hands flexed at his sides. “I don’t know. But I’m desperate. We need the Anchoring Obsidian Stone to keep the portal from opening.”
Nyx squared his shoulders, fierce pride blazing in his eyes despite the fear I could see lurking beneath. “I have trained my harpies well. They will not let any harm come to my father.”
Something didn’t add up. Nyx wasn’t exactly the type of Unseelie I’d expect to train harpies—he seemed too gentle, too thoughtful for creatures known for their vicious unpredictability. I’d always figured only the strongest and most ruthless could manage them. “You’ve trained the harpies?”
Pain flickered across his features before he masked it with determination.
“In the Elder Dimension, I rescued them from the queen’s stables.
They were using them for sport because they were smaller than the others.
” His voice grew rough with suppressed emotion.
“Discarded, tortured, treated like broken toys. They’ve been loyal to me ever since.
I’ve trained them to protect us—to protect the people who matter. ”
He didn’t elaborate on how he’d rescued them, didn’t describe what horrors he’d witnessed or what risks he’d taken. There wasn’t time for that story, but I could see it haunting his eyes—the memory of creatures suffering and his desperate need to save them.
Just like he was trying to save his father now.
“Morden might not make it back in time. Hades isn’t exactly known to have a generous nature. We need to have another plan.” Angelo scanned the group. “Has anyone else tried to get near the cathedral? Have you discovered any weaknesses?”
“No. Whenever we’ve tried, the vines shot out like a striking snake,” Lorcan said. “We’ve barely escaped with our lives.”
Alice wiped sweat from her brow, leaving a streak of dirt across her forehead. “It’s a powerful spell. Even combined, Tinker Bell and I couldn’t break through the wards. But she thinks there’s a spell book in her collection that might work.”
Worse than I’d thought. If two witches together couldn’t break the wards, we were dealing with dark magic on a level I hadn’t anticipated. And now we were waiting on a maybe—a spell book that might work. Every minute that passed, Joy was further out of reach.
My jaw tightened. “When did she leave?”
“About an hour ago. She said the book was hidden in the Nightshade Crypt, and it could take her several hours to retrieve it safely.”
I dragged my hand through my hair. “Joy doesn’t have several hours.”
Keir’s expression was grim. “If you try to approach that cathedral again, those vines will tear you apart before you get within fifty feet. All we can do is wait.”
I paced back and forth, my long strides wearing a path in the damp ground. Where the hell had Marsha learned that spell? It was obviously dark magic. My hands flexed, itching to hit something, break something, when soft footsteps approached.
Tinker Bell headed toward us carrying a thick leather tome that looked ancient enough to crumble at a touch. Finally. The tension in my shoulders eased slightly. She’d found it. We had a chance now—a real chance to break through those wards and get to Joy.
I hadn’t seen Tinker Bell in months—our paths rarely crossed in the vampire mafia world.
She was striking in that effortless way some managed without trying.
Her blond hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail, and she wore a faded blue T-shirt that brought out the startling blue of her eyes.
She never bothered with fancy clothes or dramatic appearances, but there was something magnetic about her understated presence.
Most people made the mistake of underestimating the girl next door, not realizing she was one of the most powerful witches in New Orleans.
Alice’s face brightened. “You got it?”
“Yes, but it wasn’t easy. The Nightshades used several protection spells to conceal it.”
Lorcan looked at the book curiously. “Why did they need to use so many spells to protect it?”
“This isn’t just any ordinary book. It belonged to Merlin.”
I stopped pacing. “Merlin? You mean Knights of the Round Table Merlin?”
“The one and only. Most people think King Arthur, Merlin, and the Knights of the Round Table were fairy tales, but they were real. So was his half sister, Morgana le Fay. I suspect Marsha has found one of Morgana’s spell books. Morgana was an accomplished witch and a mistress of the dark arts.”
Fuck. Marsha was already powerful—cunning, ruthless, dangerous. If she’d gotten her hands on Morgana le Fay’s magic, she was becoming a formidable force that might be too strong to defeat. How the hell were we supposed to fight that?
She gazed at the cathedral with the writhing vines. “As you can see.”
The vines slid over the cathedral like living serpents, growing thicker by the minute.
More thorns sprouted from their bark-like skin, each one gleaming as sharp as needles in the dim light.
I touched my side, remembering how those barbs had pierced my flesh—the searing agony that had dropped me to my knees.