Chapter Six
Anabel groaned in delight. “Oh my God, how have I never eaten this before?”
Wynter felt her face scrunch up. “Pumpkin and pizza are two things that really shouldn’t go together.”
She loved both foods, but she had no desire whatsoever to combine them in such a way.
All sorts of fall- or Halloween-themed food and drinks were being sold by the many street traders. The town was currently a hub of buzzing activity. When she’d seen “street party”
on the schedule, she hadn’t anticipated exactly how hectic it would be. It was like almost the entire underground city had made their way up to the surface.
Cain had wanted to attend the street party with Wynter, but of course he and the other Ancients needed to attempt to wake Abaddon. She sure hoped it worked, because she wasn’t so certain the Ancients could truly punch a hole through their cage without Abaddon’s help. She looked forward to asking him why on Earth he kept drawing her to Cain’s garden in her sleep.
Anabel held out her pizza slice. “Taste it, Wyn, you’ll like it, I promise.”
Munching on his own slice, Xavier nodded.
Leaning back slightly, Wynter held up her half-eaten pretzel. “I’m good, thanks.”
Hattie’s eyes briefly darted from her book to the pizza and then back again. “What’s it taste like?”
“You’d never tried it either? Oh, you haven’t lived.”
Anabel bit off another piece. “I really need more of this in my life. Seriously, Hattie, try some.”
“Maybe later, the characters are having a huge argument right now,”
said Hattie. Like she’d miss the whole thing and the story would go on without her if she looked away from it.
Shaking her head with a smile, Wynter turned to Delilah. “You still not hungry?”
After taking a sip of the—literally—smoking cocktail she’d bought, Delilah shook her head. “I’m good for now,”
she said, half-walking, half-dancing to the live music. Residents were singing on the manmade stage not far from the bonfire, and there seemed to be a battle of the bands going on. “Hey, we’ve gotta give that straw maze near the forest a try.”
Anabel pulled her arms close to her body. “I don’t know if I could handle having people leap out at me.”
She glanced around her, edgier than usual. To be fair, some residents were dressed up in costumes and hiding behind corners to jump-scare passersby, so . . .
“We’ve got to at least try the horse-drawn hay rides,”
said Delilah. “And stop vetoing everything just because you want to go home.”
Anabel frowned. “I’m not vetoing everything.”
The Latina winged up a brow. “Oh, really? So you didn’t say no to checking out the carnival booths, the beer tent, the funhouse, the—”
“Okay, okay, so I’m eager to get home,”
admitted Anabel. “But can you really blame me when death stalks us every minute?”
Delilah rolled her eyes and took another sip of her drink. “There’s really no helping ‘chemically unbalanced,’ is there?”
“You’d know all about unbalanced,”
snarked Anabel. “That shit runs in your family, and it all started with your precious Annis.”
“She was precious,”
said Delilah with a smile, apparently deciding to play clueless.
“Twisted, Del,”
Anabel corrected. “She was twisted. Evil. A true plague on this planet.”
“God, you’re such a hater.”
“What normal person wouldn’t hate a child killer?”
“An alleged child killer.”
Anabel let out a derisive snort. “You know very well that she murdered kids, just like you know very well that she also ate them.”
“We all do things we regret.”
“But does she regret it?”
Anabel perched a hand on her hip. “Be honest. You chat with her when you meditate—which, on a side note, totally disturbs me. Is she sorry for what she did to those children?”
Delilah opened and closed her mouth a few times. “In a manner of speaking.”
“So that’s a no?”
Anabel smirked. “See, evil.”
“As were a lot of your relatives from your past lives, so maybe you wanna crank back the whole ‘let’s judge people’s family’ thing. And weren’t you Bloody Mary in a past life? Or is that belief just yet more proof that you’re chemically unbalanced.”
“I am as normal as they come.”
Anabel patted Xavier’s chest. “Tell her, Xavier.”
He chucked the last piece of pizza into his mouth. “Tell her what?”
“A barefaced lie,”
sassed Delilah.
His brows inched up. “I’m good at that.”
“You know,”
Wynter cut in, wiping her hands on a napkin now that she’d finished her pretzel, “I once read that the magician Houdini died on Halloween. How freaky is that?”
“My uncle died on Halloween,”
said Xavier.
Delilah’s face softened. “Aw, did he really?”
“No, not really,”
he replied.
Delilah let out a little growl. “Then why lie?”
“Maybe the truth will only confuse you more.”
Anabel sighed and slapped his arm. “Xavier, you’re an idiot.”
He chuckled. “You adore me really.”
Feeling eyes on her, Wynter looked to her right. A trio of witches swiftly averted their gazes. She recognized them. The Oasis Coven lived in the city not far from Cain’s Keep. They’d also once been led by Demetria, a witch who’d not only wanted Wynter dead but died at her monster’s hands.
The newly appointed Priestess of the trio, Kyra, cut her eyes back to Wynter. Clearing her throat, the woman nodded. “Wynter.”
“Kyra,”
she greeted in return.
Once the Oasis witches were out of hearing range, Delilah turned to Wynter. “I’m still not sure I believe that they weren’t in cahoots with Demetria.”
Plenty weren’t so sure, which was why many residents gave the coven the cold shoulder. Wynter kind of felt sorry for them. Paying for other people’s fuckups never felt good. “They convinced Cain’s aide that they weren’t involved. Maxim doesn’t strike me as a person who’d be easy to fool.”
Delilah took another swig of her drink. “Hmm, well, I don’t like that they were staring at you. Far too many people keep looking at you. It’s pissing me off.”
“It’s not as bad as it was before Cain made his speech, so it seemingly had the desired effect on the majority of the town’s population.”
A figure dressed as the grim reaper jumped out of the nearby shadows with a maniacal laugh.
Anabel screamed in his face and threw her pizza at his feet. Wynter, Xavier, and Delilah laughed while Hattie didn’t react whatsoever, absorbed in her book.
His shoulders shaking with silent laughter, the reaper backed up, melting into the shadows once more.
Standing very still with her hands balled into tight fists, Anabel ground her teeth. “That wasn’t funny.”
“I have to ask,”
began Xavier as they resumed their walk along the street, “why didn’t you toss the pizza at his head or something? Why his feet?”
Anabel threw up her arms. “I don’t know, I wasn’t thinking. I panicked. I don’t operate well when running on panic.”
Delilah snorted. “You don’t operate well in general. And I say that with love.”
Anabel scowled. “Screw off, Del.”
The Latina blew her a kiss. “You’d miss me if I wasn’t here.”
“Yeah, like I’d miss a punch to the tit.”
Hattie looked up from her book. “What does it mean if someone figs you?”
Wynter almost tripped over thin air. Anabel let out a groan. Xavier coughed to hide a laugh while pounding a fist on Delilah’s back, since she’d began to choke on her drink.
“The heroine’s threatening to walk out if the hero ever again talks about figging her,”
Hattie elaborated. “What does it mean?”
“It’s just another word for ‘tickling’,”
lied Anabel, who’d recently proposed to all but Hattie that they should provide “innocent”
bullshit answers to the old woman’s awkward sexual questions.
“Bless you for explaining.”
Hattie patted Anabel’s arm. “I’d believe you if Delilah wasn’t still snickering to herself. Now someone tell me what it really means.”
Xavier leaned into Wynter. “She’ll only ask a perfect stranger if we blow her off.”
“Come on, tell me,”
urged Hattie.
Wynter cringed at the mere thought of explaining. “Can we talk about this later? It’s not . . . pleasant, okay? It’s painful.”
The old woman gave Wynter a kind smile. “Sometimes pain spices things up, dear. Did you not know that? Oh, you’re so sheltered.”
That was when Delilah lost it. The woman literally doubled over with laughter.
Wynter shook her head. “This kinda pain isn’t merely about spice, Hattie. Figging is generally for those who really get off on pain. I personally don’t see the appeal in this particular act, but to each their own.”
“So you’ve been figged yourself?”
Hattie asked.
Wynter jerked back. “What? No. Never.”
“Then how do you know you won’t like it?”
“Because I know I’ll never find anything likeable about having a piece of ginger peel pushed into my ass.”
Hattie’s felt went slack. “Ginger peel? In your rear end? Dear Lord. That sounds like torture.”
“It was a form of torture at one time,”
Anabel cut in. “The Romans were pretty big on it, actually.”
Hattie puffed out a breath. “No wonder the heroine’s so against it. Masochism is so not her thing.”
She tapped the book’s spine, adding, “I don’t like this hero much. Don’t get me wrong, he’s delightfully hardcore in bed. But he has no compassion or sensitivity. He’s been teasing her because she has red eye.”
“Ah, I used to get that when I was a kid,”
said Anabel. “I had super bad allergies back then.”
“The heroine doesn’t seem to have allergies or anything, she . . . I don’t know, it’s strange. There was nothing wrong with her eyes the day before. But she and the hero had sex last night, he introduced her to anal, and then she woke with red—why are you grinning, Xavier? What am I missing?”
“Nothing, Hattie,”
Anabel quickly said, shooting him a pointed look. “He’s just happy. Right, Xavier?”
He smirked at Hattie. “It’s not actually the heroine’s eye that’s red. It’s her asshole.”
“But he—oh.”
The old woman’s eyes went wide.
Anabel shook her head at him. “All you had to do was lie. You do it frequently. Why, this one time, did you break the habit?”
Xavier blinked. “I gotta admit, I don’t know.”
Delilah knocked back the last of her cocktail. “Come on, let’s try the maze.”
It took a lot of convincing, but they eventually managed to talk Anabel into giving it a go, though she made it clear that she was there under protest. Her fear shot up a level when they began to wander through the labyrinth. There was fog everywhere, and the straw walls were too high for any of them to see over.
The first time someone jumped out of the fog, Anabel screamed. The second time, she almost climbed on Xavier’s back. The third time, she ran. Ran like death truly was stalking her ass.
Losing sight of her in the fog, they jogged after her, calling out her name while also chuckling.
Wynter lagged behind, laughing so hard she could barely walk. That laughter faded as an otherworldly breeze ghosted over her face, screaming with warning. Before Wynter could react, a hand shot out of the fog, gripped her arm, and spun her around. Kyra. She blew dust into Wynter’s face and . . . oh shit, everything got real blurry and weird.
Wynter yawned, inexplicably tired all of a sudden. She blinked hard to fight the urge to sleep. But the world spun, her legs crumbled beneath her, and then everything went dark.
*
Cain led the way down the twisting path as he and the other Ancients strolled through his garden toward the temple. It could be said that it was not your typical garden. Not with its gothic tone and the many snakes that roamed it. They dangled from tree branches, slithered up the wall ruins, curled around the moss-covered statues, swam in the bog-like pond, and slinked along the ground. There were no vividly colored plants to brighten the place up. The flowers only came in shades of black, red, and burgundy.
Most people, aside from he and the other Ancients, were uncomfortable out here. Not Wynter. She often sat in the garden with him, unbothered by the snakes, since they paid her no mind.
They didn’t even harm her when she walked out here in her sleep. Something he still couldn’t understand. He hadn’t been at her side so, by rights, they should have swarmed her for intruding. Instead, they’d followed her—curious? Protective? He wasn’t sure. He was simply grateful for it, because she would otherwise have been attacked by them on multiple occasions.
Reaching the temple, the Ancients walked up the pitted steps and strode between the main stone pillars. Inside, Cain couldn’t help but grimace at the scents of mildew, dust, and cold stone. He lit the wall torches with a mere wave of his hand. The whoosh of the flames whirring to life stirred the cobwebs and dust motes. Said flames danced in the air, casting shadows over the statues.
“It has been so long since I was last here,”
said Inanna.
And not only because, until some months ago, she’d been at Rest for a long time. The truth was that she’d never been a frequent visitor of Cain. She’d always kept a certain distance between them. No doubt to placate her sister, whose jealousy was easily whipped up.
Cain stalked through the sculpted archway, passing pretty marble pillars and the intricately carved animal totems. His eyes caught on the old, rudimentary carvings on the wall up ahead that told the story of his kind. He remembered bringing Wynter here. Remembered explaining what the various symbols meant, even as he’d feared she’d pull away from him once she learned the truth of what he was and, more, who his father was.
But she hadn’t. His own personal miracle had been more bothered by the fact that cherubim blood flowed in his veins.
Coming to a spiral staircase, Cain descended it slowly, his footsteps echoing. At the bottom, he moved to the arch that featured a wrought-iron gate. A padlock kept it closed—one that could only be opened by an Ancient. So a zap of Cain’s power was enough to unlock it. The gate slowly swung open. He and the other Ancients then filed into the grotto there.
The smooth rock walls and arched ceiling glimmered like they’d been dusted with gold. Cain lit the torches with a flick of his hand. The flames danced and sliced through the shadows, illuminating the natural hot spring.
Energy fairly bounced around the space, static and wild. The scents of damp rock, minerals, algae, and mildew laced the air—air so thick, moist, and hot it was uncomfortable to inhale.
It also hummed with power.
Abaddon’s power.
If any nosy residents somehow managed to get this far, they wouldn’t understand what was down here. Wouldn’t have a clue what was so special about this grotto. Wouldn’t understand that the natural hot spring protected an Ancient.
Yes, they slept in water when they went into the deep state of Rest. Not many people were aware of that. He suspected it was where tales of Leviathans being sea monsters came from.
Cain walked toward the spring, feeling the heat of the smooth stone through the soles of his shoes. The turquoise water lapped at the stone edges, burbling and steaming. White/blue flickers of power crackled along the surface like miniature whips of lightning.
“I’m not getting any sense that he’s close to waking,”
said Ishtar.
“No, nor am I.”
Inanna let out a disappointed sigh.
Cain exchanged a brief look with Azazel. It might seem that Abaddon was sleeping deeply. But the fact that Wynter had been called to the garden several times suggested differently.
Cain swept his gaze along the other Ancients. “Shall we begin?”
They nodded or murmured their agreement. Then, as one, they knelt on the smooth stone ledge.
Subtle vibrations buzzed against Cain’s kneecaps, and the steamy air rising from the well fanned his face. As he was deep in the shadowy depths of the spring, it wasn’t possible to see or physically touch Abaddon from there. But touching him wouldn’t be enough to wake him anyway.
As Cain reached down to dip his hand inside the well, the water burbled upward and closed over his hand, silky and hot; tiny air bubbles brushed over his skin. Seeing that the other Ancients were ready, he nodded. Together, they chanted in their old language, calling for their fellow Leviathan to join them, as they poured their power into the water to stir him awake.
When they had recently woken Inanna in much the same way, it had only taken one try. It usually did. But Abaddon hadn’t fallen into a simple rejuvenating Rest, and he hadn’t been asleep for a mere century or so. He’d been in this state for a millennia. So it didn’t entirely surprise Cain when nothing happened.
“Let us try again,”
urged Seth.
And so they did. Still, the ritual failed to wake Abaddon.
His jaw clenched, Dantalion cricked his neck. “Once more.”
Again, they chanted and flooded the water with power. Again, nothing happened.
“I say we return tomorrow evening,”
said Lilith as everyone rose to their feet. “The more frequently we try, the more chance we have of success.”
Ishtar shook droplets of water from her hand. “Or we are merely wasting our time,”
she snarked.
Lilith gave her a cold smile. “Either way, it will do us no harm, will it?”
They made their way out of the temple and back to the Keep.
Azazel lingered when the others left and turned to Cain. “Given what we believe causes your consort to sleepwalk, I didn’t think your uncle would be so hard to wake.”
Cain shrugged. “The longer an Ancient has been asleep, the more difficult it can be to wake them.”
Azazel inclined his head. “True.”
He sighed. “I really hope Ishtar’s wrong and that our efforts to disturb his Rest will pay off.”
“I believe they will,”
said Cain. “We just have to accept that this may take time.”
Azazel grunted. “The problem is we don’t have much of that.”
*
Wynter’s eyelids fluttered as sleep began to slowly lose its hold on her. Her heels scuffed the ground as someone dragged her limp form backwards, their hands tucked beneath her armpits. Her monster was pushing against her skin, furious, wanting out. It seemed to only be the cautioning preternatural breeze fluttering around Wynter that kept the monster in check.
She could hear voices whispering to each other. Female voices. Ones she recognized.
Demetria’s coven.
Bitches. They’d pay for this. Dearly. Not at this exact moment, though. Because the chatter and laughter of the other townspeople was far too close. If she freed her monster here, it could go after nearby innocents—that would be bad.
Sure, Wynter could try taking on her kidnappers herself. She was pretty sure it wouldn’t be hard to take them out. But she needed to make a public statement. While she couldn’t allow everyone to see her monster, she could certainly allow them to see what it could do—it was about the only way she could prove it existed. As she’d told Cain, only fear would truly discourage assholes from trying to cash in on the bounty.
She wondered if her coven had yet realized she’d been taken. Oh, they’d notice she was missing. But, naturally, they’d initially assume they’d merely lost her in the maze or simply couldn’t see her due to all the maze’s fog.
“We need to move faster,”
whined the person dragging Wynter. Missy.
“For heaven’s sake, lower your voice,”
said Kyra. “We don’t want to get spotted.”
Missy snorted. “People won’t care. They’ll be glad to see the skank go.”
“Not after Cain’s speech they won’t,”
objected another voice—Vera. “Most are fully behind him, and they’re too scared to cross him anyway.”
“Exactly,”
agreed Kyra. “Everyone knows what he did to Grouch when the berserker didn’t stop mages from kidnapping his consort. They won’t want to meet that same fate if Cain finds out they saw her being taken and didn’t do anything to help.”
“Most also believe he’s right that Adam won’t hand over a single dime,”
Vera added.
Missy made a pfft sound. “It’s obvious that Cain only said that to discourage people from going after his consort.”
“No one really trusts Aeons, though,”
said Kyra. “So they’re more willing to believe Cain than Adam. Not that I’m complaining. It means that no one got to her before we could. The bounty is now ours for the taking.”
“Damn right. And it means we can also avenge Demetria. I don’t condone that she freed that Saul asshole, but she didn’t deserve to die for it.”
Missy paused walking for a moment, breathless. “We should have parked the car somewhere close.”
“It would have been noticed,”
Vera pointed out. “It was better to park it outside the tunnel.”
Grunting, Missy resumed walking. “How pissed do you think she’ll be when she realizes she was rendered defenseless by a simple sleeping powder?”
“Seriously pissed, hopefully. This proves she ain’t no revenant.”
“Not necessarily,”
said Kyra. “Even a revenant would be knocked out by a sleeping potion.”
“You can’t truly think this bitch was Favored by a deity,”
said Missy, her voice ringing with disgust and incredulity.
“I don’t,”
Kyra told her. “Demetria always said it was a lie, and I agree. I’m just making the point that—”
“Oh, who cares?”
Missy halted again. “God, does the skank really have to be so heavy?”
“Stop complaining,”
said Vera. “She’s only a slender thing. She can’t weigh much.”
“Yeah? Then you drag her the rest of the way.”
Missy unceremoniously dumped Wynter onto the ground.
Fucking ow.
Vera huffed. “Fine.”
Right then, a gust of air humming with encouragement whispered over Wynter. Her monster responded instantly, shoving closer to the surface, readying itself to lunge.
Sensing someone hover over her, Wynter flipped open her eyelids, knowing black inky ribbons were wriggling over her eyes.
Vera froze, her lips parting.
Wynter smiled. “Well, hello.”
Her monster charged forward, and everything once more went dark.