Chapter 31
“It’s about time you came around.” Wilder smiled to soften the sting of his sarcasm. “It’s only been a week.”
“Funny.” Castor rolled his shoulder and grunted, flexing it once before lowering his arm, apparently content with the result. “That bastard knocked me out on purpose. I swear, my son gets all his ornery DNA directly from that one.”
“Not you?” Draven asked, amusement heavy in his voice.
“I’m not talking to you for another hundred and forty-eight years or more,” Castor said sourly. “Your unwillingness to help my daughter is a sore spot.”
Wilder snorted. “She wasn’t in the sinkhole. Give the guy a break.”
In all fairness, he couldn’t say it didn’t still rankle that Draven didn’t do all he could’ve when they believed she was buried. But he didn’t voice it aloud.
“How did you regenerate your powers, Thorne? I can’t say I’ve ever seen anything like it.”
“I don’t know.” He wasn’t being coy. One minute, he was at the table; the next, he was bolting for a secluded area, suddenly sure he could teleport.
“I think our friendly neighborhood Aether infused me prior to my arrival.” He frowned as he recalled the shooting and the infusion he’d felt on the boardwalk. “Maybe not him alone.”
“So someone’s been amping you up all along,” Castor concluded with a nod. “I’m assuming you teleported us here from the Hastings’ land?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened to the other two losers?”
“Wendall and Frank? Don’t know.” Wilder shook his head, bemused.
Draven pulled the brim of his hat low over his eyes. “They are probably still in the woods, digging Jennings’s grave, oui?”
“Or died of a heart attack when they saw tornadoes bearing down on us. Hopefully, they’ll believe that’s what wiped out the cabin and the others.
” Wilder conjured a bottle of booze and took a long pull before handing it to Draven.
“I don’t think I’ve thanked you properly for all you’ve done for Abbie.
You have my heartfelt gratitude, and I owe you. ”
Which was why he didn’t rub salt into the guy’s wound for not accepting what the Fates were pushing.
“She is an easy woman to care about.” Draven contemplated the amber liquid a moment before taking a swig. “I shall miss her.”
“I have a feeling you’ll see her again,” Castor said, snatching the bottle from him. “But I’m going to instruct her to punch you in the nuts.”
“You are a vicious bastard, mon ami.”
Wilder tuned them out as they traded barbs.
His mind was too quiet. No buzz of her thoughts, no tether.
His panic fought for a foothold. Where the hell was she?
Would Zeus help her or leave her to flounder?
The questions were a constant barrage, and the urge to scream was strong.
Had they truly been in Perdition less than a week?
It seemed like a century or more. And they’d had little sleep, existing on cat naps as they were slammed by one drama after another.
He could barely recall the day they’d left to come here.
As Castor handed him the bottle, he froze.
“Didn’t we say we would put a C on the rock face if we needed help getting home?”
With his dark-blond brows almost to his hairline, the Traveler gaped at him. “We did! Jaysus! Quentin would be checking back daily to see if we need him.”
“How the hell did we forget that little factoid?” Wilder shook his head, disgusted with himself. What might they have prevented if they’d done that first?
Damian’s voice rang in his head, “Nothing. The Fates were involved, Thorne.”
He sat straighter, glancing around.
Jonas and the Aether appeared before them. The sheriff wore a rueful smile.
“It seems you fellas find trouble at every turn,” Jonas said. He held his hand out for the whiskey, then returned it after the Aether rejected the proffered bottle. “Is this a meeting of the Woe is Us club?”
“Fuck off,” Castor muttered. Gesturing with his thumb over his shoulder, he asked, “Which of you is willing to blast a giant C into the rock?”
“I’ll do it,” Draven offered. Standing, he dusted his backside and faced the portal. “Anything else with it? Perhaps Fuck the Fates?”
Wilder barked a laugh and lifted the bottle in salute.
Damian’s tone was highly amused, but his words held a warning. “Ever heard of ‘don’t tempt fate,’ Masters? They aren’t the most forgiving lot.”
“Speaking of the Fates…” Wilder grimaced. “I’ve got a story to tell you, Draven.”
PRESENT DAY
Royal was allowed a few extra minutes to say goodbye to his brother and sister-in-law before they left for the Otherworld.
Abbie’s chest ached for him. For her entire life, her only family had been Beth, and if death ever came for her mother, she’d be devastated.
The job to restore Royal to his body was helped along by Isis. Between the Goddess, the Death Dealer, and the Aether, they reassembled him in true Frankenstein fashion, with electricity sparking through Trevor’s body as he pushed healing magic into Royal.
“This is incredible,” Abbie said, her voice hushed, goose bumps rising on her arms. “How do they go unnoticed with all the heightened environmental activity?”
“Mortals reject what they don’t understand, love,” Ronan replied. “Yeah, and if anyone were to witness the electrical storm, they’d dismiss it as an unnatural phenomenon.”
Royal sat up, having been reanimated. Although his color was restored, he appeared shaky.
“You’ll require a few minutes to get up to speed, Mr. Hastings,” Damian told him. With a glance at Isis, he nodded, then said, “We’d like to gift magic unto you, should you wish it.”
“I don’t understand?”
With a smile able to charm woodland creatures into the open, Isis held out a hand, offering to help him stand.
“You showed true bravery at every turn, Royal Hastings,” Isis said. “It didn’t go unnoticed how you tried to protect others from your gang’s worst instincts.”
“Or how you patched up the wounded yourself,” Damian added.
“Many times, you thwarted the Arcane Devourer from his goal to steal the life force of others. The subtlety you applied was noted by him, and it created a target on your back.” Isis cupped his jaw. “Despite knowing the powers he held, you showed courage.”
“And here I believed myself to be a worthless ass for not stopping it,” he replied dryly.
Across the short distance, Abbie’s gaze locked with his, and she smiled. “You were a fierce protector, Royal.”
“Precisely,” Isis agreed. “You shall be known as The Protector from this moment forward. Should Damian be willing, you will join his circle.”
“I already have a job…” Royal frowned. “Or, I did. I don’t suppose anyone kept my position open, huh?”
“Mine either,” Abbie said, realizing for the first time how much would’ve changed in the time since she’d transported them. What must her mother be going through, losing her only child?
“We need to hurry,” Isis said with a ringing clap. “Time no longer runs parallel between the past and present. Too many are not where they should be, and the balance is off.”
Abbie’s heart beat a hard tattoo. “What do you mean? How is it different?”
“It has sped up here. Three earthly weeks for every day, since the Traveler’s grandchild opened the portal. The power of the Three was too great, and misaligned everything.”
“The Three? Who—”
Damian cut in to say, “Castor and your other family created a time divergence by using the Heart of Artemus together.”
“If it isn’t rectified before the third moon cycle begins, the entire population will be in peril,” Isis explained. “Each day is faster than the one before.”
All for her. Abbie shook her head, certain none of them got the memo that they could set the entire world on its ear. “Okay, so when is the next moon cycle?”
“Tonight.”
“Of course it is.” She met Damian’s concerned gaze. “Okay. Let’s get Morcunt back to the past so Quentin can get Wilder and Castor here before moonrise.” Glancing around, she searched for anyone with a watch. “How long do we have?”
“Four hours to complete your mission. Although at this speed, that is barely fifty mortal minutes.” Isis replied. Her shrug was casual, as if she hadn’t just dropped a huge-fucking-problem grenade at their feet.
“That’s zero time for planning or contingencies!” Abbie cried. “Like what if that dickweed escapes?”
“He won’t,” Royal said grimly. “He won’t see me coming, Fire Cat.”
“No, he won’t,” Damian agreed. “Stand still, Mr. Hastings. I’m about to create a protective shield over you.”
“What about me?” Abbie asked, her voice embarrassingly squeaky. “Don’t I get a protective shield?”
The Aether’s amused grin was a thing of beauty.
She blinked, forgetting what she’d been on about.
“The protective shield, chér,” Draven supplied helpfully.
Blood rushed to her face, as heat flooded her body. Dammit! Their link slipped her mind.
“Thanks,” she muttered, wishing she were anywhere but there. Her cells warmed, and Draven clamped a hand on her wrist.
“When we’re done here today, I will teach you to curb the impulse to teleport.”
“It’s involuntary. Not something I can control. I wish I still had your—holy shit! The bracelet!” Digging into her pocket, she drew it out. “It stops magic, Draven! Can we use it on the fuckface?”
“That’s one alternative from the four,” the Aether replied with an infuriating, secretive smile. She was positive it meant, you’re not going to like the other options.
And she also took it to mean it was the best one because he didn’t volunteer any of the others. Turning back to Draven, she asked, “Can you still control it? Maybe alter it a bit so even if he’s in his right mind, he can’t open it?”
He accepted the offered jewelry and stepped away, likely to consider how to adjust the spell for her needs.
“We are out of time, and Damian must embed the Protector’s new power,” Isis said.
Dutifully, they stood by as he wove his spells in the air. The sight was wondrous, and sigils lit where only empty space existed before. She didn’t recognize any symbols, not that she would’ve, considering she’d been a mortal before the fall.
Ravens appeared from nowhere and everywhere, surrounding Royal and dipping their shiny black heads in silent homage.
“These creatures shall be your spirit animals. They are wise and able to see what humans do not,” Isis informed him. “Are you ready to receive my gift?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent. Aether, you may begin.”
Abbie frowned. Leaning toward Ronan, she said, “I thought he had.”
“Oh, no. Your friend isn’t gettin’ off so easily, love. I’ve had magic infused in me DNA, and it’s after burnin’ like a feckin’ bastard.”
“But he doesn’t know—”
Royal’s agonized screams made her blood run cold. She rushed forward, only to be detained by Trevor and Ronan. Abbie struggled against their hold, swearing and sweating, thoroughly pissed off by their sneaky omission of the truth.
Royal’s transformation seemed to go on forever, but in reality, it was five minutes of their fifty.
The instant the Aether was finished, Royal dropped to his knees, pale and trembling.
The ravens attacked! They pecked his head, neck—hell, any part of his body they could reach. With the exception of Isis and the Aether, they all froze in shock.
“What the actual fuck—”
But Damian cut Ronan off. “It’s ceremonial, and an exchange of blood magic for their ongoing connection. He cannot feel it.”
“Blood magic!” Trevor’s enraged tone suggested he was ready to exact retribution on Royal’s behalf. “Since when do you perform blood magic on Sentinels, Dethridge?”
“Since the Goddess requires it,” the Aether replied coolly, one brow raised in challenge. “He must be able to see situations from every angle, or it could cost Abbie and the others their lives.”
Arms crossed, mulish expression on his face, the Death Dealer wasn’t liking it. “That’s fuckin’ barbaric,” he growled. “Find another way.”
“All will be well, Trevor Blane,” Isis promised. “Abigail Monroe, step forward.”