CHAPTER THIRTEEN #2
“Yeah, about that.” I let out a breath that feels like it takes half my soul with it. “Seems as if someone else has been keeping tabs on her as well. I’m pretty sure Pestilence has her.”
Ash is moving before I finish the sentence. One second, he’s against the desk, the next, he’s in my space, fists gripping the front of my shirt.
“What?” he bites out. “Say that again.”
“Pestilence has her,” I repeat, not bothering to shove him off. I probably deserve the manhandling. “She showed up in Boston, took Kennedy, and if Hades is right—and he usually is about this kind of cosmic clusterfuck—Themis helped her.”
Cain lets out a low whistle. “Well, fuck.”
Alastor’s eyes flare bright, pupils narrowing to slits. “You’re sure it was Pesta?” he asks. “Not some other crazy blonde with delusions of grandeur? And how the fuck did you come to this conclusion from wherever the hell you’ve been?”
“Pestilence called me out through a seeing basin Hades has in The Inferno,” I say as if that clears everything up.
When they all stare at me blankly, I continue, “It showed me Kennedy for all of two seconds before I heard that cunt’s voice whisper ‘He will come for you’ like she was recording a trailer for her new apocalypse special. ”
Ash swears under his breath. It’s creative, even by our standards.
“How the fuck did she even get to Kennedy?” Cain demands, then releases me and paces away. “She shouldn’t be able to touch humans like that. Not without—”
“Divine interference,” I finish. “Hades thinks Themis opened something for her. Gave her a hall pass or some shit. And knowing Themis, she didn’t do it out of boredom, she did it because she wants me.”
“Always thought you were her favorite,” Alastor drawls. “Golden boy. Elite Arc. Poster child for righteous violence. Congratulations, she finally put a bow on you.”
I flip him off. “Yeah, well, she can come and collect. I’m done playing fetch.”
Ash scrubs a hand over his face, then plants his palms on the desk, leaning into it like he needs the support. “And Hades?” he asks. “He just… what? Told you to charge in alone?”
“Not exactly,” I say. “He spent a good thirty minutes calling me an idiot first. Then he gave me a blade forged to cut through divine magic and told me if I tear a hole in the veil between worlds, it’s not getting stitched back together.”
Cain’s brows shoot up. “He gave you that blade?”
“Seems so.” I tap my forearm where the leather sheath sits hidden beneath my sleeve. The steel hums faintly in response, a low, eager vibration. “Apparently, it listens to intent. One wrong move, it’ll gut me instead of my enemy. Like a very stabby conscience.”
“You shouldn’t even be able to hold that thing,” Alastor mutters. “It was created from desperation, spite, and most likely pure fucking evil. It doesn’t like people, gods, or… anything, really.”
“Works for me,” I say. “I’ve never been particularly likable either.”
Ash glares at me. “This isn’t funny, Reaver.”
“I’m not laughing,” I shoot back. “Look, you can yell at me later for going to Hades first. Right now, Pesta has Kennedy, Themis is almost certainly behind it, and the barrier between realities looks like it’s about to shit itself. I don’t have time to ease you into this.”
“The barrier?” Cain repeats. “What about it?”
“In The Inferno, the stone’s shot through with gold,” I say.
“The gate’s humming like it snorted lightning.
Hades thinks Themis and Pesta plan to use Kennedy as a fulcrum to pry open Heaven and Hell.
Merge what should never have been split or split what should have always been one.
I don’t know the exact mechanics. I just know that if they pull it off, nothing will be safe.
Not here. Not Boston. Not the other reality and not Timber Cove. Nothing.”
Ash goes pale. “And they’re using a human as the wedge.”
“Yeah,” I say. “But not just any human. Kennedy. She knows more about our world than most Fallen, and she’s connected to me, to you, to Salem, Michael, and to Hades, indirectly. She’s the perfect leverage.”
Alastor leans forward, eyes sharp. “And you want what from us, exactly?”
I look at each of them in turn, hating what I have to ask.
“I need help,” I say. “I can feel her, but I don’t know where Pesta took her.
I don’t know what kind of ritual or lock Themis has set up.
I don’t know how many moving parts there are to this clusterfuck.
Hades can’t leave The Inferno right now—he’s holding some of the Underworld together by sheer force of will while the barrier strains, so I came to the next best terrible idea. ”
I spread my hands. “You three fuckers.”
Cain lets out a snort. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”
Ash’s jaw works. I can see the war on his face—big brother instinct vs. self-preservation vs. the very real memory of me nearly killing him in this very building.
“Reaver,” he says at last, voice rough, “you understand what you’re asking, right? Going up against Pesta is one thing. Going up against Themis on top of that…”
“I’m not asking you to take Themis head-on,” I say. “Not yet. I’m asking for intel, backup, and the chance to get Kennedy the hell out before Pesta uses her up and tosses what’s left into the cosmic blender.”
“And after?” Cain asks quietly. “What happens when you do get Kennedy out? You think Themis just shrugs and says, ‘Oh well, better luck next apocalypse’?” Cain mocks in his best feminine voice.
“No,” I say. “I think she doubles down. I think she keeps playing until she’s burned every last one of us to ash. Hades. Aradia. You. Me. Kennedy. Everyone. So yeah, eventually, I’m going to have to deal with her too. But one war at a time.”
Alastor taps his fingers on the chair arm, thinking.
“You know she wants you specifically, right?” he says.
“Pesta can drag any random soul into a ritual circle and crack a seam between realms, but to blow out the whole goddamn wall? She needs something big. Old. Anchored to both Heaven and Hell. That’s you, golden boy. ”
He’s not wrong. My stomach knots anyway. “I’m aware,” I say. “But she doesn’t get to decide how I’m used anymore. Themis doesn’t either. I’ve spent my whole existence being someone else’s blade. I’m done. If I cut, it’ll be because I chose where to swing.”
Ash’s gaze softens, just a fraction. “This is about Kennedy,” he says. “But it’s not just about Kennedy.”
“Of course, it is,” I protest automatically.
He gives me a look that says Don’t bullshit me louder than words. “It’s about you, too. About finally pulling your head out of your martyr complex and deciding you’re allowed to want something. Someone.”
I open my mouth to argue, but the words don’t come. Because he’s right, and we both know it.
“I walked away from her,” I say instead, the confession scraping my throat raw.
“I stood on a sidewalk in Boston and watched her laugh with another man and told myself she was better off. I left because I was afraid of exactly this. Of her becoming a target. Of Themis using her against me. Of Pesta sniffing out my weak point. And now—”
I spread my hands helplessly. “Now all of that happened anyway, and she’s alone in it.”
Ash’s expression cracks. The anger, the worry, the brotherly exasperation all bleed into something more fragile. “You’re not going to leave her there,” he says. It’s not a question.
“Not this time,” I say. “Once I have her, I’m not going to leave her ever again.”
The room is quiet for a moment, heavy with things none of us want to say out loud. Finally, Cain exhales. “All right,” he says. “Here’s what we need to do.”
He paces to the whiteboard on the wall—currently covered in Sloane’s very detailed notes on liquor inventory and “Things Kat says we are not allowed to do in the club anymore” with a series of increasingly annoyed doodles.
The doodles put a smile on my face that quickly fades when it hits me what I’m asking Ash and Cain to give up.
He wipes it clean with the side of his hand, ignoring Ash’s hiss of protest, and uncaps a marker.
“First,” he says, drawing a rough circle and splitting it into three wedges.
“We divide and conquer. I’ll reach out to Acheron and the Timber Cove pack, see what they’ve heard about Horseman activity topside.
Wolves have a nose for unnatural plagues and pestilence.
If Pesta’s been anywhere near Boston long enough to leave a mark, someone will have noticed.
Especially with the new Fates hanging around, and Moirea playing den mother. ”
“Second,” Alastor says, catching the rhythm easily, “I’ll go down to The Firehouse and see what the old demons are whispering. If Pesta’s making moves, she’s not doing it alone. She always liked an audience. And she owes me a debt or three herself.”
He flashes a sharp smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Third,” Ash says, pushing off the desk to stand beside Cain, “we find the crack in the barrier from this side. You said you saw gold veins in The Inferno. If it’s happening there, it’s happening here too, even if humans can’t see it.
We track the shimmer, find where it’s thinnest, and that’s where we punch through. ”
He looks at me. “You’ll be our canary in the coal mine. You can feel Kennedy. You’ll know when we’re close.”
I nod slowly. “I can do that.”
“And Reaver?” Alastor adds. “You do not, under any circumstances, go charging through any random glowing hole without us. Got it?”
I raise a brow. “I feel like that’s a weirdly specific rule born from personal experience.”
He just stares at me.
“Fine,” I sigh. “Scout’s honor.”
“You were never a scout,” Ash points out.
“Details.” I wave a hand. “Are we doing this or what?”
Cain caps the marker, tosses it onto the desk.
“Get some rest,” he says. “Wash the hellfire off. Try to eat something that isn’t fermented god juice. We move in a few hours.”
“A few hours?” The thought of waiting even that long makes my skin itch. “She could—”
“Reaver,” Ash cuts in, voice firm. “You go in half-cocked now, you play right into their hands. You want to save her? You give us time to work. You’ve waited a year to come back here. You can survive a few more hours without tearing down reality.”
He’s right. I hate that he’s right, but he is. I drag a hand over my face. “Yeah,” I say. “Okay.”
Ash claps a hand on my shoulder, squeezing once. “We’ll get her,” he says quietly. “We’ll bring her home.”
Something in me unclenches at his certainty. “Thanks,” I say. The word feels small compared to what I owe them. “I—”
A knock sounds at the door, sharp and insistent.
“Boss?” Tina’s muffled voice comes through. “There’s a… situation. You’re gonna want to see this.”
Ash swears under his breath. “What now?” He strides over and yanks the door open.
Tina stands there, eyes wide, face a little too pale. Behind her, I can hear the music downstairs stuttering, like the sound system’s being messed with.
“What kind of situation?” Ash demands.
Tina swallows. “Well, there’s… um. There’s a bird in the middle of the dance floor.”
“A bird,” Cain repeats slowly.
“Yeah,” she says. “A really big, really pissed-off crow, and I’m pretty sure it squawked Reaver.”
All eyes swing to me, and my stomach drops. “Of course, it did,” I mutter. “Because why the fuck not?”
Cain cracks his neck. Ash grabs his favorite bat from beside the door, and Alastor reaches into nothing and pulls out a blade that glows with its own inner fire.
I flex my fingers, feeling the hum of the cursed knife at my forearm and the familiar weight of my own power coiling, ready. “Well,” I say. “Looks like Pesta sent us a party favor.” I flash Tina a quick grin that probably comes out more like a snarl. “Let’s go see what the bitch wants.”
And for the first time in a long time, as we move together toward the stairs—fallen, demon, exile, and whatever the hell I am now—I don’t feel like I’m walking into this alone and as someone else’s hired sword.