Chapter 4
Chapter four
Archer
“What do you mean you’re leaving?” I asked, watching as Modi opened a shadow gate.
Staring at it, I could see a thick forest bathed in moonlight, the soft smell of detritus coming through on the night air.
It was clean and crisp and it gave me absolutely no indication of where he was actually headed.
“I’ve already been away too long.”
“Away? You just got back!” I stared at my friend—my brother since time began—in anger and exasperation. “Asmodeus! What the hell is going on? For fuck’s sake, you’ve got to tell me something.”
“Archer,” he sighed, turning to face me, and his expression stopped me cold.
Heartbreak.
In all the eons that I’d known him, I’d never seen Asmodeus look so thoroughly destroyed.
Not even after our fall.
“Please, my friend.” His voice was a tortured whisper.
“If you have ever, in all our time together, trusted me...trust me now. I’ve told you all I can.
The rest is up to you.” Running a hand through his shaggy hair, Modi sighed, looking truly exhausted, and I wondered—not for the first time—just what had happened to him in the last twenty years.
“Samhain approaches and time is running out. You must gather the pieces of the Fallen Key before the veil is at its thinnest. Find and protect the Everwood witch and stop the Order before they cause any more problems.” He took a breath, his jaw clenched tightly.
“Do your duty, Archer. Protect the Light.”
I nodded, my jaw clenching at the lack of information he was providing, but knowing I’d pushed him as far as I’d be able.
The demon king was only so forgiving, even for those he considered brothers.
“We won’t let you down.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke. We'd been through wars, apocalypses, and just about everything in between—but this felt different.
More final somehow. Modi's eyes held secrets I couldn't fathom, and a pain that went deeper than anything we'd shared before.
Whatever had kept him away for twenty years, whatever this mysterious woman meant to him, it was tearing him apart.
“I know.” Holding out his hand, he looked at me, and the confidence in his gaze gave me strength.
I reached out, grasping his forearm tightly, feeling his fingers dig into my flesh as he grasped mine in return.
“When you have found what you’re looking for, come to me at Fallow Hill.
You must return before the moon rises on Samhain. ”
“But, the witch? How will we—”
“Trust me,” Modi said, a gleam of something new and surprising in his fathomless eyes. “When you find her, you’ll know.”
With that, he departed, stepping through the gate and disappearing into the darkened woods.
“What the fuck are we supposed to do now?” Vine asked, his sudden question breaking the silence.
“Asmodeus was quite clear, I believe,” I replied, my mind whirling with all the information he’d given us—and highlighting all the gaps he so blatantly left as well.
“You call that clear?” Vine gave a scathing laugh. “I’ve seen complex quantum physics equations that made more sense than whatever it was Modi just dropped on us.”
“New York or Boston?” Corson asked, ignoring Vine’s ramblings.
It was something we’d grown accustomed to over the years.
“New York, I think,” I said after a second of thought. “Let’s begin at the beginning and go from there.”
Mal nodded, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head from one side to the other, much like the bird he spent a good portion of his life as.
“We’re leaving now?” Vine asked, his knife disappearing into his Rip as he stood, a vicious smile on his face. “Excellent. It’s been a while since we’ve been to the Big Apple.”
“We’re not going to see the sights,” Corson scolded, and Vine frowned.
“I know that. But we can still grab a bite from Gray’s Papaya while we’re there.”
“Must you always think with your stomach?”
Vine grinned maniacally. “Only when I’m not thinking with my dick.”
Letting out a sigh, I surveyed the room, trying to decide if there was anything I wanted to grab before we left. There wasn’t much in the house that I would need to take with me; everything of true value I kept in my Rip, on hand at a moment’s notice.
But there was something that drew my attention. Something I hadn’t thought of in a very long time.
Moving across the room, I stood before the glass curio cabinet, my gaze settling on the many trinkets housed within. Collected over the centuries, they were things that held some sort of significance to me or the guys, items we had a special attachment to or felt were worth hanging on to.
Most of them had been harvested as trophies—things Vine had kept as mementos from his favorite kills.
Yellowed finger bones arranged like a macabre bouquet, their joints still bearing traces of sinew.
Shriveled ears that had turned black with age, some still pierced with the jewelry their owners had died wearing.
The wolf shifter's tail, its fur matted with dried blood, curled around a glass vase filled with vampire fangs—some pristine white, others stained crimson from their final victims.
Looking past the curled serpent skin of a Gorgon’s snake hair, my breath caught at the sight of a signet ring I hadn’t thought about in ages.
Small and relatively plain, it was an item that anyone’s gaze would have passed over, assuming that it was nearly worthless. But staring at it now, I could feel it pulsing, an energy that had long lay dormant suddenly rising, as the power within that ring called to me.
Opening the cabinet, I slowly reached inside, the power of the ring thrumming across my skin, the vibrations raising the hairs on my arms.
Mine, the ring called, the haunting word echoing through my mind. Mine.
My hand shook as it hovered over the ring, something about it giving me pause, as though once I touched it, nothing would ever be the same.
It had been over a century since I’d worn the ring, and up until this moment, I hadn’t missed it.
It was a symbol of my past, a time when I’d guarded the crossroads, sealing deals and collecting souls.
The ring, its flat surface etched with my personal sigil, was warm to the touch, and as I slid it on my little finger, I could feel the shift inside me.
Pressing a hand to my chest, I gasped, feeling as though someone had just opened a Rip behind my ribcage, a churning void that seemed to suck the breath from my very lungs.
The sensation spread outward like fire through my veins, and for an instant I could sense everything—every soul within a mile radius, every crossroads deal that had ever been made, every binding that had ever been forged.
The power was intoxicating, terrifying, and achingly familiar. Like coming home after a long exile.
It was pain, but at the same time, ecstasy. Overwhelming and glorious and gone in an instant.
“Yo, Archer,” Vine called, storming back into the room. “You think we’ll need—whoa. You alright, boss?”
No, I fucking was not.
Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. Whatever the fuck had happened was passing, my heart rate returning to normal as the ring cooled on my finger.
Holding up my hand, I stared at it, not seeing any difference since the last time I’d worn it.
From all appearances, it was the exact same ring it always had been.
But at the same time I could tell that it wasn’t, and I didn’t know what the fuck that could mean.
“I’m fine,” I ground out, impressed at how smooth and even my words were considering I felt like I’d been run over by a truck. “Are you ready?”
“Yeah,” he answered, sounding skeptical.
“I, uh, just wondered if you thought we’d need stakes.
” He held up a fist full of wooden stakes, their pointed ends looking wicked in the dim light.
“I know Asmodeus said we were dealing with a witch coven, but you just never know when a vampire is gonna pop up, ya know?”
Glancing down at the ring again, I considered, flexing my fingers a few times. It felt good on my hand.
It felt right.
I didn’t understand, but I didn’t need to. I’d learned a long time ago to trust my gut. And my gut was telling me to wear the fucking ring.
“I think,” I said, shaking out my hand before I slipped it into my pants pocket to hide the residual tremors. “We should probably be ready for anything.”
Vine nodded, his face still crumpled in worry as he placed the stakes into his Rip, Mal and Corson joining us in the room.
They had both changed clothes and were now fully kitted out and ready for battle.
Corson stood, arms crossed, his shoulders straining against the canvas flak jacket he wore.
Mal leaned against the wall, his dark eyes hidden behind a fall of jet-black hair, an air of aggression radiating off him.
He was dressed all in black, his lean body hidden beneath layers of baggy clothes.
I took them in, my men, my brothers. I trusted them more than I trusted myself most days, and I had a feeling that trust was going to be necessary for whatever was headed our way.
“Alright, boys,” I said, nodding at each of them in turn. “Time to stand against the chaos.”
Arcing my arm high, I opened a shadow gate, the quiet of the living room immediately filled with the sounds of a New York City night. Horns honked, sirens wailed, and the rancid stink of eight million people living right on top of each other wafted into the room.
Stepping through, I looked around carefully. I’d opened the gate at the back side of Trinity Church, sheltered beneath the empty boughs of a giant elm tree. Once I’d assessed there were no immediate threats, I waved the others through, letting the gate close behind us.
The city assaulted our senses immediately—eight million heartbeats creating a symphony of life and desperation.
Beneath the surface chaos of traffic and sirens, I could sense the supernatural undercurrents that most humans never noticed.
The shadow realm was thick here, heavy with the weight of countless souls and endless ambition.
“Oh, yeah,” Vine moaned, eyes closing as he inhaled deeply.
“There is nothing better than New York at night.” Taking another deep breath through his nose, he smiled.
“I smell hot dogs.” Another breath, this time with his head tilted a different direction.
“I smell beer, and sweat, and you fuckin’ know I smell sex.
I smell...” he paused, a low rumble building in his chest as his eyes snapped open, their golden hue darkening as the fire that burned within him rose to the surface. “I smell a witch.”