Chapter 8
Chapter eight
Delilah
Archer removed his suit jacket, folding it neatly and handing it over to Mal, who took it without complaint.
One by one, he unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt, the fabric a green so dark, it looked nearly black.
Methodically, he rolled each of the sleeves up his forearm, taking the time to ensure they were symmetrical and even.
His forearms were lean and powerfully built, roped with muscle, veins standing prominently against his lightly tanned skin, and I hated how the action made him look even more dangerous—and attractive—than he had previously.
With that complete, he turned to me, a viciously condescending smile on his face.
“As amusing as your defiance is,” he stated, holding one hand up as though to backhand me, “it’s high time the Order remembered who they were dealing with.”
“I’m not—” I started to protest, but my words died in my throat as, before me, he began to change.
It started at the tips of his fingers, the nails darkening before my very eyes, elongating from blunt, even ends into razor-sharp claws.
Like something out of a nightmare, the change spread, the skin of his hand turning from dusky brown to a dark granite gray, the texture shifting from human flesh to something that looked like living stone.
Veins of darker color threaded through the transformed skin, pulsing with an otherworldly energy that made my stomach turn.
The change continued up his forearm, muscle mass increasing as bone lengthened, his human hand becoming a monstrous appendage that looked like it could tear through steel.
But it was his face during the transformation that truly terrified me—the look of cold satisfaction as he watched my horror, as though my fear fed something dark within him.
He stared at me, a macabre smile stretched across his still-human face that didn’t come close to reaching his eyes.
For a moment, I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but stare at the creature wearing Archer's face.
Every horrible tale Heidi had ever told me, every warning about the true nature of demons, came flooding back.
This was what lurked beneath his handsome exterior—something ancient and inhuman and utterly without mercy.
My hands shook against the shadow restraints, and I had to fight the urge to look away.
But beneath the terror was something else, something I didn't want to acknowledge. Even in his monstrous form, I could feel that same pull, that same inexplicable draw toward him. What was wrong with me?
Turning away, he moved back to the crypt, positioning himself so that he could reach inside with his newly transformed arm, and began to claw at the hard packed dirt on the right hand wall of the opening. The very wall the compass had pointed him to.
I watched, fascinated, as he pulled out armful after armful of dirt and rock, the tightly packed earth not standing a chance before his inhuman strength and form.
Finally, after the hole was nearly as deep as his arm was long, he stopped, pulling an item out and dusting it off, his hand returning to normal as he did so.
Once again, I pulled against my shadow restraints, but this time, they gave, not releasing me, but not holding me tight against the wall either.
It was almost as if they were as curious to see what Archer had uncovered as I was.
It was small, no bigger than a deck of cards, but made of what looked like solid gold. There were some jewels on it, as well as what looked like intricate carvings, but it was too dark for me to be able to see what they were.
“Holy shit, boss,” Vine piped up, his voice loud in the tight confines of the tunnel. “You didn’t tell me this was a treasure hunt.”
“I didn’t know it was,” Archer murmured, his suspicious gaze landing on me once again. “Tell me, witch. Is this what you were after?”
I said nothing, lifting my chin defiantly.
After all, I didn’t know what was hiding in the crypt either.
Not that I would tell Archer that.
“I thought the Order had already stolen the relic,” the last member of their group spoke, his voice low and gruff.
“It would appear,” Archer said, turning the item over thoughtfully. “That we have been misled.” Turning to me, he thrust the item in my direction, and I flinched back instinctively. “Open it.”
I frowned. “What makes you think I can open it?”
“If the Order wanted this item so badly, you must have known what it was and how to access it. Now, open it, or I’ll start removing your toes one at a time.” He leaned over me, his eyes filled with malice. “You won’t be so quick to slip away from me when you can’t even walk, will you?”
With a quick tilt of his head, the shadows on my wrists moved, their strangely firm pressure moving my hands from out to the sides to straight in front of me, rotating them so that Archer could place the item in my upturned palms.
It was warm, almost hot to the touch, which I thought was strange considering the cool dampness of the tunnel around us.
Calling my witchlight closer, I examined the small box in detail.
It was beautiful work—the kind of craftsmanship that took a lifetime to perfect.
The gold was warm, almost alive beneath my fingers, and the jewels embedded in its surface weren't just decorative.
Each one pulsed with a different color, creating a pattern I couldn't quite decipher.
The runes carved into the metal were ancient, older than anything I'd studied with Heidi, but somehow familiar.
The circle and flame symbol at its center seemed to call to something deep within me, the same way my pendant did.
When I pressed my thumb to it, allowing the sharp edges to pierce my skin, I felt a brief flicker of.
..something. Not quite magic, but not quite mundane either.
As though the relic were testing me, finding me wanting.
When nothing happened, I exhaled, knowing that there was only one answer to this particular puzzle.
“I can’t open it,” I admitted, not wanting to take my eyes off the small gold relic, now my only connection to Phips and the journey that Heidi had sent me on.
“Liar!” Archer snarled, and the shadows tightened aggressively as he ripped the relic from my hands. “You will open it, or you will rue the day you sold your soul to the Order of the Broken Veil!”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed.
He was so far off base it was ridiculous.
“I am not a member of the Order,” I said, shaking my head at his ignorance.
“And I’m not refusing to open it out of some twisted act of impudence, either.
” Nodding to the item in his hand, I added.
“It’s a blood lock. The only one who can open it is the one who sealed it.
Or,” I added thoughtfully. “The one who it was sealed for. This one wasn’t sealed for me. ”
Archer frowned again, his forehead creasing in frustration as he ran his fingers over the circle and flame carved at the center of the box, smearing the drop of my blood around as he considered my words.
“Phips,” he whispered, and if I wasn’t mistaken, there was sadness in his tone.
“Tough to get help from a dead man, boss,” Vine said, not unkindly.
Watching them, I realized that these men really did have a bond, the kind of relationship I’d only ever really had with Heidi.
A sharp pang of grief washed over me, so intense it felt like a physical blow.
Watching these demons interact, seeing the loyalty and affection beneath their harsh exterior, reminded me of everything I'd lost. Heidi had been my anchor, my protector, my only family.
She'd died protecting me, and here I was, captured by the very creatures she'd spent her life running from.
But as I watched Archer's expression soften when he spoke Phips's name, I couldn't help but wonder if everything I'd been taught about demons was entirely true. The pain in his voice was real—I could hear it, feel it somehow. These weren't mindless monsters. They were... complicated.
“Tough,” he agreed, looking at his crew. “But not impossible. Come.” Rebuttoning his cuffs, Archer took his jacket back from Mal before sliding the relic into an inside pocket and turning to me. “Looks like you’ve received a stay of execution, witch. But don’t push your luck.”
With those words, he waved his arm, opening a hole in the middle of nowhere, and I gasped in shock.
Before me, the dank tunnel was gone, replaced by a wall of clean white tile.
I stared, trying to make sense of what I was seeing, my thoughts tumbling over each other like leaves in the wind, crashing and colliding before darting off again.
“Let’s go.” Archer’s words were sharp as he grasped my arm through my cloak, hauling me toward the hole, my mind too confused to even voice a protest.
Before I could even process what was happening, the world tilted sideways. The sensation was unlike anything I'd ever experienced—like being pulled through thick, cold water while falling through endless darkness. My stomach lurched, and for a terrifying moment, I couldn't tell which way was up.
Time seemed to stretch and compress simultaneously. I caught glimpses of impossible things in the darkness—distant lights that might have been stars or souls, whispered voices in languages I didn't recognize, the feeling of vast spaces and ancient powers watching our passage.
Then, suddenly, we were through, tumbling onto solid ground in a place I didn't recognize.
My witchlight was gone, extinguished by whatever force powered Archer's magic, leaving us in comparative darkness.
I groaned, trying to regain my bearings while fighting the urge to vomit from the disorienting journey.
Behind me, the strange hole closed with a quiet pop, closing off any access back to the tunnels. Wherever he’d taken me, there was no going back now.