Chapter 24
Chapter twenty-four
Delilah
The burn in my chest intensified, feeling like a hot coal was pressed against my skin.
Inside her pouch, Pandora began to squirm, as though she was trying to get away from the burning heat, but there was nowhere for her to go.
Placing a comforting hand against her in the pouch, I offered soothing words, but she didn’t want to settle.
“I know, girl,” I conceded. “I hate it, too.”
Staring up at the glowing sigil, I had the strangest desire to climb out the window and scale the steeple myself. Everything in me was telling me to get to that spot. To touch that sigil and find the relic that I just knew was hidden inside.
Before I could haul myself out the window, Archer reached up, his long black claws once again making an appearance as he grasped the base of the iron rod—completely unfazed by the extreme heat—and snapped the top of the weathervane off, bringing the post with the glowing bulb with him as he slid down the steeple on his backside, leaving the smoldering mess of the gold weathervane behind.
Slamming into the ledge at the bottom, Archer jumped down, using one hand to swing back through the window, and landed lightly on his feet by my side.
“Time to go, witch.”
“Did you get it?” I asked as he started down the stairs as fast as he could go. Lifting the hem of my stupid dress, I followed him, my attention riveted on the bulb in his hands. I needed to touch it. If he would just let me touch it, I could breathe again. “I want to see it.”
“Archer!” came Vine’s shout from below. “We got company.”
“Hey!” I called as Archer strode past me and headed for the stairs. “Give it to me.”
He paused, offering me a confused stare.
“The relic. We both know it should be mine.” My heart thudded painfully in my chest, the knowledge that the first piece of the Fallen Key was so close making my skin itch. “You have no right to keep it from me.”
He opened his mouth to respond, but a shout from below drew his attention and he took off down the stairs, his pace so brisk that I struggled to keep up.
I needed to keep up.
The burn in my chest was painful, nearly unbearable, but if I could just touch that sigil, I knew—I just knew—that everything would be alright.
Reaching the bottom, Archer strode into the room like a general, his troops assembled and waiting for instruction. I watched him like a hawk, not wanting the broken weathervane out of my sight for even a moment.
“There are five of them in the main church area,” Corson stated, his hands filled with two shortswords that I’d never seen before.
Beside him, Mal paced, muttering under his breath in a language I didn’t speak, his agitation clear.
Corson eyed him warily before he continued, “And there’s someone really fucking powerful outside. ”
“It’s the Storm-bringer,” Archer growled, his face displaying his displeasure at that fact. Suddenly, he opened another of those portals, like Mal had when he’d climbed into my room, and reached inside, withdrawing that bow and quiver of arrows I’d seen him use at the house in New York.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Corson groused, his fingers tightening on the grip of his swords.
“What the fuck is he doing topside?” Vine asked, strapping a bandolier of throwing knives across his own chest before selecting his spear and closing his portal. “I thought they’d locked him up and thrown away the key ages ago.”
“A better question is when did he come topside,” Corson added. “Because if it was anytime in the last twenty-five years, I have some serious fucking questions to ask him.”
“It appears that things are changing faster than we’d anticipated.” Archer looked pissed, his mind clearly whirling at the implications of his statement, but all I could focus on was the Key.
“Who is the Storm-bringer?” I asked, my eyes still on the gold bulb in Archer’s hand.
“He’s a fucking liar,” Vine spat, and Corson rolled his eyes.
“He’s a demon, but not like us.” Corson’s tone was patient, which I would have appreciated if I had any space left in my brain for that kind of thing. “He’s the worst kind of trouble, and he shouldn’t be anywhere near this plane right now.”
A loud crash prevented me from asking any further questions.
“They’re tearing the place apart. We need to get whatever the hell that is,” Corson said, dipping his chin toward the bulb, “away from here as fast as possible.”
“Agreed.” Archer frowned, looking at the item in his hand. About the size of a softball, the orb that had topped the weathervane was still glowing, the sigil on its surface pulsing gently, and if I hadn’t known better, I would have thought it was matching the frantic beating of my heart.
“Wait!” Persephone cried, her face still etched with heartache.
“You’re leaving?” Seeming to snap out of her despair, Percy strode across the room, one finger raised as she pointed at Archer accusingly.
Seeing her that close to him—that close to the relic in his hand that still pulled at my very soul—had me curling my lip in annoyance.
Her very presence had me seething with rage, but the closer she got, the more I wanted to grasp her by her shiny hair and drag her away.
Mine, my heart cried, but I was unsure exactly what it was referring to.
The dark, brooding demon, or the relic he was holding.
“Archer, you can’t just leave! They’re ruining the church! My Uncle’s life’s work, and you’re just letting them do as they please?” She scoffed, her eyes cold. “Some great protector you turned out to be.”
For a moment, no one said anything, all of us staring with wide eyes as another crash came from the rooms below. Crossing her arms over her chest, Persephone moaned pitifully, the sound snapping Archer into action.
“Fuck. Alright, this is gonna get messy. Vine, you’re with Percy.” Vine nodded, moving toward her. Leaning down, he whispered something in her ear, and she nodded before standing, one hand clutching Vine’s arm.
“Corson, Mal, you run point. I’ll bring up the rear with the witch.” I didn’t even have it in me to be annoyed, mostly because being with Archer meant being near the relic he carried, and that was all that mattered to my fevered mind.
“Archer,” Corson interrupted. “There are more of them than there are of us. Are you sure this is a fight you want to commit to?”
Archer glanced at me, his face troubled, then at Persephone and her watery, angry eyes, before he sighed.
“It is a fight we have to commit to, so let’s get it over with.”
“Stay close,” he muttered, tucking the weathervane under one arm before notching an arrow and readying the black wood bow. “And do as I say.”
“I can help, you know,” I muttered, feeling my resentment bubble up once again. Why was he so intent on keeping it from me? It was mine, dammit! “Or, at least I could if you hadn’t taken all my things.”
He frowned at me, his eyes expressing his doubt at my claim, but said nothing. Instead, he checked in with the others one more time before moving to the door and pausing to listen.
“Alright, let’s do this. Good hunting, Brothers.”
They repeated the words back to him, then Corson yanked the door open and burst into the narrow stairwell, Mal on his heels like a wraith. I watched as Vine waited a beat, listening, then he grabbed Persephone by the arm and towed her after him.
“Archer.” I tugged urgently on his sleeve in an attempt to get his attention. “Give it to me. I can protect it better than you can.” Anger swirled in my veins, warring with the covetous desire I had to just rip it from his grasp and run with it. Take it from him, keep it for myself.
Forever.
But deep in the back of my mind, I knew that no matter how far I ran, Archer would find me.
The thought comforted me as much as it annoyed me.
“I’ll keep it safe,” I assured him, trying to look innocent and dependable.
Once again, he stared me down, his hesitation evident. But eventually, he nodded, removing the piece from under his arm and holding it out. When I went to take it—my heart in my throat at the prospect of holding it in my own hands—he yanked it back and out of my reach.
“If you double cross me, witch,” he threatened. “I will drop you in the deepest hole I can find and leave you there to rot.”
“I won’t,” I promised, only half paying attention because the orb in his hands was calling me like a beacon.
I could feel it, the energy of the relic. It was trapped inside the bulb, caged and howling, and it wanted out.
Desperately.
Without thinking, I grasped the piece by the iron pole and swung it like an axe, bringing the orb down on the floor with a ringing thwack.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Archer hissed, reaching for the weathervane. I scrambled back, showing him my teeth as I glared his way, but he only followed me step for step.
“I need it open,” I answered, raising the orb above my head again for another swing. “It’s mine, and I want it open.”
“It’s solid gold.” He grasped my wrist, halting the downward stroke. “You’ll never break it.”
“But it needs to get out.” I had no real idea what I was saying, only that I knew down to the depths of my soul that I had to open that bulb and let the relic out.
“Do you think we could focus on escaping with our lives first?” he spat, and I realized the sounds of fighting were loud in the room below us. “You can act insane later. Right now, I need you to fucking listen!”
“Fine,” I muttered petulantly, shaking off his grip and clutching the thing to my chest, taking care not to squash Pandora, who chittered at me, making her displeasure known.
“Time to move,” Archer growled, yanking open the door. The sounds of combat grew louder—metal clashing against metal, the crackle of magic, and someone’s pained cry.
I followed close to Archer as we descended the narrow stairs, his steps quiet and his bow held ready. The burning in my chest intensified with every step, as though it was reaching out through my ribcage and straight for the relic I carried.
I needed a moment. Just one to focus, to listen to what the power inside the bulb was telling me. Once I had that—once I had the relic in my hands—I could breathe again, I knew it.
I only needed a moment of peace.
But I wasn’t going to get it, because when we emerged at the bottom of the steps it wasn’t peace that greeted us but pure pandemonium.