Chapter 58
Walking through Zuhara’s Phantasm portal is far smoother, but I can’t blame Mister—he’s extremely young in comparison. Though now I understand why Xeraphine hates it; it’s left a tingling sensation across every inch of my skin.
“I’ve got no exponentially strong physical abilities,” the feline says as we step out onto an empty street.
I’d given him the coordinates to the hotel we stayed at in Ambarka, and seeing the bright sign brings back memories that feel like a lifetime ago—Amarah drinking from Atlas’s coffee just to get under my skin, touching her for the first time and not understanding that was the moment I knew I’d never be able to go back.
That she was mine, regardless of who she thought she was to me.
“Just stay outside,” Amarah says, pulling my gaze from the hotel. She steps a few paces ahead of us and stretches her arm outward.
I’ve never seen Thornwyn summoned, and I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect, but him simply appearing out of thin air wouldn’t make sense.
Instead, branches snap and dirt crunches in the quiet, late-night air.
A small patch of grass—clearly only meant for aesthetics or a dog’s piss break—sinks inward.
As though time has been sped up for a sprout to grow into a tree, the warrior of Vendra peels himself out of the ground.
It takes a moment for him to stand at full height, but once he does, he growls at me and Lucifer before stepping toward Amarah.
“I do not like this.”
“You don’t like anything that puts me in harm’s way,” she says, rolling her eyes but giving a half smile to the creature. “I appreciate your concern, as always.”
He nods and reaches through his body—his wooden form parting to allow it—and pulls out a matte black object. Its oval top tapers into a sharpened point, menacing in appearance for something that’s supposed to be a simple mirror.
He stretches it out to her, and I note that the reflective side is angled down toward the ground. When she hesitates, I listen to her heartbeat. She’s struggling to keep it steady.
“I’ve not touched it since that night,” she whispers.
“If you will allow me, I will hand it to the filth that has taken your friend.”
Although Thornwyn has a thorn stuck up his ass about me, I truly appreciate that he wants to protect my girl.
Amarah shakes her head. “No, and you know why.”
“Why is that, exactly?” Lucifer asks, his hands tucked into his jeans as he stares up at the creature. “Matter of fact, where were you that night? You sure as Beyond had no problem attacking me, but you couldn’t help her with what happened?”
Thornwyn takes an aggressive step toward Luce, and I instinctively move between them.
“Stop,” Amarah says softly. “Creatures of Vendra cannot attack any Witch. It would be seen as… wrong to choose one of us over the other. Vendra sees Hexborn and Yldarwrights as her disciples, so imagine your God loving another more or less than yourself.”
“So even if they were to attack you, Thornwyn and Vendra still couldn’t interfere?” Mister asks. “Excuse my ignorance of your kind, Amarah—I require some education.”
She smiles down at the cat, who is sniffing the tree-creature with intrigue. I hope he pees on him. “Correct.”
“But you can use your magic, granted by Vendra, to do so?” he asks.
She nods. “Yes, just like other species can.”
“But their gifts aren’t granted by their God.”
“But they’re granted the knowledge on how to create and use them. All given by their creator. It’s the same concept, just less direct.”
The feline purrs and drags his back across Thornwyn’s leg. “Suppose that makes sense… You make a good back scratcher.”
I look up at Amarah, who finally takes the mirror and rests it against her stomach. She takes a deep breath and turns away from us.
The night feels heavy, and there’s absolutely no one out here. Not even a car has driven past the hotel. Although several are parked in the lot, there isn’t a soul in sight.
“I’m guessing it’s that building,” she says, pointing across a row of short hedges separating one lot from another. “There’s a spell cast over it, but I don’t know why.”
“A masking spell that isn’t masking the space it’s around.”
Moving up to her side, I place myself between her and Thornwyn and stroke the small of her back.
“You know the plan. We don’t stray from it,” I say, my tone devoid of humor. “You understand, little slayer?” Looking at her, I can see she’s calculating. “We go in together. Only once we’ve got Atlas do we give them the mirror, and then we leave.”
“He’s all that matters—”
“No. Wrong.” I step in front of her, grab her face, and lift her eyes to mine. “You are all that matters. I don’t want Atlas to die, truly, but you are what’s most important. This is a trap, and we just have to stay diligent about making it out.”
Lucifer steps up beside us. “We’ll do everything to make sure he gets out, but when push comes to shove, you’re the priority.”
The moment her lip trembles, she presses it tightly together. “Okay.”
“If they refuse or deviate from the promise, you will leave with Lucifer, and I will attempt to get Atlas.”
I know she hated that part, but I reminded her that I tussled with Belial. It wouldn’t be a challenge to snap a few Hexborn necks. Though she quickly pointed out that fighting a physical being and fighting magic are two different things.
Tomato, ta-mato.
“That’s a last option.” She lets out a soft sigh. “We’ll all go home together. I won’t allow for it any other way.”
“I couldn’t have said it better myself.”
She gives me a tight smile before looking up at Lucifer, who moves in to press his lips to hers. He doesn’t say anything, just shifts his gaze to me and nods. I return it and step out of her way.
“Are you certain they can’t release the one in the mirror?” Mister asks.
“They can’t, I’m certain,” she says as we step through the bushes and approach the single-building warehouse.
It’s fully metal, and while I don’t see whatever spell she mentioned earlier, I do smell something odd.
It’s like burning grass. Or hay. I’m not entirely sure, and it’s difficult to pinpoint because I’ve never smelled it before now.
“Enlighten me,” he presses.
“I’ll explain later. Just trust that they can’t let her out.”
I think I can deduce why. She mentioned the vessel was destroyed upon her entry into the mirror. Nothing to return to.
But her comment about sacrificing a soul to bring back a Necroth the way Yesenia did for Rane, makes me wonder if it’s possible to bring a mind back to a body that wasn’t theirs to begin with.
Amarah is confident, so I am too.
She stops just a few feet from a steel door that’s cracked open. Her head tilts, and she looks to Thornwyn. “Stay with Mister. You’ll know if something is wrong.”
He nods.
“Stay safe. That is an order.”
I push open the door, and Lucifer steps in first. My little slayer follows him, and I come in behind her. The subtle shift between outside and inside is just a temperature drop—not intense, but enough to tell me we’ve stepped into the spell she mentioned.
We move through a small corridor toward another cracked door.
It’s dark in here, and even I can see perfectly fine, I’m sure Amarah is struggling.
That’s likely why she suddenly starts channeling.
Her hand lifts, and surrounding her open, relaxed fingers is the same golden light that I associate with her magic.
It flickers like a flame, and as I reach out to test it, no heat radiates from it.
Fascinating.
Luce pushes the next door open, and as we step into the open warehouse, something feels wrong.
My nose twitches, and I swear I smell blood. But it’s like something is blocking the sense from fully functioning. It’s strange, and I don’t particularly like it.
This place looks like a maintenance building. A train car sits off to the far left, and towering metal shelves line the walls, empty of boxes or material. It isn’t completely bare—there are scattered items along the walls—but the center is wide open.
And that’s where two individuals stand. Both I recognize instantly. Beside them is a chair, and sitting in it… Atlas.
I hear Amarah’s heartbeat spike, and I assume she sees him too. She doesn’t bolt toward him, which I’m proud of her for.
We move slowly. I sweep my gaze across the space, but there’s no one else here. I hear only five heartbeats. And mine. That’s good. My friend is alive, though beaten badly.
“Far enough,” Yesenia says, raising her left hand.
Like Amarah, her hand glows, but hers is a dull white—not radiant like my girl’s.
“You know… I thought I recognized you, but fuck me, last I heard you were in prison. Didn’t take much digging to see you’d escaped.
With help, apparently.” Her blue eyes flick to me, then over to Lucifer, who has since stepped to Amarah’s other side. “A Demon. Quite the entourage, Ivy.”
Rane, the girl’s brother, moves to stand over Atlas, and tension spikes through me.
“Don’t touch him,” Amarah says, stepping forward. I itch to grab her and keep her behind me, but I don’t. She’s told me not to treat her like she’s fragile, even if she is compared to me.
“He won’t,” Yesenia answers, smiling as she gestures for us to come closer. At least, that’s what I thought—until I take a step. She immediately shakes her head. “No. Just Ivy with the mirror.”
“Fuck no.” My growl echoes through the open space. “We all approach. You hand me Atlas, and she gives you the mirror.”
Her brow lifts. “Are you going back on our deal?”
Amarah gasps sharply and steps forward fast. “No! No, it’s fine.”
Through the bond, she says, “You see me, you’re close enough to get to me if they try something stupid. We can’t risk Atlas with something as trivial as a few feet.”
“Amarah… I don’t like this.”
I look over at Lucifer, who is narrowing his eyes. I assume she’s speaking through their link and telling him the same thing she’s told me. She doesn’t return to our bond and instead keeps walking the two or so dozen feet toward them.
“I’ve never seen you two before a few months ago,” Amarah says as she stops in front of the three of them. “Why do you want Verraketh?”
“Let’s have a little bit of privacy with this conversation, hmm?”
The moment those words leave Yesenia’s mouth, I’m sprinting toward them, only to slam into a wall so hard my arm snaps and I go flying backward, landing square on my ass.
Lucifer is at my side immediately, but I shake out the break in my bones and push to my feet.
Amarah turns, extending her arm. Her palm flattens, fingers splayed wide, pressing firmly against a smooth, invisible surface—her skin paling as if she’s touching glass. Her lips move, but I hear nothing. I curse.
“Fucking magic,” Lucifer spits. His shadows surge upward, wrapping around the invisible dome separating her from us. He drops them quickly; if he kept them up, we wouldn’t be able to see her—well, I wouldn’t.
She turns her back to us and screams at them before pointing toward us.
Yesenia responds, then gestures at Atlas.
Fuck this.
I go back to the barrier and slam my fist into it. Amarah doesn’t turn around, nor do the siblings glance my way.
But Atlas does.
His mouth is covered with tape, arms bound behind him against the metal chair, and his feet…
Oh Gods.
I swallow roughly.
His feet are bolted into the floor. They don’t look new, either—I can see the infection spreading up his ankles. He’s been with them for some time. If I don’t get to him, he will die.
I mouth, “I’m sorry.”
His bright eyes gloss over as he shakes his head. He jerks his chin toward Amarah, then upward.
Pinching my brows together, I look at her, then up. Nothing but turned-off fluorescent lights, metal bars, and industrial fans stare back at me. When I look at him again, his eyes are fixed on my girl.
There’s no sound, but the resolve in Atlas’s eyes is unmistakable. He shakes his head. The dried blood caked across his face cracks as he squeezes his eyes shut.
Then Amarah runs to him, ripping the cloth from his mouth. She drops the mirror without a single thought to whether it might break, and throws her arms around him.
I release a deep breath and glance quickly at Lucifer, who’s struggling to keep his own anxiety under control.
“That’s… good…” he says cautiously.
He presses his hand to the barrier.
Not even a moment passes before his expression shifts from palm-stilling calm to pure fear. I jerk my gaze back to Amarah.
Rane has Atlas by the hair, wrenching his head back. Amarah is already on her feet, bow drawn, arrow aimed at Yesenia.
Yesenia’s shoulders jump as she laughs and points up. Amarah follows her gesture, and this—this not knowing what the fuck they’re talking about—is pissing me off.
“What the fuck is she saying?!” Lucifer nearly shouts. “Too late for us…” He follows Yesenia’s mouth, catching words I can’t. “Took her… ignorant… Grimhorn… What the fuck!?”
I’m stunned—actually stunned—when Amarah’s bow vanishes from her hands. She turns toward us slowly, and the deep, sunken set of her eyes drives fear straight into my bones.
Her mouth moves.
“Run.”