Chapter 31
Nyssa
“Sentient and considerate,” I mutter, wiping water from my eyes. It isn’t just rain. It is a deluge designed to empty the streets. The drops hit my skin with enough force to sting.
“We need cover,” Dreven says. “If it is watching, we are exposed here.”
I nod and take off running towards the cottage.
My boots slip on the wet grass, but I keep my balance.
The guys follow close behind. We burst through the front door of my home, bringing half the weather in with us.
Dastian kicks the door shut and shakes his head like a wet dog, sending spray everywhere.
“Do you mind?” I snap.
“Just drying off,” he says with a grin that looks too tight.
“Wards,” Dreven orders, moving to the window. He places a hand on the glass. Shadow spreads from his palm, coating the pane in a translucent film. “We need to mask our signatures. If the First Law stripped you, maybe it can’t see you, but it can definitely see us.”
Voren stands by the fireplace, water dripping from his coat onto the rug before he magically dries himself. “It is trying to draw you out.”
“Into the pouring rain?” I mutter, taking off my hoodie and carrying it to the kitchen sink to wring out.
“No,” Voren says, following me. “You said yourself it can’t sense you. So, it thinks you’re hiding or have vanished. It wants you to come for it.”
“So, it can eat me first. Nice.”
“At this point, I think it is safe to say we don’t know its motivations,” Dreven says, also now dry, joining us and taking my hoodie from me and with a snap of his fingers, it’s dry. Then he waves his hand at me to dry me, and I smile in relief. “Thanks,” I mutter.
“Don’t get used to it,” he murmurs, scanning me for any remaining dampness. “I can’t dry the rest of the world quite so easily.”
“I’ll settle for just me,” I say, pulling the warm hoodie back on.
I walk into the living room and drop onto the sofa. A dry Dastian paces the length of the rug, his energy making the air feel thick with static. Voren stands by the window, watching the rain hammer against Dreven’s shadow-wards.
“So,” I say, looking at the three gods. “Tabitha mentioned a Champion. If the First Law has stripped me, and I have no authority, does that mean whatever test this Judge is about to impart means I need someone else to do it?”
“Potentially,” Dreven replies. “We don’t even know what the test is yet.”
“I’ll do it,” Dastian says instantly, stopping his pacing to look at me.
“No,” Dreven counters, his voice hard. “I will.”
“Stop,” I snap. “We don’t even know what’s going to happen. Tabitha said the Judge tests intent, not just strength. It might be more heavily swayed in one way than another.”
“Intent is my speciality,” Voren says, turning from the window.
“That’s all well and good, but I need to know what happens when this Judge arrives. Do I just stand there? Do I fight?”
“You survive,” Dreven says, moving to crouch in front of me. “We handle the rest.”
I look at him. He believes it. I just hope the First Law agrees.
“I plan to do more than just breathe,” I say. “I want to win.”
Dastian stops his pacing and drops into the armchair. He looks restless, his fingers drumming a frantic rhythm on the armrest. “Winning usually involves having weapons that actually work. Currently, we are outmatched.”
“Thanks for the optimism,” I mutter.
Voren turns from the window. The rain hammers against the glass, loud and relentless. “The dead have gone silent,” he notes. “Completely silent.”
“Maybe they are hiding,” I suggest.
“Wraiths don’t hide from rain,” he counters. “They hide from authority.”
A sharp knock at the door makes us all flinch.
Dastian stands instantly, red sparks flying from his fingertips. Dreven summons a blade of solidified shadow in his grip. I grab my steel and sit forward.
“Who knocks during an apocalypse?” Dastian asks.
“Someone polite?” I offer.
Dreven moves to the door but doesn’t touch the handle. “Identify yourself.”
“Open the bloody door,” a familiar voice snaps from the other side. “I’m getting drenched!”
“Tabitha,” I say, lowering my blade.
Dreven unlocks it. Tabitha stumbles in, soaking wet. Water pools around her boots as she straightens her coat. She looks annoyed.
“You took your time,” Dastian says. “Care to share why you didn’t follow us out of the Pantheon?”
“Care to share why you left me?” she clips out and with the snap of her fingers, dries herself into an orderly fashion.
That is starting to piss me off. Why can’t I do that?
“Left you?” I ask, shaking my head. “We didn’t leave you.”
“You hurtled towards, what I assume was a containment facility for the Devourer and then it escaped, and you went after it. You didn’t give me much of a chance to catch up with what was going on.”
“You don’t run?” Dastian says with a smirk.
“Running is unbecoming,” she says primly. “It suggests urgency, chaos.”
“It was both of those things, and more. Have you seen Cloudy McCloudFace up there?” I gesture with my blade.
She purses her lips. “Indeed, I have. Care to explain what it is doing?”
“If we knew that, we wouldn’t be hiding out in my cottage trying to figure out our next move.”
“Basically,” Dreven says, trying to steer the conversation towards some sort of strategy session. “It went up there, and the mortals came out to look at it. It sent them back inside with the mother of all thunderstorms.”
“It sent them away, didn’t eat them?”
I nod. “Weird, huh?”
“Weird doesn’t quite cover it. It’s waiting for something.”
“The Judge?”
She frowns. “No, it has no reason to wait for the Judge. The First Law was imposed because of you, not it.”
“It can’t sense me now because of that. In case you were wondering. It thinks I’ve done a runner.”
Her frown eases. “Ah, yes, well, that makes sense then. It was waiting for your return.”
“Yes, but why?” I press. “Why not just get on with the devouring? That’s its whole raison d’être.”
“Hmm,” she murmurs. “Quite. It’s a puzzle.”
I glare at her. “Yeah, well, I hate puzzles, so someone needs to figure this out.”
“Any chance of a cup of tea?” she asks, ignoring me.
“Sure. I’ll make tea, while you figure out what the fuck that thing is waiting for!” I rise and storm off to the kitchen. This is beyond ridiculous. I’m the slayer. I slay things. I don’t do the thinking part. I do the acting part.
Except now I’m not just the slayer, and this whole month is giving me a migraine.
I jam the kettle under the tap. Water splashes over my hand, cold and shocking. I ignore it and fill the jug, slamming it onto the base with a loud clatter. It is pathetic. The world sits on the brink of destruction, a massive void creature hovers over my village, and I make tea.
“Milk and two sugars for the witch, I assume?” Dastian asks, appearing in the doorway.
He hops onto the counter and swings his legs, looking entirely too comfortable given the circumstances.
“I am tempted to put bleach in it,” I mutter, grabbing mugs from the cupboard. My hands shake. I hate that. I grip the ceramic until my knuckles turn white to stop it.
“A bit extreme. Besides, Order probably filters toxins naturally.”
“She knows more than she is saying.” I drop a tea bag into a mug. “What happens if this Judge shows up and I am still just me? A mortal with a sword?”
“Then we fight for you,” he says simply. “Like we said.”
“I don’t like hiding behind you.”
“It isn’t hiding. It is a strategy.” He reaches out and tucks a stray hair behind my ear and cups my face.
It stops what I’m doing, and despite everything, I lean into his touch.
I’m tired of fighting. I’m tired of fighting them, of fighting Tabitha, of fighting vampires and zombies.
And I haven’t even started fighting the Devourer yet.
I move closer to him. He opens his legs wider as I nestle between them, just breathing, eyes closed and feeling his little sparks of disorder flickering under the surface.
He leans back and gently grips my chin. “You’ve got this, slayer.”
“I don’t want to have it,” I murmur. “I’m tired.”
“I know. I also know how much that took for you to admit it. We are here, Nyssa. Use us.”
“Why are you here?” I ask suddenly. “Why do you want to be with me? I’m sarcastic and feisty, brittle even.
I fight with you all the time, I’m always trying to prove I can do this on my own.
Why are you still here?” Tears have pricked my eyes, but at this point, I don’t even care.
He wipes a tear from my cheek with his thumb, his touch warm and surprisingly gentle for a god of destruction.
“Because easy is boring,” he says. “And you, Nyssa Vale, are definitely not boring.”
He hops down from the counter and stands before me, forcing me to look up at him. The amber in his eyes shifts to a deep gold. “I am Chaos. I thrive on friction, on the spark that happens when flint strikes steel. You provide that spark every time you open your mouth to argue with us.”
“So I’m entertainment?” I ask, sniffing.
“You are the centre of the universe,” he corrects.
“Dreven needs something he can’t fully control.
Voren needs a pulse to remind him why the silence matters.
And I need someone who looks at the madness and decides to punch it in the face.
” He presses his forehead against mine. “We stay because you are you. Brittle parts and all.”
The kettle clicks off with a loud snap, shattering the moment.
“I don’t want to carry on,” I admit. “I want this all to just go away.”
“I know, sweetheart. But wishing it so isn’t an option. We have to fight to get what we want.”
“Why? Why do we have to fight?”
“If we don’t, everyone dies.”
“Gee, thanks for the reminder.” I sniff and wipe my eyes on the sleeve of my hoodie. “I hate you.”
He grins. “You don’t really.”
“No, I don’t. I actually think I’m starting to fall for you.
” It’s a lie. I’ve already fallen. I don’t know what I would do without these gods driving me crazy every second of every day now.
He freezes. For a split second, the chaos in his eyes stills.
Then that jagged grin returns, softer around the edges.
“Good,” he murmurs. “Because falling is just another form of chaos. And I’m very good at catching.”
He kisses my forehead, a brief, hot press of lips against skin, before stepping back.
“Tea,” he reminds me. “Before the Order Witch decides we’re plotting treason in here.”
I take a shaky breath, but he takes over, and I’m grateful.
I pick up two mugs. Dastian grabs the others. We walk back into the living room.
Tabitha is in an armchair, back rigid, knees together. Dreven stands by the door, his shadow-blade gone but his tension remaining. Voren keeps his eyes on the big cloud.
“Service with a scowl,” I say, handing Tabitha her mug.
She accepts it with a nod. “Thank you.”
I pass a mug to Dreven. He takes it, his fingers brushing mine. His skin feels cool. He searches my face, eyes tracking the redness I know is there. He doesn’t say anything. He just nods once.
I sit on the sofa again, cradling my mug for warmth. “Right. Tea is served. Crisis is paused. Do you know anything else about this Judge?”
Tabitha shakes her head. “As far as I know, it has never been called before. Aethel was the true ruler of the Pantheon, and before her, her mother. There isn’t anything else I can tell you.”
I sigh and take a sip of tea. It was a long shot. This thing wants us on the backfoot.
I’ve never felt more unsure of anything in my whole life.