Oathbound, p.22
Oathbound, page 22
She raises her nose to the air. “Yeah, I can smell them too. They peeled outta here real quick. I smell fear. Anger. And—wait—” Abruptly, she blurs closer to me, tugging me close enough to bury her nose against my jacket before nearly tossing me into the railing. “Gross!” She snarls. “You smell like warlock. What—”
“I told you, she’s in trouble!” I say, rubbing my neck where my collar had been yanked tight. “There was a girl in the bathroom with a warlock. He was kidnapping her for something. Her power, I think. She told me to back off, but we have to go after them—”
“We… we can’t,” Zoe says, growing suddenly still.
“What do you mean? We gotta follow them—”
“How would we?” She jerks a chin out at the lot, where flakes are starting to come down more heavily. “Whoever you saw is long gone by now and traveling by car. The snow’s coming down, and it’s only gonna get worse. Besides, even if we could go after them and you fire up your power, they’ll wanna grab your ass too! Then what? Warlocks don’t work alone; there’ll be at least two more with him, with who knows what borrowed magic.”
“But—”
“And shit’s going down right now, right here!” She jerks a thumb behind her. “Regazel just showed up, and it looks really bad that I left the meeting to go find you. There’re protocols with demons, Bree, serious ones—”
“Zoe!” I cry. “The girl—”
“Is gone!” Zoe says, waving her hand. “Also…” She shrugs, voice too light, too dismissive. “Sketchy stuff goes down at the Rat; you know that.”
“ ‘Sketchy stuff’?” I exclaim. I stare at her like I don’t know who she is. “This wasn’t sketchy; this was wrong—”
“You said yourself this girl told you to back off, right?” Zoe says, advancing on me. “She knows more about her situation than you do—”
“She was a Rootcrafter!” I say.
Zoe’s gaze heats my skin. “What do you know about Rootcrafters?”
I gape at her. “Don’t worry about what I know. What do you know about Rootcrafters?”
Zoe holds my gaze, fiery and red, and opens her mouth to bare her fangs. A gesture that stopped scaring me ages ago.
“What do you know, Zoe?” I ask again, unmoved.
Zoe closes her mouth with a snap and backs off. “Ancestral magic users have the strongest access to aether—to root—than any other humans. Rootcrafters, especially. And their emotions can… can be richer, too. So greater demons prefer to feed on them.” She looks away. “Let’s go back inside—”
The only demon I know of who feeds on Rootcrafter power is the Hunter. The Shadow King. Erebus. A chill falls over my body, deeper and colder than anything the winter mountains could send my way. “Greater demons, plural, or just one?”
Zoe stares at me, something in her eyes warring. Then, abruptly, the fight I see within her is over. “Let’s go back inside, Bree.”
“Answer the question.”
“No.”
“Are the Rootcrafters okay?” I ask. “Will she be okay if he feeds on her?”
Zoe looks away. “Physically, yes, but… spiritually? Her magic? I don’t… I don’t know,” she mutters, turning back to the door. “Elijah is expecting us. Please, let’s—”
Her magic. Rootcrafters’ magic is what ties them to their communities, their families. It connects them to one another, even before an ancestor is ever called upon. And Rootcrafters’ innate branch of power—their personal magic—is what their ancestors enhance. But unlike my own body, Bloodcrafted to hold limitless ancestral root, the average ’Crafter is only meant to borrow power from their ancestors for a short time.
I don’t have to think long to see what the danger is: The King is beyond ancient and beyond powerful. If he feeds on that Rootcrafter girl mid-working, drawing everything he can from her with his vast appetite, her personal branch of power will likely give out before her ancestors’ root will. And if her personal branch of power breaks… she’ll be cut off from who she is.
Disconnected from her own family and severed from her community.
A type of death.
I grasp Zoe’s arm. “Where does he feed on them?”
“I don’t know! He doesn’t tell anyone how he feeds, when he feeds—” Zoe throws up her hands, a nervous, thin laugh escaping her. It’s the kind of quick laugh you hear when someone doesn’t want something to be true. When they’ve decided to turn away from the hard thing in favor of easy ignorance, and the laugh helps to paint the world over. “He needs to consume aether and human energy just like any other demon, but he doesn’t need to feed as often as other demons. Maybe it’s not even him!”
“Does he hire warlocks?” I ask, and she shudders like she always does at the very mention of the pact magic users. I remember one of my mysterious someones having a similar reaction to a warlock at the Crossroads Lounge. Warlock pact magic is not very popular among cambions—even the King himself openly despises warlocks. I can’t imagine why he’d work with one, unless… “Does he hire them because the warlocks are human, so they can get to other humans more easily, go undetected—”
Zoe scoffs. “You know we can’t even bear to be in the same room as pact magic. It’s so bitter and sort of rotten and—”
“Is it him, Zoe?” I ask.
Zoe blurs toward me, mouth twisting in a scowl an inch from my face. “You ran away with a demon, Bree. Not just any demon but the King. What did you expect to see when you were with him?”
In the quiet between us, something deep and terrifying opens up inside me. A silent scream tears at my guts, my heart, my lungs. I don’t have an answer for her, and she knows it.
Her eyes soften infinitesimally. “I’m sorry about the girl you saw. I know you want to help her, save her and her magic. I—I want to save her too. Wish we could,” she says, “but we really need to get back inside. We can’t lose this lead or the old man. He’ll… he’ll get mad at us. Punish us. Me and Elijah. Okay?”
I blink at her, the storm inside my heart churning so deeply I’m nauseated. “Punish you?”
Zoe nods, eyes skittering away from mine. “There are things you don’t know… about me and Elijah. It’s a trial situation, and if we mess it up—”
“What will he do to you and Elijah?”
“Please, Bree?” Zoe says quietly, voice wavering. “Can we go? I have to be there with Elijah, and you—you can’t be out here alone.”
I don’t answer. I don’t even feel it when she tugs on my jacket the first time. She tugs again, and my eyes find her, dazed from all I’ve learned in the last few minutes. Worried for the strange girl. Worried for Zoe. Even worried for Elijah.
“You gotta take this off,” she mumbles. “The smell… it’s too strong.”
I let her take the jacket off me. She carefully folds it inside out and stuffs it under her arm. “Come on. I’ll tuck it behind the bar before we head back to the table.”
As I follow her back inside, all I can think is that she’s right: I chose to be in the Shadow King’s circle. And Zoe and Elijah did too. And we keep choosing.
But that girl in the bathroom didn’t choose her fate; she resigned herself to it. And tried to save me, a stranger, in the process.
17
I CAN IMMEDIATELY tell that the man sitting at the far end of the booth is a goruchel. A full-blooded demon, wearing the skin of a man he killed. A mimic whose eyes scorch my skin in only the way that Shadowborn attention can.
I’ve become somewhat desensitized to the twins’ gazes by now, but it’s been a while since I’ve felt the angry attention of a full demon. It doesn’t erase my apprehension—and fear—for the Rootcrafter girl I’d just seen in the bathroom, but it grounds me back in my own body at least for the moment.
“Who the hell is this?” the man asks as I slide across the booth to sit beside Elijah. Zoe moves in next to me, and the three of us make a tight arc opposite our guest.
“We’re watching over her”—Elijah shoots me an unreadable expression as he sips what appears to be something dark brown and alcoholic—“for him.”
The man’s eyes widen at that. He draws his own liquor closer, clutching it tightly. “You mean you two are actually in touch with…” He gestures with one hand. “Him?”
Elijah’s eyes haven’t left my face, the only indication that he has any emotion whatsoever about my presence. “Yes, Regazel.” Elijah’s eyes flicker red, then brown as he turns to face the man across from him, drumming his fingers on the table in what I know to be a tell. He’s irritated. “But you aren’t here to impress him. You’re here to impress us. Now that we’re all in attendance, what have you brought as tribute?”
“A valuable trophy.” Regazel produces a small velvet box. “I hope this will suffice.”
Trophy. That’s what Elijah had called my necklace. Does that word mean more here than what I’d first realized? Zoe said there were “protocols” with demons. Is this one of them?
I can’t help but think of the Rootcrafter girl and the warlock who wanted her for her power. Would he bring her as tribute to some demon employer? Was that demon employer the King? My confusion and anger mingle into a toxic knot strong enough that Zoe kicks me under the table and shoots me a glare with a message. Calm down.
Elijah drags the box across the table and flicks it open. Within it lies a single deep-golden-colored coin. “What is it?”
“A coin from a bank robbery in the seventies, tainted with human greed.” Regazel gestures at it. “Give it a whiff yourself.”
Elijah lowers his head and inhales, long and slow. His eyes flash red, and he swipes a tongue over his lower lip. “Smells weak, but good.”
“Smells even better if you actually need that humanity.” Regazel tilts his head, looking between both twins. “But you don’t need it at all, do ya?”
Zoe takes the box for herself. “No, we don’t.”
Something ugly passes through Regazel’s eyes. “Must be convenient. Never starving.” His lips pull back. “How easy it is for you balanced cambions. All the perks of demonia and none of the drawbacks.”
Elijah’s eyes slide to Regazel’s. “You would think that, wouldn’t you?”
Zoe snaps the box shut, sliding it under the table and into a pocket. “Your tribute is accepted, Regazel. We’ll hear you out as official representatives of the King, but you still have to prove your worth and loyalty to him, or else we’ll end this little interview that you insisted on having a day early, for some reason.”
“Call me Reggie,” the man says, glancing at me. “I can speak freely in front of her?”
Zoe snaps at him. “Don’t look at her. Look at us.”
Elijah sighs, long and deep. Almost bored, even though he was so visibly anxious about making this meeting less than an hour ago. “Tell us what you have to offer, or we’re out of here. So far, all you’ve said is that you’ve faced off against a Merlin and won.”
I hold perfectly still, unsure how to play this game of politics, of urgency and patience, of inviting the other party to show their hand without showing one’s own hand at all. All I want to do is chase after the kidnapped girl, but the quick burn of Reggie’s eyes on my face lets me know that while the demon’s still playing the game, he’s growing tired of it. An explosion is under the surface.
Reggie clasps his hands together. “Sent ’im packing, yeah.”
Zoe leans back. “You got lucky, so what? Maybe if you’d killed one, I’d be impressed.”
Reggie takes a loud sip of his beverage. “Y’have any idea how hard it is to kill a Merlin?”
“We’ve heard,” Elijah responds smoothly. “Tell us something new.”
“I got your something new.” Reggie leans in close, expression turning sly. “Have you heard that someone is taking Merlins out? I bet that’s some intel the King wants.”
For the second time tonight, alarm bells ring in my head. I know Merlins. I may not know their faces or names, but I know their strength, their speed, their skill with aether. Sitting here in the bar, I can see their features and techniques behind my eyes. Golden irises, amber, deep orange. Fangs both beautiful and frightening. Bright flashes of silver-blue and blue-silver… quarterstaffs and scythes and mage flame tornadoes.
What of the Merlin boy who sacrificed his humanity to save you?
Wherever he is, wherever I sent him, I don’t want him to die.
My technique for sealing my root is good, but something about my body must have changed at the memory of this Merlin I know—my scent, my heartbeat—because Elijah’s eyes dance over my cheeks and the bridge of my nose. By the time I look up, he’s looking at Reggie again.
Zoe turns to Reggie. “What do you mean, ‘taking them out’?”
Reggie lifts a lazy shoulder. “Deading them. One by one. Eliminating the Order’s perfect soldiers. Real methodical-like.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with us, and it’s not why we agreed to meet.” Elijah’s face tightens. “That better not be your intel, or we’re leaving.”
Reggie waves a hand. “Nah, consider that a freebie. A demon-to-cambion courtesy, if you will. Maybe you’re protected by the old man, but Merlins give us all equal trouble. Want us all equally dead. They don’t check to see how much demon you are when they’re running you through with an aether spear, kid.”
Elijah’s eyes narrow at the word “kid.” “Thanks for the tip. But the old man is looking to retake the Court, not entertain a woulda-coulda-shoulda goruchel who’s gone soft for human food and drink.” Elijah raises a brow as Reggie finishes off his beverage.
Reggie’s deep red eyes darken further at Elijah’s insult—and stay that way. “Watch your tongue, crossroads child.”
“What did you just call me?” Elijah snaps, fangs glinting.
“You heard me,” Reggie snaps back. “I was on this plane killing humans for sport before you were a bad idea in your father’s ballsa—”
Zoe’s hands shoot across the table to grasp Reggie’s throat. She squeezes hard enough for a human to choke, but Reggie merely grins. “Be very careful what you say about our father—and my brother. It’s not nice to call people names, Regazel.”
“You’ve gone and upset my sister,” Elijah purrs. He leans forward on one elbow, tilting his head at Reggie. His eyes flick up to the bartender, Syd, who is watching our table as he dries a glass. “Zoe here is going to let you go. And when she does, tell us what you have to offer, or this meeting is over.”
After a beat, Reggie withdraws his smile and gives a shallow nod.
Zoe releases his neck, and he rubs lightly at the imprint of her nails. “I heard the… the old man,” he tries the phrase out, “is looking for something.”
On either side of me, the twins grow still. Then, Elijah taps his glass once. “He is. Has been. Are you suggesting you know where that something is?”
Reggie leans in. “I know who has a lead.”
“You know who has a lead? I thought you were the lead.” Zoe scowls and stands up. “Let’s go, Elijah.”
“No, no, wait,” Reggie hisses, waving her back into her seat and glancing at the full bar behind us. “This is legit. It’s a member of the Shadow Court, one of the King’s own precious Shades who’s gone rebel.”
Elijah and Zoe stare at each other in silence. Elijah turns back to Reggie. “A Nightshade has the crown?”
“No,” Reggie says, voice irritated. “A Shade has a lead on the crown. Aren’t you listening? Approach her and she’ll tell you. Probably.”
“You’re wasting our time.” Zoe leans forward, baring her teeth. “The rebel Shades won’t rejoin the Court if the King isn’t wearing the crown. They won’t even take a meeting with us as his emissaries. They’re all mini-sovereigns of their own fiefdoms now. Approaching one empty-handed is an insult and a death wish, even for us—that demon, whoever they are, will ship us back to the King in body bags just to send a message.”
“Then don’t approach her empty-handed,” Reggie says. “Bring tribute.”
Zoe rolls her eyes. “You’re full of bullshit. The crown has been lost for centuries. Even the King can’t sense its location.”
“Not lost,” Reggie says. “Hidden.”
“By the Morgaines, yes, we know.” Elijah sighs. “The Morgaines enchanted the crown to be undetectable by any demon, including the King himself, its original forger and only bearer. I find it very difficult to believe that the Line of Morgaine suddenly, after fifteen hundred years of keeping both the crown and themselves concealed and untraceable, decided to change their tune and trot the crown out for public display.”
A memory rises in my mind. Arthur’s dreamscape. The King’s crown behind an aether cage, like an artifact in a museum. Brief snatches of conversation between the original Morgaine and her half brother: This crown is not unlike your Caledfwlch. It’s… tied to you. Connected. That’s why no one else can wield it in battle but you. An aether weapon.
Just as I am connected to Excalibur, the King is connected to his crown. Our weapons are alive. Is that why the King took Excalibur from me? I think. Because he knows what it means to lose our living weapons?
Reggie beams. “That’s the thing—they didn’t trot it out. It was stolen from them.”
Elijah’s smile drops. “Say that again?”
“Word is, the Morgaines got overconfident and lax. Thought their secrecy and special enchantments would protect them forever, but times change.” Reggie lifts a shoulder. “They’ve been making deals with a few demons lately—warlocks too. Seems they linked up with the wrong one. A warlock who didn’t share their commitment to keeping the crown locked up. He snagged it and ran.”
A warlock stole the King’s crown? I just saw a warlock stealing a whole human being. Clearly these pact magic users keep themselves busy, but was this thief working for demons—or against them?
Zoe raises both brows at her brother, encouraging him, but Elijah does not appear to be moved. Not yet, anyway.
“The Morgaines didn’t want one of the King’s loyal demon servants to be able to return his crown to him in the event that its location was ever found, so they also enchanted it to be untouchable by demon hands,” Elijah says. “Which means that, unlike a demon, a warlock could actually touch the King’s crown without erupting in flames. But the rest of the story’s a stretch, Reggie.”
