CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Mistress, please.” Magda’s voice separated the hazy, thick cocoon of dreams. “Please, Zurie, you must wake up.”
She shook me. Hard. But I couldn’t work out how to open my eyes.
“Zurie! Wake up!” A smack reverberated in my ears and across my face. “Zurie....”
“Ow,” I groaned.
“Open your eyes, girl. I have to see your eyes to perform the counterspell.”
What was she going on about? What counterspell? I just wanted to sleep.
“I’m sorry, mistress. You’ve left me no choice.”
My eyes flew open as she doused me with a glass of frigid water. I sat up, coughing and sputtering out the droplets I’d inhaled. Madga waved a hand in front of my eyes and the hazy dream fog dissipated. “What the hell was that for?”
“Zurie...” The crease between the handmaiden’s eyebrows, the tremor in her voice—something was very wrong.
“What’s happened, Madga?”
A tear slipped down her face as she met my gaze. “Mistress, it’s been too long. They should be back by now.” I didn’t give her a chance to continue. I bolted out of bed, tugged on my boots and ran to the bathroom.
“I fear a terrible fate has befallen the leaders, mistress,” Magda called through the bathroom door as I did my best to rid myself of the aftereffects of spelled sleep.
I grabbed the drawstring purse and filled it with provisions Magda had the foresight to bring to my room.
“Please forgive me, mistress. I should never have kept you from them.”
I met Magda’s teary eyes, letting the fear and anger roiling within me show in mine. “This isn’t your fault. You did what you thought was right and I can’t fault that. This is Dex and the Blood King’s fault. And I will make them pay.” I gripped the woman’s hand, gave it a hard squeeze, and pictured the outskirts of the Blood Realm.
“Bring them back, Zurie. Bring them back.”
I nodded once and shimmered out.
Time is a strange construct—a constant, measurable thing, but also changed by perception. Any other shimmer took but a moment, less time than thinking of the destination, and yet this instance—when lives and realms and people I loved hung in the balance, when I told myself I didn’t have time to prepare for the onslaught of magic about to slam into my body, when I was scared shitless that I was already too late, when it mattered the most—this stupid shimmer took a fucking lifetime.
It took so long I thought I’d done it wrong or that Dex lied to us about the layout of his realm.
If I shimmered halfway in a wall again....
The blackness of the in-between faded and the salt flats came into view. In the distance stood the Blood King’s castle, a monument to strange architecture with impossibly steep rooflines and turrets jutting outward with no noticeable support structure. I’d shimmered a few miles away, hoping that the distance would give me ample time to come up with a plan and assimilate the sudden influx of magic.
However, no overwhelming pressure assaulted me, no magic shoehorned its way into my body, nothing tried to take up more space than I had, nothing.
I shrugged and chalked it up to being far enough away from the hold and marched toward the Blood King’s castle.
About a mile in I regretted not putting a bottle of water or two in my bag. At two miles my feet ached in my boots and at three my leathers had worn chaffed spots on my thighs and underarms which never happened regardless how long I’d spent in the training room.
I couldn’t afford to shimmer, to suddenly lessen the distance between my body and the hold. I wouldn’t be good to anyone doubled over. I kept walking, kept wishing for water, and kept my eyes on the castle.
“Just one foot, then the other. That’s all you have to do.” I propelled myself forward as sweat dripped down my back and my vision blurred with heat and exhaustion. The last time I was in the salt flats it wasn’t uncomfortably hot. In fact, thinking back, I stopped noticing ambient temperature when I first arrived in the demon realm.
I kept moving, hoping to spot the entrance Dex mentioned, sneak in, and convince a demon to tell me where my horde was by any means necessary. I’d start by asking nicely and when that didn’t work, I’d use mind magic. If the demon’s mind was impenetrable, I’d use force.
I had a plan. It wasn’t a great plan. Hell, it wasn’t even a good one but at least I wasn’t going in half-cocked with an “I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it” attitude.
The features of the castle grew more distinct as I drew closer, the intricate tile roof had different sections of color, one turret was blue, one was black, one red, and so on, each color represented a realm he’d stolen magic from.
The main entrance stood high enough to taxi a plane through, and the windows all shone with an eerie blood-red cast.
Well, it fit, I guess. The Blood King should have bloody windows.
The windows brought to mind a comical image of the Blood King holding fabric swatches and asking his court which red was the best, bloodiest red, firing one magical designer after another if they failed at conjuring that exact shade to fit his aesthetic. I had a nice little chuckle at that and then the weirdest thing happened.
The nothing crept in around me like the start to a shimmer except I hadn’t....
Oh shit.
Something pulled me through the nothing, and no matter how much I struggled to break free, the invisible hand, or whatever it was, refused to release me.
Emerging in a large, dim room, I braced myself for the onslaught of magic, muscles tensed and breath held.
Nothing happened.
“Ah. Zurie McCaine. I wondered how long it would be before we met,” a rich but gentle voice drew my attention upward.
Sitting on a throne of bones, the Blood King stared down at me with lovely green eyes the exact shade as Dex’s. The king’s golden hair reached mid-chest and radiated pure light, just like Dex’s. Unlike his bastard son, the Blood King had a soul. Looking into the demon’s eyes took no effort, no force of will; in fact, something about his terrible beauty drew me in, begging me to look longer, harder. He was all I could see, him and his gold and white robes and his bone throne.
I shook my head, trying to dispel whatever charm he’d used to so thoroughly capture my attention. “Your throne is gross. Where is my horde?”
The demon allowed himself a quiet chuckle. “You’re every bit the girl I hoped you’d be.”
“That’s great. Where. Is. My horde?”
The Blood King smiled at me. “First things first, Zurie. We haven’t been properly introduced.” The king stepped from the dais and approached. Every muscle in my body screamed for me to run. Every sense registered this demon as dangerous. Not like Sorin’s moody temper or Jadzeera’s ferocious combat skills or Verrill’s covert manipulations. No. This demon stoked the embers of a deep and primal fear within me.
Standing before me was an apex predator hiding behind the face of an angel.
The Blood King extended his hand. I didn’t take it. “It is an honor to meet you, Zurie.”
An odd sound came from behind the demon, like rustling or....
Feathers.
The demon unfurled a pair of enormous black wings, flexing them outward then back to a neutral, open position. “My name is Lucifer,” he said with a beautiful grin.