Chapter 40

Chapter Forty

PIPER

Wrinkling her nose, Piper dumped another shovelful of choronzon remains into a bucket. With everything that had happened, she hadn’t had a thought to spare for the choronzon that had chased her, Ash, and Lyre through the Consulate the night the Gaians attacked.

It turned out, the choronzon had died in the secret passageway. She would’ve expected a creature so foul to rot into a disgusting mess, but instead, it had shriveled up and dried out, leaving a heap of papery skin, calcified flesh, and desiccated organs. And teeth. Lots of teeth.

She, Uncle Calder, and the surviving consuls had returned to the Consulate three days ago. Assessing the damage and coming to grips with the violent deaths of three fellow consuls had been a trial for them all. While everyone else had been patching holes in the walls, covering broken windows, and arranging for burials, Piper had taken on the task of cleaning up the worst of the messes inside—starting with the choronzon corpse.

She finished hauling away buckets of dried-out flesh and traded her shovel for a broom. Halfway through sweeping all the dead monster powder into a pile, she dragged her broom along the edge of the splintered wall and sent something clattering along the floor. Light from the foyer glinted on a shiny surface.

Frowning, Piper gingerly plucked it out of the reddish-gray dust. A rough-cut emerald the size of a pea sparkled as she turned it from side to side.

Behind her, the makeshift front door creaked as it was swung open. She rushed out of the passageway, broom in one hand and emerald in the other.

Her father stood in the foyer. A white bandage covered his left eye, and pieces of gauze decorated other patches of skin, but he was on his feet and walking under his own power, which was about a hundred times better than when she’d last seen him in the medical center.

He looked at Piper, and she looked at him. She wanted to run to her father and hug him and maybe cry a little. But she also wanted to yell at him. She wasn’t sure which urge was stronger, so she just stood there.

With limping steps, Calder joined them in the entryway. He clasped his twin’s shoulder. “Welcome back, Quinn.”

“I’m glad to be back.” Her father’s one-eyed gaze turned to Piper. “Piperel… how are you?”

She didn’t approach him. “I’m okay.”

The brothers exchanged a look. Calder stepped aside, and Quinn gestured to Piper. “Let’s speak in my office.”

His office? If they went to his office, she’d end up having a conversation with the Head Consul. She wanted to talk to her father .

“No,” she said flatly. “We can talk right here.”

Quinn’s eyebrows drew down, pulling at the bandages on his face. Piper didn’t wait to see if he would insist on changing locations.

“Why did you give me the Sahar Stone?”

Uncle Calder cleared his throat. He seemed like he might say something, then turned and limped away without a word, leaving Piper and her father alone in the entryway. His footsteps faded, and the silence stretched awkwardly. Piper waited.

“A few hours before the meeting,” Quinn said, “we discovered that someone had broken into the vault and attempted to steal the Sahar Stone. I’d already moved it from the vault to my safe, but knowing that someone was trying to steal it, I couldn’t leave it unattended.”

“But why give it to me ?”

“You were the only one I could trust who wouldn’t be in the meeting with me.”

Piper let those words settle over her. Since the moment she’d realized what was in his ring box, she’d been wondering nonstop why he’d given her the Sahar Stone, but the idea of him actually entrusting her with its protection had seemed totally implausible.

Quinn lifted his hands as though to steeple them on a nonexistent desktop, then let them fall back to his sides. “I could never have imagined the Gaians attacking the Consulate like that. I intended you to hold the Sahar for only a few hours. What you went through… I can scarcely imagine. On the run through the city in the company of a draconian… but you still found the Gaians and saved Calder’s life—as well as Miysis Ra.”

“I lost the Sahar in the end, though,” she mumbled.

“You held on to it for far longer than anyone could have expected—longer than I expected. You did as much or more than any consul could have managed.”

The unfamiliar note in his voice took her a moment to identify: pride. Her throat constricted. Realizing she was still holding a broom and a choronzon-coated emerald, she stuffed the gem in her pocket and leaned the broom against the broken staircase railing.

Turning back to her father, she dusted her hands together to hide her discomfort. “You were right. I’m no match for daemons.”

“None of us are a match for daemons, Piperel. That’s why caution, strategy, and mediation are more important for consuls than any martial art or magic skill.”

This wasn’t the first time he or Uncle Calder had said something along those lines to her, but this was the first time the words resonated as truth instead of an empty placation for the magic-less apprentice.

Piper looked into her father’s unbandaged eye. “Why did you tell me Mom was dead?”

Quinn’s lips pressed into a thin, unhappy line. “I don’t know if the Gaians got to her or if she always held those beliefs. As she became more involved with them, she grew increasingly unstable until I had no choice but to banish her from the Consulate.”

“But she didn’t die,” Piper said tightly. “You lied to me.”

“She attempted to have you abducted from your school. I had to put several measures in place to protect you.” His stiff facade cracked, his wrinkles deepening in haggard crevices. “You were nine years old. How could I explain that your mother, whom you loved and missed terribly, was hell-bent on endangering your life?”

She frowned. “Endangering my life?”

“She’s obsessed with using you to further her grandiose ambitions with the Gaians.” He sighed heavily. “I know it hurt you, but I did what was needed to protect you.”

Unsure what to ask next, Piper pushed her hair off her forehead. Her father’s gaze tracked her hand. She held it out and turned it one way then the other, showing him the pink scars webbed over the front and back of her palm where the harpy had torn into her flesh to get the Stone.

“Miysis’s healer fixed it,” she told him. “I don’t remember, but I guess it took a while. It’s all working again except for my pinky. Uncle Calder thinks stretching and strength building will bring back its full range of motion.”

She demonstrated by making a fist. Her pinky didn’t quite line up with the rest of her fingers.

Her father released a slow breath. “I’m sorry for what you had to endure. I’m more relieved than you can imagine that you’re safe.”

Piper looked at her fist. She could almost feel the heat of the Sahar Stone blazing against her skin before that white magic had torn the harpies apart.

Her gaze lifted to her father. He needed to know. The words were on her tongue—but she swallowed them down, relaxed her fingers, and smiled.

“I’m glad you’re safe too.”

The punching bag swung as Piper slammed her fist into it. She jabbed again, then threw a left hook that hit the bag with a loud smack.

Breathing hard, she let her arms fall to her sides. Sweat dampened her forehead, and her ponytail was sticking to the back of her neck. She rolled her shoulders, then opened and closed her left fist, stretching her fingers against the resistance of the black hand wraps she wore. Pain twinged through the joints in her pinky.

Huffing in frustration, she rammed a side kick into the bag at groin-level on a man.

“What did the poor bag do to deserve that?”

The purring voice came from right behind her. Piper whirled around.

One hand tucked in his pocket, Lyre gave the punching bag a commiserating look and tsked .

“Lyre!”

She threw her arms around him. He turned at the last second so she was hugging his side instead of his front, but that didn’t stop her.

He gave her a one-armed squeeze. “I love that kind of enthusiasm from a beautiful girl.”

Rolling her eyes, she took half a step back and peered at his midriff, where his hooded sweatshirt bulged out. He definitely hadn’t had a beer belly before.

“Uh, did you gain some weight?”

“I’ve been eating nonstop since we last parted,” he replied sarcastically. The humor in his eyes dimmed. “We need to talk.”

After a brief hesitation, she pulled him to the far end of the sparring room and sat cross-legged. As he sank down opposite her, she noted the tired slump of his shoulders and the faint lines of stress around his mouth. Being an incubus, he didn’t look any less mouthwatering. He just had more of an overworked, let’s-take-this-conversation-to-my-bed air to him.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly.

Instead of answering, he rubbed a hand over his face and into his pale blond hair. Apprehension kindled in her gut. She hadn’t seen him since she’d passed out in his arms waiting for Miysis’s healer. Had something else happened?

“Lyre,” she said anxiously, “tell me what’s wrong.”

He dropped his hand into his lap, closed his eyes for a moment, then tugged the hem of his dark green sweatshirt up. A dark, reptilian nose poked out from underneath the hem and sniffed halfheartedly at the air.

“Zwi?” Piper whispered.

With a forlorn mewl, the dragonet retreated under Lyre’s sweatshirt again. The bulge in the fabric quivered.

Piper jerked her gaze back up to Lyre’s face. “Why is Zwi with you? Where’s Ash?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Lyre stared grimly at the row of man-shaped foam dummies along the wall. “I found her in one of—in an apartment Ash and I share sometimes. He left her for me to take care of.”

“Left her?” Piper repeated uneasily. “Where is he?”

“I checked all the usual places. I even went to the Underworld to scope out a few of the hideouts I know he uses. No sign of him. Which means…” Lyre’s chest rose and fell. “He went back to Samael. Again.”

Piper’s fingernails dug into her hand wraps. “But Samael sent an assassin to kill Ash. Why would he go back if he knows Samael wants him dead?”

“Probably for the same reason he was obeying Samael’s orders in the first place.” Lyre shook his head. “I don’t know what Samael has over him, but it’s strong enough to force him to go back even though he lost the Sahar Stone.”

Dread pooled sickeningly inside her, chilling her limbs. “Do you think… did Samael kill him?”

“No, he’s alive.” Lyre gently patted the lump of dragonet hiding under his sweater. “Zwi would… we’d know if he were dead.”

Even so, she hadn’t forgotten what Lyre had said about the price of failure—that death was getting off easy.

Her gaze lingered on Zwi’s hidden form. “Why would Ash leave Zwi behind?”

“To spare her,” Lyre said heavily, “from whatever punishment he suffers.”

Piper pressed her fists into her lap. All their efforts had amounted to nothing. She had still lost the Sahar Stone, and Ash had still failed Samael’s assignment. The only winner was the Warlord of Hades, who had the Sahar Stone again.

“Can you… check on Ash?” Piper asked. “To find out if he’s okay?”

“I can’t go into Hades territory.” Lyre lifted his sweater again and gently coaxed Zwi onto his lap. “All we can do is wait. Samael will eventually send him out on another job.”

Piper opened her mouth but swallowed back the obvious next question. What if he doesn’t?

Zwi hunched on Lyre’s crossed legs, blinking dully at the sparring room’s assorted training equipment. Lyre scooped her up and settled her on Piper’s lap instead.

“Hi, Zwi,” she murmured, offering her hand. The dragonet sniffed it, and Piper carefully stroked her soft black mane. “Everything is going to be okay. Ash will come back.”

She didn’t look at Lyre as she said the words, not wanting to see his expression. A minute passed as she petted Zwi.

“Piper.” Lyre’s amber eyes surveyed her in a way that seemed almost cautious. “We have no way of knowing what that harpy told Samael. You need to be careful. Very careful. Stick close to the Consulate and your father.”

Cold washed over her in a prickle of gooseflesh. Was Lyre concerned Samael would try to eliminate anyone who knew he had the Sahar? Or did Lyre realize what she’d done?

The real question, the one that had been keeping her up at night, was whether Samael knew what she’d done.

Piper hadn’t created that white blade of power—at least, she was pretty sure she hadn’t. Casting magic required skill, which she didn’t have, so how could she have formed a deadly spell? Whatever had really happened, the one surviving harpy had seen it. What would Samael do with the knowledge that someone had unlocked the Sahar Stone for the first time in centuries?

Lyre rose to his feet. “I need to go.”

“What?” Piper scooped Zwi into her arms and scrambled up. “Where?”

“I have things to do.” He rubbed his hand gently over Zwi’s head. “She’ll be safer here with you. I’ll return when I can.”

“But—Lyre, where are you going? What do you?—”

His amber eyes met hers, and her questions died on her lips. The daemon looking at her wasn’t the laid-back, flirty incubus she knew. He was older, far more clever, and full of secrets.

A shiver ran from her scalp down to her heels. It was as though Lyre had lifted a veil, allowing her to see who he really was. He was dangerous, and not because he had seduction magic. He was dangerous in the same way Ash was dangerous—that formidable blend of cunning, cold determination, and lethal intent.

And she finally understood why an incubus and a draconian were best friends.

“You’re going to try to help Ash?” she asked in a whisper.

Lyre’s somber stare didn’t change. “I’ll return when I can.”

She nodded. “Be safe.”

His expression softened—just a little—and he offered a small smile before turning and striding to the door. She stayed where she was, Zwi in her arms, watching the empty threshold.

After a few minutes, she crossed the sparring room. Out the door, down the hall. In the foyer, a simple wooden table had been set up in place of the demolished reception desk. The consul sitting behind it glanced at her curiously, then did a double take when he saw the small dragon in her arms.

Piper stopped in front of the paper on the desk—the sign-in sheet all daemons were required to fill out when visiting the Consulate.

Lyre’s name wasn’t on it.

She didn’t bother to ask if the consul had seen an incubus. She would bet money that if she were to check the Consulate’s visitor records, she wouldn’t find Lyre’s name anywhere in them.

Crossing the foyer, she pushed the temporary front door open and stepped into the cool evening breeze. Zwi lifted her head to scent the fresh air. Standing on the Consulate’s front stoop, Piper gazed up at the dark sky. The moon was a sliver of a crescent. Soon, it would be gone, enveloped in darkness.

Lyre.

Ash.

Miysis Ra.

Samael Hades.

Dangerous daemons. Enigmatic, powerful, calculating daemons. And now she, the magic-less apprentice consul, was tangled up in the lives, secrets, and machinations of all four.

Whatever came next, she could only hope she would be strong enough to survive it.