83. Danica

Danica

83

I can't help but roll my eyes at Lucian's crude attempt at humor. Seriously, does everything have to be a dirty joke with this guy? But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious about what Rhyland has up his sleeve.

Rhyland reaches into his pocket, his expression uncharacteristically serious as he pulls out a small velvet pouch. "Adrian was holding this when Erik disposed of his body," he says, his voice low and grave.

Clutching the item, a strangled sound threatens to escape as I grapple with the tidal wave of realization. The black stone, nestled within the confines of a silver ring, holds a presence as chilling as it is significant—Azrael's ring. Adrian made a last- ditch effort to arm us with an advantage, perhaps even a parting gift swiped before his untimely end. Adrian paid the ultimate price, and it wasn't for nothing; his final act, a testament to his desire to aid us, now rests heavily in my grasp.

The question dangles in the air with confusion. "How?"

The word is a mere whisper, but it resonates with the enormity of the situation before me. The stone's role, its connection to Azrael's powers—it all seems enigmatic, and its implications send my mind reeling as I search for answers within the murky depths of the unknown.

There's some major supernatural sleight of hand at play, and it's not the kind that comes with a handbook. "I mean, how did Adrian get this off him?"

"How indeed," Erik agrees beside me.

Lucian lifts his shoulders in a shrug. "Beats me, but I've got a sneaking suspicion that Mr. Tall, Dark, and Douchey might have a plan B—something to keep his batteries charged, if you know what I mean."

Lucian leans back, resting his arms on the back of the seat. "I mean, think about it. We were out of the picture for, what, three years?"

"Five," I correct him.

Lucian looks frazzled for a second, then continues. "Right, five. According to the timeline of terror. Who knows what kind of freaky rituals or unholy alliances he could've cooked up during that time? For all we know, he could be siphoning power from some ancient, eldritch horror."

Rhyland nods, his face serious. "Could be. We've been off the grid for quite a stretch; loads can go down in that time. Even more so when dealing with a sly bastard like Azrael."

I shudder at the thought of Azrael allying with an even greater evil. As much as I hate to admit it, Lucian might be onto something.

So, if we've managed to disarm Azrael of his shadow whips and shadow demons by stealing the Soul Stone, it stands to reason that he's been left significantly weakened. This was his primary weapon.

Without it, he's like a snake without venom, a lion without claws. He's still dangerous, cunning—ruthless—but he's lost his edge, that terrifying aura of power that made him seem almost invincible.

It's like when we removed Amara's stone, and she was suddenly stripped of her compulsion power. She went from an unstoppable force to just another witch—formidable but not invincible.

"So, what you're saying is that Azrael might have some new secret weapon or power source we don't know about?" I ask, my brow furrowed in concern.

Emily, always the one with a quick answer, barely pauses. "Witches," she declares, as if unveiling the climax of a murder mystery she's solved in her head ages ago.

I shake my head, the fog of confusion pounding at my temples. "Witches—What do you mean?"

I press on, unwilling to let the topic drop. How could witches imbue Azrael with formidable power? This is my first real introduction to the supernatural's chessboard of witchcraft, and I'm desperately trying to catch up with the rules of this arcane game.

Tossing her rainbow-streaked blonde locks back, Emily cocks an eyebrow. "Okay, strap in because shit's about to get Hogwarts-level weird," she starts. "These spooky bitches have their own little clubs, right? And each one has its brand of freaky-deeky powers."

Emily gives us the witchy who's who. There are magicians whose greatest trick makes you doubt reality, courtesy of their shadow playbook. Then, there's a clique that turns ghosts into errand boys. Can't forget the pyros with a penchant for lighting up the scene. And the drama queens who could make a mascara run with just a glance, cornering the market on fear and tears. The flesh-warpers take body modification to a horror movie level, and the seers—let's just say, in this magical melting pot, you need more than a rabbit in a hat to survive.

Emily takes a breath, her expression a mix of awe and sarcasm.

"All these covens with their spooky tricks—rituals, blood magic, pacts with the devil, and hocus-pocus potion brews—are out in the open now. It's like Salem said, 'Fuck it, full speed ahead.' But the word on the street? There's a major magical mixer on the horizon—a mega spell that will rock our world. Stay tuned."

She raises another shot glass in a mock toast, her smirk wide. "Welcome to the modern-day supernatural saga. Gotta love the 21st century."

We're collectively gobsmacked, frozen by the tidal wave of revelation Emily just dropped. There's a moment of silent awe before I muster the wherewithal to voice the question ricocheting around in our heads. Recovering my sassy edge, I blurt out, "How in the hell do you know all this?" I'm half-impressed, half-alarmed by her encyclopedic knowledge of the arcane.

"Look, the deets are easy," Emily huffs, smirking. "I've got this friend—Sable. She's batshit for all this magical mumbo-jumbo. Dead set on cozying up to one of these spooky witch covens. There's a ton more of them out there, but hell if I can keep them straight—got better things to do. But if there's a whisper of where and when this witchy ritual bash goes down, Sable is my best bet. She's got her ear to the ground and her nose in every spellbook this side of the Cascades. I'll squeeze her for info like a tube of the last toothpaste."

Lucian levels a look at Emily, a smirk pulling at his lips. "Ever tell you you're my kind of human? You've got a crapload of secrets stashed up your sleeve—impressive for someone without fangs."

Emily rolls her eyes with practiced exasperation. "When the world decides to play Jumanji with our asses, you kinda make it your business to know the lowdown on the spooky-do. Knowledge is power, or so they say. So I'm stocking up on all the witchy and werewolf trivia like it's end-of-day clearance. Ignorance ain't bliss when the boogeyman's real." She punctuates her sentence with a dramatic mock toast of her glass to Lucian.

Rhyland locks onto Emily with intensity. "And this shitstorm the covens are cooking up? It's all about dragging Moretemis—the Shadow demon—into this realm."

Erik's voice cuts through. "To enact a barrier of such magnitude requires a profound expenditure of energy. More often than not, it necessitates a sacrifice stemming from a being of considerable power."

"What?" I blurt out.

Emily smirks, clearly relishing the cloak-and-dagger aspect. "Trust me, if there's a whisper of where and when this witchy ritual bash goes down, Sable's my best bet. I'll get the info we need."