Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Antonin Vanderpoel was a ghost.

Silas encountered so few of them that he was taken by surprise when, despite his best efforts, he couldn’t dig up anything on the man.

He sat in the office of his newly purchased house — a mansion, really — and glared at his various computer screens. The office wasn’t quite as sophisticated as his lab back home in the Neutral Zone, but it had everything he needed. Everything they needed.

What’s wrong? Tal’s voice was gentle, a low rasp in the back of his mind. In the far corner of the office, where the shadows were deepest, the vague shape of a person only visible to Silas wavered. You look upset.

“I don’t get upset,” Silas lied.

Shadows couldn’t roll eyes they didn’t have, and yet… You throw tantrums every other day.

He quibbled over the use of the word tantrum, but Silas could admit that he wasn’t exactly pleasant to be around when he didn’t get his way. Tal, his brother in every way that mattered, knew that better than most.

What’s bothering you? The shadows stirred, as they often did, whenever Tal’s interest spiked. Is it the witch again?

Silas glared at the screen. He’d been certain that he would be able to get all the information he needed to satisfy his curiosity with a few keystrokes, but just like everything else involving his little goddess, he found himself thwarted.

One line next to a generated placeholder image rather than a headshot. That was all he’d come up with after hours of sifting through available and less-than-public databases.

Antonin Vanderpoel, a lifetime member of Glory’s Temple and accomplished High Priest, was appointed as Protector of the Gloriae March 12th, 2038.

“Is the name Antonin Vanderpoel familiar to you?” He leaned over, his ergonomic office chair squeaking under the strain, to peer at the shadows.

Tal was a person as surely as he was, just without a body. He identified as male, had a keen mind for crime, and nearly a thousand years of accumulated knowledge from which he pulled regularly. He was also Silas’s first and only friend — a being he’d called his brother for as long as he’d known the meaning of the word.

They’d been nearly inseparable since Silas first began speaking to the shadows at three years old, so sometimes he forgot that Tal was an ancient being who’d seen and done more than he could comprehend. He was a wealth of untapped information, just as all wraiths with the ability to speak were.

Despite what people wanted to believe, demons weren’t the only intelligent life that could thrive in the dark. The trick was knowing where to look.

No, Tal answered. Should I?

“I don’t know.” Silas drummed his claws on the desk, the puzzle that was Petra turning over and over in his mind. “My witch thinks he’s important enough to trade her magic for.”

Tal’s shadows crept along the wall, edging out of the way of what little sunlight Silas let in through a crack in the blackout blinds. Normally he chose hole-in-the-wall apartments for their hideouts. Since Tal couldn’t function well in the light — a fact that wounded him, though Silas couldn’t understand why — they preferred places where sunproofing wasn’t a hassle.

But Silas hadn’t been able to pass up the purchase of this particular house, perfectly placed as it was, and Tal had only given him a knowing sigh when he chose it, saying he’d make it work.

“You can have your own house soon,” Silas had promised him. He didn’t do that lightly. There were vanishingly few beings in the world Silas would even open a door for, let alone break all the laws of man and gods.

And Tal had waited long enough for Silas to fulfill his biggest promise, one he’d made when he was a little boy. The least he could do was tack on a house for the trouble.

But he really didn’t appreciate the skepticism in Tal’s voice when he asked, She really agreed to it?

Silas shrugged. “She’s desperate.”

Now, why she was so desperate was something he was keen to discover. His dominant theory was an over-dramatic threat in the convoluted and incestuous power structure of the Temple, but it could have been anything.

Is that an ex-lover of hers, do you think?

A muscle in Silas’s jaw twitched. “Could be.”

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been dragged into a lover’s quarrel. People with extraordinary amounts of money had a tendency to get into extraordinary amounts of trouble when it came to sex — either seeking it, through the dissolution of a relationship, or in trying to maintain one. Some poor sap up in the Sierras had even paid him millions just to ward a woman’s tiny, rundown house. Not because there was any real threat up there in the mountains, but because he worried about her.

Silas didn’t think he’d ever understand what drove people to madness over someone else. Lust was one thing, a quantifiable physical urge that could be aroused and satisfied, but to completely lose your head over someone? Stupid.

He wanted to believe that Petra was smarter than that.

“She said that he’s coming for an official visit next week,” he explained, ignoring the odd, bitter taste in his mouth. “He’s the one she wants me to steal from.”

What could he have that she wants badly enough to trade herself in exchange? Tal almost sounded sad for her.

They’d argued for hours over Silas’s plan, but even after conceding defeat, Tal clearly couldn’t accept the fact that it really wasn’t that big of a deal. People, witches in particular, made calculated exchanges of power every day.

Petra would not be the first to hand over her witchbond in exchange for something other than domestic bliss, and Silas was not the first bastard ruthless enough to accept it.

As far as he was concerned, if she consented to it, then there really was nothing to moan about.

“She wants whatever information he’s got with him when he visits,” Silas answered. “That’s all she’d tell me.”

I once overheard someone say that the most powerful currency in the Temple is blackmail, Tal mused. But that was… a very long time ago. When the Temple thought it could control the world. Maybe things have changed.

Silas pushed away from his desk with his heel. “Besides losing all their power? I doubt it.”

Glory’s Temple had once been a fierce thing — unified, coordinated, and wealthy. They’d crowned kings and played empires against each other, controlling cities and whole countries from their lofty cathedrals, protected by a radiant shield of religious impartiality.

And then the Burning Years began, when the tide turned against them. Witches, considered Glory’s most vulnerable children, had borne the brunt of the fury as governments and acolytes of other gods sought to tear them down. No one knew how many innocent witches who had nothing to do with the Temple were burned, drowned, hanged, or beaten to death by mobs.

A century of bloodshed had driven witches across continents to found the Coven Collective, the small but mighty territory in the Pacific Northwest, but the Temple itself had never quite recovered from the blow.

Now they named their new cathedrals after those who’d been martyred and played at politics with a delicate but no less ambitious touch.

Silas had no patience for hypocrites, and the Temple was positively bursting with them.

He wasn’t a good man, but at least he never pretended to be one. People either accepted that or they didn’t. What did he care? His clan was safe. His promise to Tal was on the brink of fulfillment at last. He had more money than Glory herself.

And he’d made all of that happen by being as bad as he wanted.

The only thing he didn’t have was power. Not enough, anyway. Not like Petra.

Normally he made up for his deficit with borderline blasphemous sigilwork. He could mold magic to suit his every whim, but razor-sharp skill could only take him so far. He needed the raw, burning core of magic at the heart of his witch.

Silas wandered over to his lab table, where sleek metal, encased in his own proprietary black enamel, lay scattered across the brushed steel surface. At first glance, it might have appeared disorganized, but he knew exactly where every scrap, every wire, every tube, and every plate ought to go.

He’d spent a century working on prototypes with Tal, getting everything exactly right in between Silas’s jobs. Sometimes those jobs were chosen deliberately, allowing Silas to steal research or parts for their work, but mostly he’d picked his clients for the fun of it — and the money, of course.

He did love money.

Silas. The warning note was back in Tal’s disembodied voice, which was never a good sign.

As much as Silas liked having Tal around, he got tired of his sanctimonious lectures. The only reason he could tolerate it at all was because, unlike a certain golden priestess, Tal actually believed in what he preached.

I really don’t think this is a good idea, he cautioned. Witchbonds aren’t like hats. You can’t just put one on and take it off again when you get tired of it. You’re asking this woman to be your mate. That’s sacred, Si.

Silas shot the shadows a frown. “I am not. Witchbonds aren’t just for mates.”

His father, a witch himself, had explained it to him extensively when Silas hit puberty. Being half-witch, no one had been quite sure what Silas’s needs would be, and his dad wanted to be sure his son didn’t accidentally bind himself to an unsuspecting person in a hormone-driven passion. Really, it was more for the public’s protection than Silas’s.

You’re obsessed with her, Tal challenged. You want her. Do you really think you’re going to be able to keep your hands off of her when she’s tied to you, body and soul? That’s like catnip to you.

Unspoken between them lay another truth: that Silas’s obsessions burned hot but fleeting. While he’d never been so invested in another person before, he’d had passions in the past. None of them lasted.

After a moment of silence, Tal added, Rut’s coming. You know how stupid demons get this time of year.

“I’ve never been stupid,” he argued. “And rut has never been an issue for me.” A blessing of being only half demon. While he went through a seasonal rut, it had never completely robbed him of his personhood as it so often did with others, turning them into mindless animals desperate to fuck.

Normally he just hired someone to deal with his cock for a week or two. He never bothered learning names or trying to find someone to stick around, and he certainly never enjoyed the same partner twice.

Rut, like any biological function, was simply a fact of life that, once handled, he didn’t need to think too hard about. For a few weeks out of the year, he got a little temperamental and extremely horny. Then it was over. Never, not once in his life, had he felt the urge to actually mate that drove so many of his cousins out of their minds. And he’d never gotten so lost in the rut that he abandoned his logic.

Yes, Tal said, clearly at the end of his patience, but you’ve never been this stuck on a woman, either. Si, you’ve done nothing but stalk her for weeks. For the gods’ sakes, you bought this house two days after seeing her for the first time.

“So? It’s a good house.” Sure, it was a little bigger than he needed, and definitely in an exposed position that made the wild, demon heart of him antsy, but…

It was close to her. A perfect position to track his target’s every move. There wasn’t more to it than that.

Tal couldn’t sigh without lungs, but the sentiment was clear when he said, Sometimes I really can’t tell if you’re lying or just willfully blind. Either way, I’m warning you that this is different.

Silas could see the reason in Tal’s concerns, but something more than his natural combativeness bucked at the well-meaning redirection.

That didn’t mean he thought she was his mate. Silas wasn’t sure even Petra, hypocrite that she was, would deserve that cosmic punishment. But he’d decided to play with her, and he so loathed giving up his toys.

Silas rested his knuckles on the cool lab table and fixed Tal with a dangerous look. “I’m doin’ this.”

Why?

“Because I want to,” he answered simply, “and because you’ll understand when you meet her.”

Shadows slid along the floor and across the walls like a liquid spider web. Silas sensed them, sensed Tal’s familiar energy in them, as he reformed by the table. I have a bad feeling about this plan.

“This is borin’ me.” Luckily a tiny vibration drew his attention to his wrist. Silas glanced at his watch — a sleek cuff he’d designed himself — and his heartbeat picked up speed. It’d alerted him that sundown was nearly over, which meant Petra would be wrapping up her second service of the day. Within an hour, she would be headed to the dining hall for dinner with the cathedral’s small fleet of staff and young initiates.

You’re going back there, aren’t you? Tal had gone from concern to outright reproach.

Silas rolled his eyes. “’Course I am. D’you want to come along?”

No, I don’t, Tal replied, sharp. I’m not going to help you make a mess of this. This— this is sacred. Matehood shouldn’t be bought and sold. You deserve better than that. She does, too. It’s too painful, knowing you don’t care.

Silas blinked. “I care.”

Tal’s shape shivered like hot air. You don’t. You only care about what you want in the moment, but someday you are going to care about something other than yourself, Silas, and I pray you realize what that means before you break it beyond repair.

He opened his mouth to point out that there was nothing he couldn’t fix, but in an instant, Tal was gone, his form melted back into the natural darkness of the room. Off into the ether, he’d once said. Back to wherever it was that wraiths dwelled when the tangible world became too much.

He’d been doing that more often lately — descending into moods, arguing over Silas’s methods, and disappearing for long stretches into the ether. He assumed Tal’s snippiness came from impatience, which was why he’d decided to push their plan along in the first place. Finding a way into the Tower had led to Petra, and now Petra herself would lead to getting Tal what he craved most.

So why was he so damn testy?

Silas scowled, unsettled by the impassioned declaration, and turned to eye the metal on the table. Since his brother wasn’t there, he settled for flicking Tal’s helmet with the tip of his claw.

“Asshole,” he muttered.