Chapter Fifteen

I was almost home when something appeared on the road ahead of me. I slammed on the brakes and came to a shrieking stop.

It was a man. He was smiling, but not in a pleasant way.

“Oh, fuck no,” I growled and stepped on the gas.

Or not. Scowling, I looked down at my feet. I was pushing, but the pedal wasn't moving.

“Hello, Amélie.”

I jerked my head up. The man was sitting in the passenger seat beside me.

I flinched away. “Who the fuck are you?”

“You may call me Silas. Now, drive.” He waved forward.

Suddenly, the pedal gave way, and my poor car stuttered before shooting forward. I squeaked and eased up on the gas. We were headed toward my house, and I was afraid he was going to make me take him through the ward. But no, he let me drive right past it.

“Turn here,” he said.

Fuck. The Host house. It was even worse. At least my house would have given me a chance.

I turned, intending to make a complete U and head back to the Hounds. But the steering wheel wouldn't go that far. It turned enough for me to take us into the driveway, then straightened.

“Who are you?!” I screamed.

“Well, I'm no angel.”

“Are you another escaped soul?”

He chuckled. “Hardly. This is my original body.”

“A god then?”

He winked at me.

I stared from the dirt lane to him. His short hair was nearly the same shade as the road—a sort of mediocre brown. His eyes were a little darker. He had a slim build but wasn't skinny. Just sort of average all around. But there was something about him that made him more than that. I could feel the power in him, but also, there was something in his face. A twist to his expression. A confidence in his eyes. I had learned to read faces over the years. Silas had the face of a man who had been through something terrible and it had altered him. I was betting it was not in a good way.

“Park over there,” Silas said.

I don't know why he bothered. The car parked itself.

I just sat there, staring at him. As I did, Michael came out of the house, still in his Latin host. And because I needed to give that host a name, I called him Antonio. He sort of reminded me of Antonio Banderas in his early films. Michael-in-Antonio approached my car with a smirk on his face. The smug son of a bitch.

Then I remembered the cameras. The Hounds had surely seen me drive up to the house. They'd be coming for me. They had to, right? They thought I was their destined mate. They wouldn't hang me out to dry. No. They'd be coming. They were probably already on their way. And then these fuckers would get it. They were toast. Doggy toast. I just had to stay alive until then.

“Welcome, Amélie,” Michael said as he opened my door.

Silas got out and strode into the house as if I was baggage that the hired help could deal with.

I undid my seat belt and got out because making Michael force me out of the car didn't sound fun. I wasn't worried about him possessing me. My magic protected me from that. But possession wasn't the only thing he could do to me. And he wouldn't be inclined to be nice after Dionysus had thrown him out of my bar.

“What do you want?” I demanded.

Michael laughed. “You are certainly brave.” He stopped smiling. “Or very stupid.”

“You're not too bright either if you're wasting your time on revenge over getting tossed out of a bar.”

“Oh, that's not why you're here. You—”

“Bring her!” Silas stood in the doorway with his hands on his hips.

Michael flinched. His minions, who were scattered behind him and across the porch of the old farmhouse, gaped from Silas to their master. So, we were all discovering together that Michael wasn't the one in charge. They must have been wondering who could command an angel. A stronger angel, I suppose. Or God. Even though Michael wasn't a real angel, I knew the answer was the same. Silas was a god. A god was backing this escaped soul. The question was; which god? And why?

Whoever Silas was, he was confident enough to go up against Hades. Or maybe not. There was no Greek god named Silas. So that meant he hadn't given me his real name, and I couldn't identify him by looks alone. He only winked at me when I asked if he was a god. It all added up to an undercover deity. And the only reason for a god to work in the shadows was that he wasn't strong enough to stand in the light of day.

Michael recovered and grabbed my wrist. “Come along, Amélie.”

“So, this is how you got your talent for jumping bodies,” I whispered. “You're not so special after all. You just made a deal with a god.”

“He has nothing to do with my talent,” Michael hissed back. Then he yanked me up the porch steps.

“Uh-huh,” I muttered.

Silas turned as we approached and strode into the house ahead of us. Michael and I followed him through a hallway and then down a set of stairs hidden behind a door at the end. They creaked appropriately and a bare bulb hung above them, illuminating the worn boards. The place was old, the type of old that used handmade nails. I noted the wide metal heads on the walls. How many people had walked up and down these steps over the years? And now there we were, the strangest group of all—a god, a witch, and an escaped soul. If only walls could talk.

These walls would probably scream at me, “Run, bitch, run!”

At the bottom of the stairs, a cellar waited. Silas turned on some overhead halogen lights, the kind that belonged in a government institution. The harsh light flickered into something far too bright, bringing out every detail of the sad dirt floor, stained cement walls, and one tiny, grease-smudged window high up in the left wall.

Bleak is the word that came to mind, but that might have been too perky to describe this basement. It was the perfect place to film a horror movie. Film students would gag over it.

“Put her over there.” Silas waved at the wall with the window.

I wasn't chained or restrained in any way, just shoved toward the wall and left to stumble off on my own.

“You're very lucky, Amélie,” Silas said. “As a witch, I'm sure you'll be fascinated by what I'm about to do. But even if you aren't, you're about to witness the next step in this war. A turning point, if you will.”

“You're fighting a war?” I asked. “Against who?”

Silas grinned at me. “Don't play stupid. You know who I'm fighting. And I know who you are.”

“Who is that?”

“The mate of a Cerberus.”

“Uh, you've got that wrong, buddy. I turned them down. Just tonight, actually. I was on my way home from their place.”

Michael's head swung toward me, and he wasn't the only one who was shocked to hear the news. All the humans in the room also looked at me in surprise.

“She refused the demons,” one of the women said. “Doesn't that make her innocent?”

“She's also a witch,” Silas said. “You know what the Bible says about witches.”

The woman grimaced and shot me a worried look.

Interesting. And there I was thinking that Michael had put them under a spell. But then it wouldn't have been Michael, would it? It would have been Silas, through Michael. So why wasn't he controlling the humans now? Maybe that was just something he did to win them over, and then he relied on their loyalty to Michael. Magic took energy to maintain, especially if it went against someone's free will. Yes, just like a love spell. Silas wouldn't want to waste so much of his power on controlling humans.

“You're lying,” Michael said to me. “A destined mate doesn't refuse the demons.”

“First off, they're protectors, not demons. You're more of a demon than they are. Second, I did refuse them. I'm not into four-ways, if you catch my drift.”

Silas chuckled. “Well, well, well. You may be more useful than I thought. For now, just relax and witness this great event, Amélie. It is momentous, I assure you. Later, after it has all sunk in, we'll talk more.” He looked at Michael. “Tell them who I am.”

Michael looked at his minions. “You are in the presence of God the Almighty. He has come to Earth and inhabited this body to bless our cause and each of you.”

The humans gaped at the god.

Silas held out his hands and began to glow. “I have seen your dedication and bravery. You are my chosen people. You will be my hands upon this world after I return to Heaven. You will be my fire. You will cleanse the Earth of all evil.”

They dropped to their knees.

I snorted. “He's a god, not the God.” I waved at Silas. “One of the Greeks. Probably a lesser one if he's pulling this kind of shit. You're all being fooled into doing his bidding. The Hounds aren't demons. They are the soldiers of Hades, here to protect the world from souls that linger too long or escape from—”

“That is enough, witch!” Silas shouted and flung his hand at me.

I went stumbling back into the wall, hit it hard, then slid to the floor.

“That is what witches do. Spout lies against me, your God,” Silas said. “They can't help it. They are born evil.”

I made a huffing sound. “It's the opposite, and you know it. We are pure souls, reincarnated with magic as a reward for the good we've done in our past lives.”

“Do you hear this nonsense?” Michael waved at me. “The Devil works through her, weaving tales to make evil look like innocence.”

The woman who had looked at me with compassion now glared at me. It was hard to argue against centuries of religious dogma, including the Bible. This was how witches got burned and why my mother had warned me to be careful about who I helped, and especially about who I shared my truth with. Because those without magic didn't understand it. Or worse, they coveted it.

“We should just kill her now,” one of the men said.

I rolled my eyes. It was starting. “You're all morons. But I've said my piece. I tried to warn you.” I stood up and dusted myself off. “Good luck to you.”

“We don't need luck,” the same guy said. “We have God on our side, witch!”

“Not the one you think.”

“Kill her!” someone else shouted.

That was all it took. The Host that had come into the basement with us—which wasn't all of them because they couldn't all fit—muttered and shifted, looking for weapons to murder me with. All because some lesser god messed with them. A few words and they were willing to kill for him. Oh, yeah. They were destined for Tartarus. Nothing I could do to help them.

“Cease!” Silas roared.

The mob went quiet.

“You kill when I tell you to. Any killing done without my command is murder. Do you understand? You will burn in hell if you commit murder.” He glared at them, then added, “I have a plan for Amélie. Do not touch her.”

The humans bowed their heads.

Silas looked at Michael. “Clear the room of all but the one you have selected to be the first.”

Michael nodded, then waved his minions up the stairs. To one of them, he said, “Paul, you're my number one. You will be first to receive God's blessing.”

The tall, blond man nodded and stayed behind. No questions about what the blessing was or how it would be given. Big and dumb. A good choice for a sidekick.

Michael waved at the stairs. “Lock the door.”

Paul followed the others upstairs, then the door creaked, and a lock clicked. He came back downstairs looking pleased and proud. I shook my head, knowing he should have been running, not smiling. Whatever they were about to do to him would not be a blessing.

But I couldn't help him now. I had to think about myself. So, what could I do to get out of there? I needed a distraction, and I was thinking that Paul would be it. But then what? I run for the door? Yes, sure. But I'd need something to get me past the Host who were up there on the other side of that door and to guard me from whatever Silas threw at my back.

I didn't need herbs or tools for all my spells. There were a few that could be summoned with words alone. But I'd pay for the magic with my energy. All magic took its due. It wasn't about payment. It was about balance. Harmony. You take from something and there's a deficit left behind. That vacuum must be filled. Energy is the currency of the magical world. So, it's usually filled with energy. If you think about it, energy is the most perfect payment. It can't be destroyed, only transformed or transferred. That makes it even better than cash.

Usually, I got around the energy drain by using herbs, crystals, and other items. Their energy went into the vacuum. But I had no problem using my own when necessary. It wouldn't hurt me. The only risk was in using too much. That sort of power can become addictive. Manifesting shit with just a few words could make you feel like a god. You didn't notice the little sips the magic took. Not until you passed out. Or died.

But I just needed a burst to get me out of there. Since my heroes didn't seem to be coming. And after all that bullshit they'd spouted about handling Michael and protecting me. Unbelievable. Fucking men. It made me want to sing some Lizzo. You know the one.

So, I prepared myself and waited.

Michael pulled a tarp off a large shape near one wall, revealing an old bathtub full of water. Not a nice one either. We're not talking claw-foot. It was a cheap fiberglass number that had been yanked out of a sixties bathroom. Avocado green with the sides going out like wings.

“Undress and get in the tub,” Michael said to Paul.

Paul didn't so much as flinch. He took off his clothes and climbed into the water. “Is this a baptism?”

Well, look at that. The big dummy finally thought to ask a question. Too bad it was too late.

“Yes,” Silas said. “That's it precisely. You will be baptized and reborn as my soldier. Are you ready?”

Paul looked at Michael.

Michael nodded.

“I'm ready,” Paul said.

“Oh, fuck,” I whispered.

I wanted to look away, but I couldn't. I needed to know when to run. So I watched as Silas pushed Paul under the water. I watched as he held Paul there as he thrashed. I watched as he went still. I should have run then, but just as my muscles bunched toward action, Silas dragged Paul out of the water and onto the dirt floor.

Water splashed everywhere and soaked into the hard-packed earth, forming a thin layer of mud. Paul laid there unmoving. But then Silas set his hand on Paul's chest and light appeared between them. I couldn't imagine what he was doing to the body. Paul was dead. There's no bringing back the dead. Not unless you wanted to make zombies, and that's way out of my league.

But not a god's. Oh, fuck. Was Silas about to make an army of zombies?

Paul gasped and sat up.

My chest tightened. I didn't know much about zombies, but I knew people didn't raise them on purpose. All of that nonsense about Vodou witch doctors was just stories. Ways for witches to scare people and keep them away from us. Zombies happened when a soul was so unsettled that they couldn't move on and so determined to have their life back that they refused to leave their dead body. They were essentially ghosts possessing a corpse. Not pretty.

Paul's stare went instantly to Silas. “Great One,” he said as he got to his knees.

As I said, I didn't know a lot about zombies, but this didn't look right. Paul should have been disoriented at the very least.

“You are mine now,” Silas said. “I've given you the strength you'll need to fight demons and the power to heal as they do.”

Hold on. What?

“Thank you, God.” Paul, half-covered with mud, stared up at Silas in blind adoration. No. Utter devotion. He believed.

I squeezed my fists until my nails dug into my palms and the pain focused me. I wasn't sure what had just happened, but I was certain that I didn't want to be here for what happened next. I bolted for the stairs, chanting as I ran. Silas noticed too late. By the time he sent a wave of power my way, I had sent a blast to meet it. The collision created a sound wave that threatened to rupture my eardrums and sent me stumbling forward onto the steps.

I was up a second later, my trembling fingers at the door lock. Something clicked, and I was through, bursting out into a crowd of shocked people. I cast another spell, the power shooting through me, and they parted like the Red Sea, bodies smacking into the walls to create a path to the front door. I ran the channel even as my legs began to shake. Two energy blasts in two minutes was pushing it. But I fought the drain, functioning on willpower alone. Then I was outside.

The night was cold, the moon high. Her light called to me. Spurred me on.

“Stop!” Silas shouted.

I kept running.

A wave of magic like a strong wind blew into my back and sent me to the ground. I lay there gasping, trying to get up. But I was so weakened by casting those spells, and Silas's magic was ten times as powerful as mine. Maybe more. My arms trembled as I lifted my torso. I fell back to the ground. Staring at the ruts in the dirt road, I knew I was going to die. Right there. In the dirt.

Maybe I'd stay in the Blessed Isles this time.

Silas's footsteps vibrated through the earth. He came closer but did so slowly, taunting me. “You foolish woman. Now, I'll have to bind you. If you weren't a witch, I'd claim you as I'm going to do with the others. Kill you and resurrect you as my slave.”

Holy shit. He had resurrected Paul? The guy wasn't a zombie? I didn't know that could be done. Sure, Silas was a god, but resurrection? I thought that shit was all smoke and mirrors. A big show put on by religious leaders to make their people believe. I thought the only god with power over death was Hades. And Hades wasn't into resurrection.

Also, this wasn't Hades.

“I would have taken great delight in watching you fight your destined mates,” Silas went on. “But you're protected from that, even when you're pathetically drained like this.” He toed my side.

Huh. So Silas could bring back the dead, but not a dead witch. Good to know. But I wasn't protected from dying. Only forced resurrection. I prepared myself for a killing blow.

I'd like to say that I was brave. That I faced death secure in the knowledge that I'd be going to a wonderful afterlife. But my mind was full of the people I loved. People who would mourn me. My family. Binx. Oh, my baby! What would happen to him? My ward would fade when I died, but how long would it be before someone went to check on me? How long until they found Binx? I started to cry silently. But then I thought of the Hounds. Would Dominic take care of him? Surely he would. But would Dominic be too busy mourning me? If I was truly his mate—their mate—what would happen to the Hounds? Would they wither away into death, as Darius said? The thought of them dying cut through me, and my tears came faster. The best I could do was hold back my sobs so Silas wouldn't know I was crying like a coward.

But then Silas said, “So, I'll just take you as my lover for a while. That will be nearly as painful for the Hounds. And very enjoyable for me.”

What the fuck? He wasn't going to kill me? Hold on. Lover? Who was this asshole kidding? He was talking about rape. He was going to magically restrain me and rape me. Then he was going to taunt the Hounds with it. Fucking evil son of a bitch. But I wouldn't be weakened forever. As soon as my strength returned, I was going to blast him again. Right in the dick. Even chains couldn't stop my magic. And then he'd reconsider raping a witch in the future.

My tears vanished with my fury, and I swiped at my face. With one last burst of strength, I rolled onto my back and found myself staring up at Silas. Behind him, several feet away, was his army of moron minions with Michael-in-Antonio up front. Oh, look, and there was Paul, all muddy and devoted. They waited and watched eagerly. The humans believed they were about to see God smite a witch. But Michael knew the truth and grinned at me. The motherfucker.

“You touch me, and I'll bite your fucking dick off,” I growled at Silas.

Silas flinched back and gaped at me.

I grinned, then snapped my teeth together. “I've got jaw muscles like a gator.”

His eyes narrowed, and he stepped forward.

Then a howl rent the air.

Silas's head jerked up. “Sons of bitches! Kill them!” He pointed off over my head.

Then Silas was on the ground, under an enormous paw covered in glossy black fur with thick, deadly claws that dug pits into the road. I stared up at the belly of a giant hound and had the strangest urge to stroke its silky fur. But even had I the strength, I wouldn't have been able to reach the body that arced over me protectively. All I could do was stare up at it and smile.

My hounds had come for me. They hadn't abandoned me after all.

As I sighed in relief and a strange, bubbling joy, snarls and thuds rippled through the air. Gunfire thundered. People screamed. I rolled my head to see bodies go flying in several directions. The most vicious sounds came from the three hound heads above me. Those sounds gave me strength, and I struggled to sit up.

That belly was still far above me—high enough that I could have stood up and still had clearance. So, I did. I wobbled, but I stayed standing.

Four legs stood much steadier than I, like furry temple pillars around me. The boundaries of my sanctuary. They bent or shifted a little as Cerberus fought, but didn't move from their location. I knew it was for me. Because I was below, and their entire purpose was to protect me. Beneath one of those legs, struggling under a claw that had pierced his divine chest, was Silas. His body glowed and where he pounded at Cerberus, he singed the fur and left blackened skin. I knew he wouldn't be down for long.

And Silas wasn't the only one Cerberus had to deal with. A half-circle of humans were shooting at him. Two of his heads were lowered, taking the hits so I wouldn't be hurt. The third head was snapping at Silas, trying to catch his head in its jaw like a morbid claw machine game. Right. They couldn't kill humans, but there weren't any rules about gods. I wondered if that would change after they killed Silas. The thought led to another—what if they couldn't kill Silas? What would Silas do to us when he got out from under that paw?

I ran to the right foreleg—the left held Silas—and jumped on the paw, wrapping my arms around it. “Go!” I shouted up at Cerberus. “Go now! Get me the fuck out of here!”

The great hound moved, kicking Silas away so powerfully that he sailed over the farmhouse. Two snapping heads swung from side to side, clearing the area further. I had a glimpse of the Host falling like bowling pins. Michael-in-Antonio was not in that glimpse. But I didn't care about him at that moment. All I wanted was to get the fuck out of there.

“Go through my ward!” I shouted.

Instead of running down the driveway and then up the road, Cerberus jumped to our left, leaping over trees and landing in a clearing. He jumped again and again as shouting came from behind us. The third leap took us through my ward, and I breathed a sigh of relief when it closed behind us. But Cerberus didn't stop. He—or was it they?—ran for my house. Only when we reached the porch did he stop.

I stepped off his paw and instantly crumpled, my willpower finally conceding the fight. As three giant hound heads bent over to nuzzle me, wet noses sniffing anxiously, I passed out.