40. “Nine Rings”

forty

“This cannot get bent.” Diego buzzed around Donmar, who was loading a large, shockproof case into the back of Lou’s Land Rover. “It will mess up the calibrations, and without Cyrus here, I do not know how to fix the antenna.”

Donmar frowned at the trunk space, then at the growing pile of luggage on the sidewalk. “I will put this in the backseat.”

Milla dropped her duffel beside the luggage pile and adjusted the pillow under her arm, mentally tallying the bags against the witches. “This is a lot,” she said.

“Sí, well, I have been thrown into a world of technomancy I hardly understand, forgive me if I practice an abundance of caution.” Diego hoisted a crate and shoved it in the trunk.

She pinched her lips, counting to three before clapping back at him, spared by Rai adding her designer luggage to the stack. She wrinkled her nose at the Land Rover, and pressed a finger to the tip. “I am not sitting in the middle.”

Milla laughed at the absurdity of the posh woman playing “Not It” like a witchling in school. Darkly glanced over at the sound, abandoning his task helping Tobias load the BMW, to saunter closer. “Fancy sitting in my lap?”

“I’m going to sleep the entire way,” Milla replied.

“Alright.”

“I drool in my sleep.”

“Doesnae change my mind.” Darkly grinned and took her duffel bag.

“If you two are going to be this saccharine for the next six hours, perhaps I am better off sitting with the equipment,” Rai said. Though her tone was dry, her eyes twinkled and a faint smile curved her lips.

“We could demand Keir walk the Neitherworld and meet us there,” Tobias added. “Save us all the nausea.”

Darkly mock-scowled, but whatever retort he had was cut off by a car horn rendition of “Rule Britannia!” bouncing off the brick walls of Flagler and hammering down on the witches. Lou whipped around, hand out in a ready ward, and Donmar summoned a harsh wind.

Milla and Darkly could only stare as a deeply tinted, pristine vantablack minivan cruised down the road, coming to a slow stop directly beside them. The window rolled down, revealing a moon-pale vampire gripping the wheel. His shallow eyes were wide in shock, and his jaw hung slack.

Dies-well blinked at the steering wheel and slowly shook his head. “I assure you, I am just as surprised as you are.”

“Dies-well.” Milla blurted in surprise. “ What? ”

“Marie thought you might need an escort to Beltane.” He grinned, flashing fang. “And I thought you would prefer to ride in style.”

“What happened to your minivan?” She leaned back, examining the smooth paint and restored grille.

“British hospitality.”

“Nae such thing.” Darkly tugged on the handle, and the door slid open. He whistled as he examined the interior. “Spared no expense, I see.”

“My fee for taking on one of the Madame’s more peculiar jobs,” Dies-well said over his shoulder.

“That bad?” Milla set her pillow on one of the pilot seats, effectively claiming it. Darkly picked it up and tossed it into the back with a wink. A wink , Goddess help her.

“To put it lightly,” Dies-well said, “I met a fangling who made more of a mess in here than you two managed.” He shook his head, a haunted expression crossing his face. “Still collecting dirt from the vents. Do you know how hard it is to count grains of sand?”

“A tragedy, I’m sure.” Lou strode over, stopping a healthy distance away from Dies-well’s open window. “What is this?”

“One of Marie’s,” Darkly answered.

“Ah, yes, the vampire chauffeur.”

“You are not excused,” Dies-well seethed.

“He prefers ‘Vampire Detective,’” Milla said as she clamored into the backseat. Supple leather embraced her legs and back, and she wasted no time arranging her pillow and snuggling down. “Oh, Goddess, this is so much better than the Land Rover.”

“Superior British Engineering, my lily-white ass,” Dies-well muttered. Milla caught the briefest smile cross his face before Darkly crawled into the backseat, blocking the vampire’s reflection.

Milla slept for the first few hours. There was nothing better to do since Darkly was shadestepping, and Rai had engaged Diego and Dies-well in a colorful conversation comparing the sixteenth and and seventeenth centuries. Darkly stirred somewhere outside of Pensacola, and she snaked her arm around his chest, snuggling close so he could feel her heartbeat when he stepped back into himself. It was quiet this time, and he spent a few minutes running his fingers through her hair before speaking.

“Could get used to this,” he whispered.

“Me too.”

“It is unnerving for a man to walk between the living and the dead as easily as stepping into a backyard.” Rai turned in her seat, shooting a startled glance from one witch to the other. “I almost miss the death rattle.”

“Rude.” Milla narrowed her eyes at the vinefica.

“No, she has a point,” Dies-well called from the driver’s seat.

“Gonnae send Shades to haunt you both.” Darkly sat up and pulled out his phone. “Need tae call Lou; there’s news.”

He dialed, rubbing a hand over his face and accepting the packed and warmed vape pen from Rai when she handed it back.

“Tell me you have something,” Lou said in place of a greeting.

“Shades,” Darkly said.

Milla shot upright. “You found some?”

He nodded, face somber. “Excited ones at that.”

“Go on.” Lou’s voice flooded the minivan, her sharp tone coming from each speaker. Dies-well winked at Milla in the rearview mirror and mouthed “Bluetooth.”

“Thought I would scope the ritual site and found a host of them clustered … ” Darkly closed his eyes, fingers dancing on his knee. Shades bloomed and wound in and around his knuckles, then vanished. “Due north. They were haunting a group of Staid, from what I could tell.”

“Mortals? That close to Beltane?” Diego twisted in the passenger seat, gripping the backrest. “Could they be cultists?”

“Did your contact mention anything?” Lou asked.

“Josh will be there with a contingent of cultists,” he said. Milla pulled out her phone, opened the map application, and searched the area around the ritual grounds. “But they have all been approved by C.R.O.W. and are quarantined to the Seventh Ring with the vampires.”

Someone murmured on the other end of the call before Lou spoke again. “Tobias is telling me the same thing.”

“The Seventh Ring was, what?” Rai asked. “Violence? With the illusionists?”

“And C.R.O.W. condoned vampire activity,” Diego added. “He was distressingly excited.”

“Right.” Lou exhaled into the phone. “Keir, I’ll need you to—”

“Go back in,” he sighed but did not argue.

“Sway as many of the Shades as you can to block their ritual and deny their access to the Neitherworld, and call me back once you have confirmed the location. I’ll have Donmar scope the area when we arrive.”

“There’s a campground a mile north of the ritual grounds,” Milla said. She zoomed in on the map and showed Darkly. “Homestead Village RV park, could this be it?”

He squinted at her phone, frowned, and summoned his glasses, sliding them on before scrolling on the map. “I think so. What’s this?” He tapped an icon on the screen. “Erlich Steam Plant?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Milla stole her phone back, jaw-dropping as she scrolled through the information. “This guy is everywhere. ”

“Who?” Darkly asked.

“What is she going on about now?” Lou’s annoyance came clearly over the line. If anything, Dies-well’s state-of-the-art stereo system enhanced it.

“You’re on speakerphone, Lou.”

“I don’t care, Keir,” Lou snapped back.

Darkly nudged her arm. “Elaborate?”

“Erlich Industries,” Milla said, scoffing when her declaration was met with blank faces. “As in the parent company of Homestead Commercial Real Estate, owned by Stefan Holfstaedter, the asshole who bought my building.” Diego’s eyes widened, but Darkly and Rai continued to look lost. “Erlich Steam is part of the Delta Power Clean Energies arm of Erlich Industries.” A series of swipes brought up the chart of all Erlich Industries brands. She showed it to the van. “See? This dude owns, like, everything on the planet.”

“What is it with you and this bloke?” Darkly asked with a bemused grin.

“Billionaires shouldn’t exist,” she replied, turning the phone back around. A business name on the screen caught her attention, and her heart skipped a beat. Refugio Clean Energy. “Diego …”

“Sí?” he answered immediately, phone in one hand, eyes on Milla. She hesitated, wondering if she had misstepped. They were barely speaking; for all she knew, he was still pissed at her, but he sent her a soft, reassuring smile. “I know that voice, bruja. It is the one you use when you have figured something out. What do I need to look up?”

“Refugio Clean Energy.”

“Un momento.” He dove into his phone, and Milla scanned her screen. “Sí, I have it. It is a subsidiary of Erlich Clean Energies, and there is a news article from September of last year about an—” he squinted and re-read whatever was on his phone, slowly raising his head. “An explosion.”

“Now look up Tivoli Turbines.”

“What does she have?” Lou demanded.

“A lead,” Darkly said. “The power plant north of the Beltane grounds is owned by the billionaire who bought her building, and my Milla’s obsession with him has got us our lead.”

A deep, lovely thrill went through her bones at that, but she kept her focus on the chart, looking for any other names that would stand out.

“Tivoli Turbines in Texas?” Diego asked. She nodded. “All I am seeing is a larceny charge against an employee.”

“Name?”

“David Aguilar. The article says he has fled authorities.”

“On it,” Rai said. Milla called out another business she found, Valdosta Lumber and Pine, but before Diego found anything, Tobias’s voice came over the line.

“David Aguilar is one of the missing witches.” Every head raised, the witches sharing startled looks. “A hippocromantic, registered to the Coastal Bend Coven.

In a quieter voice, Rai added, “Valdosta Lumber and Pine had a fire the night of the cultist campout.”

Freeway rumbled under the minivan’s wheels, and a silence as thick as a St. Augustine summer morning filled the cabin.

“Well,” Dies-well finally said. “You jack-a-ninnies have certainly been busy in my absence.”

“Don’t blame me,” Milla said. “I missed most of it.”

Darkly put a hand on her thigh and squeezed, listening intently as Lou issued orders.

“I’ll need whatever chart Ludmilla is looking at. Keir, confirm the location and seize the Shades.”

“On it.” He nodded, eyes bleeding black, and a second later, he slumped lifeless to the side.

“Diego, call your cultist. I want to know why he did not volunteer this information.”

“You did not ask,” Diego muttered and faced forward in his seat, already scrolling through his contacts.

“Tobias, I want any mortal records you can find on our missing witches, and Rai, see if you can match any more explosions, or fires, or what have you to the dates and locations of those rituals.”

“I’ve already got one in Savannah,” the vinefica said, copying a link on her phone.

“Excellent. Ludmilla?” Milla tensed, waiting for what she was sure would be a snide, dismissive remark about her obsession with rich men. Instead, Lou blindsided her with, “Good work.”

“I—”

And the line went dead.

Dies-well followed signs for Ellicott Mound State Park down a narrow gravel road cutting like a scar through the dense overgrowth. Oak, pine, and maple trees bursting green with spring formed a tunnel that refused more than the most stubborn and persistent beams of sunlight to break through. Every fifty yards or so, they passed a broad cut through the trees, where towering metal poles, transformer blocks, and powerlines stretched to the horizon.

Darkly gazed out the window, eyes still black as he scanned the area for any errant Shades that could be bent to his will. Milla leaned close and, as he turned his attention her way, cupped his cheek and pulled him in for a kiss.

“How many did you grab?” she whispered against his lips.

“Two dozen.” His breath was chilled, and she caught a hint of clove and winter spice. “There’s an old cemetery near the campground. This change the plan?”

“Not at all.” She started to pull away, and his fingers wormed into her hair, keeping Milla in place as he deepened the kiss from a means to hide their conversation to something far more real.

“Gross,” Diego called from the front seat.

“Want me to roll up the partition?” Dies-well asked the van. “I’ve locked them back there before. It is the only way to manage the dandy pratts.”

“Goddess, please,” Rai laughed. “Let me crawl up there first.”

Little by little, the gravel road widened to two lanes, belling out to the size of a modest parking lot hidden among the trees. Rai rolled down her window, and every witch gasped at the electric charge of magick in the air. A length of iron fencing disappeared into the woods in either direction and straight ahead, the gates of Beltane were thrown wide open.

Made of twisting, gruesome metal, the gates were barbed at the points and bulged in irregular, wart-like masses that dripped down each metal pole. The arch over the entrance was worse and all the more mesmerizing for the sculptures clinging to the metal. Gargoyles with their wings splayed perched on pillars supporting the arch and gates, eschewing a thick, purplish haze from open mouths that purled along the barbed peaks and wafted through the trees. Welded faces made up the archway itself, screaming and howling in silent attempts to escape their metal prison, and just beyond the entrance, a dusty Rhett Jones waited for them with a clipboard in hand.

Dressed for the Wasteland in a leather duster, vest, camouflage pants, a multitude of useless belts, and combat boots with mismatched laces, the Panhandle Coven vestic waved the van forward, pulling up his goggles at their approach. Dies-well rolled down the window, grinning broadly and barely stifling a laugh as Rhett’s tanned cheeks paled and he leaned away from the van.

Milla clamored up to the front seat and pulled herself halfway through the partition. “Hey, Rhett.”

“Ms. Lightner!” He thrust his arm in the open window to shake her hand, and Dies-well snapped his teeth, causing him to yelp and jerk back.

“Play nice.” She smacked the vampire’s shoulder.

“I’m cranky and hungry, and the sun is out,” Dies-well replied. “So no, I don’t think I will.”

Rhett glanced between the pair, no doubt alarmed to see a witch treat a vampire like an obnoxious little brother. He rallied and tried again, summoning a manila folder, pamphlet, sheet of wristbands, and a parchment scroll. “These are for you and your party.” Tentatively, he passed them through the window. “And you, sir,” he addressed Dies-well, “will want the Seventh Circle. We have blackout tents and a blood bar for your convenience.”

“Thank you, Rhett.” Milla pushed Dies-well back against his seat and grabbed the stack, handing it all to Diego in the passenger seat.

Hopping onto the sideboard, Rhett swept dust from the windshield with the sleeve of his duster. He peeled a vinyl cling from a sheet, slapped it to the glass, and hopped down. “Is the Dark Witch in there?” His gray eyes sparkled at Milla, and he popped up on his toes, attempting to peer into the van. Darkly chuckled from the backseat, Rai muttered something that sounded like, “Mind the ego, Horned God.”

“Living and breathing,” Milla confirmed, “and entirely obnoxious.” Someone pinched her thigh, and by someone, she knew without any doubt it was Darkly.

“Oh man, okay.” Rhett shook out his hands and nodded, like he was convincing himself to remain calm. Milla recalled his very strong and very loud reaction to Darkly’s existence, but she did not track any of the hysterical fear he had shown in Constance’s office. This reaction was more akin to nervous excitement. “Right, this year’s theme is Inferno; your coven is in the Ninth Circle campground, late registration and all. Head to the corner of Purgatorio and Fraud, Canto 27, Line 133.”

“Sure,” Milla deadpanned.

“Everything you need to know about the demonstrations is in the folder. Don’t be late, or the Elder Witches will be livid.”

“It’s that strict?” Milla wrinkled her brow. Demonstrations were demonstrations, and as far as she knew, they only had to report to the Elder Witches before sunset.

“It’s Beltane ,” Rhett stressed. “Don’t be late; it’ll make us all look bad—you most of all.” He waved them on, and Dies-well dutifully rolled the minivan forward through the gruesome gate.

“Canto 27, Line 133,” Rai said. “Did that mean anything to anyone?”

“We onward went, I and my leader, up along the rock,” Darkly recited. “Far as another arch that overhangs the foss, wherein the penalty is paid of those who load them with committed sin.”

Diego turned in his chair to stare blankly at him, along with the rest of the car. “I do not suppose you would translate whatever it is you just said?”

“Welcome to hell,” he replied.

“I’ve got it.” Rai unrolled a parchment scroll so long it hit her knees and fell to the floor, revealing a map of the outer rings curling around the labyrinthine ritual grounds. “There’s a map. Turn left at The Red Death.”

“The what?” Dies-well whipped his head up to the rearview mirror.

“The that.” Milla pointed out the windshield at the massive twenty-foot-tall statue of a skeleton in red frayed robes wielding a scythe. “Holy Horned God, this is going to be awesome.”