Chapter 40

They stood in front of the unassuming grey door—the portal to the fae realm. Bael had ransacked the apartment for a shirt large enough to fit him, though the fabric still strained over his chest, threatening to tear.

“Are you sure this is the place?” he asked, nodding at the rusted door. “It doesn’t look fae.”

“I guess the fae are less concerned with aesthetics than Nyxobas.”

“Nyxobas eschews frivolity. It is a sign of weakness. The fae are the opposite.” Bael’s eyes narrowed, inspecting the stone. “I imagine they simply have this place glamoured.”

Ursula reached to press the buzzer, but he grabbed her hand. “Don’t alert your enemy of your presence before you attack.” He stepped back from the door and studied it for a moment. Then, in a blur of black wind, he slammed his foot into the door. It splintered with a crack of shearing steel.

She gaped. “That won’t alert them?”

“Not as much as a bell,” he grumbled. While Ursula pondered this logic, the demon unsheathed his sword and stepped inside. “Come.”

“Right.”

Ursula followed, gripping Honjo. Bael muttered his orb spell, illuminating the interior with amber light. This time, no doorman waited to collect their jackets.

The enormous wooden doors blocked their path, and their golden Angelic inscriptions glittered ominously in the half light. Ursula’s hands sweated on Honjo’s hilt, as an uneasy feeling settled over her.

“Last time, we walked through those doors and they took us to Oberon’s hall,” said Ursula. “I think they’re some sort of portal. But we can’t get through those doors just by kicking through them. There’s some sort of impenetrable fae magic?—”

Bael closed his eyes, chanting in Angelic. Dark magic swirled around his body, whispering past her skin in thrilling tendrils of power. He opened his pale eyes again and pulled the handles. Slowly, the doors creaked open. With a final glance behind them, they walked through.

A cold breeze nipped at her ears, and she stiffened as they stepped into a thick fog. Instead of illuminating a wooden balcony, the glow of Bael’s orb was quickly swallowed up by a swirling mist. The air smelled of wet wood and fresh pine needles.

“This isn’t Oberon’s hall. Do you know where we are?” she whispered.

“No,” he replied, his tone suggesting he was entirely unconcerned by this turn of events.

Oberon’s voice pierced the mist. “I’m so glad you could join us at my high court.”

Bael turned, sniffing the air, and the mist swirled faster. “Reveal yourself, Oberon,” Bael’s voice boomed. “We simply want to parley.”

“Will you swear that on the soul of Nyxobas?”

“I will.”

The mist thinned, revealing the golden glint of fae armor in silvery moonlight. It was night here—maybe it was always night in the fae realm.

Slowly, the forms of at least a hundred fae soldiers came into view. A chill snaked up Ursula’s spine. Each soldier held a pike, aimed at them. They weren’t in the hall; they were outside somewhere, on some sort of wooden platform.

She started to raise her sword, but Bael grabbed her wrist, pushing it down. This was not a fight they were going to win.

The mist continued to dissipate. Beyond the soldiers, tips of trees became visible in the clearing air. Where were they? Ursula glanced down and her knees almost buckled as a wave of vertigo hit her. Apparently they were standing on a platform of branches woven together like the nest of a giant bird. Through the branches, she could make out the dark form of an enormous tree trunk—and beyond that, nothing. Just darkness. Ursula had a suspicion that Oberon’s hall was buried somewhere far, far below them.

The king’s voice came from behind them. “What was it you desired to ask me?”

Ursula spun around, her gaze landing on Oberon, who sat on a wooden throne carved into the form of a kneeling stag, its antlers forming his seat. He wore a silver robe, and a small circlet of gold in his pale hair. A golden satchel lay at his feet.

“Is it true that you’ve struck a deal with a whelp of Nyxobas?” Bael demanded, as if he was in a position to demand things.

“I am a hundred thousand years old, as old as the earthly gods,” said Oberon. “I should have the power of a god.” He flicked his fingers and the guards moved to flank them, keeping their pikes trained on Bael.

“And you think Abrax will grant you that?” His voice dripped with disdain.

“He’s pledged his loyalty to me. We will lead his brethren out of the darkness and into the light. Abrax and I will rule the mortal realm together.”

On cue, Abrax stepped from between a pair of soldiers to stand by Oberon’s side. Ursula’s breath caught, as an icy chill constricted her chest. She remembered how Abrax’s claws had carved chunks of flesh from her legs. He’d tried to murder her—twice.

“Give me my wings,” Bael roared, and the platform beneath them trembled. Ursula clamped her hands to her ears, the sound sending a rush of pure fear through her bones. God, he was terrifying.

In front of them the pikes of the fae soldiers quivered and shook like reeds in a storm.

“You can scream all you want, but your wings are mine,” said Oberon, his eyes sliding to the golden satchel. From within, he drew two pieces of skin.

Ursula grimaced. What the fuck is wrong with these people? Blood dripped from between Oberon’s fingers. She strained her eyes, just making out a tattooed design on the strips of skin: golden wings. Those were Bael’s wings? Yuck.

“If you damage my wings, I will tear your spine through your throat.” Bael didn’t scream this time, but pure venom laced his voice, and somehow, it was worse than his roar.

Oberon ignored Bael, holding the skin higher. “These wings are a direct conduit to the magic of Nyxobas.” The soldiers cheered again. “With their power, we will no longer need to conceal ourselves in this realm. With their power, we will rule the mortals.”

Abrax stepped forward. “Are you ready to receive them?”

“I am.”

“Good. I want Bael to watch.”

Ursula wasn’t sure what was happening, but her stomach turned.

Oberon let his robe drape off his back, exposing his skin in the moonlight. From behind him, Abrax drew a thin dagger from his jacket. The king bowed his head.

“Get away from my wings.” Bael boomed, the timbre of his voice shaking her.

Oberon turned his head to address his soldiers. “If the fallen demon speaks again, incinerate him.” The soldiers began to weave the ends of their pikes through the air, magic hissing and sizzling at their tips. Ursula’s heart raced. This had not turned out well.

Next to her Bael stood, his entire body rigid with tension. She could tell that it took every ounce of his willpower not to charge forward.

Abrax held the dagger over Oberon’s back. “Prepare yourself to join the kingdom of Nyxobas,” he solemnly intoned.

“I am ready for the power of the night god.”

Abrax’s dagger glinted in the moonlight. Then, like a silver meteor, it plunged into the center of Oberon’s back.