Chapter 45

Ursula hugged her coat around her, stalking over the icy pier to Kester’s tugboat. Cold wind nipped at her face as she rapped on his door.

Kester pulled it open and smiled, his cheek dimpling. “Ursula. Did you miss me?”

“Terribly. It’s been at least eight hours since I dragged your body from the fae realm.”

He arched an eyebrow. “And you’ve come back for more of my body? In that case, come inside.”

She rolled her eyes, stepping onto the boat. Her eyes flicked to the floor, where blood had soaked into the wood. “Sorry about the blood stains on the floor.”

“Was that your work? I didn’t know you had such a vicious side.”

“I did let him live, which was more than he was going to do for me.” Pulling off her coat, she plopped onto his green sofa. Tonight, she was back in her spring colors—sky blue and amber. She needed a night off from being a lethal, blood-soaked assassin.

Kester collected a bottle of whiskey from one of his bookshelves, and began pouring it into two glasses. “You impress me. Did you come by to celebrate your first victory?”

“I wanted to see how you were doing. Zee has been in my apartment all day pounding champagne and ranting about shadow demons. She seems a little on edge.”

He joined her on the sofa, handing her a tumbler. “That’s just how she is.”

“And I don’t understand the deal that Emerazel made with Nyxobas. Why would Emerazel want to give up a hellhound for half the year?”

Kester sighed. “The gods have been warring for a hundred thousand years. They always will. If they strike a deal, it’s because they think they can get some advantage over the other. My guess is that they both think they can use you in some way. I imagine Emerazel hopes you’re going to spy for her.”

“Lovely. So no matter what happens, I’m going to enrage at least one of them, and probably both.”

“You’ll need to be very careful. You’ll need my guidance, of course.”

She took a sip of her whiskey, rolling the peaty taste around her tongue. Her muscles still burned, and she still hadn’t managed to sleep more than an hour at a time. Every time she’d closed her eyes in her bedroom, a vision of the void had haunted her. Was that where Bael was now? Her chest tightened. Maybe Nyxobas had chosen to spare him. Bael was terrifying, but she didn’t want to be responsible for his fiery afterlife.

Her gaze slid to Kester, his skin a beautiful gold in the warm lantern light. “Why would Emerazel want me to be her spy? I don’t even know what I’m doing. Isn’t that obvious?”

He held her gaze. “You’re not a normal hellhound.”

“There are normal hellhounds?”

He smiled. “More normal than you. Hellhounds who don’t burn when they encounter their goddess. Hellhounds who don’t repel incubi, and who have a basic grasp of their own history.”

Cold dread prickled over her skin. “I’d seen Nyxobas before. I saw his eyes in my dreams.”

Kester eyed her over the rim of his drink. “You’ve certainly earned your nickname.”

“And you yours.” The whiskey leant her boldness. She had to know about Kester’s past. She took another sip, and it burned her throat as she swallowed. “Who was Oriel?”

Surprise flickered across his features, and he studied her face for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to tell her. At last, he spoke. “My sister.”

“Were you close to her?” She must have died centuries ago.

“I was.” His eyes glistened with pain. “Until Abrax stole her soul, sent her to the shadow void.”

A lump rose in Ursula’s throat. “Because you were a hellhound?”

“That’s why I became a hellhound. I needed power to avenge her. And I still haven’t succeeded. Abrax is Nyxobas’s son. He’s not an easy man to kill. But Emerazel made me a promise: once I’d filled my ledger, she would find a way to reclaim Oriel’s soul. I just needed to do everything she told me, to please her in every way. Every soul I reaped, every person I killed—it all had a purpose. It was all in the name of getting Oriel out of hell. Only I’ve started to wonder if Emerazel has any intention of sticking to her bargain. As I’ve come close to filling my ledger, she’s only added more pages. And yet I keep going, because if I fail, all of it was for nothing.”

Ursula swallowed hard, almost wanting to look away from the raw pain etched on his face.

“When my soul was stolen in the fae realm,” he continued. “I experienced just a brief glimmer of Oriel’s torment. Pure, crushing isolation. Complete abandonment in the void. That is what Oriel has felt for centuries. And it hit me like an arrow to my heart: there is no Oriel anymore. After all that pain, her mind would be completely shattered, lost in the rush of Nyxobas’s night winds.”

Sorrow tightened Ursula’s chest. “I’m so sorry, Kester.”

He lifted his glass, his eyes suddenly clearing. “But you got me back from that. I owe you my sad, sorry life.”

She touched his arm. “We got through the impossible last night. We reclaimed your soul, and Zee’s. And I’m spared from Emerazel’s punishment. Maybe we can free ourselves from our debts to the gods.”

He shook his head. “You can’t fight the gods, Ursula, even if you fought Abrax. And didn’t I tell you not to take on fights you couldn’t win?”

“It worked last night, didn’t it? We got everything we needed.”

“But you lost your lucky rock.” Mischief glinted in his eyes again.

“I’m not ready to joke about that yet.” She scowled, then arched an eyebrow. “Wait. How did you know I lost that? I never told you that.”

He reached into the pocket of his grey trousers, pulling out her smooth, white stone.

Her heart sped up. “How did you get that?”

“After my body reconstituted on the dance floor, I grabbed this out of your wyrm-skin purse. I would have returned it sooner, but Abrax interrupted me.” He folded his fingers around it, curling it to his chest. “And now, I’m afraid I’d become quite attached to it. It’s brought me such good luck, you see. You’ll have to find your own.”

She lunged forward, spilling her whiskey as he held it above his head, out of her reach. She climbed onto his lap, prying it from his fingers.

As she slid the stone into her pocket, he gazed up at her, his face a picture of innocence. “Any excuse to get your hands on me.”

She opened her mouth to protest, before closing it again. His hand slid around her back. God, he was beautiful. And right now, she could kiss him, feel his soft lips against hers again. But even with the thrilling sensation of his hand on her back, his thumb moving slowly up and down—something stopped her.

She couldn’t unsee the sadness in his eyes. Her own brush with the shadow void had chilled her to the bone, and she couldn’t shake her mind of that soul-crushing emptiness. She slipped off Kester’s lap, hugging herself. Maybe Bael was in that shadow void now, tormented by complete and utter abandonment.

“Are you all right?” he asked, studying her closely.

She nodded. “My brush with Nyxobas left me a little unnerved.”

“The lord of the shadow hell has that effect on people.”

She touched his cheek. “I’m glad to have you back. Even if you kidnapped me the first time I met you.”

“Sorry about that.”

She rose, pulling on her coat. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Just remember to knock, like I did.”

“I wouldn’t dream of barging in.”

Smiling, she pulled her coat tight as she stepped out into the icy winter air. She slipped her hand into her pocket, pulling out her white stone to roll between her fingers, its smooth surface comforting her as soon as she touched it.

She had to admit, some things weren’t looking good. Emerazel planned to use her as a double agent, Nyxobas had his own devious agenda, and Bael remained a prisoner, possibly dead.

The cold wind rushed off the East River, biting her skin through her coat as she walked to the Bentley. But at least she was alive, and so was Kester. That was certainly a better outcome than she’d expected last night. And maybe it wasn’t so impossible to fight the gods.

Moreover, with every day she spent among the demons, she was one step closer to learning the truth about herself, to learning the story behind her memories of the flame-haired woman, and the person who’d taught her to fight.

Sometimes, the utterly improbable did happen. After all, if Kester could find a tiny white stone in a sea of angry fae warriors at a dance party—maybe there was a chance to free the hellhounds.

She pulled open the back door of the Bentley, stepping into its warmth. As Joe turned on the engine, she let her eyes drift shut, soothed by the car’s soft hum. Before she took on the ancient gods of wrath and death, she’d need at least a few hours of sleep.