22. “Angel to some, demon to others.”

Chapter 22

"Angel to some, demon to others."

MORPHEUS

"See Who I Am" by Within Temptation

N othing gave me more pleasure than watching the reavers justifiably taking my oldest brother down. Of course, they won't kill him. But he will suffer as they rip and tear his flesh and break his bones until he overthrows them.

He'll be nothing but a walking bag of bones in the end. Appropriate revenge on the part of this dark protector. After all that has happened, I could see her bringing him to his knees until he crawls, groveling for the right to touch her again.

Now, the temporal storm is no more than the size of a chemistry set twister. One I easily snuff with my power.

Whoever this alter ego is, she merely wrinkles her nose at me before directing her gaze to Hecate. "Hail, Goddess."

Hecate touches her fingers to her brow and lowers her chin in a gesture of respect, of equality not submission. "Will you give us the honor of your name?"

She lifts her chin and strokes the side of the stallion. "I like Beastie…for now."

Oh, Hecate's eyes gleam with an animalistic lust. She wants Zenya more than ever. And while I don't mind sharing, Nyxion obviously does.

He will likely need to live with it unless Zenya chooses the Trials.

We return in short order to my throne room. Nyxion is still dealing with the reavers, but I imagine he'll be along soon. Phantasos likely will, too.

Beastie has woven a grand buffet of squid ink pasta, flavorful and hearty. There is black bean and lentil stew with black rice, a mushroom risotto with black truffles, and blackened salmon. Blackberry and Black Mission fig tarts for dessert complete the ensemble.

Relaxing my wings, I lean back in my seat, sampling the fare, allowing Hecate to take the lead as this Beastie pays her more homage while disregarding me. She does not eye me with disgust as she does Nyxion, but it's clear she favors Hecate. After what I witnessed tonight, I have no desire to get on her bad side—even if all her sides are quite fine.

This soul bond with multiple identities is not unknown to me, considering how much manifests in the territory of dreams. Nyxion and I have had experience in this realm as dreams can be symbolic or opportunities for oneself to work out their inner psyche. Shadow work occasionally accompanies such subconscious projections.

Hecate swirls her black currant wine and matches eyes with the alter. Neither of them blink. On equal ground, sharing the same territory, they vie in a silent test of wills. The hackles on Hecate's dogs prick up, more aroused than angry.

I don't permit my shadows to disturb the alter.

"I'll give you three questions," says Beastie, leveling with Hecate while twisting her fork around strings of pasta.

Tapping her lower lip, the Goddess muses before parting her lips to ask, "Why now?"

Beastie takes her time. I must say I find the contrast fascinating. Zenya is laid back, and carefree when eating. She is a voracious eater, probably a pattern due to her active lifestyle. She is extremes with her penchant for sweet or bitter, highs or lows. Beastie is far more…balanced.

After finishing her bite of pasta and a drink of black coffee, she responds, "Zenya is…strong. I've subtly fronted for her here and there. Many times, she never notices. Or she writes it off. Whenever she couldn't seem to find a strong foothold…or if an overly friendly hunter crossed her path, we would be far less friendly. Her subconscious denial has made it difficult to communicate with her. But she cannot control said subconscious when she is truly terrified. Not fear. Not anger. Nor wrath. True terror as she felt tonight…more than ever."

Ahh, that is why she did not rise during her encounters with Nyxion. As Zenya had shared with me, he frightened—as only Phobeter the Frightener could—but in the type of chills and thrills an adrenaline junkie craves. An addictive fear. Like climbing a mountain.

She followed him into his fortress of her own free will. If she had truly longed to escape, she would have walked through the walls far earlier than Ivy gave her the secret. In some ways, I wonder if Zenya considered him a challenge as much as she sought the pleasure he gave her.

"Will you share what you are?"

Hecate grins, intentionally showing her sharpened teeth. More flirting than taunting.

Circling the rim of her coffee mug with one fingertip, Beastie offers her a twisted smile. "Angel to some, demon to others."

"Fallen angel," Hecate deduces, her eyes gleaming with delight as she sips her wine.

Beastie says nothing but does not lose her smile. In some ways, it's macabre but still beautiful. The left side of her body seems to pulse, the tattoos blacker as they playfully shift upon Zenya's skin.

"Does Zenya know?" I dare to ask the third question, hoping the lovely little monster will allow it. My feathers tighten, my wings stiffening close to my spine.

She turns to me, her gaze unshaken. That fingertip pauses in its journey around the rim of the mug. I imagine the spider of this alter's mind spinning a cunning web of a battle, debating whether to acknowledge me.

Not once does she blink.

When she parts her lips, I don't move one feather.

"She's sensed me." A faint smile crosses her lips. "I haven't cared to engage too much with her. Nor has she. I'd occasionally come out when she'd read or play her LitRPG games. She'd lose track of time, five minutes here, an hour there. But she'd dismiss it." She'd dismiss me , I imagine she would have silently commented.

Beastie taps a tattoo on her left arm, a steady rhythm never missing a beat. A tattoo of an eclipse, but I don't remember blood drops weeping from it before now.

One of Hecate's dogs approaches the alter, composure calm. The canine doesn't invade or try to nudge Beastie. It merely offers its presence.

Hecate smiles softly as Beastie reaches down to scratch the dog's head and muses, "Sometimes, she'd leave a scribble of a sketch of her inner monster in hotel rooms. They were cute, really. The ones she drew with horns and fangs were my favorites."

She has given us far more than we asked. It sobers me, humbles me to another degree. My feathers settle, calming from the nature of the conversation.

"When she returns, she's probably going to be overwhelmed. But…" Beastie opens her palms, and I tilt my head, admiring how her dream weaving force differs from Zenya's. Zenya curls her fingers, her weaving like threads of a tapestry to form an object. Beastie's is like a dark fog billowing into a silhouette, then a faint shape, and finally…

"Soon, she will be fully aware. And this will help…a little." She sets the journal on the table with a case-bound cover of obsidian and amethyst. "I need—" She pauses, swallowing a knot in her throat before correcting herself, "I want her to stop shoving me away. In a strange and twisted way, I think this place has been good for her. She's always loved trying new things, but she's breaking down her boundaries and stumbling blocks in her mind. If she's willing, we can do…more here."

Curiosity and gratitude spreads heat through my chest at how much this dark protector has shared. I imagine Zenya will have many questions and emotions when she returns.

Beastie opens the journal, sweeps her finger across it, and a sentence in gold cursive begins to form. She quickly covers her work with the cover, hunching over. Whatever she is writing or scribbling, I understand it's something only Beastie and Zenya will know.

Just as she closes the book, I groan from the sudden chill sweeping the room before my brother manifests with nothing more than a skull for a face—dressed in one of his sharp three-piece suits as usual.

Beastie stiffens, brows flattening as he approaches her from behind, his breaths heavy with the echo of a rumble. There's my little monster who threw me to the wraiths.

I twist my lips into a side smirk since the alter does not turn to face him, causing him to seethe more.

"If you wish me to set my dogs upon him, I will, my dark queen," Hecate offers with a curling of her hand before she samples the mushroom risotto. Her dogs growl softly.

Beastie shakes her head, tapping her arm once again. "Not necessary."

She takes a deep breath, stilling for a moment. Her eyes dart to each corner before wandering across the buffet. She touches the table, then the fork, and the mug of coffee. After a pause and a momentary glimpse at the dog at her side, Beastie inhales the coffee, her lips silently mouthing the number ‘Two".

Ahh, I recognize the grounding exercise meant to dispel anxiety. At least Nyxion doesn't interrupt her for those fleeting moments, though he does observe her with riveted attention.

Then, he dares to curve his skeletal fingers along the back of her chair, brushing them across her hair. What a terror you were in harnessing that storm and commanding the herd. Did you know sociopaths are more prone to violent bursts of anger than psychopaths?

Fuck. I rub my brow, feeling a migraine coming. Hecate merely needles her eyes upon Nyxion, though he doesn't return her gaze. I project my shadows, prepared to turn them into spears if necessary. Or perhaps a gag. I'd enjoy that.

Beastie's breath grows heavier, her posture visibly tightening while her lips press into a seam. Still, she does not move as he continues, They are far easier to catch on account of their inability to control their emotions and maintain an order for their killings. Disorganization is such an inconvenience, isn't it, little killer? And desensitization to violence.

With a deep sigh, Beastie reaches for a nearby blackberry tart, but she perplexes me when she stabs her fork repeatedly into the delicacy—as if the juice oozing from it parallels droplets of blood.

Inclining her chin ever so slightly, the protector retorts, "True, but most modern-day sociopaths and psychopaths have found other methods than chainsaws and chef knives." She narrows her eyes. "Calculated charm and superficial charisma become the tools of the trade. Deception and manipulation with no remorse for their victims are their weapons. Does it sound familiar, Nyxion ? And don't call me killer."

My brother tilts his head, his eyes gleaming more than usual before he conjures his bone throne and sits next to her. Tell me, little monster, did you ever feel an ounce of guilt for your crimes?

She scoffs as she mashes the blackberries. "Calling them crimes is a bit of a stretch, don't you think? They were corrections. Every act was a calculated measure of survival and protection. I am not a weapon. I am a shield . One which uses force only when justified and necessary. And do not mistake necessity for guilt."

So, you believe you made the world a better place? he tests her.

"Zenya's world, yes. That is what I care about most."

Once she is finished, Beastie toys with the tart, never lifting the fork to her mouth.

What lifts my feathers is Nyxion. Never in all our years have I witnessed him rendered speechless. Zenya has quips and playful banter. But Beastie just owned my horror of a brother. The Frightener himself.

Hmm… Nyxion strokes his jaw, shedding bone dust. You don't like me.

Hecate tips her head back with a dark laugh. "You're just picking up on that now?"

I smirk in kind, loving how Beastie gives him the cold shoulder. Not just cold. Downright icy.

But Zenya, —he lowers his bony hand, inching it toward hers— does. While Zenya's hand would tremble, Beastie's is steady.

Straightening with her chest thrust out, she lifts her mug to her lips and says stoically, "Zenya is naive, wild, and impulsive—always living for the next thrill and adventure. Her world has always been dangerous and dark. And she shines within it. My role is to ensure the darkness does not devour her."

I'm not the night sky for you to shine, little dreamer, he purrs darkly, leaning closer, his phalanges on the verge of brushing hers. I am the black hole. And I'll swallow you whole.

Don't do it, you moronic egomaniac, I warn him.

In a twist of a 180, Nyxion is the moth to her flame. When Beastie does not indulge him, he touches one bony finger to her palm.

Oh!—she breaks his wrist, then snaps his fingers, and my shadows practically dance the Cha Cha!

With him writhing and seething, Beastie fractures another finger and narrows her eyes in a deathly glare. "The only thing you'll swallow is your pride when I'm done with you, Phobetor. Icelos. Nyxion. You're not a black hole; you're a void. Empty and desperate for anything to fill you. And the next time you try to touch Zenya, it will be on your knees, groveling, kissing her feet, and begging for the right to breathe her air."

Once she lets go and leaves him to groan in pain and work to reset his fingers, Phantasos chooses the opportune time to sweep into the throne room. A sharp blue suit that shimmers like cobalt with a scarlet red ascot. "Did I miss any of the fun?"

"Well, you missed the main show, but there's still time for an encore," Hecate says with her lips touching the rim of her wine goblet.

Phantasos approaches the table, glancing at Nyxion, who is now slumped on his throne, groaning in pain while resetting his bones. I kick my feet up on the table, relaxing my wings as Phantasos scrunches his brows and nods to our oldest brother. "What's eating him?"

Hecate's dogs now nudge Beastie, whining for her attention as the Goddess grins like a feline and replies, "She did…in a way." Both women meet each other's eyes in a moment of clarity.

I'll admit to a certain intrigue washing over me regarding this new entity. Well, old in many ways. Much older than Zenya but younger than Hecate, I imagine.

Beastie turns to Phantasos and locks eyes with him, her expression unreadable. It's a spine-tingling moment worthy of my neck muscles cording, wondering how Zenya's protector will respond to our middle brother.

He tilts his head before beaming at her, then closing the distance to take her hand. She certainly does not break his fingers when he kisses the back of her hand. "Enchanté, Your Highness."

Beastie's entire composure changes. She leaps to her feet, clapping her hands, eyes sparkling. "You! You were a bunch of paper snowflakes floating all around us. And then, you were in this flowy snowflake dress!"

All the tattoos on the right side of her body light up like the sun. Amusement ripples through me at the child alters rising from his presence.

He arches a brow just as she does a twirl, and the change is subtle but enough so I may recognize, along with Hecate who angles her head in keen interest.

Now, the girl extends a hand in more of a formal greeting. "Good evening, Phantasos. Forgive my little sister, she gets a little excited at times."

He takes her hand, shaking it cordially. "No forgiveness needed, and how old would you and your little sister be?"

She postures proudly. "I am eleven. Ginny is one minute and seven seconds younger."

Ahh, yes, Phantasos seems to attract a younger audience. Understandable when he prefers the form of more light-hearted and decorative objects in the dreams of mortals.

He presses a hand to his chest. "I am honored that you remembered the dream I granted you on that cold night when a sudden winter frost struck autumn down like a nemesis."

The girl suddenly glances around, and fear seems to widen her eyes. "Wait, what's going on? This doesn't feel like a normal dream. Who are they?" She hugs her arms to herself and shivers at the sight of Nyxion. "Linny, I don't like it here," she says in a higher voice but softer that betrays the younger twin.

The fear retreats—replaced by confusion. Our little dreamer's head whirls, flicking her eyes every which way. My wing muscles bulge, and I prickle, rising at the same time Hecate does. Because…

Zenya has returned.