9. Josephine

CHAPTER NINE

JOSEPHINE

I fell, arms windmilling, reaching, reaching, reaching for that closing blip of light in the void. Darkness wrapped around me like a blanket, suffocating and absolute. I plummeted, a scream wrenched from my lungs, though no sound came out.

Then my stomach lurched, and my ass hit solid ground.

"Azrael!" His name tore from my throat, raw and broken.

But he wasn't there. I didn't even know if he still lived.

Whispers assaulted my senses, and the blackness took on an eerie silver glow.

"The threads of fate twist and tangle around you, child." One voice slithered among the others.

I shoved to my feet and whirled. The far wall of the cavern crawled high above me, a massive tapestry of shimmering threads. I struggled to focus on any one; the patterns shifted and writhed like living things.

A woman bent over a loom, her fingers dancing over the web of string. Tall, willowy, with hair like spun moonlight floating around her head. Her eyes... Milky white orbs stared right through me when she whipped her attention over her shoulder.

"Veridian?" I swallowed hard, my throat dry as sandpaper. I took a cautious step forward. Azrael sent me here for a reason. "Please, I need your help. Clauneck—Clauneck has Azrael."

Had him. Held him. Locked him away in some dank cell. Anything, so long as he stayed alive. I needed my reaper alive.

She tilted her head, those unsettling eyes never blinking. The thread dropped from her fingers. The whispers of the souls around us quieted to silence.

"Yes..." The seer's voice was so soft, I strained to hear it. "It is time, indeed."

"Time for what?" Frustration and fear coiled within me, my pulse quickening. "We need to get back there. We need to save him!"

A sad smile touched Veridian's lips. "I cannot leave the Echoing Hollow, child. My power is bound to this place."

"Can you send me back, then?" I crept closer. "Send me to where he's being held?"

"Even if I could, what do you plan to do then?"

My hands fisted at my sides, nails biting into my palms. I had no weapon and no real means of defense. Azrael had sent me to find her, and I had. For what? What good had it done me? What good would it do him?

Despair clawed at my insides. This was it, then. My future spread out before me, miserable and full of pain. Azrael had given me a delay, only, from my planned end on Alain's altar. I'd die alone and tortured, forgotten, as I'd always been.

Hot, unwelcome tears stung my eyes. I couldn't fall apart. I had to stay strong, had to figure something out.

"Azrael told me to come to you," I whispered. "I can't go back and I can't do anything for him. So, what do I do?"

What the fuck do I do?

"Only a proven adversary can truly challenge a demon." Veridian's voice remained maddeningly calm.

"I know that." I pressed the heels of my hands against my temples, squeezing my eyes shut. I took a deep breath, then another, willing the rising tide of panic to recede. "I don't know how that helps me."

But every second brought us closer to the end. If I ever wanted to see Azrael again, if I ever wanted to avenge the fate of the nameless others who'd suffered before me, I had to act. Now.

Centuries, Azrael said. Just for him.

A nice cave with all the illusion of fixings didn't make a king. My personal savior, sure. But he still served another and still spoke of others doing the same.

And I still didn't know the full score. I'd been kept from the knowledge to choose any of this for myself from the moment Alain entered my life.

Alain, who also didn't act alone. Not him, or the ones who came before with their knives and lies and bargains made with the blood and souls of others.

"Do demons get anything out of their followers?" Outside of me. "Outside of their sacrifices?"

Veridian bent back over the loom. The disembodied whispers hummed in the background the moment her fingers grazed the shimmering threads. "Demons feed on the energy of their followers," she said. "Each prayer, each sacrifice, another morsel."

My mind raced. "So, if they lose followers, they're weakened?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she reached out a hand and plucked a single thread from the shifting mass. The pattern around the missing thread shuddered and quivered.

Snip.

The thread parted. A burst of color rippled outward, rearranging the design. The hair on my arms lifted, and I shivered.

"The sudden severing of fate's threads can be catastrophic, child," Veridian said, still holding the cut ends in her fingers. "The magic is raw. Potent."

I crossed my arms. "And you want me to... what? Cut Clauneck's threads?"

A smile played at the corners of her mouth. She dropped the threads and dusted her hands before reaching into a pocket of her dress. Veridian held out a small silver object. "To help with your weaving."

I closed the distance between us, taking the item into my hand. A thimble. Small, simple, and unimpressive. I rolled it on my palm, the metal cool against my skin.

Veridian hadn't said it outright, but the message was clear. To weaken Clauneck, I had to sever his connection to his followers. And where better to start than the very place where this nightmare began?

"Thank you," I whispered.

I closed my hand around the thimble. I closed my eyes and pictured Graywick Hall's stone walls. The green paths. The bubbling fountain.

The altar where they held me down and offered me to their master.

This time when reality shifted, I did not fall.

I opened my eyes to the grand staircase at Graywick. Memories flooded back—Alain's lies, the chanting cultists, the blade raised high. Azrael, snatching me away in the nick of time.

I took a deep breath and slipped the thimble onto my finger.

The world... shifted. Inky tendrils of darkness stretched through the manor. I spun in place, trying not to let them touch me. They pulsed and seemed to swish in one direction or another, as if they were tugged along behind something.

Or someone.

The end of one thread faded as it flowed out of the entrance hall.

I crept after, careful to keep my steps quiet. My eyes were wide, scanning for the owners of the strands. I was halfway down a long hall when a whisper reached my ear.

I paused. The voices were faint and muffled, but the threads coalesced at the end of the hall, gathering at a door.

"...displeased with our failure," Alain's voice rang out. "We must redouble our efforts to?—"

Rage boiled in me. My body—in this realm—had barely cooled, and they were already planning to do the unthinkable to someone else?

Centuries of this. Centuries of eagerly spilling blood for their demon master.

I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms. They'd pay for this. All of them.

I reached out, grasping one of the inky tendrils. It writhed in my grip, and I pulled .

A dull thud echoed from behind the door. More threads, more thuds, followed by the sound of surprised cries.

"What the hell is that?"

"Who's there?"

My heart raced as I ripped another thread. Then another. With each cut, warmth spread through my fingertips. Power. The energy of the worshipers.

Someone jerked the door open, and a pair of hooded figures stumbled out into the hallway.

I moved without thinking. I held up a hand, and they stopped. My ears buzzed as I reached deep within myself, drawing on my newfound power. "See," I told them.

They clutched their heads and doubled over with bellows of terror.

I slipped past and left them to visions of their greatest fears.

Chaos erupted in the room beyond. Some rushed at me, but I stopped them with the same whispered command.

Screams about snakes and spiders, cries of names, and pleas for forgiveness filled the room. I reveled in their panic and drank in their terror. The lives they'd taken—the lives they'd destroyed—returned to them tenfold.

I ignored the screams and pleas, just as they had for all those they'd strung up on an altar. I snatched up the threads and snipped, over and over, my fingers flying as fast as my pulse. Bodies dropped. Minds broke.

I would see the demon defeated once and for all.

And then, there he was. Alain. My almost-husband. He stood frozen, staring at me with a mix of shock and fury. Gone was the charming facade. This was the real Alain—cold, calculating, cruel.

"You," he snarled, taking a step forward.

I smiled, and it wasn't a pleasant smile. "Miss me, darling?"

The others faded to the back of my mind as I stalked toward him. My anger burned hotter with every step. He had orchestrated all of this. He had manipulated and lied and used me.

I snatched up the thread flowing around Alain and snapped it.

But I wasn't done. I grabbed the severed end, the one still connected to him. It writhed in my grip like a living thing. With a cruel smile, I wound it around my wrist, forming a makeshift leash.

"What... what are you doing?" Alain whimpered, his bravado gone.

I gave the leash a vicious tug, and Alain's knees hit the floor. His face twisted with pain and rage.

"Heel, boy," I growled. More and more power rushed into me. I was drunk with it. My skin hummed, my nerves tingled, my blood sang. "Let's go tell your master what a naughty doggie you've been."

This was what I'd been destined for. Not to be sacrificed to some demon. Not to be a victim.

I was retribution.

I snapped my fingers and dragged a kicking and screaming Alain through the shadows and into the realm of the dead.

Azrael would be so pissed he missed the carnage.