26. A Demonic Encounter

26

A Demonic Encounter

Morgana

W ith each step, my boots echo in the empty street. Sierra and Alistair are both wearing sneakers, which makes me feel more alone. They want to say something but are too afraid to step beside me. The light on the street flickers above me and goes out. Halting my steps, Alistair catches up and ceases movement.

"What's going on?" Sierra asks, coming up to me and grabbing onto my elbow.

"Something doesn't feel right," Alistair tells her. Down the street, I see something I shouldn't—figures standing in the middle of the street, their eyes glowing a distinctive red, just like Alistair's.

"What forsaken demon has come to attack this time?" I mutter. As the two figures approach, they form into familiar shapes.

"I'm starting to see the appeal," one of them says with a wicked smile, baring fangs as he approaches the last lit street lamp.

"What, no greetings for your brothers?" Ah, that's why they look so familiar. A glance at the side displays Alistair's annoyance.

"You're both out of line being here, and you know that," he states, taking steps toward the center of the street.

"True," one twin sighs dramatically, running a hand through his hair, which is shaved only on the left side of his head. His other half is only shaved on the right side. The only true way to tell the difference between those twins. "But as we said, there's such an appeal here, we just had to come." I can't tell which twin even spoke, nor do I remember their names. It's been some years.

"We figure there's no point anymore, you know, sending others in place to do dirty work. Might as well do it ourselves."

"Sending others?" I ask, confused.

"You're the ones who sent the Hound," Alistair affirms, the two twins stepping closer, their piercings across their lips tinkling as they snicker.

"I mean, Father gave it to us when we were younger."

"That's how they were all accounted for. Personal pets aren't counted."

"That's right, big brother," they speak in unison.

"How did you get the Grim to attack?" I ask.

"Simple, we wore our big brother's clothes when we put the exorcism on it. Your scent is all it knows. We just had to release it at the right moment. Unfortunately, it was right after you touched Morgana, so your scent lingered as it did with the Hellhound."

"Wait," I say, stepping toward Alistair and letting go of Sierra, though it seems she isn't a fan of standing alone. "The Hound and the Grim—you sent them after Alistair."

"Of course," the twin with the left-sided haircut responds. "But removing you from the picture is a side benefit of sorts. When we found out your powers were gone, the obvious play was to force Alistair to fight for you. Eventually, he will lose."

"And you're both here for what?" Alistair questions. "You can't battle me."

"No," they both say. "But we can bargain for what we want." My heart clenches as one of them pulls from his back waist belt a glowing blade sparkling with a bright blue fiery hilt.

"Where did you get that?" I question.

"Calm down, Princess. One step from this and your powers will come rushing back. It's yours."

"What's the catch?" I snap.

"None for you, but we want the scythe."

My lips part as I want to respond, but I don't. There is one thing I know above all else, and that is the power of the scythe. If Alistair gives up the scythe, he'll no longer possess enough power to even keep his younger brothers at bay. If they want to, they will kill him. My head is rushing with scenarios, and the main one is that Alistair may choose to give it up for my powers, but that would leave him in a vulnerable position against the twins. He can't die like this.