Chapter 20

CHAPTER20

Callan had said the feather was holding him back, but Myth hadn’t realized by just how much. He was vast, unending, and so powerful that Myth’s heart beat faster at the sight of him.

You can do it, Callan.

Aided by the feather, Myth could see more now than he had before. He caught the sharp outlines of the two creatures battling for dominance. The soft ash—the warm ash—flew up as their battle disturbed the landscape, coating the demon and Callan both, then disappearing into them.

The feather pulsed in time with Myth’s heart, warming him even more.

It didn’t feel right, though. Myth had never been one to search for the light. He’d always been more interested in the shadows, in the night, and it was… uncomfortable.

I can’t take you into my shadows anymore.

He was willing to put up with the discomfort of the feather when he saw how the acid that neared him burned up before it ever touched his skin.

Even better was watching Callan swallow up the sludge with the unending void of his hunger.

But for every piece of the demon that Callan devoured, there was another part of his shadow that was lost to the sludge.

A never-ending cycle of consumption, one that Myth wasn’t sure Callan could come out on top of.

Not without help.

Myth swallowed hard. He was no mage, to know how to do much, but what little he knew… He’d done tiny spells, and he could feel power pulsing through him. What he’d been able to do before would be magnified by that uncomfortable brightness. He had to stop watching. He had to do something. If he could get to the altar…

He forced himself to turn away from the fight, even though it made him ache with anxiety and fear. But watching wasn’t going to help, and this…

He remembered the spell lines Callan had drawn in the air, remembered the sketch he’d seen in Queen Raniya’s book. He hadn’t been able to read the scratchy handwriting, but he’d been able to memorize those lines. They had matched.

Maybe it was his bloodline—maybe that was why the demon wanted to get rid of him—or maybe it was the phoenix feather that lent him such clarity, but he knew what he needed to do. He turned, making his way through the ash that billowed up around him with every step, and ran for the altar.

His father’s blood was still on the altar, sticky though it was with the rotting flesh.

“You brought this on yourself,” Myth said to Eoghan’s remains. Tentatively, he summoned a small wind spell to push the rot away.

A full gale burst past the altar, far more powerful than any spell Myth had ever cast before.

Fuck. That was the power of the phoenix feather… and that was just one feather. Callan had said he’d fought the entire creature here.

“What are you doing?” the demon shouted, with a raw edge of panic in its voice. That was the only warning Myth had before another wave of decay crashed against him.

It was a shield of darkness that protected him this time.

“You do not touch him,” Callan growled as he drove the demon back. “He’s mine.”

Myth was doing something right. He had to be, if the demon was afraid—and he was afraid. He could tell. Callan wasn’t; Callan was all power and vast control, and with the feather and the protection of the shade, Myth could scramble for the amulet.

It was cracked, the ruby in the center seeming to ooze out, but as he grabbed it, it sluggishly went from molten to solid. He willed it to continue, to keep repairing itself, but he didn’t have much time.

He could do it, though. It had taken Queen Raniya and the entire temple to bind the demon the first time, but the amulet remembered the spell. The altar remembered. And this time… This time, Myth was aided by the phoenix feather, and even the charges of darkness Callan was sending through to protect them.

He grasped wildly for the magic.

Magic had never come easily for Myth. He could sense it, he could do small spells, but he’d struggled to replicate the ones Lore could do as easily as breathing.

Now, the magic wanted to be used. The amulet sang to him, and he understood now what Callan had meant when he’d said it had a will of its own. Myth instinctively began drawing the spell around the amulet, using the remnants of Eoghan’s blood.

He’d always heard that blood magic was forbidden—forbidden, because it was so very potent.

So many lives had been lost to seal away that demon, and the altar still recognized the sacrifice and the blood alike.

As Myth drew, he realized: he could seal Callan away at the same time. The amulet and the feather both told him as much. Their magic stretched out, wanting to brighten the skies and put an end to this sea of chaos.

That would be for the best. Callan was fighting the demon now, but he’d been content to let it ravage the lands. Callan aided murderers and rapists, all for the satisfaction of a meal.

Callan had used Myth. Betrayed him. Who was to say he wouldn’t do it again?

Callan had looked at Myth from across the fire, and told him the most intimate story Myth had ever heard.

Myth faltered and stopped drawing. “Callan! What happens to the demon? After I finish this spell?”

The demon shrieked and attempted to attack Myth once more, but again Callan was there, keeping Myth safe.

“The same as the last time, I assume. Although I will be very sure not to allow him to latch onto me again.” Callan’s tendrils wrapped around Myth and squeezed. “Hurry up, seal him away.”

Myth bristled at that, not liking the command and the “encouragement” given to hurry him along. Callan was still using him. Callan had warned him over and over—as recently as minutes ago, even!—but Myth still kept wanting to see the best in him despite the fact that he was a shade. A shade was not a good being. If the demon dragged Callan down into the spell with him, wouldn’t that be a good thing? Callan had made one thing clear: he cared for himself first, and everyone else after. He was willing to burn the world down if it meant he could be free… so maybe he shouldn’t be free. Maybe Myth should let the demon latch on instead of trying to separate them. He paused, faltering as he struggled to make the most important decision he’d ever have to make in his life.

“Is this permanent?” Myth asked, his voice hoarse. “Will the demon be locked away forever this time?”

“I cannot be contained!”the demon shouted. Some sludge oozed along the cracks in the stone beneath Myth’s feet, only to burn away when it got too close.

Callan chuckled. “In this case, he’s correct. No spell ever lasts an eternity. Maybe it will last longer than a mere hundred and fifty years this time, if you do a better job hiding all the knowledge. But even if nobody attempts to unleash it, the magic will fade.”

“But the ability to break the spell easily will die with me,” Myth said. “Because I’ll have no heirs.”

“And with you, the ability to redo the spell will die as well,” Callan pointed out. “Why are you debating this? As riveting as the battle is, I cannot fight him forever.”

Callan was right. Eventually, either the demon… No. Eventually, one of the demons would prevail, and with their victory would come more power. It might even be too much for the spell to lock either of them away. Myth had to act quickly, and he had to make that decision.

There was another solution. One that was more permanent for the demon. But Myth would need to trust Callan. He would have to believe that Callan would do the right thing.

Myth looked up at the shadowy shape that was Callan. As black as the void, hungering, desiring, wanting.

The magic of the feather let him see beyond the dark, let him see Callan.

There, on Callan’s hands, sat all his rings. Pretty baubles that he had no reason to wear, yet he always did. Colorful, vain—

And on the other hand were the two simpler rings. One pearl, one onyx.

Sentimental.

Callan had said he had never sacrificed himself, that he would never sacrifice himself.

It was true, because a true creature of the night would have no need for rings that lit his way in the dark, or rings that reminded him of a simple thief.

Don’t get lost in the dark,Callan had written.

Do you want to pity me?Callan had asked.

Myth went back to drawing the lines of the spell, and he could feel it when it began to drag the demon’s very essence toward the amulet and altar.

Then he changed one line, and all the vast magic inside Myth shot out, wrapping around the demon. The acid, decay, and filth was all pulled in.

The demon began screeching.

“Callan!” Myth shouted. “Devour him now! Make him a part of you! Destroy his very being!”

Something brushed against Myth’s mouth, colder than ever before. He instinctively opened up for the kiss, and was disappointed when he got nothing more than that.

“You do surprise me,” Callan said, releasing Myth.

The sky cleared as Callan raced to the bound demon. It struggled against the spell, and Myth had to pour more power into it.

Callan crashed down on the demon.

Even bound, the demon was strong. Callan swallowed it up, one drop at a time, but it struggled and roared. Myth poured more and more of his magic into keeping it down. White spots appeared in his vision, and his fingers burned with heat.

Myth wasn’t meant to have the feather’s power, either. It would have consumed him.

“You cannot—”the demon rasped wetly.

Callan laughed darkly. “I make the rules. You are decay and death, but all death becomes life once more. The shadows are eternal.”

Myth gasped when he felt his hold on the magic weakening. The magic was getting pulled into the void along with the demon.

Myth let go of the feather.

And the demon screamed one last time before its echoes were completely absorbed by the dark.

Callan rose up again, larger than ever before. He truly could swallow the world.

He could swallow Myth, and Myth was so weakened now there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“What should I do with you now, I wonder?” Callan asked, sliding around Myth. “You’ve made me more powerful than I’ve ever been.”

“Whatever you want,” Myth croaked. There was always the chance that this would be thankless, that he would be betrayed by a creature who would always, always hunger. But Myth leaned into Callan.

Myth trusted him.

For better or for worse.

A cold hand brush the hair from Myth’s sweat-stained forehead.

Myth blinked and looked up, surprised to see Callan in the shape of a man once more.

“What luck,” Callan said, smile quirking onto his lips. “I want to see you well-rested. And then I want to fuck you.”

It took a moment for Myth to absorb those words. He looked at Callan, still wary, still half-expecting something to go wrong… but Callan pulled him into his arms, and Myth rested his face against a chest that was tangible once more. “I think I can live with that,” he said. “As long as you don’t destroy the world in the meantime.”

“Why would I do that?” Callan asked with amusement. “There isn’t a lot of hunger when there are no creatures around to desire. And a world without any light at all isn’t casting many shadows.”

Myth collapsed in Callan’s arms, letting the shade fully bear his weight. It was… cold. Dark. There was no more warmth there, nothing thrumming at the core of him but more shadows.

As his eyes closed, sleep threatening to take him, he thought that maybe, that wasn’t such a bad thing after all.