Page 26 of Endless Terrors
“Thanks.” I started toward my room. I’d need to use my real cell phone, since the burner was nearly out of minutes. I’d hidden it the night we’d left Granby, since I didn’t trust that one of Lucifer’s followers wouldn’t break in and search for clues of my whereabouts.
The door was still closed. Wanting to get this over with, I opened it quickly and stepped inside. Part of me expected a stale smell, since no one had aired it out in months. But it just smelled like … home. I avoided looking at the bed where Collith and I had slept together the last night I was here. I also didn’t look up at the faint outline of repairs done on the roof, a constant reminder of the day I’d blasted Collith through it with a spell.
Fixated on my task with an overzealous focus, I knelt next to one of the vents, pulled the metal piece out, and patted around for my phone. I fished it out of the darkness and straightened, plugging the charger in immediately. I waited a few seconds. Then, steeling myself, I held down the power button and the screen lit up.
It started vibrating the moment it was on. Forty-nine unread texts. I skimmed some of them, holding back a sigh. Though I’d sent vague messages to everyone I was close to, it apparently hadn’t stopped some friends from telling me exactly what they thought about my latest disappearing act. Viessa. Bea. The only people I’d given a little more detail were Aerilaya and Adam, so everyone else was pretty pissed. Yay. For a moment, I toyed with the idea of not telling anyone I was back. But even I wasn’t that cruel.
I drank my coffee and sent a few texts, then set my phone aside. My vision had started to get blurry. I went back to the kitchen for a caffeine refill, trying not to think about the sleepless hours ahead.
Emma, clad in her pink robe, paused on the way to the bathroom. The baby monitor glowed in her hand. “Oh, Danny left,” she said. “He wanted me to tell you he’d be back in the morning, if that was all right. He was just going home for some sleep and a shower.”
“Okay. Thanks.” I gave her a bleary wave and shuffled over to the coffee maker. The bathroom door clicked shut.
When I saw the pot was empty, I got to work on a fresh batch. Amongst the slew of messages, there had been a new one from Lyari, informing me she was coming back within the hour—she’d probably texted both my phones to make sure I got it.
A few minutes later, my Right Hand knocked in her signature militant style. I picked up the mug I’d just filled and approached the door, fighting back memories about the last time we’d been in this loft together. Particularly the one where I decapitated Jacob Goldmann and his head bounced off like a grisly ball. Even now, I could still hear the wet, dull sound it had made on the wood.
I was wincing as I opened the door.
“Your stairwell still reeks of sulfur,” Lyari said by way of greeting.
“Hello to you, too,” I muttered.
“Hello. I got word to Nym, as requested, but my contact couldn’t confirm that he’d understood the message. He just mumbled something about clocks and threw a shoe at her. Also, I secured the door downstairs, since it was completely unlocked when I arrived. Do you have any sense of self-preservation? At all?” She walked past me with an oversized box in her arms. It was so big that she couldn’t see where she was going, and Lyari, usually so graceful and poised, let out a pained grunt when her knee bumped into the edge of a side table. It might’ve been funny, if there was anything funny about why we were here. She set the box down and straightened, raising her eyebrows at me.
“Should we get started, then?” was all she said.
I’d been hoping to get some answers about her mysterious absences, but I didn’t want to bring it up in front of the others. Finn and Gil were already sitting down, and once again, the places they’d chosen were notably far apart. I stayed where I was for a moment, hesitating. Then, relenting, I nodded and walked over to box.
As usual, the materials Lyari had brought focused on two things—the devil and magic. I rifled through the impressive pile of books and papers, giving each item a cursory glance. Only a few stood out to me. This time, Lyari had procured the journal of an American woman who claimed that she had journeyed to Hell to meet good ol’ Luci. Beneath the journal, there was a stack of letters written in Enochian. Next to these, I discovered a large, cracked tome filled with spells. There was also a small wooden box. Inside it, I found newspaper clippings and a cassette tape.
“Okay,” I said, closing the box. “Who wants what?”
Each of them claimed something from the pile, and we got started.
Time crawled by. For a while, the only sounds were the sporadic scratching of a pen on paper, or the fire making a log pop, or the hum of the refrigerator. Emma never came out of her room, and I knew she’d probably fallen asleep. Matthew hadn’t stirred, either. Finn was listening carefully for any sounds from my nephew’s crib, and the werewolf hadn’t budged from the couch. His eyes were dark with concentration as they scanned one of the newspaper clippings. Firelight flickered over his serious face.
Two or three hours in, Gil set his book amongst the dozen others we’d already gotten through, then sank back down with a sigh. “Found another one,” he said. “Confirmation that he’s an invulnerable bastard. If any of it’s true, that is.”
I finished writing a note and looked up at him. “If any of what is true?”
“These letters were written by a faerie named Virion. Apparently he was a renowned swordsman amongst the fae. He wrote to his wife from a mental asylum—his words, not mine. I assume that’s why a lot of it doesn’t make sense. Basically, I’ve worked out that Lucifer killed their daughter, so Virion found the evil bloke, challenged him to a duel, and actually managed to win. But then Virion got word that Lucifer was alive and well in his world. After that, he did what any sane person would do and went to Hell.” I opened my mouth. Gil already knew what I was going to ask, because he added, “Doesn’t say how he got there, though. Or how he came back. Just that he kicked the devil’s ass again. What a badass, eh? Story doesn’t have a happy ending, of course. ‘The Serpent King cannot be killed, in this world or the next.’ He returned to Earth, but he was so fucked up that he ended up in the asylum.”
“So that rules out going to Hell assassin-style,” I sighed. I shifted against the throw pillow behind me, trying to get more comfortable. “And further proof there’s no point in letting the ‘Serpent King’ possess me, then getting one of you to kill me. We already knew that from Jacob, though.”
I caught my friends giving each other startled looks. Realizing I’d lost track of the sentence I’d been reading, I made a frustrated sound and read the whole thing again.
“I’ll ask,” Gil said to the others. He cleared his throat and ventured, “Fortuna, dear, was that second option actually being considered?”
I frowned, only half-listening. “I’m considering everything. Nothing is off limits when it comes to saving Damon.”
Something made them look at each other again. I caught the tail end of that look, alerted by their silence. I didn’t see anyone make a signal, but it felt like they all moved at once—Finn got to his feet and ambled toward the kitchen while Gil sprang up, his hand moving into his pocket for the ever-present box of cigarettes there. I frowned at them, my tired mind noting their behavior. Whatever their deal was, it wasn’t the priority right now.
My focus went back to the journal in my lap. The ink was old, the paper even more so, and everything was so faded that it took extra time to decipher, despite it being in English. The journal must’ve been exposed to water at some point. I blinked hard and fast, trying to make myself more alert. Then I gripped the corner of the page and started again.
Lyari’s arm appeared in my peripheral vision. At first, I assumed she was reaching for something new to read. But she didn’t settle back into her spot, and after a moment I heard her murmur, “There is one person who might know something. She might’ve even met the Dark Prince.”
I didn’t look up from the passage I was reading. “We’re not there yet.”
