Page 209 of Nightshade
“I hope he does. I hope he finds you, and I hope you burn.”
“Not likely. Even Jericho isn’t stupid enough to leave Nightshade and risk the wrath of the heavens.”
“Why? Why now? You’ve had years to come for me.”
“Years, yes. I might’ve stolen you away a long time ago.” Lip peeled back, he snarled. “If not for that wretched beast of a woman.”
“Woman?”
“Nelle.”
A beat of confusion struck me at the mention of her name. “What about Aunt Nelle?”
“Aunt? Hardly. She was nephilim. One of the oldest to walk the earth. Do you think it was coincidence that your father insisted she take you?”
Was it? I’d never met Aunt Nelle prior to having gone to live with her. My father had never really mentioned her during all my years growing up. In fact, I couldn’t recall one speck of evidence that the two had ever been siblings.
So many new questions swirled inside my head. “She …. She died, though. Are nephilim not immortal?”
“They are. But immortality comes with a price. You are then subjected to those more powerful. Those who are capable of ripping your immortality from your body like a ragged old shirt.”
“So, you waited until she passed.”
“You think any of this happened by chance?” Resuming his pacing, he clasped his hands behind his back. “You returning to Nightshade. Coming back here. My capturing you. It was destiny, Farryn. All of it, from the beginning, has been the very careful pulling of strings, so that each moment aligns perfectly with the next. You are a pawn in an elaborate game designed to test Jericho’s worthiness.”
“Whose game? The Sentinels? If that’s true, then you’re fated to die. Why would you play along?”
“Because, as I said, I’m not the only one who wishes to watch Jericho fall.”
The door opened, and a short, familiar man walked in with a cane, his eyes a milky white. The priest who’d been taking my confession since I was young. Who’d even performed Aunt Nelle’s burial, for chrissakes.
“Father Bane?” I asked, not entirely surprised after learning significance of the Pentacrux phrase he’d spoken to me.
Ignoring me, he limped farther into the room, carrying some kind of ornate, gold bowl in one hand, as he tapped along the stone floor with the other.
A sound caught my attention, like a swooping noise, and I swung my gaze back to Drystan. From his back, two decrepit wings stretched outward, the feathers of one misshapen. At the tip of the other wing was a small area with no feathers, nothing but what appeared to be skin and bones. I squinted my eyes, studying the surface. The strange stitching pattern of skin, and the odd protrusion of bones. As if they’d been pieced together.
“Oh, my God.” Dread sank to the pit of my stomach with the realization of what made up his wings. “Human body parts.”
“Incredible, isn’t it? I never thought I’d feel whole again.”
The mere sight of him sent a disturbing sensation across my skin, like a thousand cockroaches crawling over me. “The murders … the missing body parts. Alicia Maxson and the nuns. That was you.”
“Yes. Of course, the wings are only temporary until mine are fully restored.”
“I thought cambions didn’t have wings.”
“Most don’t. My father was a very rare and unique breed of demon. A Dalgoth. Not many can overpower an angel, you know. Jericho’s mother didn’t stand a chance against him.”
Father Bane dipped his hand into the bowl and brushed a substance over the surface of the skin still exposed on Drystan’s wings, patting around the full width of it. He then turned to where Remy’s feathers still hung and plucked the plumes one at a time, placing them into the glistening skin.
Growls echoed inside the room, and I turned to see that Remy had fully transformed into the same demonic creature I’d seen in the maze. An Alatum.
A dark and terrifying panic swelled inside my chest, and I tipped my head back, tears spilling down my cheeks. “Please,” I beseeched. “Please help me.”
Drystan chuckled, straightening one of the feathers the priest had stuck crooked. “He has no intentions of saving you. The cursed are not worthy of salvation.”
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