Page 16 of Incarnate

“Now back away.”

She does so, and Ransom moves to the edge of the cliff, wings spreading out from his body that unfurl like flesh being ripped off to form. He dives over the edge as we take flight, moving with the winds that alter their direction to aid me, gargoyle sentries following us as I head to the novus Devotion.

I would transform and fly myself, but I need to concentrate.

Nara is here.

Somewhere.

Perhaps going by a different name. Does she recall who she is, or is that lost to her for now? Whoever is with her will be watching for signs of me.

The sky is nearly black, and the rain begins to fall as lightning streaks across the sky.

We will fix the broken tether between us. I will ensure it, and there will be no chance of leaving me this time. Her soul will know this, so I must get to her before it fully awakens. She knows I’d do anything for her. Even if it were evil.

Every soul in this kingdom belongs to me. But I belong to her, which means I will find her.

P E N E L O P E

The carriage slows as we pass through an iron gate flanked by more Reapers. Beyond it, a dense city unfolds that is utterly gothic, built of gray stone and dark timber that climbs in layers toward the center. The spires of a castle rise above everything like a crown of black thorns in the distance, built into a mountain. Winding alleyways merge into streets, windows hidden in all kinds of nooks and crannies. Things float with magic, and many beings wear dark cloaks. Some appear regal, and as we pass by other streets, I can tell that poverty strikes even in the Underworld.

No matter what, my gaze continues to find its way to the castle in the distance, rain rolling down the windows.

“Where is this place? Whose castle is that?” I ask, pressing myself against the carriage window.

"This is Carden, the city that resides outside of Nightfell, or Kallúm’s castle," Bonhilda says, adjusting her cloak.

I glare at her. "That doesn't seem like a hiding strategy.”

I knew this had to be a trap.

"The best place to hide something is where no one thinks to look. He'll tear apart the outskirts, the forests, the border villages. He won't expect you to be under his nose." She taps her own, the one good eye gleaming with delight. "I've had this shop set up for a while. Since before you arrived. It will buy us time for, well, I have plans. And those also pertain to being in Carden.”

"Just who are you? What do you want with me?”

"Your soul has patterns, Penelope. Even across lifetimes. I know you well enough to know that if you were going to come back, you'd come back here. To him. So, I waited."

Oh, great. That makes me feel entirely worse, honestly. Like I’ve been thoroughly studied before I even get a fresh set of clothes.

"How long have you been waiting?"

"Long enough to perfect the pomegranate scones." She pulls the carriage curtain shut. "We're here."

She motions to a bakery with the name Delicious Delights painted on some wood. Mullioned windows line her two-story shop, the building sandwiched among many others as we wade through a crowd. Chimneys line the rooftops, smoking unfurling out of many.

Bonhilda holds up a hand before I can process that she actually bakes scones.

"Wait."

The crone closes both eyes and exhales slowly. What happens next is not as dramatic as Margaret's transformation, but somehow more unsettling for its subtlety. Wrinkles become shallow, mostly disappearing. Her hunched spine straightens by a few inches. The wild white hair darkens from the roots outward until it's a sleek jet black, pulled into a low chignon at the nape of her neck. Her gray skin warms to something closer to a light bronze. The gnarled fingers shorten, and her nails are now filed and clean, almost elegant.

When she opens her eyes, her irises are a rich dark brown. The crone at the fruit stand looks like a severe, well-kept shopkeeper in her sixties, who might judge me for my posture.

"Who are you now?" I ask, almost exasperated. “Can everyone just shapeshift here? Am I doomed to never know who I’m talking to?”

She smiles. "I’m still the same person, just the version that owns a bakery. And no, shapeshifting is quite an oddity, so another secret between us." She straightens out her robe. "We will have a lot of secrets, come to speak of it, so just get used to not repeating anything I share. The crone version of me is only known at the Devotion fruit stalls. People call me Judica here."

I pinch the bridge of my nose, only able to take so much in. A margarita sounds good right now... “So what do I call you?”