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Xavier blinked. “You got shot in the face?”
“When I was fourteen,” said Anabel. “The bullet went through my eye and into my brain. The local Saxons weren’t big fans of my uncle. I was only his illegitimate niece, but people still figured that my death would serve as an effective deterrent. They were so wrong. He kept on impaling the villagers he captured. I honestly think that the time he spent as a hostage under the Ottoman Empire with my father just messed him up.”
Wynter slanted her head. “Hold up, are you referring to Vlad the Impaler?”
Anabel lifted a hand. “Let me just state for the record that Uncle Vlad did not drink blood, okay.”
“Oh, well, then, he wasn’t so bad after all,” Delilah said, her voice dry as a bone.
Anabel’s mouth curved, the sarcasm going right over her head. “I think so.”
Xavier pulled a face. “I don’t remember any of my past lives. It’s not fair.”
Casting him a condescending smile, Delilah gently patted his head. “I think your soul is a newbie, sweetie. It would really explain so much.”
Wynter snorted. “Come on, we’d better get our shop open.”
The workday went like any other. Except for the latter few hours, since many people came into the shed to ask Wynter questions about enchantments when, really, it was clear that they’d come to see if she was truly wearing Cain’s seal. It was obvious by how they kept trying to sneak glances at her wrist.
Tidying up the shed when closing time rolled around, she glanced over her shoulder as she heard the wooden door creak open. A tall, beautiful Hispanic woman slowly walked inside, her rich brown eyes curious as they studied Wynter like she was a pretty little butterfly.
Wynter had seen the witch from afar a few times. It was hard to miss someone who had a distinctive red mark on one side of her face that proclaimed her Favored by a deity. She allegedly had visions via Nemesis and so was often referred to as an oracle.
The monster within Wynter lazily lifted one eyelid and scrutinized the newcomer. Apparently feeling neither threatened nor intrigued, it went back to resting.
“We haven’t officially met before,” said the woman, holding out her hand. “My name is Demetria. I am in Cain’s service, much like yourself.”
Wynter gave her hand a small shake. “Yes, I know.”
Demetria took in the seal with a raised brow. “Hmm, I see the rumor that has been floating around is true. He has not only claimed you as his consort, he has marked you as such.”
Wynter had figured that the news would circulate quickly, especially given that it wasn’t in any way usual for Ancients to do such a thing. “What can I do for you?”
“I thought it might be nice for us to talk. Perhaps get to know each other. We have a few things in common, after all. We are both witches, both Priestesses, and also the only people in Devil’s Cradle who are Favored by a deity.”
“You don’t seem convinced that I am,” said Wynter, having detected the edge of skepticism in the other witch’s tone.
Demetria gave her a sheepish smile. “I must admit, I do not understand why Kali would choose to only reveal Her mark at certain times. But then, you are not exactly a normal revenant.”
Wynter took a closer look at the red mark on Demetria’s face. “How long have you been Favored by Nemesis?”
“She first came to me when I was sixteen,” said Demetria proudly. “When did Kali first come to you?”
“When I was ten.”
“Ten?” Demetria’s brows drew together. “That is very young. Deities generally don’t mark people younger than sixteen.”
“So I’ve been told.” Deities also generally didn’t bring people back from the dead—that was exclusively a Kali-thing, but Wynter wasn’t sure why. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Maybe you meant it when you said you’d like us to get to know each other, but I get the feeling you also have a question you want to ask. Let’s hear it.”
Demetria smiled. “I do like your frankness. And yes, I have a question. You see, I often have premonitions. Nemesis sends me warnings, for the most part. But the entire time you have been in Devil’s Cradle, I haven’t had a single vision. Not one. I have the occasional gut feeling, but nothing stronger than that. Why do you suppose that is?”
Wynter didn’t have a sliver of a clue. She shrugged. “Haven’t you asked Nemesis?”
“Our line of communication crackles with static. I cannot reach Her.”
Huh. Weird. “She doesn’t, like, come to you? Hang around you?”
Demetria looked at her like she was dumb. “Deities are far too busy for such things. We’re not half as interesting to them as we like to think we are. They pay us little attention, even if they Favor us.”
