“They’re binding her to Zorakkov,” I say. “And… oh, fuck. That’s… Fuckme. How is this even possible?”
It’s not just the mages, which are bad enough. A new player has just entered the game.
There’s no mistaking that golden crown. Those cold, cruel eyes. The satisfied smile.
“FuckingVerrick?” Draegan seethes behind me, rage rolling off him in hot waves. “How thefuckis he even here?”
“A better question,” I grit out, my teeth clenched so hard my jaw aches, “is how the fuck can we send him back to Wintermoon, and how can we make it hurt bad enough that he never comes back?”
“I’ve got plenty of ideas on that front,” Jude says. “Bloody ones.”
Auggie looks ready to spit fire. “Dark fae, dark mages, demons, fucking Verrick… This is all so fucking—”
“We need to go. Now.” I slam the laptop shut and rocket to my feet, punching the contacts button on my phone. To Jude, I say, “Find the ravens, lock them in the manor. I don’t want them following us to the cathedral and getting hurt. That’s the last thing West needs right now.”
“Who are you calling?” Auggie asks, right on my heels.
“More backup.”
The ancient vampire-witch answers on the second ring, and her words from the other night echo through my mind.
Whatever lies ahead for you and your rune bearer, something tells me you’re going to need allies in this. I just want you to remember you can always count me among them…
I hope like hell she meant it.
“Tatiana?” I say by way of a greeting as the four of us charge outside, ready to hit the skies. “We’ve got a situation.”
“Rook Van Doren,” she says with her usual drawl. “Is this your way of asking for my help?”
“Pretty sure we don’t stand a chance without it.”
“Tell me what I can do,” she says, the teasing gone from her voice.
“How many witches in your immediate circle do you trust with your life and all your secrets, because I’m going to need to trust them with mine.”
“Two,” she says. “Fleur and Laney Archer. They’re sisters, humans, and theonlywitches I trust without reservation.”
“How soon can you meet us in lower Manhattan?”
“Text me the address and whatever else I need to know.” I hear the rustling of clothes being thrown on, a door creaking open. “I’m already on my way.”
Chapter Eight
WESTLYN
There’s no bouquet of poisonous flowers tonight. No elaborate music or choreographed marches down the aisle, no delicate clinking of champagne toasts among the guests before the main event.
Standing at the head of the cathedral, bound by royal dark-fae magic stronger than any chains or magical drugs to remain on this altar until my task is complete, I glance out across the sea of hooded shadow mages gathered in the nave and I realize with shocking clarity…
This is very likely the night I die.
Either that or I’ll become the worst kind of prisoner, magically trapped in my own mind while the mages, demons, and dark fae use me to carry out their wicked plans—a fate even worse than death.
On the altar table behind me, an indigo light pulses from an open book, the edges crackling with magic.
The Cerridwen Codex.
It didn’t burn in the library as I’d feared. Apparently, I saved it. I brought it to Verrick after using it to summon him last night, just as he intended.
