“Again,” Warren says. “What’s the end game?”
“They must intend to use the grimoire, to tap into its power somehow. They can’t do it alone—they’re only men. They need a witch.”
“Then why kill Evelyn?” Oliver asks, reclaiming his chair.
It’s a question that’s bothering me as well. “Perhaps they intended to harm rather than kill her, and it went too far. Or maybe they don’t intend to use it at all, but ensure that no one else can use it, either. Namely, the witches tasked with guardianship.”
“There’s another possibility,” Warren says. “Blackmail. They could find another witch, coerce her. A witch outside the bloodline wouldn’t be as effective as an original Bonnivarde, but she could still do a lot of damage with the spells in that book, particularly as they pertain to the portal.”
“Is there historical precedent for that?” I ask. “You’d think the Bonnivardes would have an enchantment on it to disallow?—”
“Fuck historical precedent, Merri,” Warren replies. “At this point, it doesn’t even matter what their motives were. It onlymatters that we get that book back. If Matthias finds out, his wrath will?—”
“I don’t need a lecture, Warren. I need a plan.Especiallyfor dealing with Matthias.” I unleash a dark sigh. “I’m not looking forward to delivering the news.”
“You’re not delivering shit.” Oliver leans forward, his face close to mine, voice low. “We’re keeping this on lock until we figure out our move here.”
“I appreciate the ‘we,’ Oliver, but I don’t need either of you putting your neck on the line for me.” I rise from the table, turning to contemplate the fresco behind us—Hades in the Underworld, the river before him lined with hollow skeletons rising out of the mist.
Selfishly, I’m glad I ended up in Hell with my best mates from University. I wouldn’t have survived long without them. Yet so often, their loyalty feels like a weight. One I didn’t ask for and don’t deserve.
If it wasn’t for me, Warren and Oliver wouldn’t even be here, serving out their immortal eternity under a tyrant.
If it wasn’t for me, they wouldn’t be demons at all. They would’ve died as men. Respectable, honorable, decent men, dead of natural causes at the end of a life well-lived and well-loved.
“Matthias appointed this task to me.” I leave Hades to deal with his skeletons and take my seat again. “I welcome your advice, but not your interference. I will deal with him as I see fit. And if you don’t like that, you can piss off.”
Oliver laughs and smacks my cheek.“Please don’t get sentimental on us.”
I slap his hand away, but his comment brings a bit of levity to the otherwise grim conversation. Unfortunately, his smile immediately dims. He and Warren exchange a glance.
“What am I missing?” I ask. “For fuck’s sake, I haven’t been gone long enough for you two to get into any serious trouble down here.”
“Not us this time,” Warren says. “But itissomething we’re going to have to deal with. Sooner, rather than later.”
Oliver casts a quick glance around the room, then drops his voice. “The lower realms are in open rebellion, Merri. Matthias’ forces are keeping things mostly in check, but he’s wasting a lot of resources doing it, and he’s losing ground.”
I wave a hand, dismissing his concern. “A round of pot-stirring by the bored demonic rabble isn’t worth discussing. I’m sure it will burn itself out before it can gain any real momentum.”
“That’s just it, though,” he says. “They don’t seem to be aiming for momentum. It’s all a distraction.”
“For what purpose?”
“Forwhosepurpose, more like.” His voice dips a notch lower. “The chaos demons are gaining a stronger foothold than we ever thought possible. They’re organizing, mate. Planning to make their move. Problem is, we don’t know when or how or what the fuck that will even look like. Only that it’s coming.”
“Matthias knows it too,” Warren adds. “The bastard won’t admit it, but it’s got him tied in knots. His forces are spread thin dealing with the pot-stirring, as you’ve called it. But demons talk, and rumors are spreading fast. Matthias is losing his grip. There are whispers of a coup.”
Alarm spikes through my chest. “By the chaos demons? But… how is it even possible? They’re so bleeding… chaotic!”
Which is what makes them so damned dangerous. They’re not the most physically or magically powerful, but—as their name implies—they can harness what power they do possess to wreak absolute havoc in ways that are almost completely impossible to predict. One of them is a nuisance. Thousands ofthem, working in unison, would be disastrous on an epic scale. Something Hell has never planned for. And why should we? The chaos demons’ very nature prevents them from organizing. From unifying into a single, unstoppable threat.
Which means that something—or someone—has altered the nature of their reality. An extremely rare and nearly impossible feat, but not completely impossible. This, in fact,doeshave a historical precedent.
A four-thousand-odd-year-old precedent.
“The Obsidian Wars,” I whisper, and Warren and Oliver nod. It’s the one bit of Hell’s history that every demon understands, regardless of their level of scholarship. The one we’re trained to prevent at all costs.
And all it needed to get started, all those millennia ago, was a handful of chaos demons, a very powerful binding spell, and a dark witch with a vendetta against the devil himself.
