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He didn’t bother responding.
I looked up, ready to snap about his rudeness, but he was gone. I cursed him the entire way home, wondering why I’d gotten stuck with such a clothes-obsessed snob of a demon.
Perhaps Nonna was right about the cost of le arti oscure; being subjected to Wrath certainly felt like a punishment for using the dark arts.
I was so annoyed, it took far too long for me to focus on the most important detail of all that he’d let slip—Wrath knew where I lived.
TWENTY-EIGHT
I looked down at my new, finely made dress and frowned at the dark layers. “Why do villains always wear black?”
“Better to hide the blood with, witch.”
I eyed the demon standing in the alley next to me, thinking his response explained a lot about his personal style. Then I wondered how much blood he planned to spill tonight if he’d dressed us both like living, breathing shadows.
I was almost disturbed the thought didn’t terrify me more.
“Who are we meeting? Human? Demon? Werewolf?”
“Werewolves are like puppies. It’s hellhounds you need to watch out for.” Wrath chuckled at my look of horror. “We’re meeting a mortal who sold his soul. Speaking of, I need my House dagger back before he arrives.”
I gave him a flat stare. Arming a demon didn’t seem very beneficial to me. Then again, he needed me to be his precious anchor. He’d mentioned it before, but had shared a few more details on the walk here. I handed the blade over.
“Say I were to die… how long would it take for your powers to start diminishing?”
“Depends on how much magic I expend. If I don’t use much, I could retain them for a small amount of time.”
A small amount of time for an immortal was probably a decade for me. “Can someone else act as an anchor?”
He blew out a breath. “Technically, yes. Any human or denizen of this world can strike a bargain, and agree to anchor a demon. It is rare and not worth the time it would take to find someone, and agree to terms both parties accepted.”
Several moments of silence passed. I tapped my fingers against cool stone. We were hiding in a little alcove off the cathedral square, and it felt like we’d been waiting years for the mysterious messenger to show up. Five minutes in, I quickly discovered standing still wasn’t something I enjoyed very much. When I wasn’t moving, all I could do was think about my sister.
“Why do demons steal souls? Do you need them for something specific?”
I felt the weight of Wrath’s attention as it settled on me. I shifted to see him, surprised to note the level of incredulity he wasn’t bothering to hide. Right. Like he’d have a nice long chat about soul collecting with the enemy. I lifted my hands in placation, and looked away. Inexplicably, I turned back to him a breath later.
“Why do you think hearts are being taken?”
“Are you asking so many questions in hopes of frightening off the messenger before I can scare information from him?”
“I want to know what you think.”
There was such a long pause, I didn’t think he’d answer. “We don’t have enough information to speculate. And it’s unwise to make assumptions without fact.”
“Do you believe anything would want to…”
“Eat them? Yes. Plenty of creatures find freshly beating hearts to be the most supreme delicacies, witch. Then there’s the ritualistic significance. Sacrifice. Sport. Summoning. And plain old depravity. That level of sadism isn’t limited to one species, so we’re back where we started.”
I felt sick. “A simple yes would have sufficed,” I said quietly.
“What you want is for me to say something comforting.” His voice was like steel when he faced me. “Lying and saying your sister felt no pain serves no purpose to you. I imagine, no matter the reason, whoever or whatever took her heart, did so while she was very much alive and very conscious. I promise you, there is no strategic value in getting lost in emotional entanglements. Hone your anger and sorrow into weapons of use, or go back home and cry until the monsters come for you. Because come for you they will.”
“I’m not afraid of monsters.”
“You may think so now, but my brothers delight in bending creatures like you to their will. They’ll feed you their emotions and siphon yours until you don’t know where you end and they begin. There are many forms of Hell. Pray to your goddesses you never have to experience them firsthand. You need to be sharp and focused, or you’ll end up just as dead as the others.”
Tears pricked my eyes. Not from sadness, but pent-up rage. “I am focused, you steaming sack of horse manure. All I dream about is avenging my sister. Don’t you dare accuse me of being too emotional. I will destroy anything that gets in the way of achieving my ends. Even you. And I’m not scared, or else I never would’ve summoned you to begin with!”
