“What’s he doing with the fae?”
“No one seems to know, except that they’ve formed some sort of alliance.”
“The fae don’t form alliances with earthly gods.”
“Things have changed, I guess. You have no clue what they’d be doing together?”
Bael looked at the window again, considering the question. “If Abrax and the fae were united, they could make a play for Nyxobas’s shadow kingdom.” He coughed, wincing in pain.
“Are you ok?”
“I’ll manage.”
She eyed the belt binding his enormous chest. “I’m not sure if it helped, but I bound your wounds.”
“Of course you did.” His pale eyes threatened to pierce her soul. “You won’t stand a chance against Abrax without me.”
“I did pretty well against your vampire friend.”
Bael’s fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened. “Fiore was a dead man as soon as his second became involved,” he said through clenched teeth.
Obviously, this was a tender subject. She glanced at his shoulder, which seemed to be clotting. “I got out the bolt that they shot you with, but I couldn’t do anything for the wound.”
“You mean the quarrel?” Bael’s fists unclenched a little. “It was carved from a hawthorn tree. Hawthorn wood is an anathema to creatures of the night, especially if it’s forged with iron.”
Ursula winced inwardly, thinking of how the wound had smoked when she’d pulled the bolt from his chest. “You’re better now?”
“Good as new.”
She crossed her arms in front of the sheet. “There’s one little problem. We can’t get into Oberon’s without the invitation of a fae.”
“Ursula. I am the Sword of Nyxobas. I go where I choose.”
“You take that name quite seriously, don’t you?”
His eyes lingered over her bare legs for a moment before his jaw tightened. He turned, walking out of the room. “Seven hells, woman. Put on some clothes.”
Chapter 40
They stood in front of the unassuming grey door—the portal to the fae realm. Bael had ransacked the apartment for a shirt large enough to fit him, though the fabric still strained over his chest, threatening to tear.
“Are you sure this is the place?” he asked, nodding at the rusted door. “It doesn’t look fae.”
“I guess the fae are less concerned with aesthetics than Nyxobas.”
“Nyxobas eschews frivolity. It is a sign of weakness. The fae are the opposite.” Bael’s eyes narrowed, inspecting the stone. “I imagine they simply have this place glamoured.”
Ursula reached to press the buzzer, but he grabbed her hand. “Don’t alert your enemy of your presence before you attack.” He stepped back from the door and studied it for a moment. Then, in a blur of black wind, he slammed his foot into the door. It splintered with a crack of shearing steel.
She gaped. “That won’t alert them?”
“Not as much as a bell,” he grumbled. While Ursula pondered this logic, the demon unsheathed his sword and stepped inside. “Come.”
“Right.”
Ursula followed, gripping Honjo. Bael muttered his orb spell, illuminating the interior with amber light. This time, no doorman waited to collect their jackets.
The enormous wooden doors blocked their path, and their golden Angelic inscriptions glittered ominously in the half light. Ursula’s hands sweated on Honjo’s hilt, as an uneasy feeling settled over her.
“Last time, we walked through those doors and they took us to Oberon’s hall,” said Ursula. “I think they’re some sort of portal. But we can’t get through those doors just by kicking through them. There’s some sort of impenetrable fae magic—”
Bael closed his eyes, chanting in Angelic. Dark magic swirled around his body, whispering past her skin in thrilling tendrils of power. He opened his pale eyes again and pulled the handles. Slowly, the doors creaked open. With a final glance behind them, they walked through.
A cold breeze nipped at her ears, and she stiffened as they stepped into a thick fog. Instead of illuminating a wooden balcony, the glow of Bael’s orb was quickly swallowed up by a swirling mist. The air smelled of wet wood and fresh pine needles.
“This isn’t Oberon’s hall. Do you know where we are?” she whispered.
“No,” he replied, his tone suggesting he was entirely unconcerned by this turn of events.
Oberon’s voice pierced the mist. “I’m so glad you could join us at my high court.”
Bael turned, sniffing the air, and the mist swirled faster. “Reveal yourself, Oberon,” Bael’s voice boomed. “We simply want to parley.”
“Will you swear that on the soul of Nyxobas?”
“I will.”
The mist thinned, revealing the golden glint of fae armor in silvery moonlight. It was night here—maybe it was always night in the fae realm.