“I’ve never used one before,” the fairy said.
Andre pushed away from the car. When he turned to face Oliver, the fairy was flipping the gun over in his hand, staring at it curiously. Giving a fairy a gun was a supremely bad idea—especially this one—but Andre didn’t really have the patience to regret his decision.
He came around behind Oliver and positioned the fairy’s hands over the gun, ignoring the lust pouring off the boy.
“Safety,” Andre said, pointing to a switch near the trigger. “Keep this on until you’re ready to shoot. Front and rear sight,” he indicated to two eyepieces. “Line these up with your mark for better accuracy. And lastly, the trigger,” he said, pointing to it. “I’m sure you know what to do there.
“This gun has eight bullets, seven in the magazine and one in the breach, so make them count. Try for close range targets and aim for the chest. Got it?” Andre said, stepping away from him.
“I think so.” The fairy no longer sounded so flippant. Violence had a way of making men out of boys.
“I’ll do my best to make sure you don’t have to use that at all,” Andre said, “but if someone tries to hurt you, don’t hesitate to defend yourself.”
Oliver jerked his head in answer.
“Good.” Andre clasped him on the shoulder. “Now take me to my soulmate.”
I opened my mouth and something more than just words and notes came out. I couldn’t see my skin, but I could feel it ripple as my essence freed itself.
Magic flowed out from my lips, arcane and powerful. Every instance I’d used glamour up until to now had been child’s play in comparison. This, this was the true extent of my power, and it was terrifying.
The universe moved through me as I sang, and with each note I hit, I learned a new, impossible secret—how to seduce the unwilling, how to bring the proud to their knees, how to bring comfort to the desolate and leave the content wanting.
I tipped my head back and laughed even as I sang, the laughter fluidly weaving itself into the melody. I was getting high off the power. I might be tied up, but I was not the prisoner at the moment.
I listened for those humans who’d fallen under my spell, but I was met with … silence.
“Nice try Gabrielle,” I heard Morta say in the distance.
My voice faltered at her words. Nothing was happening, but surely something should be.
And then something did.
The smell of brimstone assaulted my nostrils as a being crept closer to my door. An unholy chill wrapped around my skin and seized up my windpipes. My voice painfully died away. The hollow sensation stroked my skin like a lover.
The being paused outside my door. My stomach clenched painfully, and my unseeing eyes darted under the blindfold.
Oh dear God and heaven above, my voice had garnered the attention of something.
After a pause, whatever lingered left, but not before it made me a promise.
Soon, Gabrielle.
Damn, but Andre hated ley lines. The twisted, unnatural trees they passed were evidence of the snags in the fabric of this world. So was the strange, bloodied altar Oliver hoisted himself onto. The altar from the case Gabrielle was working on.
Oliver patted the stone slab, indicating that Andre join him.
In one fluid moment Andre lifted himself to the altar. He caught a whiff of an angelic being, and beneath that, a more familiar smell. Gabrielle. Her scent made him hiss through his teeth. Sometime recently she’d passed through here.
But now she was nothing more than a phantasm. And in a few more days, all traces of her would vanish from this place.
A fierce chill whipped down his spine. What did they call that? Revelers dancing over his grave? Whatever it was, it was a bad omen.
Oliver stretched out his hand. “Ready, Andre?”
In answer, Andre took his hand.
He’d die before all that remained of her was a scent in the wind.
The stink of evil had barely left the hallway when I heard the click of two sets of footfalls. The door opened.
I almost choked on the smell of ash and roses. Two beings and only one scent.
“Oh lookie who’s back!”
“Miss me?” another voice purred. The cambion from the club
I frowned. “I guess that depends on whether you’re here to kill me or not.”
“I heard your voice,” she said. “Lovely. It will enchant our dark lord.”
“Yeah, I don’t think I’m happy to see you.”
“All our preparations are ready,” Morta interrupted, nearing the bed.
I heard the other woman approach the bed, and felt her soft touch as she grabbed my arm.
Morta hauled me off the mattress with impressive strength, and I felt the other woman adjust her stance to support my weight.
I didn’t realize my feet were bare until they touched the cool floor. As for my wardrobe, the material swished around my ankles. A dress. Just like what the other victims wore.
What had Oliver said about virgins only being good for sacrifices? Damn him, he’d jinxed me!
“I know you’ve figured it out,” Morta whispered next to my ear.
I turned towards her voice.
“The myth of Pluto and Proserpine,” she explained. “It really is a prophecy. A very old and very popular one. And it is a prophecy about you.”
“But the details …” My voice trailed off as the cambion traced a finger down my arm. I grimaced as the sensation.
“The details matter not. That is what happens when a story outlasts several civilizations. Along the way word of mouth and cultural appropriation warp the details.”
“Why was it so popular?” I asked before the two could haul me out of the room.
“Because it has to do with life and death,” the cambion whispered into my ear, her breath hot against my skin.
“You were born of life but possess death in your bloodstream—you die even as you live. And yet in your death you’ll live forever an immortal. You see?” Morta said. “You’ve been married to the god of death since your birth. Two sides of the same coin.”