Harley Merlin and the Cult of Eris (Harley Merlin, #6)

Naima didn’t say a word to us as she crossed the foyer toward the elevators and pressed the call button. Finch and I exchanged a look as we waited behind her, feeling very out of place. The Mazinovs weren’t exactly dressed for this kind of fancy place, and my short, spiky blonde hair was definitely drawing some looks.

The doors pinged open, and we entered the elevator. There was a uniformed man inside who smiled at Naima and pressed the button for the penthouse, folding his arms behind his back as the doors closed again. There’s a freaking elevator bellboy! Is this the Ritz-Carlton or what? I moved to the back of the elevator and pressed myself against the wall. Glancing to the right, I caught sight of myself for the first time, in the full-length mirror that covered the sides of the elevator, and had to stop a gasp from bursting out of my throat. I looked exactly like Volla Mazinov, which was sort of the point. But it was still eerie to see.

I had spiky, platinum-blonde hair that was buzzed at the sides, and skin as pale as snow. No way this chick could’ve been eaten by polar bears—this is snow-camouflage 101. Cobalt-blue eyes stared back at me from a strikingly pretty face with angular cheeks and a strong jaw and lips that could’ve put Angelina Jolie out of business. My frame was slender but lean with muscle, dressed up in highly impractical black leather trousers and a simple gray T-shirt, with a black shearling coat over the top. This was the closest to cool I was ever going to get.

I realized I’d been staring at myself a little too long and fixed my gaze on the ceiling instead. I had the temptation to whistle, but I resisted it. Meanwhile, classical music filtered in through hidden speakers, making the experience all the more awkward. It was a truth, universally acknowledged, that speaking in an elevator was tantamount to insanity.

I tried to focus on the mission ahead, which only resulted in my mind racing a mile a minute, thinking about all the worst-case scenarios. Katherine could murder us. Naima could slit my throat open with her fangs. A cult member could discover our disguises. We could ruin the National Council’s investigation. I could sneeze and accidentally phase out of Volla Mazinov’s form. Yep, we could definitely be murdered about a million different ways.

I almost jumped out of my skin when Finch squeezed my forearm. He was looking at me, his gaze encouraging. There was a protectiveness about him that kept taking me by surprise. It reminded me of those training sessions we’d shared at the SDC, before he was revealed as a traitor.

Maybe this is the real him. Bad mouth, terrible temper, but… well, good. Deep down. But I couldn’t turn weak around Finch. I couldn’t let him see me vulnerable, in case he used it against me. I shook off his hand and folded my arms across my chest. He’d tried to kill me not too long ago, and nobody changed overnight. Nobody.

Just when I thought we’d found our way onto Willy Wonka’s magic freaking elevator, on a ride that would never end, it jolted to a halt and the doors opened out onto the swankiest suite I’d ever seen. The penthouse sprawled across the top floor of the hotel, with more rooms than my old apartment and a sofa the size of a bus. Smaller versions of the downstairs chandelier hung from the ceiling in every room. The view from the windows looked out on the water, where storm clouds were rolling in.

“Katherine is paying you way too much,” I blurted out.

Naima chuckled. “We do not receive recompense for being part of the Cult of Eris, Volla. If it is wealth you seek, then you have come to the wrong organization.”

“I think she means you’ve got nice digs here.” Finch flashed a grin.

I nodded. “Yeah… it’s beautiful.”

Naima cast her paw around the suite. “This entire hotel is a front for the cult, and is a respite for magicals only. If a human were to walk in, they would simply be told that the rooms were fully booked,” she explained. “All revenues collected go toward serving the cult, financially speaking. While the members are not paid, an organization such as Katherine’s cannot evolve without investment.”

“Makes sense,” Finch said casually, looking unimpressed by the suite. He’d probably seen plenty like it during his time with Katherine.

“We have hotels such as this all across the United States,” she said proudly. “Even Alaska.”

Poor Alaska.

“Is that so?” I was genuinely impressed, and equally horrified.

“Yes, we have been operational for more than five years, and we have amassed an incredible fortune from such enterprises.”

“Looks like it.” Finch plopped himself down on the huge sofa and put his feet on a strange, furry footrest that resembled a dead creature. I headed down the small set of steps to the living room where Finch had made himself at home, but I paused as I noticed something unsettling. The Persian rug had been rolled to one side, and a salt pentagram, complete with ancient symbols, had been drawn directly onto the marble floor. Small copper bowls at each corner were filled with various herbs and chunks of colorful crystal.

“Having a party?” I joked, though my heart was thundering.

Naima smirked. “In a manner of speaking. You are about to join the Cult of Eris. If you wish to back out now, I am afraid you will not be permitted to leave the premises alive.”

“Nope, no backing out,” Finch said, jumping up. “We’re good to go.”

I nodded. “What he said.”

“Very well then. If you would care to step into the center of the pentagram, we will begin.” Naima ushered us into the middle, arranging us so we were standing in a triangle. With her hands on both our shoulders, she began to chant something in Latin, the sound rumbling out of her throat and sending a shiver through my body. “Ex terra ligare Munera tua potestate ut educeres nos iter est.”

The pentagram lit up like I’d just stepped in front of headlights, the glare searing into my retinas. Fiery white light surged across the salt-drawn edges of the pentagram, and violent puffs of hot black smoke nearly scorched my skin. At every corner, an explosion of white light burst upward, lifting the copper bowls into the air before sending them crashing back down and spilling their contents into the middle of the symbol. I looked down at my feet, only to see that there wasn’t a floor anymore. Instead, there was a gaping black void.

I screamed as the light of the pentagram swallowed us whole, and my body began to disintegrate. My arms evaporated like ash. Finch was already mostly gone, his head the last thing remaining. Every part of us was being sucked through the ground, into an insanely narrow wormhole, with an almost comical slurp.

I could’ve handled the disintegration if it weren’t for the pain that came with it. I could literally feel my body being strung out like spaghetti, my entire being stretching and straining. Worse still, I couldn’t cry out in pain, because I had no idea where my mouth was anymore.

And then, we landed. Well, more like fell onto the ground, splattering with all the elegance of tomato sauce. Threads of white light spiraled all around, piecing us back together. Naima, who was clearly used to this horrible way of traveling, had her back to us, patting herself down.

I patted my whole body, too, making sure nothing was missing—only to find that I had patches of shearling jacket and patches of leather jacket, and similar blotches of skin along my arms: snow-white and my own, slightly darker tone, combined in a terrifying patchwork. The worst thing that I could see was my fingers. Half belonged to me, half belonged to someone else, differing in size. I shot a look at Finch and almost screamed.

He was a mishmash of himself and Pieter Mazinov, put back together like gruesome blobs of Play-Doh. It looked like Shapeshifters had a bit of trouble with this mode of transportation, and I could only imagine what I must look like. Panic hit me with the force of a freight train. What if I’d used up my one Ephemera shot at Shapeshifting? What if I couldn’t fully get Volla back again? Even like this, if Naima saw us, it’d be game, set, and match.