“Whatever you’re about to do, Morgan, don’t. The Darkness is no joke.”
I spin and stare at the man behind bars. I barely know him. He’s an ally but to what extent? “I’m aware of the seriousness, Marcus. I opened that gate the first time. I let the Morrigan and her evil in.” I walk back over to him and his yellow-green snake eyes watch my every move. He flinches as I lean in. “I’m taking Anita. I’m saving my men, and I’m gonna make the bitch on the Otherside pay.”
He opens his mouth to speak but nothing, not a word, not a breath comes out when he realizes what’s about to transpire.
*
I turn the shower on and shove Anita inside. She’s still dressed. It’s not like those clothes won’t have to be burned anyway.
She shouts from the heat, getting a mouthful of water. I grab her hand and squeeze in nearly a full bottle of shampoo. “Clean up. I’m not spending the day next to you reeking like that.”
I’d laid out my outfit before I went downstairs. I didn’t want to tip Marcus off with the clothing I found in the training room supply closet. I’d been shocked when I found the sleek military pants with dozens of pockets and slits for weapons. The shirt is made of a durable material—halfway between summer and winter. Thin, but sturdy. It appears waterproof if not flame resistant. The boots are lightweight, good for fighting and running. I found my size amongst the much larger outfits clearly made for the Guard.
The fact I discovered them was no mistake. After breakfast, Davis asked me to find something downstairs—specifically suggesting I look in the closet for a length rope he needed. I found the rope, as well as the battle gear. He made no comment when I handed him what he’d asked for.
Maybe I’m not the only one that knows I need to make this move.
Anita showers and I slip into the outfit. The pants and shirt fit like a glove, seemingly sewn to fit my measurements. I look in the mirror, aware that the clothing alone makes me look like a badass. I feel like one, too. There’s a sheath for the sword Damien made me. I fasten it over my back, sliding the sword into place. When the water stops and Anita emerges from the steamy shower, her eyes pop when she sees me.
“It doesn’t matter what you wear,” she says, water dripping down her neck. “The Morrigan is going to eat you alive.”
I move quicker than lightning, clutching her chin with my hand. “I wonder what she’ll say when she sees you? Nothing more than my prisoner and pet.”
“The Morrigan loves me.” Her voice is a squeak but I see the calculation in her eyes. “She needs me.”
I laugh. “She needs me, too. And I’m going to be ready when she comes for me.”
I toss Anita clothes and watch as she tightens the belt around her skinny waist. Everything is too big. Anita is a waif. But when she’s finished, I tie her wrists back together, even though I know she desires going back through the gate more than I do.
“Why are you doing this?” she asks, genuine curiosity in her voice. “Why are you going to her? Because you can’t win, you know that, right?”
I decide to answer truthfully. “She took the men I love. She poisoned one into betraying me. I have debts to pay and bridges to burn because she used me. Used me to take out people like Xavier. Like Andi and thousands of others around the city. I’m not waiting for another death, for her to make another move.” I push her through the door before adding, “I’m not trying to win, Anita. I’m just trying to hold on and do what I can for the people I care about. Even if I don’t make it back, I can assure that they do.”
Chapter 19
Bunny
Casteel waits outside the door, just as he has for the last twenty-four hours. Obviously, the Queen wants me to know the pressure is on, that she expects the portal to reopen soon. I don’t mind. I’m eager as well, but I have no control over the slow-setting oil paint or the elements of magic infused in every brush stroke.
The commander of the Morrigan’s army doesn’t trust me. I see it in his face, in the way he watches my every move. I trust it’s both from his encounter with Dylan previously and the fact I betrayed Morgan. Sure, I did it for his Queen, but spies make people nervous and I know he’d have no qualms taking my life if it weren’t for the value of my skills.
I press a finger against the canvas, feeling for the stickiness. The hardened fabric springs back—implying it may finally be dry. With a glance at the doorway, I mutter the words that will bring the portal to life, barely registering the shadow on the other side. The colors swirl, all my efforts in creating the perfect image now a mess of impressionism. The runes lift, interlocking with one another until they twist and separate. I feel the familiar gust of my former realm, the heat on my face.
I have one task on the Otherside and I plan to accomplish it today. I’ll bring the third back to the Morrigan and seal the gate forever.
Chapter 20
Morgan
Even Anita can’t hide her awe when I bring her into Bunny’s studio. His work is amazing. Overwhelming, even. It’s like being in the presence of a truly gifted master, and I know now that this gift is what doomed us all.
I drag her before the painting that called to me the last time we were here. Something in my gut tells me it’s the right one. I don’t know if the Shaman gave me that sense or if I had it all along. It doesn’t matter now.
“This is your big plan?” Anita asks. “Taking me back to my Queen? Sure, sign me up.”
“You’re a means to an end,” I snap back. “But I’m glad you’re happy to be headed to the gallows.”
She laughs, the same cackling, deranged one she’s had since her brother died. “How much of your soul did you pay to access the gate? Fifty percent? All of it?”
“Shut up.”
I step before the painting, already feeling the churn of magic. I put on a good face but I’m terrified. Petrified, really, of what’s on the Otherside. But there’s no other choice—not that I can see—not that Dylan has given me. Christensen told me this would be the way. I would make the sacrifice; so even in my fear, I’m ready.
I’m ready.
The word the Shaman gave me is on the tip of my tongue when a cold gust blows through the studio. Frigid air tosses papers and tips over jars of brushes and tools. Canvases crash to the floor. I glance at Anita, but she’s staring at the painting, a look of gleeful delight on her face.
I follow her gaze and see that the painting is no longer of a castle, it’s a twisted swirl, shimmering and alive. Focusing on the tiny window, the one I’d seen a figure in days before, I watch as it moves from yellow to gold and widens larger and larger until the whole space is consumed by a gaping hole.
I step forward, dragging the still-bound Anita with one hand as I unsheathe my sword and hold it before me. Only the gods know what waits for us, but that cold air and dank smell make me think it’s nothing friendly.
“Don’t try anything,” I say to Anita.