“Your offering?” I screeched and struggled against the fiends’ grips. “You’re dead, demon man.”
He lifted his chin, arching a brow like the arrogant prick he was. “I am afraid you are the only one who is dead here. Take her.”
He flicked his wrist, and the harpy-hounds hauled me away.
6
DISCORD
“Son of a bitch.” I snarled and slammed my fist into the wall, cracking the stone. The skin on my knuckles split, a flash of intense pain shooting up my arm before it healed. I hit it again with my other arm, closing my eyes to focus on the pain, deepening the sensation, reveling in the brief bout of agony.
It had been centuries since I had felt anything, and the physical was easier to process than the tangle of emotions twisting in my chest.
Cinder Holland sat alone in my personal prison, in a room no magic could penetrate, far from Lucifer’s cage for damned souls. I had checked on the way to my clandestine residence, peering at her through a shrouded window so she would not be aware of my presence. Satisfied the sentry dogs had performed their duty, I’d slipped into my secret home unnoticed, and here I stood, paralyzed by the complexity of my situation.
Cinder Holland.
A growl rumbled in my chest at the thought of who she was. Of what her existence meant. She’d said four centuries had passed since the vile witch Isabel had imprisoned my brothers and me. Four hundred years of solitude, denied of every sense, left with nothing but the thoughts swirling in my mind until even they ceased to exist.
Until I became nothing…and to what end?
Isabel had summoned us, enchanted us, and promised us two souls in exchange for creating a curse on the Holland bloodline. The third daughter of the High Priestess would go mad, using her fire magic to burn Salem to the ground, murdering the entire coven and any mortals who stood in her way.
The High Priestess was with child at the time, and she had borne two daughters already. The curse should have come to fruition the moment the third reached maturity, but Isabel had vanquished us before we could see the end. She had stolen Hecate’s amulet and harnessed its power, giving her strength no being in that realm should possess.
I had shown weakness. I had trusted the wicked woman and let down my guard. I never should have told her who created the stone, what it could do. I had doomed us all the moment the information crossed my lips.
I had won the amulet in a bet with Lucifer long ago, and Hecate had been livid then. The goddess could perform feats of resurrection, and she had promised me the most gruesome deaths imaginable, over and over, if I ever lost it.
With the magical stone no longer in my possession, I could only begin to imagine her wrath. I fisted my hands, my jaw clenching at the imagery my brain conjured.
My brothers and I had spent four centuries in the void, and Cinder Holland was the token to remind me of my oversight, of my blunder. And I had erred once again when she summoned me. The blood bond she had created had clouded my judgment. I had once again let down my guard in the presence of a powerful witch, and now I was trapped in Hell while the amulet and my brothers’ skulls remained in another realm.
A being of my status could never cross the veil unless summoned or forced across by Lucifer himself. I highly doubted another witch with the power to call upon a Prince of Hell existed on the other side. That kind of strength was a once-in-a-generation phenomenon.
And Cinder…
I should offer her to Lucifer. The soul of an elemental witch was worth its weight in palladium. The agony they endured while tortured would provide more fuel than ten mundane souls. He could force her to sever our bond. Then I would be free to return to my post by his side. Perhaps I could take a drink from the River Lethe and forget the past four centuries.
“He would never let that happen.” I grunted and dropped into a chair. Cinder’s soul might buy the King of Hell’s forgiveness, but he would never forget my follies. The Princes of Hell were three, and unless I could bring my brothers home, my royal blood meant nothing.
Lucifer might strip me of my crown and allow me to live amongst the mid-level demons, but I would not survive the shame. And I would still have to deal with Hecate’s wrath.
I growled and grabbed Cinder’s bag. A strange metal contraption with interlocking teeth held the material closed. I had seen Cinder slide the dangling rectangle over it, unlocking the teeth, so I mimicked the movement and the bag opened as if by magic. It seemed I needed to acclimate myself to the current times if I wished to continue my existence.
Spreading the bag open, I turned it over and dumped the contents onto the floor. Several unlabeled bottles clattered on the stone before a mass of fabric fell on top of them. An envelope lay next to the heap, and I picked it up, finding a fine powder inside. I set it on the table, careful not to touch the contents lest whatever spell the granules contained affect me.
I sorted through the rest of the contents, finding a grimoire, a pair of black pants with tears at the knees, two shirts…one of which had been shredded to ribbons…and a piece of pink fabric with a small metal clasp and two padded, bowl-shaped pouches. Perhaps it was some sort of weapon, like a sling.
The final article was a small piece of pink satin with lace trim. I could not fathom her need for a garment so small, so I shoved everything back inside and rose to my feet. A trip to the seer was in order, but first, I had to mask my identity. If Lucifer or Hecate learned of my presence in Hell, whatever strategy I planned to concoct would never become reality.
In the earthly realm, I could take two forms: my current, true form and that of a man. In Hell, my powers were unhindered, and I could shapeshift as I pleased. I stood in front of the mirror and observed as I transformed. My horns shrank and spiraled as my skin took on the hue of clay. My feet morphed into hooves, and my nose flattened, my cheeks widening and my mouth curving downward as I took on the appearance of a lower mid-level fiend.
My disguise would never fool Lucifer or the goddess, but any passing stranger would be none the wiser. The oracle might see through my cloak, but that was a chance I would have to take. Satisfied with my appearance, I took Cinder’s grimoire, ventured from my home, and started down the path to the seer’s abode.
The half-demon, half-witch resided in a cave on the outskirts of a town. I made a wide berth around the main square, though the scents of smoked hellcat and stale beer beckoned me to join the minions. There would be time for food and drink later. If I attempted to converse now, my outdated cadence and ignorance of the recent centuries would surely give me away.
A curtain of strung bones hung at the entrance to the woman’s home, and I moved them aside to enter. “Seer, are you here? I have an offering and a request.”
