“Don’t stare too long, Azrael,” she warns in a sing-song voice. “It might show you something you’re not ready to see.”
Zora hands me a stack of oversized cards, and I shiver. I know what these are. The weight of them makes my magic hum protectively.
“Shuffle these, play with them, move them around. I don’t really care, just keep them in your hands until I return to take them from you.” She lights a tall black candle in the center of the table and walks back over to the Seraphim.
I don’t need to watch to know what she’s doing. I hear everything—each cut, slice, and drop of blood as it pools out to be collected for payment. In my hand, I turn the cards over, fanning them out, then back together before I begin to shuffle. I need the distraction as I lick back the protruding fangs poking through my gums. I know better than to feast on the Divine, but my body still reacts to the call of soul fragments left behind in the blood. The tantalizing, tangy aroma can’t be overpowered by theincense. It takes all my self-control to resist the primal urges burning inside me.
Turning my attention to the cards Zora handed me, I study them. One side is completely blank; the opposite is hand-painted with delicate designs—moons, stars, planets scattered across the one on top. Flipping to look at the ones beneath, I find intricate flowers, while others are simple patterns and swirls. Black magic caresses each one, calling to my own magic as if in answer.
“Azrael,” Zora whispers, sitting across from me.
She’s placed a bowl of blood on the table. It sings to me, begging me to drink from it. I crack my neck and watch the clouds moving in the crystal ball in search of something to distract me while I gather my control. After a few quiet minutes, I settle the urges, no more than a small annoying cry in the background now that I’m focused.
“Sorry,” I grumble.
Zora watches me with all-knowing eyes, seeing things she’ll never tell me as they flash through her mind. “I can see you’re troubled, Azrael. No need to apologize for your nature. After all, you’re its natural predator. It’s your prey.”
I smile, careful not to reveal the sharp incisors still waiting to rip something warm and soft open. A pinging ache from deep in my jaw reminds me how much I crave indulgence. Across the table, the clatter of the pestle startles me out of my thoughts. Zorasprinkles a powder from her mortar bowl as I run a hand down my face.
“You must be very clear in the question you’re asking, Azrael. The magic is truthful, but it will bend and twist the truth if you’re not precise. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I reply.
Zora stirs the liquid for several minutes. Then she dips her fingertip into the bloody mixture, drawing a line from her forehead down to her chin. She dips her finger again and presses a dot onto my forehead.
“So they know who you are, and which medium you belong to.” She picks up a rune, dips it in blood, then places it in a pile, repeating the process until she’s built a spiral of blood-soaked runes around the tall, black flickering candle.
“Shall we begin?” Zora asks.
I nod.
“Remember, Azrael—do not stare into the crystal ball for too long, or you may find yourself trapped between worlds,” she warns one final time.
This is equal parts dangerous and reckless, but I need answers.
“I’m ready,” I whisper.
“Think about the answers you seek, and hand me back the cards,” Zora instructs.
I hand her the cards, and she fans them out so I can choose. As I reach for it, she asks, “What question are you seeking the answer to, Azrael?”
When I look up to reply, her eyes are rolled back, showing only the whites. The crystal ball buzzes and hums with electricity, flashes of purple and pink swirling inside until Zora’s eyes appear, floating in the magenta mist, glowing emerald green and all-knowing.
My throat feels like sandpaper. I try to swallow again, this time with a gulp. “Is Mercy the one the Divine and Lucifer are both hunting? Is she the soulmate the Fates promised me?”
“Clever boy,” Zora’s lips murmur. “Draw your card and lay it where the spiral begins.”
I pull out the card, laying it exactly where she instructed. The side that was blank now shows two hands clasped—one made of shadow, the other of bone. In the crystal ball, Mercy’s image flickers, then disappears.
“Ahhh. The Lovers,” Zora croons. “A test of the heart, laced with a warning. Only you can decide who to fall in love with. A gift from the Fates, but not one they control. Follow your heart to find the answers that you seek.”
More riddles. My magic sizzles with my growing rage.
“Another question, another card. Make your next selection. Remember to think of the answers you’re seeking first, then tell me what it is you seek to know.” Zora’s voice is musical.
“How do I break my curse? What must I do?” I mumble, irritation lacing my words in anticipation of more webs to unravel.
“No heir has ever succeeded. Great question. Draw a card. Place it next to the first.”
