The three of them stared at him, she and Khent with dismay, Rolf with delight.
The weirdo started laughing.
“It’s not funny,” Mormo snapped. He latched onto Rolf’s and Khent’s arms.
“Hey.” Rolf tugged his arm.
“Release me,” Khent insisted.
Mormo’s eyes turned a deep red, and Val took a healthy step back. His eyes then shifted into a burnished gold, and the shimmer extended down his arms, suddenly covered in symbols she couldn’t understand, ending in hands on fire, the gold boiling into the vampires.
Burning off the residue.
“Khent, let him,” she said when Khent looked ready to tear Mormo’s head off.
Rolf looked from her to Mormo and stopped fighting as well.
In seconds, the magician stepped back, and the shine and symbols faded.
“You took it away,” Khent accused.
“You’re welcome?” Mormo ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “That took more effort than I’d expected.”
“What was it? I had hoped to study it.” Khent turned his hand over. He glanced at Val. “Do you still see it?”
She shook her head. “No, but I’m glad it’s gone. It didn’t belong here.” As she said it, she knew it to be true.
“Where did it belong?” Mormo asked.
“I don’t know. But not here. It’s not of this realm.” She frowned. “I don’t know how I know that. But I do.”
“Huh. Wonder if that’s kind of like you calling yourself Imy-Mut, Khent,” Rolf said.
“What?” Mormo’s eyes narrowed. “Explain that.”
Khent shrugged and tried to act like he didn’t care, but she sensed his unease.
“Imy-Mut.” Mormo searched Khent’s expression. “It means ‘Champion’ or ‘Keeper of the Dead,’ though ‘mut’ has also sometimes been mistaken for ‘mother.’ In this context, as a reaper referring to himself as that, I’d suggest it leans toward death.”
She frowned. “Is this connected to your wings?”
Mormo whipped his head to her. “Why would you ask that?”
She shrugged. “It seems like a fit.”
“I need to talk to Hecate.”
“What about Morpheus?” Rolf asked. “Do we kill him or what?”
“Not yet.” Mormo’s dark look made Val take a step closer to Khent.
The magician vanished.
“I hate it when he does that,” Rolf muttered.
Onvyr returned to the living room carrying a backpack, wearing a change of clothes. “I need to go check on my island. A few survived. They need me.”
Rolf surprised her by being kind. “That’s a good idea. Let me get you a few potions you might need.” He escorted the dark fae down the hall.
