Page 39

Misery

I n hindsight, it was insanity to wrap eight death gods in a collective swarm of shadows and fire them through a pinhole.

A tiny fracture had formed when Tor’s questing magic punctured the veil to the mortal world, and it was the only exit we had.

Another god and it would have tipped the balance; we were lucky Fear and Hatred had declined our plea for help as usual.

When the shadows forced their way—and forced us —through the tiny crack into the mortal realm, it felt like I’d been run over by a steam roller, battered by a meat tenderiser, and had a thousand needles forced into my skin, all at once.

It was unbearable, but my wife was being tortured so I found a way to bear it.

Somewhere in the darkness, Passion grunted in pain and Wrath let out an endless stream of inventive curses. Madness giggled, “That tickles.”

His sheer insanity distracted me long enough for the shadows to shoot across an ocean and a country like a falling star.

When the magic dropped us unceremoniously onto a curved stone walkway above a trickling waterfall, I fell to my knees and vomited.

I hated being sick, loathed everything from the vile taste to the burning to the feeling of being helpless, but at least I wasn’t the only one vomiting.

That killed any embarrassment that might have formed at least.

Gentle hands pulled my ponytail away as I retched again, and stroked broad sweeps of comfort up and down my back. Warmth spilled through my chest, the comfort so profound and deep it spread to all the terrified, brittle parts of me and shored them up with strength.

When bile finally ran out and the retching sensation faded, I leaned back against Death with a groan, my skin clammy. The kiss he placed on my temple like a gift made it bearable. Just about.

When movement came on his other side, and I saw Death’s left hand making comforting passes up and down Tor’s back, a snort escaped me. Tor turned to give me a dark glare, but when my mouth twitched, a laugh burst from him.

“Fuck, we’re useless at shadow travel,” he groaned.

He decided to give Death and I matching heart attacks by leaning over the top of the waterfall to scoop some of the crystal-clear liquid into his palms. I gave him a look that could only be described as murderous, until he held out his cupped palms to me.

“For the gentleman,” he purred, the gravel in his voice a reminder of why we were here, of what our wife was suffering right now.

But I gripped the attempt at normalcy with both hands, leaning over to draw the clear water into my mouth.

It was such a relief to wash away the taste of vomit that I groaned.

“Tor,” Death snapped in warning, then sighed, “You reckless bastard,” when Tor got his own water and rinsed out his mouth.

“What?” Tor asked with an arched brow. “I have good balance.”

“One fucking slip,” I muttered, picturing him falling over the steep edge and plunging into the pool far, far below. “Where the fuck are we anyway?”

“Uh, not to be a Debbie Downer,” Wrath said loudly enough to get all our attention.

She was leaning against the mossy wall at our backs, one leg propped up, the knees of her jeans ragged and holey and a rip slanting across the chest of her black band shirt.

Not from the trip; they began life that way, and for some reason Wrath enjoyed looking like an urchin.

“But I’ve been here before. Well, not here here, but I recognise this place. ”

“Don’t leave us in suspense, girl,” Neglect muttered, looking utterly unaffected by our vomit-inducing travel. I’d never once seen that woman affected by anything. She stalked closer, a little intimidating despite her size. Or maybe because of it.

“There are two manors on either side of a valley. I’m more familiar with the other, but this is Darkmore Manor.”

“Sounds lovely,” Tor remarked. “I presume it’s owned by Cruelty.”

“Yeah,” Wrath confirmed, narrowing kohl-lined eyes at him.

“But you’re missing the fucking point. This whole area was established by Fear.

There’s magic in the ground, in the trees, probably in that water you slurped down.

We need to be careful; our magic will behave differently here.

Case in point.” She gestured at—at Passion, who was in his death god form, a floating, seven-foot-tall being of shattered bones and ragged robes.

I was ninety percent sure reaper myths had originated from sightings of Passion.

“Ah,” I breathed.

“At least we have power here,” Death pointed out, helping me and Tor to our feet, somehow supporting both of us. “Madde, don’t touch that,” he huffed, halting Madness in the act of prodding a frog that sat on a crumbled stone column watching us.

“But he’s cute, and my lioness would like him,” Madde protested. “He’s not a duck but—oh! Do you think they have ducks here? We could bring one home for her.”

“No, we couldn’t,” I argued. “I already tried that and Death said no.”

“So did I,” Tor agreed with a sharp grin. “Shall we stop fucking about and go get our wife?”

“She can’t be too far from—”

A bolt of pain crashed through my middle, making my bones grate against each other, piercing my organs with sharp, spiking agony.

Instead of weakening my knees, this time my body reacted with a violent shift, and I groaned as skin sloughed off my bones, shadows wrapped around me, and a hood covered my face in its entirety.

Fucking great, now I was in death form, too. On the plus side, I was powerful.

“It’s getting worse,” Death said through gritted teeth. I became aware all at once that he was still weakened, still drained by the domain decaying. I began to speak, to warn him to stay behind, but he was already running, and the time for speaking was over.

I sank deep into my power, sending feelers across the grounds of what appeared to be a castle or manor house.

Alert for pockets of misery, for anything I could grab onto to fill myself with power.

Or if they were especially miserable, I could take control of them.

In theory. I hadn’t done it in years, but for Cat I would try.

The other half of my consciousness was in my body, carving through the air above the heads of Death and Tor as they burst through a break in the dense treeline into a vast garden full of long grass whipping in a heavy wind.

Magic clung to the grass, to the air, to the house that lurked at the back of the garden.

“Guys,” Tor said with sharp urgency. “Is it just me or are those plant things moving?”

“They’re called topiaries, you uneducated swine,” Wrath huffed, giving him a scornful look that fell from her face when the plant pruned into the shape of a statuesque woman with towering hair pulled her roots from the ground and began to walk towards us.

“And holy shitballs, you’re right, they’re coming towards us! ”

“You’re a death god,” Neglect barked. “Be dignified.”

“We’ll distract them,” Hunger suggested, his quiet voice as low as thunder, sending a shiver over every one of my bones. He gave Death and Tor a look, then glanced at me and—Madde was already racing ahead.

“Give me back my lioness!” he screamed, and hurled himself at the plant woman.

“He’s gonna get himself killed,” Tor growled and raced after him.

“I’ll keep him alive,” I said, surprised by the rattling, husky quality of my voice. It had been years since I’d heard it, since I’d fully shifted. “You find Cat, and eviscerate whoever’s hurting her.”

Tor’s stare lingered on me for a moment before he nodded.

“Be safe,” Death said like a warning.

“If you get hurt, I will punch you so hard in the dick you won’t feel it for days,” Tor snarled, and then he and Death peeled off from our group, skirting the edge of the house. Passion and Neglect followed, keeping an eye out for attacks.

I watched until they vanished from sight, and then I faced the garden, jolting at the sight of three other topiaries unrooting themselves from the ground, bodies covered in cropped leaves, arms lifting, stretching, reaching.

“Madness!” I yelled in a voice like shattering bones, and surged after the brave, love-blind fool.