Page 17 of As Above, So Below

But now, a new wave of fear grips me, and I don’t have the time to lie here.

I have to return to the hells.

Pushing myself to a stand, I reach for the endless reserves of my innate magic, requesting a portal to the hells be opened. Nothing happens.

What?

I try again, staring at the ground beneath me.

Nothing, again.

Have I been blocked from the hells?

My eyes shoot wide.

Lifting my head and sweeping my hood back, I turn to face the male in black. He stands less than fifteen feet away, watching me, as if he can see me. Turning on my toes to follow his gaze, I find a hundred pairs of eyes staring back at me.

The crowd has lowered their hoods, exposed their faces, and I step backward, my heel bumping against the bottom stair. My wings shoot wide to retain balance, and they gasp. Many scurry backward, pushing against others to put space between us.

“What is this?” I whisper, unable to keep my jaw from hanging.

One of those in black robes steps forward and I raise my hand in a halting gesture, only to stare at the hand that clearly does not belong to me. Gone are the black talons capable of cutting to the bone. They’ve been replaced by slender, blunt-ended fingers. Fingers like those ofmortals.

Incoherent noises of fear and panic bubble from my throat as I flex and stretch the pale hand.

A demon cannot pass through the veil.

Icannot pass through the veil.

Raising my eyes heavenward, the night sky comes into view and for a few seconds, everything but the universe falls away. Seeing the sky without the filter of the veil is unlike anything I could have ever imagined in ten thousand years.

Somehow, I’ve been pulledthroughthe veil.

I no longer stand on the side of death.

I amstandingamong the living.

This—this shouldn’t be possible.

The fae in black.

Turning, I see he hasn’t moved. He remains motionless, face hidden under a hood.

“What have you done?” I demand, not caring about the unbridled terror in my voice.

“Vestaris…” a soft, musical voice trills.

The cold, ethereal stare of cerulean-blue eyes greets me as I swing right. They’re set in a hauntingly beautiful face that resembles my own. But it’s not a mirror I stare at.

“Celesta,” I breathe the goddess’ name.

Netharis is going to end me for this.

The goddess of the moon appears to float down the stairs, her movements swift, graceful, effortless. Everything I would expect from the bride of Netharis. Unable to tear my eyes from her, I’m enraptured by her beauty. Massive, silver-feathered wings adorn her back, half extended as she moves—they’re the largest set I’ve ever seen on a living creature.

Her wings dwarf mine.

Both her eye color and feather color were passed to Vaelyn. But staring at her face is like staring into a mirror. There are too many similarities for her to be anyone other than my mother.