Page 60 of As Above, So Below

Opal is a gods damned emotions siphon.

Unable to feel anger, or rage, oranything, I stare, blankly in their direction. Numbness washes over me, like it had after my hells-shaking encounter with Netharis. I’ve been reduced to a husk of a creature.

Artemise shoots a pointed glare at Eve. “Allowing you to bond with that succubi is proving more hassle than she’s worth, Eve. Both of you, my office, now.” She points to Eve and I.

Succubi?

That’sthe kind of demon Eve knows?

Bond?

Eve iscontracted?

Are all mortals this foolish?

Artemise whirls on her heel, retreating the way she’d come. Eve walks up to me and with a gesture of her head says, “Come on.”

She loops her arm through mine and begins leading me through the garden after Artemise. Eyes follow us as we walk, and I’m sharply reminded of the hells.

“I cannot trust you,” I say quietly, my voice strangely calm.

“She’s not going to tell Netharis.”

“You don’t know that,” I counter, my voice tight.

Eve chuckles followed by a sigh. “You would know better than I do.” She pauses. “Druka says hello.”

Meeting Eve’s ice blue stare, she smirks.

Ishouldbe shocked. I should be angry. But I can only stare as ifthe name means nothing at all.

“She won’t tell Netharis because she happens to think he’s a dickbag.”

This cannot be real.

This cannot be happening.

Thisfaecannot be contracted toher.

Passing through open doors, we enter the sanctum, the large expanse of a room used for prayer—the one I’d emerged in. Climbing the small set of stairs onto a raised platform, the towering statue of Celesta stands facing the opposite direction. As we pass, I stare at the spot on the floor where I’d collapsed the night before.

The ceilings stand at least forty feet high, a large stained glass window in the center fills the room with a dark blue light speckled with white light, the window depicting the night sky. A detail I’d missed upon arrival as I apparently arrived during witching hour—what would have been the dead of night for mortals not in Celesta’s service.

Rows of white marble benches protrude from the floor, polished to gleaming. And it’s strange to see them empty. We climb down the same amount of stairs from the platform and begin down the aisle as Artemise reaches a door on the opposite corner of the sanctum.

“Why would she offer you a contract? Why would you accept it?” The questions come from me with a strange, even tone.

“The reasons she offered it are hers. Just as the reasons I accepted are my own,” Eve answers with a cool indifference.

“Do you understand what you’ve done?”

“Seven years she’ll never get,” Eve smirks triumphantly, tossing some of her dark braided hair over a shoulder. “Celesta’s ward keeps her from starting the clock.”

I shake my head.

She’s wrong.

A demon will always get their due. Especially Druka.