Page 78 of As Above, So Below

“Enjoying the rain?” she asks, smirking as she moves closer, including me under the cover of her umbrella.

How long has she been watching? What did she see?

“Something like that.” I attempt to raise my hood and fail. It’s too drenched to lift, and I’m not going to fight with it and look foolish.

“We were taking tea at the shop nearby, waiting out the rain, and I happened to see you through the window,” she says, her eyes gleaming. “Your hair makes you rather easy to spot. As does dancing alone in the rain in the middle of the street.”

We?

I look past her, eyes darting toward the buildings along the street. There, four buildings down, the fae in black sits at a table beside a large bay window. Hood raised, he stares in our direction.

“You should meet with us sometime,” she says, and I return my eyes to hers. “I’d love the chance to get to know you.”

The sound of the rain drumming on her umbrella fills the small silence between us.

“And what would the Sovereign Queen Emeritus want with me?” The words sound more bitter than I’d intended.

She arches a brow, but is otherwise unbothered by my tone. “To get to know the daughter of Celesta. To become her ally.”

“I’m not interested in associating with members of the royal family,” I reply coolly, stepping backward, into the rain. “I’d rather you stay away from me.”

With a small nudge, my innate wakes and shadows swirl around me. My view of the empty street, of the shops, of Lilith is swept away, quickly replaced by the towering entry doors of the Moon Temple. Soaked to the bone and now cold, I scowl at Castle Erus as I pull the door closed.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Demons are egotisticalcreatures driven by pleasure, power, or perception. It’s a universal truth; one I’ve come to accept—one I myself am not immune from. Unlike most of my kind, I try not to listen to the dark urges that emerge from the shadowed corners of my mind.

I’m not always successful.

I’ve seen the awful, deceitful, selfish acts demons commit in the pursuit of these things. It makes their behavior predictable. Understanding the inner workings of a demon's mind became second nature during my time in the hells.

But here, in this realm, I lack the same depth of understanding when it comes to mortals. As I fell into a welcome routine over the course of the week, it became clear mortals were much of the same. Preferential creatures seeking the company of those who placate their needs—whether that be pleasure, power, or perception.

The largest difference between mortals and demons emerged rather quickly. Mortals who choose to embrace their darker tendencies rarely believe what they’re doing is wrong. Fae especially.

During meals with the Priestesses, I observed.

Silently, I watched their interactions, listened to their words, the tones they used, the expressions they wore. All of it taught me more about mortals than my conversations with Eve and Cora learning about human and fae culture.

And poor Cora.

Often subjugated to the sharp words of Opal during shared meals, she endures them with a smile on her face. The only human at the table, she’s surrounded by faeries and a demon. My strange,feeling little heart has grown to hate how she is too often treated.

Naturally, Eve protects her partner, shooting back with pointed words of her own. Opal’s comments are too often underhanded, a bigoted reminder of how humans are regarded as a lesser species. It never escalates beyond clenched jaws and daggered stares, out of fear of earning Artemise’s ire.

Anatomically speaking, Opal isn’t wrong.

Humans are far weaker in terms of strength, speed, and innate capabilities. Their lifespans are markedly shorter. Cora will be lucky to see a century. Opal, on the other hand, barring her mouth getting her into a situation she can’t handle, can expect to see five thousand years, minimum.

It still doesn’t mean Cora is lesser.

A divide amongst the Priestesses has made itself apparent. Cora and Eve poised against Opal and Aenwyn. I find myself aligning with Cora and Eve and their inclusive natures. With each passing day, it becomes harder to remain silent when Opal speaks.

“You okay over there, Ves?” Cora asks me, leaning over the table to peer around Eve sitting between us.

Pulled out of my thoughts, the sounds of the dining room rush into my ears. Indistinct chatter, the clinking of silverware against ceramic, nails and rings tapping against glasses being lifted, all accented by the groaning of chairs being dragged against the marble floor as others join and leave during the busy dinner hour.

“Ves is often a victim of her own thoughts,” Eve says with a grin, leaning back in her chair.