Page 6 of Bride of Death (Netherworld Fae #1)

Morpheus

Serapina’s scream echoes through my mind, the sound one that almost made me mist into her home moments ago.

But Maliki was faster.

He shadowed to her porch within a second of her shrieking and tried to beat her door down with his fist. In his sleepy state, he missed the source of her chaos—the little instigator now floating around in the Netherworld Courtyard.

The errant soul zipped right by Maliki, using the in-between to hide its presence as it escaped.

Either Maliki was too consumed by Serapina to notice the skittering creature, or he didn’t see it. I suspect the latter.

But I saw the troublemaker.

And I want to know what it did to my intended.

Once I’m sure Serapina is safe, I trail after the lost spirit. The soul is still dressed in that strange blue cloak, its movements agitated as the sound of teeth chattering comes from beneath his hood. It’s almost as though the essence is trying to speak.

Odd . I cock my head, intrigued as the hooded creature makes several animated motions with its arms before hanging its head in defeat. The air moves with an audible sigh, one that has me arching a brow.

“Souls don’t typically breathe,” I say as I materialize beside the spirit in the in-between. It’s a chilling space I don’t particularly care for, as it resides between life and death, but as a Mythos Fae, I’m allowed to linger.

At least for a bit.

Blue flame-like eyes flash up to mine from beneath the hood of the thick cloak, then the creature darts backward several paces. Or, well, floats backward. Its feet are not exactly touching the ground since the soul is part specter.

Although, its face certainly resembles solid bone.

Not abnormal. Many souls in this kingdom still have some of their corporeal features. However, this one appears to be more solid than most.

“Did you try to touch Serapina?” I ask it, my eyebrow arching. That wouldn’t explain the burning scent I picked up on when Maliki stepped inside, but it would explain her scream.

The soul—who I swear looked intimidated a moment ago—vibrates and chatters white teeth at me while narrowing its eyes. Then the creature holds up a finger and waves it at me in a trademark sign of warning.

I stare at the little soul. “Are you trying to tell me to back off?”

The soul dips its head, nodding at me. Then points in the direction of Serapina’s home.

“You want me to go back to her?” I guess.

Which is apparently the wrong translation because the little soul vibrates aggressively again and sprints to my opposite side to stand between me and where it pointed a second ago. Then the creature lifts its arms, causing the cloak to expand like a proper ghost.

But I don’t think that’s its intention.

Instead, it’s acting like a guard dog—vibrant eyes turning into burning crescents, jaw visibly clenched.

“You’re telling me to back off of Serapina?” I ask slowly.

The little soul relaxes a bit, then nods again.

I huff a laugh. “I see. Hades put you up to this.”

The being visibly shrinks backward, the blue flames inside his hollowed eyes going wide as it starts searching the courtyard, like it expects the God of Death to appear in the flesh.

My brow furrows as the soul begins to shake. It casts a forlorn look back at the village—I assume at Serapina —then continues to scan the courtyard, clearly frightened.

“He scares you?”

The soul nods with a more frantic energy now.

“Because he forced you to watch Serapina?” I add.

But the creature shakes its head now before skipping all around the courtyard. Or rather, floating with a bizarre little hitch to its movements. Almost like the soul is glitching.

When it leaves the in-between to become corporeal once again, I follow suit, curious.

Then I watch as the being arranges a bunch of bones—branches that have fallen off the skeletal trees—on the ground.

“Pip?” I read, not understanding at all.

The soul points to its chest, then to the word.

“Are you trying to tell me your name?”

Pip nods.

Meanwhile, I blink. “Since when do souls have names?”

The creature makes a chattering sound that almost reminds me of a snort before rearranging the bones again to spell Sera .

My brow creases. “Serapina named you Pip?”

The soul nods and does a happy little twirl, one that causes its cloak to swirl around it.

“Why?” I ask, utterly lost now.

Pip does nothing for a moment, just scans the ground and taps its chin. I wait, too intrigued to urge the little creature along. When it picks up a bony branch and starts drawing in the black sand-like dirt, I remain quiet.

The letters form and disappear quickly, the obsidian substance clearly not enjoying this writing game. However, it works as I say, “Friend,” once Pip is done drawing the word. “You and Serapina are friends?”

Pip spins in excitement while enthusiastically bobbing its head.

I narrow my gaze. “If that’s true, why did she scream?”

Another sigh escapes the soul as its head droops once more. Then Pip starts writing furiously with the skeletal stick. It takes me a few seconds to realize the being is writing a sentence because the word makes no sense. But as Pip finishes, I understand. “You made her breakfast.”

Soft chattering teeth answer my comment, the bone digging into the sandy ground again.

“The breakfast caught on fire,” I translate after the creature finishes.

Pip continues to write.

“Everything you touch dies,” I tell it, already aware of what the soul is probably going to say. “So when you try to cook, it doesn’t go well.”

I tilt my head, suddenly realizing the importance of the outfit.

“That’s why you’re wearing a cloak—so you don’t accidentally kill Serapina.” A soul’s touch can be deadly, especially to a human, but it requires direct contact. “You’re dressed like that to protect her from your essence.”

Big blue eyes meet mine as the creature nods swiftly, confirming my statement.

“Because Hades asked you to?” I guess.

The soul flinches, then shakes its head and looks around frantically like it did before.

“He’s not here,” I promise the little troublemaker. “And I’m not going to call for him.” Voicing my cousin’s name aloud doesn’t make him appear, something the beings in this kingdom don’t seem to understand. They all refer to Hades as my lord or our lord . It’s ridiculous.

And it’s just the way Hades likes it.

He would rather be feared and revered; it means no one will bother him.

I prefer to meddle.

Hence my purpose in this kingdom right now.

“I won’t take you to Hades,” I add. “And I won’t escort you back to the Soul Yards either.” Which is what most fae would do in this case, as the creature has clearly escaped. But Serapina wouldn’t know or understand that.

And she named it. Him , I think. “Do you identify as male?” I ask, just to be sure.

Pip nods.

“Interesting.” Most souls don’t interact like this. Though, most souls don’t escape the Soul Yards to make friends with human females either. Yet here we are. “Well, Pip , I think you and I need to be friends, too.”

The soul looks at me expectantly.

“I assume you’re not fond of Maliki since you fled Serapina’s house the moment he arrived,” I say. “And you don’t work for Hades.”

Pip shivers visibly but doesn’t start glancing all over the place again. Instead, he holds my gaze and waits for me to continue.

It’s not exactly a confirmation of my assumptions, but I don’t really need him to corroborate my statements. His reaction to Maliki told me everything I needed to know.

So I move on to my next point, which is simply, “I also care about Serapina.”

Pip continues to stare.

“So we should protect her together,” I inform him.

More silence accompanies my commentary. Silence that appears to be underlined with doubt.

Hmm . I like this soul. He’s smart not to trust me. Unfortunately, though, I need to change his mind on that.

“As a show of good faith, how about I make her evening breakfast tomorrow,” I offer. “Then I can mist it into the kitchen for you to present it to her.”

Pip considers this, the flames of his eyes narrowing into fiery blue crescents.

“I’m not going to hurt her,” I promise. “Our souls are destined.” Something Hades refuses to accept, but it’s true. Persephone was meant to be my mate, too. Perhaps if he’d listened to me, Omega kind would have survived.

But that’s a debate for another day.

However, a history lesson may be appropriate for now. Especially if it helps convince Pip to ally with me.

“How about a story?” I suggest. “After I’m done, you can decide if we’re to be friends or not, hmm?”

Pip floats a tad bit closer, his movements slightly less guarded.

“I’m going to interpret that as you being interested in my tale,” I muse. “To start, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Morpheus. You probably know me as the God of Dreams.”

If that information startles Pip, he doesn’t show it.

I smile. “Now that the formalities are done, I’ll begin. Many moons ago…”