Page 8 of Discord and Cinder (Fire Witches of Salem #7)
DISCORD
“S on of a bitch.” I snarled and slammed my fist into the wall, cracking the stone.
The skin on my knuckles split, a flash of intense pain shooting up my arm before it healed.
I hit it again with my other arm, closing my eyes to focus on the pain, deepening the sensation, reveling in the brief bout of agony.
It had been centuries since I had felt anything, and the physical was easier to process than the tangle of emotions twisting in my chest.
Cinder Holland sat alone in my personal prison, in a room no magic could penetrate, far from Lucifer’s cage for damned souls.
I had checked on the way to my clandestine residence, peering at her through a shrouded window so she would not be aware of my presence.
Satisfied the sentry dogs had performed their duty, I’d slipped into my secret home unnoticed, and here I stood, paralyzed by the complexity of my situation.
Cinder Holland .
A growl rumbled in my chest at the thought of who she was.
Of what her existence meant. She’d said four centuries had passed since the vile witch Isabel had imprisoned my brothers and me.
Four hundred years of solitude, denied of every sense, left with nothing but the thoughts swirling in my mind until even they ceased to exist.
Until I became nothing…and to what end?
Isabel had summoned us, enchanted us, and promised us two souls in exchange for creating a curse on the Holland bloodline. The third daughter of the High Priestess would go mad, using her fire magic to burn Salem to the ground, murdering the entire coven and any mortals who stood in her way.
The High Priestess was with child at the time, and she had borne two daughters already.
The curse should have come to fruition the moment the third reached maturity, but Isabel had vanquished us before we could see the end.
She had stolen Hecate’s amulet and harnessed its power, giving her strength no being in that realm should possess.
I had shown weakness. I had trusted the wicked woman and let down my guard. I never should have told her who created the stone, what it could do. I had doomed us all the moment the information crossed my lips.
I had won the amulet in a bet with Lucifer long ago, and Hecate had been livid then. The goddess could perform feats of resurrection, and she had promised me the most gruesome deaths imaginable, over and over, if I ever lost it.
With the magical stone no longer in my possession, I could only begin to imagine her wrath. I fisted my hands, my jaw clenching at the imagery my brain conjured.
My brothers and I had spent four centuries in the void, and Cinder Holland was the token to remind me of my oversight, of my blunder.
And I had erred once again when she summoned me.
The blood bond she had created had clouded my judgment.
I had once again let down my guard in the presence of a powerful witch, and now I was trapped in Hell while the amulet and my brothers’ skulls remained in another realm.
A being of my status could never cross the veil unless summoned or forced across by Lucifer himself. I highly doubted another witch with the power to call upon a Prince of Hell existed on the other side. That kind of strength was a once-in-a-generation phenomenon.
And Cinder…
I should offer her to Lucifer. The soul of an elemental witch was worth its weight in palladium.
The agony they endured while tortured would provide more fuel than ten mundane souls.
He could force her to sever our bond. Then I would be free to return to my post by his side.
Perhaps I could take a drink from the River Lethe and forget the past four centuries.
“He would never let that happen.” I grunted and dropped into a chair. Cinder’s soul might buy the King of Hell’s forgiveness, but he would never forget my follies. The Princes of Hell were three, and unless I could bring my brothers home, my royal blood meant nothing.
Lucifer might strip me of my crown and allow me to live amongst the mid-level demons, but I would not survive the shame. And I would still have to deal with Hecate’s wrath.
I growled and grabbed Cinder’s bag. A strange metal contraption with interlocking teeth held the material closed.
I had seen Cinder slide the dangling rectangle over it, unlocking the teeth, so I mimicked the movement and the bag opened as if by magic.
It seemed I needed to acclimate myself to the current times if I wished to continue my existence.
Spreading the bag open, I turned it over and dumped the contents onto the floor.
Several unlabeled bottles clattered on the stone before a mass of fabric fell on top of them.
An envelope lay next to the heap, and I picked it up, finding a fine powder inside.
I set it on the table, careful not to touch the contents lest whatever spell the granules contained affect me.
I sorted through the rest of the contents, finding a grimoire, a pair of black pants with tears at the knees, two shirts…
one of which had been shredded to ribbons…
and a piece of pink fabric with a small metal clasp and two padded, bowl-shaped pouches.
Perhaps it was some sort of weapon, like a sling.
The final article was a small piece of pink satin with lace trim.
I could not fathom her need for a garment so small, so I shoved everything back inside and rose to my feet.
A trip to the seer was in order, but first, I had to mask my identity.
If Lucifer or Hecate learned of my presence in Hell, whatever strategy I planned to concoct would never become reality.
In the earthly realm, I could take two forms: my current, true form and that of a man.
In Hell, my powers were unhindered, and I could shapeshift as I pleased.
I stood in front of the mirror and observed as I transformed.
My horns shrank and spiraled as my skin took on the hue of clay.
My feet morphed into hooves, and my nose flattened, my cheeks widening and my mouth curving downward as I took on the appearance of a lower mid-level fiend.
My disguise would never fool Lucifer or the goddess, but any passing stranger would be none the wiser.
The oracle might see through my cloak, but that was a chance I would have to take.
Satisfied with my appearance, I took Cinder’s grimoire, ventured from my home, and started down the path to the seer’s abode.
The half-demon, half-witch resided in a cave on the outskirts of a town.
I made a wide berth around the main square, though the scents of smoked hellcat and stale beer beckoned me to join the minions.
There would be time for food and drink later.
If I attempted to converse now, my outdated cadence and ignorance of the recent centuries would surely give me away.
A curtain of strung bones hung at the entrance to the woman’s home, and I moved them aside to enter. “Seer, are you here? I have an offering and a request.”
“Enter,” she called from deep inside, her voice rumbly like a demon, with a layer of smoothness atop the gravel to indicate her dual nature.
The antechamber had a domed ceiling, and white crystals embedded in the walls glowed softly next to red demonic runes.
I passed through another curtain of bones to find the woman tending to a small cauldron inside a hearth.
Tall and slender, she wore a shimmering black dress that flowed to her ankles.
Her feet were bare, and she had adorned her curly blonde hair with dried flowers, sticks, and rodent bones.
She hung an iron spoon on a hook above the hearth and turned toward me, half of her mouth drawing into a smile.
One side of her face looked like a normal witch, with smooth, fair skin and a deep-set, brown eye.
The other half appeared almost melted, the skin a grayish hue, a white sheen clouding the eye.
“Do you require guidance?” she asked.
“Information.” I offered the book. “I hope this payment will suffice.”
She took it, one brow lifting as she brushed her fingers over the cloth cover. “Where did you get this?”
“From a powerful witch in the earthly realm.”
She opened the book, nodding her appreciation as she scanned the pages. “Yes, this will do. Sit.” She gestured to a table with two wooden chairs and used a rag to remove the cauldron from the hearth.
I did as she asked, watching her intently as she set the pot in the center of the table and lit two red candles beside it. “What information do you need?”
I chuckled dryly. “Everything that has happened here and in the earthly realm in the last four centuries.”
She paused at my request, flicking her gaze to me before turning to a cabinet and plucking two jars of herbs from the shelves.
“The history of this realm I can give you. What happened across the veil is shrouded at best. I can see bits and pieces, but to access four centuries’ worth of history is a feat only Hecate herself could achieve. ”
“Show me what you can in relation to Salem, specifically to the Holland coven and their enemies.” I leaned forward as she sprinkled the herbs atop the liquid in the cauldron.
She let out a slow breath, regarding me as she sank into the chair. “Sands of time, four centuries deep, reveal yourself to he who seeks.” She circled her hand above the cauldron, and her brown eye glazed white to match the other.
“Look,” she said as she stared through me, her essence connecting with the energy of the universe.
I gazed into the pot, and the water rippled.
My vision blurred, allowing me to see not with my eyes, but with my psyche.
In a matter of seconds, I absorbed the last four hundred years in Hell, the changes in language, the magic, a veiled view of the new hierarchy created in my absence.
Lucifer had appointed a new trio to fill our ranks, though I could not tell whom he had chosen.
It was fascinating and infuriating at the same time.
“I have seen enough of this realm.” I leaned back in my chair and shook my head, chasing away the vision.
“Now Salem.” She waved her hand above the cauldron again, and I peered into the fragments of time.
I had hoped to find visions of Isabel, of the amulet and my brothers’ skulls. Instead, the seer showed me human inventions, automobiles and airplanes, televisions and computers.
“This information is useless.” I started to look away, but a swath of shimmering pink hair drew my attention to the vision. Cinder stood facing a man in uniform, her silver tongue no doubt convincing him the magic he’d witnessed wasn’t real.
Two women stood behind her, one with purple hair, the other with blue.
Such a strange mutation, even for witches.
As the uniformed man walked away, Cinder turned to the women, bringing their faces into full focus.
Their features were so similar, the shape of their eyes, the curves of their lips. I had no doubt the three were sisters.
I gasped, the realization yanking me from the seer’s vision. Cinder had called herself High Priestess. She had two living sisters.
“The curse is coming to fruition. I must go.” I rose to my feet, my intention set on returning to the earthly realm. After everything the vile Isabel had put us through, I refused to allow the curse to transpire. I would find her descendants, exact my revenge, and bring my brothers home.
The seer’s eye brightened, the iris returning to its natural brown hue. “Be careful, Prince. The gears of fate are moving. May they not crush as they turn.”