Page 23 of Malicent (Seven Devils #1)

Cage

THE STENCH OF DEAD FLESH hangs thick in the air. The cattle long since dead, their carcasses are now a haven for a magnitude of insects. Flies buzz and burrow into the decaying tissue.

I snap the lid on the final sample dish, sealing away the unnatural blue tissue I’ve collected. Slipping the dish back into my satchel, I hoist the leather strap onto my shoulder.

A few feet away, Kalix is gagging. His sleeve is pressed against his nose in a futile attempt to block some of the smell. His enhanced sense of smell makes it worse for him, though I can’t bring myself to feel sympathy. If anything, the sight of him struggling almost makes me smile.

“If you hurl on the samples, Iris might actually turn you into a common dog,” I yell out, watching as he retches again.

Kalix shoots me a scowl, “So she threatens time and time again, yet here I am—man of flesh!” He winks and chuckles, but his amusement is cut short as he gags after inhaling another lungful of decay.

I shake my head, exhaling sharply. Enough distractions. Scanning the area, I motion around us. “Where the hell is our witch?”

Kalix, still regaining his composure, lazily flicks his wrist, pointing a small surgical blade toward the tree line. “She went wandering that way.”

I freeze mid motion, deadpan.

“And you did not think to follow her?” I say flatly, but irritation coils beneath my words. “Or even mention it?

Kalix shrugs, still unfazed.

“You simply let her saunter off for a midnight stroll in the woods?”

Kalix begins the tedious task of cleaning his tools, wiping each blade before tucking it into his bag. “She’s no prisoner, Cage. Her coven is here to help. And yeah, I question why as much as you do.” He throws me a knowing look. “She’s cooperating. She has not done anything wild.”

He straightens, sliding the satchel onto his shoulder.

I roll my eyes, crossing my arms. “She bit me.” I retort. The words come out sharper than I intended, but I don’t care.

Kalix smirks, and that damn smirk sees right through me. “I bet you deserved it.” His voice is light. “You can be bossy. And an arrogant prick.” He pauses, grinning wider. “Who I love, of course!” He raises his hands innocently, but I narrow my eyes, unamused.

“I know the Le Strange coven, and I know your history with them. Hell, I know how mages and witches have always been at odds. I’m just looking at her the same way I did with Iris.” He sighs, his voice lowering. “She is not some bloodthirsty creature. Her coven is insane, sure, and Ed—”

The words die in his throat. I catch the flicker in his expression—the way his jaw tenses, his gaze slipping.

Iris.

That name, the one he won’t speak for Iris’s sake, weighs on him like an iron chain.

The name that keeps her up at night. That makes her sleepwalk, wandering halls in search of someone who isn’t there.

Magic always takes its toll. It’s never free.

And we always pay the price.

“Iris is nothing like Millicent,” I argue, my arms crossing tighter in defense.

Kalix shakes his head. “No, she’s not,” he admits. “But her coven? It’s just as dark and twisted as the one you have endured. Think, for once, about what Millicent may have gone through there.”

His voice lowers. “Iris was favored, too. And you know what that means. What do you think it meant to be favored in her coven?” He pauses. “You were favored once, Cage. By the elders.”

The words settle like lead in my chest. The pain resurfaces like a ghostly echo, mirroring the sound of my own screams. My hands clench, nails biting deep into my palms—anything to replace the violent rage clawing its way up my throat.

I force my jaw tight, steadying my voice, “She could just be Nora number two,” I snap. “Someone will have to replace her. And she is already on that path.”

Kalix sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Well, if Millicent is the next Nora and this goes to hell, I’ll help you kill her myself.” His voice is blunt, but there’s no humor in it.

He straightens, rolling his shoulders back.

“In the meantime, we all have to work together. I’m not babysitting, and I’m not breaking up fights.

Let the damn witch wander. Let her do whatever to find answers.

” He huffs. “Because we sure as hell haven’t found any on our own.

And whether you like it or not, Iris has been a huge help.

” He hesitates. “Millicent might be, too.”

The word “help” does not belong in the same sentence as a Le Strange witch. Nora used to call it that—help. She proposed everything to me under the guise of guidance. I am extremely familiar with what their help looks like. It comes in chains, in pain disguised as purpose.

Millicent is no different. Kalix doesn’t understand. His weak spot for Iris has blinded him, made him think Millicent deserves the same chance to prove herself. I open my mouth to argue further, but before I can let my emotions get the better of me, Kalix yelps.

“What the hell!”

He stumbles back. His wide-eyed shock is locked on a small blue imp standing patiently, impossibly on top of one of the cattle. Oliver balances perfectly atop the carcass’s exposed ribs, swaying slightly with the movement of his tail.

Kalix looks from me to the imp, half expecting an explanation.

Oliver ignores him. Instead, he straightens to his full, unimpressive height and amplifies his voice—a grating, high-pitched screech that scrapes over my eardrums like nails against slate. I resist the urge to cover my ears.

Barely.

“Me Misses requires you now. Follow me.” It isn’t a request. It isn’t an informative gesture. No, it’s a command.

Then, without a word, his small bat-like wings begin to extend. They flap furiously, carrying him into the air. Oliver hovers just long enough to glare at us before darting toward the woods with surprising speed.

Kalix stares after him.

I nod once, confirming we’re going.

I break into a jog, keeping up as Oliver disappears between the trees. Kalix follows a step behind me as we push forward, and soon, the forest swallows us. Branches whisper overhead as we move.

Thankfully, Kalix’s eyes are just as adjusted to the dark as mine. I don’t have to worry about leading him; he keeps pace, ducking branches, leaping over fallen logs, and stepping around roots looking for unsuspecting prey to entangle.

The cave’s entrance is nearly invisible, camouflaged beneath thick ivy and moss that blend into the rocky incline. If not for Oliver hovering impatiently by the opening, we might have missed it entirely.

He’s been grumbling the entire way, throwing dirty looks at my legs and muttering faint complaints about the inconvenience of traveling with wingless creatures.

“Me Misses is inside, so is eater of cow.” His voice is a peculiar mix of a screech and squeak, quieter now that he is not booming it across a field. With a small, clawed hand, he pulls back the ivy curtain revealing the cavern beyond.

Kalix exhales sharply beside me. “I don’t fancy whatever is down there,” he mutters in distaste. The singing of metal cuts through the night air as he draws his sword from his sheathe.

I follow suit, gripping my hilt. The red gem embedded in the handle pulses softly beneath my palm.

No sounds come from the mouth of the void.

Nothing stirs within the shadows.

The stench that rolls from the entrance is unmistakable. Thick, putrid—the same sickly rot that clings to the cattle, slithers into my nostrils.

I wrinkle my nose, “Cow eater, huh?” I mumble more to myself than anyone else.

I reach out with my magic. Nothing. No aura.

No magical marker. It’s becoming a pattern.

Whatever the North is meddling with, it either knows how to cloak itself, or it’s something else entirely. Either way, it makes me uneasy.

There is something I can feel, a familiar storm of chaotic energy like a raging wildfire that swirls in blue and black. It churns deep within the cavern.

Millicent. She’s active.

“Our witch is down there,” I whisper as the weight of the cave presses down on us, “And she’s not alone.”

Kalix’s grip tightens on his sword.

The cavernous hall opens before us as we begin our descent. Its vastness swallowing the dim light from behind. The deeper we go, the more the space changes. The walls tighten, the ceiling lowers, and the passage shrinks.

Soon, we’re forced to shimmy through a narrow corridor, the rough stone scraping against our chest and backs.

I hold my breath, trying to avoid inhaling the dirt and debris crumbling around me, but it’s useless.

The grit stings my eyes, blurring my vision.

I blink rapidly, forcing the irritation away.

I can’t afford to lose focus. Not down here.

Then, beneath my boots, I feel them.

Bones—not just scattered fragments but piles of them. The further we go, the more they gather. This isn’t just a cave; it’s a feeding ground.

The narrow corridor expands into a vast, dark chamber.

I drag myself free from the constricting passage.

My muscles tense almost the moment I step forward.

My instincts flare, and I scan the room for movement, for any threats lurking in the shadows.

The air in the chamber is thick, saturated with the familiar energy that clings to Millicent.

If I focus, I can see it: a thin, flickering veil of black and blue power.

I take another step forward, then freeze.

A panther the size of a horse prowls from behind a stone outcrop.

My pulse quickens. That is no ordinary beast. Atop its sleek, dark body are six massive anaconda-like snakes that coil along its spine. Their heads shift, tongues flicking the air in unison, but their eyes burn with a familiar, piercing blue.