Page 59 of Samhain Savior

“You are violating every treaty that was ever written.” Archer stared at Helena, his expression stern. “I am giving you an opportunity to walk away. I will not make the offer twice.”

“You have something that belongs to me. I am here to take it.” Helena’s eyes shifted to me, a sly smile spreading across her scarred face when she realized how far I had crept from Archer. “Two things, actually. But maybe I won’t have totakethem from you after all.” Pointing one long, bony finger my way, Helena chuckled, drawing the attention of everyone else in the room. “Looks like your witch is trying to run, demon.”

“Witch.” Archer’s tone was loaded with disapproval—and perhaps a little bit of panic. “I said stay behind me.”

“Always giving orders,” Helena laughed. “And yet, no one ever wants to listen.” Lifting her hands, she screamed out a single word. “Confractus!”

At her command, all the windows in the building shattered simultaneously, shards of glass raining down on us all. Persephone cried out, ducking close to Vine and raising her hand to her face. I caught a glimpse of blood running between her fingers before she pressed her face to Vine’s back to hide.

The roaring wind blew in through the now-broken windows, hail and rain and the last remaining autumn leaves swirling through the building, filling the once quiet church with nothing but noise.

“Archer!” Corson cried, swinging at Helena with one of his swords. She easily side stepped him, her magic defying her age and making her more agile than she had any right to be. “He’s coming!”

For a moment, it was as though the storm held its breath. Everything paused, the wind stilling and the rain petering off to barely a drizzle.

Then the door swung open and a man entered, the power he wielded feeling like a thousand pounds of pressure onthe inside of my brain. It was like I could taste his magic, but unlike Archer’s demon magic, which came with hints of spice and smoke and a touch of sulfur, this magic was rotten. Just the slightest hint of it had me wanting to gag, the scent of sour milk and putrid, decaying flesh permeating everything.

Looking at him, I could see his massive form standing in silhouette, tall and muscled, and intimidating as Hell.

“Your time is over, Archer.” His words were quiet, but I felt them in my bones. “The days of theUmbra Fratrumhaving control over the domain of witches is through.”

“Furfures,” Archer snarled. “You have no power here.” He was moving toward me, trying once more to place me behind him, but I couldn’t let him get close. I couldn’t trust him.

I couldn’t trust any of them.

Run, the voice in my head urged.Flee. Take your prize and go.

I wanted to, desperately, but there was also a part that hesitated, and it was that part that won.

For now.

“Oh, I have more power than you could imagine.” Furfures stepped forward, out of the shadowed doorway and into the light, giving me my first good look at him.

His skin was an odd color, a strange shade of gray, like storm clouds on the horizon. His eyes were all black, giving him the appearance of the monster he apparently was. His ears were pointed, his mouth a maw of razor sharp fangs, and across his scared chest he wore a leather harness, the straps criss-crossing the bulging muscles in a way that looked painful, as though they were buried directly in his skin. And rising from the top of his head was a rack of antlers, their skeletal white prongs reaching skyward like desperate, clawing fingers.

“I suppose making deals with the Dark Lord’s enemies will do that for you.”

“The Dark Lord is weak!” Furfures’s eyes flashed, the dark depths appearing to hold lightning within them, and at the same time, the sky outside lit up with its own lightning, the branching forks streaking across the darkened clouds like white fire. “For eons he cowered, hiding in his Pit, unwilling to fight back against our banishment. I refuse to worship someone who cannot stand strong in the face of a gale. Your precious Dark Lord is gone. His time is over and now a new master will rule over Hell, giving us the power we were always due.”

With every word he spoke, the pressure of his magic increased, pressing against my chest until I could hardly breathe.

I stood there, watching Archer and this new demon banter, trading barbs and insults, knowing I had to get out of there. I was terrified and itching to run, but waiting for the right moment.

All I needed was a chance.

And then, Furfures the Storm-bringer gave me one.

Chapter twenty-six

Archer

“The Dark Lord is not weak,” I spat through clenched teeth. “And you should be flayed alive for even thinking such a thing.”

Furfures chuckled, a low, rumbling sound full of malice and disdain.

“You always were melodramatic, Archer. So loyal to the man who has apparently abandoned you. The same way he abandoned his duty to his Host.” Furfures’s gray features twisted with hatred. “And while you may be content to put your honor aside and bow to a spineless leader, I will never do so. Just as I will never forgive him for what he’s done.”

On some level, I understood.