Page 6

“Reapers once served as messengers between the gods. Made of shade, they are the only beings capable of moving with ease between the shadows inherent in every realm.” – Esther Weil, Renowned Folklorist

T he great Hel beast roared again, the sound bouncing off the stone walls and reverberating through my bones.

“It’s entertainment Nott is after,” Blue explained. “He’s drawn a combat circle in the chamber over yonder.”

“Fucking gods,” Nola hissed.

“And every coven must provide a combatant or stay and risk the night in Wulfram while the train circles back,” Blue said somberly.

“We wouldn’t make it overnight in Wulfram,” Ruchel sighed. “But there’s no sense in sending two witches to their deaths either. Why not combine forces, at least through this trial?”

I perked at the idea of growing a proper coven. What good were allies if they were always ready to turn on each other? The green witches shared a glance, speaking to one another with only their eyes in the way of sisters.

“It’s the sensible thing for the time being,” Blue said. “A group of six shouldn’t attract unwanted notice from the established covens if we travel together.”

“But how do we decide who faces the beast?” Nola demanded.

“You’re a soldier,” Blue noted. “You’ve more combat experience than—”

“Not a chance in coldest Hel,” Nola ground out. “I’m not dying for you.”

The older of the sisters fished inside her leather satchel. Glass jars clinked together. “I’ve a sigil. A powerful one. It took me weeks to make the blasted thing. It’ll give the wielder the strength of a grizzly bear, but it won’t last more than an hour or two. A soldier could make good use of that.”

Nola scoffed. “What did I just say? Unless you’ve got another blasted sigil in that pack of yours with the strength of twenty bears, you can fuck right off with that idea.”

“We’ll roll for it,” Ruchel said somberly. “It’s the only fair way. We roll for it and the winner . . . loses.”

The sisters whispered to each other. I overheard the youngest called Liesel and the oldest, Emma. Blue tried to calm them, her words hushed, but Liesel fell into a panic. I was new to these trials, but I was not new to the way of people. These desperate survivors made and broke alliances much too easily, eager to do what was needed to last just one more day, no vision for the future, no thoughts toward freedom. They’d forgotten what it was that made a witch truly powerful. Their coven.

And I wouldn’t risk watching sisters torn apart. My heart wouldn’t tolerate it.

Resolved, I rested a hand on the hilt of my dagger. “I’ll do it.”

Spirit stirred in my chest, and my heart thudded heavily. A new pulse of pain pumped in my aching ankle. Nola may be a soldier, but I had the best fighting chance of any of us in single combat, even injured. This was my chance to prove to them that I could help. If they joined with me, we could do more than stay alive a while longer.

I was a gray witch—an out-of-practice gray who had spent too much time hiding herself—but there was no moment like the present to regain some of what I’d lost, to find myself once more.

“You’ve gone mad again, duck,” Nola said.

“I’m always a little mad, I think.” I offered her a small smile that she didn’t return.

Ruchel scowled. “When I sensed you’d be useful to us, I didn’t think it meant . . . I don’t like it, Maven. I didn’t drag you along with us to offer you up for slaughter now. We should roll for it. At least that way it’s in the fate weavers’ hands. Let the goddesses Wyrd and Norna decide who fights.”

“Doesn’t seem fair to play a chance game with a mind witch, though, does it?” Blue said, her torch flickering above her, cutting shadows down her sunken cheeks. “The new girl is willing to do it. I say we let her.”

“Of course you’d say that,” Nola snarled. “She’s not one of yours.”

“I’ll do it. But I have conditions,” I warned.

“Stand down, mad woman,” Nola ground out. “I don’t like it, duck. You should shut your trap and let us veterans handle this.”

“I may be new here, but I’m far more veteran than I appear,” I said sternly. “We form a true coven first. A blood oath will do best, and then I’ll step into that combat circle on our behalf.”

Ruchel snorted. “Oh, wait . . . you’re not joking?”

“Deadly serious,” I said.

Liesel’s little nose wrinkled. “Blood oaths? How archaic.”

I ignored their rumblings. What could they do but accept? Unless they wanted to risk facing the roaring Hel creature themselves.

“We’ll have to appoint a high witch first.” Blue returned her torch to the metal fixture on the wall. The image it illuminated was of Death’s crow ripping its own wing off. In the legend, the god Alrick ordered Death to tear himself in two so that he could fit inside the Otherworld after consuming too many stars.

“Blue has survived down here the longest,” Ruchel noted. “But Nola has the most combat experience of any of us.”

“Coven or not, I’d leave most of you for dead if it meant saving my ass, so don’t make me your high witch,” Nola said. “It needs to be you, Ruchel. You’re the only voice anyone should be listening to out here. Your instincts are our best shot at staying alive.”

“I’ll vow to you, Ruchel,” I said. “I’d vow to you gladly.”

She looked me over, from the messy state of my braid down to the swollen ankle tucked into my boot, and her scowl deepened. Her ochre eyes went glassy, throwing the torchlight. Her throat bobbed. “If anyone has a problem with me taking charge, you’d better speak up now.” She glared pointedly at Blue.

“If it gets this sordid business done, I’ll swear to you,” Emma said, and her younger sister echoed her agreement.

Blue’s flinty gaze settled briefly on the amulet hanging under Ruchel’s throat. “As long as it keeps me breathing,” she said softly, “I’ll swear to you.”

Ruchel pulled a thin silver blade from her belt. She ran it across her palm without flinching, letting the blood pool there in the creases. “I vow by my blood and by my magic to serve the good of my coven, to stand in unity with my sisters until Death ferries me to the life after.”

In the way of witches, we accepted her vow. “We hear you, sister,” we chanted. “Together we hold you to your word.”

Ruchel pressed her palm against the wall, just under the image of the broken crow, leaving a bloody print behind. Emma and Liesel went next, adding their essence to the same handprint. Then Nola and Blue. I went last, but before I added my palm to theirs, I ran my fingers over the bloodstains on my shirtwaist. Lisbeth was gone, but I wanted to make her part of my new coven too. Adding her blood to ours made that so.

“I vow,” I said with feeling, “by my blood and by my magic to serve the good of my coven, to stand in unity with my sisters until Death ferries me to the life after.”

In my head, Lisbeth’s voice echoed the words. As my new coven accepted us, a shadow fell over the mark we’d left behind. The blood on the wall coalesced and changed.

An image of a crow appeared in the darkening crimson stain.

“Oh fuck,” I groaned.

“Is that a . . . ?” Liesel whispered, her voice small and bell-like. “But that’s a good sign, isn’t it?”

Emma pulled off her tall hat and scratched at her copper hair. “Doesn’t that mean a god is blessing the coven when it makes a symbol like that?”

Liesel let out a cheer. “It’s finally happened,” she squeaked. “We’ve been chosen by a god.”

“Not a blessing,” I growled.

It was a taunt. It had to be. The Old One would never choose me for anything after I’d ripped the roof off his home and attacked him.

“It looks like a blessing,” Blue said wistfully. “I suppose we’re the coven of the crow now.”

“Like Hel we are,” I groused. “Nola, what would you say to Elke if she came down here and tried to bless you?”

Nola’s expression darkened, and her hand grabbed for the hilt of the dagger at her belt. “I’d tell her she can take her blessing straight to Hel and stay there until her tits freeze off.”

“My feelings exactly.” I folded my arms over my chest, but the crow mark remained stubbornly on the wall. I glared at the shadows.

“Don’t insult the Lord of Death,” Blue said under her breath, then she added in a hiss, “especially when he’s listening!”

“Our backgrounds are diverse, our elements and specialties blended,” Ruchel said soothingly. “It’s best we don’t name a divine patron.”

“Especially not that one,” I bit out.

Emma retrieved her sigil. The image of a bear was engraved into a block of pale ash wood. Balanced in her palm, the engraving glittered green.

“Keep it,” I said, gently brushing the offering away.

Emma’s brow furrowed. “Are . . . are you sure?”

“I’m a dunce with elemental sigils.” I had no connection to the earth. Lisbeth and I were able to mix basic potions because the ingredients themselves had the correct link, but our concoctions were poor substitutes for what a true green witch could do.

To make use of it, Emma would need to cast the sigil, and then I’d have to steal the magic from her with my spirit once the sigil was active. They wouldn’t be able to see me casting with gray, not in the way I could—unless they were like me—but Emma would feel it.

If my new coven had any sense at all, the moment they knew I was working spirit in such a way, they’d panic. She could keep the sigil. I didn’t want to get bashed in the head with Blue’s wand or stabbed with one of Nola’s many daggers.

I turned to leave.

“Maven,” Ruchel protested, following me.

“I don’t want an audience. Stay put here and wait for the barrier to open.” I patted the handle of my revolver peeking out of the waistband of my trousers. “I have everything I need right here.”

“Maven . . . live,” she said somberly. “That’s an order from your new high witch.”

“Yes ma’am.” I took her hand in mine and squeezed it with all the thanks and affection I had in my heart, but grief lingered in her eyes. Her lips trembled like she longed to say something else, but she kept them shut. I wanted to offer more words of comfort, but nothing came to mind. Lisbeth had always been better at that sort of thing than I.

I headed back toward the fork in the tunnel. Another roar shook the stones under my feet and blew out one of the torches. My spirit turned to lead in my chest.

“You can do this,” I whispered to myself. “Keep moving. One foot in front of the other. That’s got you through far worse things than this.”

Make the beast shit himself , Lisbeth said, and my magic stirred back to life sluggishly.

The walls were cracked and moist in this part of the tunnel. Down and down I went until the pressure shifted in my sinuses and my ears popped. The image of the broken crow decorated the dripping stones around me. Engravings of feathers fell from Death’s torn wing. The images evolved farther down the hall, the feathers stretching into cloaked shades, the making of the Old One’s reapers. The broken wing that remained was skeletal, and in the next engraving, the bones had been crafted into the train.

“Hold up there, duck,” Nola called.

I jumped. I hadn’t heard her footsteps coming up behind me.

“I really don’t want an audience,” I told her.

Nola slid her arm around my shoulders and fit me against her side. “I wouldn’t want an audience either if I thought I was about to be on the wrong end of a bad thrashing, but let me walk you at least.”

“I’m not planning on getting thrashed,” I grumped.

“Well, that’s a good start,” she said. “Let me have a look at this basher anyway.”

Her sturdy presence steadied me. And when the beast roared again so loud I felt it rattling through my bones, my spirit didn’t shrink.

The tunnel ended in an ancient courtroom built on dark flagstones and lit by flaming braziers. The ceiling stretched into a dome vast enough for a god in his giant form to easily fit inside. We stopped at the edge of the hall, where the archway yawned wide.

I couldn’t yet see the beast. A bend in the wall and a row of columns hid him from view, but stomping hooves and scraping chains against stone was enough to bring nightmare images to mind.

“If you’d have let us roll for this, you wouldn’t be here now,” Nola whined. “Ruchel would have handled it with a little mental suggestion. She’d have let the fate-weaving sisters choose someone from the other coven with her dice.”

“Their coven is now our coven,” I scolded.

She rolled her eyes. “Aggravatingly soft-hearted . . .”

“I appreciate you coming, Nola, I do, but don’t say farewell to me. This isn’t goodbye.” My words were an encouragement for myself as much as for her. If I pretended to be overconfident, I hoped the rest of me would soon follow suit. It worked that way sometimes.

But apparently now was not one of those times. My stomach plummeted.

Crouching low, I removed my pocket pistol from my boot. I took a quick drink from my canteen just to wet my lips, then I stuffed everything into my satchel and handed them over. She was so tall she had to duck her head so I could slide the strap around her neck.

“Don’t let anyone have my things,” I instructed. “I’ll get them back from you on the train.”

Nola leaned out around the edge of the archway. The beast roared, and she leapt back into the hall. Her face had gone ghostly white, and my belly sank further remembering how unaffected she’d been by the slaughter at the start of the trial. If one look at that beast had her worried, well, that didn’t bode well for me.

“He’s built like a man,” she said, clearing her throat, “so he’ll have weaknesses like one too. Don’t waste precious rounds on his thick hide. If you’re a bad shot, get in close enough you can’t miss and shoot him where he’s soft. Eyes or testicles. Get a bullet or a blade in there and it won’t matter how big the brute is. Understand?”

I rested a hand atop my revolver where it pressed against my belly. “I’m not a bad shot. That’s just what I’ll do.” It was poor luck that we didn’t have enough rounds to practice with. I’d be an even better shot if I could take a moment to get more familiar with the revolver.

Chin down, Nola started to turn away but hesitated. “I didn’t want to like you,” she said solemnly.

A smile stretched my lips. “Sorry.”

The crinkles near her cobalt eyes deepened. “It’s rude of you, really, being likable in a place like this.”

“I could kick you in the shin right now if you want. I’ll keep doing it until you like me less.”

Her grin went crooked. “Just come back to us, all right, ducky? Then you can kick me all you’d like.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

I watched her walk away. When she was almost around the bend, she stopped. Eyes and testicles , she mouthed, pointing at the corresponding locations on her body. I raised a hand up to her in a vow. And then she was gone. It was for the best, but I felt the absence of my new coven like a chasm opening wide in my gut.

I filled my chest with a heaving breath. My palms were already sweating. I stepped out into the courtroom, and when the monster charged at me, straining against his chains, spots popped before my eyes. His roar shot straight through me like a javelin, nearly knocking me off my feet.

He was as tall as two Nolas. The garm had the face of a boar, blood dripping from his tusks, and the torso and arms of a powerfully built man. His skin was thick and leathery. He walked upright on fleece-covered hindlegs, and his hooves were cloven like a great bull’s. Made of bone powder, a narrow combat circle was drawn tightly around the beast. The only thing keeping him from charging out and killing me was the chain around his neck, secured to the floor with an iron spike.

Nott sat on a stone throne in his mortal form. The throne was so massive it dwarfed him physically, though there was something in the secret smile that crooked the corner of his mouth, something that made him seem Otherworldly and larger than life. I doubted anyone would mistake him for a regular man. The God of Night and Mischief made a beautiful mortal, though: golden skin and a waterfall of raven hair. His amber eyes were accented with kohl, and he wore a ring on every finger.

On the throne opposite him, his twin, Mara, Queen of Nightmares, curled up in her cat form, her coat as glossy and black as volcanic glass. She was a very large cat, bigger than a panther.

Three more giant thrones were arranged in a semi-circle behind theirs, empty. Beside them, the biggest, bone-white throne remained equally unoccupied. It looked like the Schatten, possibly made of limestone but too off-white and yellowed with age. It dominated the courtroom—throne room, I corrected. This throne was decorated from base to head in images of flying crows.

Nott’s eyes dragged over my messy braid and my torn and punctured clothing, and he snorted. I was a stranger in the Otherworld but not unfamiliar with the bad behavior of gods. I ignored his indifference, drawn to the divine heat I sensed radiating from the nearest column.

“No, sister dear,” Nott said sulkily, “I don’t think we will get much of a show out of this one.”

Mara stretched up next to him, and he scratched behind her ears. Whatever she said to him, she sent it straight to his thoughts. He chuckled over the words I could not hear, though I sensed they were at my expense. His laughter was unkind.

The sigil that Nott had used to summon the monstrous garm remained on the wall in the shape of a shard of ice, the same frost that formed the gates to Hel. Below it, a pile of gifts were strewn about. Supplies mostly. Gifts of fresh fruit, bags of ingredients crucial to spells, things of great value from the desperate in Wulfram. Things Nott and Mara had grown tired of quickly, so they’d summoned themselves something more entertaining.

I drew in closer to the sigil. Its magic was so cold it made my skin pebble. This was not the divine energy responsible for killing my sister. It burned differently, so frigid it stung. I filed that information away for another time when my life wasn’t in immediate danger.

The garm raged at his chains, startling my spirit into alertness. This was my chance to crush this beast to mush, to send him straight back to Hel in pieces. I readied my magic. It gathered in my palms, pressing at the pads of my fingertips, darkening my hands to gray. I reached for the sigil greedily.

A shadow fell over it, blocking my way, and the sigil went out with a sizzle.

The darkness lingered there, wafting the spicy scent of powerful magic and leather. I made a rude gesture at the crow spy hiding in the shade.

“If you and your god have decided to kill me,” I hissed, “at least have the courage to face me yourself.”

Hands in fists, I moved to the edge of the circle. Anger crackled and sparked through my spirit. I wasn’t practiced enough anymore to make my spirit act on my behalf with any sort of certainty. Not depleted as I was, and not without stolen god power to add to mine. Nola didn’t want me to waste precious bullets, but I fired a quick shot straight at the beast’s heart.

The bullet pierced his meaty flesh just right of my target. He let out an angered yelp and leapt away. I charged the circle, aiming the next shot at his right eye, adjusting for the sights.

The lumbering creature moved with a speed I could barely follow. The injury had been an act, lulling me into coming closer, and I’d fallen for it. The beast struck at my arm, and my gray magic reacted instinctively, thank the Crone. It surged just enough to absorb most of the blow.

The strike that should have taken my arm off knocked the revolver from my hand. My fingers throbbed. I went for the garm’s eye with my dagger, and the great beast lunged low, dodging the strike. He swiped my legs out from under me and knocked me onto my back.

I hit my head and lost my wind. My vision swam. It was over already. The garm loomed above me, his gaze on his god, waiting for permission to end my life. He pinned me to the ground with one of his bulky hooves on my stomach. I groaned under the weight of him.

But Nott wasn’t paying attention. He picked at his nails, and Mara slumbered in her throne. Not even my death was enough to hold their interest, they cared so little for me.

Fucking gods.

I saw red and roared. Energy churned through my belly, pumping up into my heart. A blast of gray burst from my chest, knocking back the beast. I leapt to my feet, fueled by a righteous fury that lit me up from the inside out. The garm snarled, and the stench of sulfur burned in my nostrils. He lunged for my face, tusks and teeth bared.

With claws of gray magic, I reached into his chest, passing straight through thick skin and bone and sinew. I grabbed his heart and crushed it between my palms. He spat blood in my face. His shriveled little soul was next. I ripped it out through his throat without tearing any of the muscle. His spirit clung to me, delicate and sticky as spider silk. His soul was a messy, broken thing with no magic to speak of, but I was so starved for energy I was tempted to eat it, to replenish a little of what I’d lost.

But I could think of nothing more wicked to do, even to a garm. I tossed his misty essence into the ether for the crows to fetch. His soul screamed as it vanished.

The garm’s empty body swayed on his hooves. He fell forward, his weight too much for me. My spirit surged again with the last of the energy I had left, just a silvery puff of light. It kept the beast from crushing me flat, but his massive body caged me against the ground.

I squirmed my way toward freedom and barely managed to get my face out from beneath his broad chest, I was so depleted.

“I can’t . . .” I gasped.

Nott threw back his head and cackled at the ceiling. His mirth echoed off the walls. “Did you see that, sister dear? How spectacularly unexpected.”

The big cat licked a paw. At least she wasn’t sleeping now.

“Can’t breathe,” I panted. “Help me out from under here. I fought him like you wanted, didn’t I . . . ? I gave you a good show.”

“Yes, my bloodthirsty little pet,” Nott purred at me. “I’ll help you out of there if you ask me nicely.”

The beast stank like sulfur and piss, and I missed being able to fill my lungs. The back of my head hurt where I’d knocked it against the floor. My body was sore and growing more uncomfortable every moment I remained trapped. I swallowed my pride. “Please. Please, glorious Lord of Night and Mischief. Aid your servant, I beg you.”

Nott vanished from his throne. The garm’s weight lifted, and I gulped air into my lungs, grateful for every single breath. The god moved his monster one-handed, tossing him aside like he weighed nothing. A stone paver cracked where the Hel creature landed in a heap of hooves and limbs.

“Servant,” Nott cooed. “I do like the sound of that.”

I smelled the crow before I spotted him forming from the shadows between the columns, the tart and tangy scent of his death magic much more pleasant than the reek of sulfur. Gritting my teeth, I climbed to my feet.

“Don’t be fooled by her good manners,” the reaper cautioned, his baritone curling into my ears like smoke. “She’s a vicious little troublemaker.”

Nott chuckled. “But I love troublemakers. How long has it been since you’ve seen a gray witch, Asher? They don’t visit us in the Otherworld nearly enough. It’s been centuries for Mara and I. We’re delighted.”

Asher. The crow had a name.

A midnight hood hid most of the reaper’s face, but I felt his piercing eyes fall on me. “I’ve never met a gray before.”

“What a treat for you, then, my friend,” Nott said.

I swayed on my feet, my energy was so low. The fumes of my spirit sputtered in my chest. “The barrier,” I panted, remembering myself, “is it down now?”

“It went down the second you stepped into the circle.” Nott played with his rings, twisting them on his fingers, his fascination with me already at an end. “If you’d like to have a few of the useless things from the gifts in the corner there, help yourself, darling.”

I collected my revolver first, dusting it down with the only part of my shirtwaist that wasn’t caked in dirt or stained with dried blood. Then I hobbled over to the pile of supplies and gathered what I could carry. My limbs felt like rubber, so it wasn’t much: a bag of garlic cloves, more salt, a fresh apple, a bristled tool that would come in handy when I needed to clean the revolver. Then there at the bottom of the pile, I spotted a pair of thick socks. Good, clean woolen socks. I snapped them up.

“Better hurry, pet,” Nott purred. “The Schatten departs soon.”