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CHAPTER EIGHT

N os looked up from his book and smiled at the sleeping form of Ibin across from him in the den. She was such a work of art. Wings curled up by her face, her beak tucked into the delicate down feathers. She had perched upon the arm of the chair closest to the fire, one of her long, thin legs pulled up into her downy body.

She was stunning in either of her forms. Stork or woman. He would move her to her bed, but jostling her about in her avian form was a delicate task, and he hated doing it. So, he would leave her be until she woke from her nap. But he supposed he should take the moment to check on their… guest.

Standing, he set his book down quietly on his seat before heading down the hallway. Taking in the lost human was a terrible idea. It was dangerous, and it was going to cause them nothing but headache, if not calamity, before all was said and done.

Ibin had not seen the mayhem that could be caused when the mad bastard Serrik made a bid for freedom. She did not know the lives it could cost, and the pain it could bring. But her heart was kind, and largely yet unweathered by the cruelty of time and the actions of others.

Nos would protect it for as long as he could. Though he did not honestly know why he bothered. It was a foolish game. A story he told himself—a stuffed child’s toy he clung to in the dark. It would only last for so long before it was taken away from him. He knew it, but he could not give it up all the same.

When he reached the door to the room Ibin had given the young lost woman, he leaned in to listen. There was no noise from within. Rapping his knuckles on the wood surface, he waited. No answer. Perhaps she was asleep.

Or perhaps she had done them all a favor and fashioned a noose from the bedsheets and done herself in. No, he was not going to be that lucky. Nor would it do any good, with that damnable grimoire bound to her soul.

Opening the door slowly, he peeked inside. It took him a moment to find her. But when he did, he let out a heavy sigh.

She was curled up beneath a pile of blankets in a ball, looking like a frightened child hiding from the darkness. And at her side, like a cat, the book in question. That damnable thing of lies. That creation that existed and yet did not.

How he wished he could have told Ava the truth. But here, surrounded by Serrik’s power—there was nothing Nos could say that would not see his limbs pulled from his sockets and rearranged. He had already been through that once before. He did not wish to have it happen again.

The woman’s brow was furrowed. Her hair was still damp, a mane of wild, nearly black curls. She was a pretty thing. Beautiful, even, with her large eyes.

A shame she was so impertinent.

There were those within the Web who would delight in breaking her of such a blazing personality. A few who would delight in it. A pet is to be seen and not heard, after all. A trinket is to be displayed and owned, and not meant to partake in conversation.

And it had become painfully and immediately clear to both Ibin and Nos that Ava would likely shatter before she would bend.

Thus began their debate—nay, argument—that had stretched long into the night. Nos wished to see her traded away at any cost. Free, if needs must. Anything to keep themselves safe.

But Ibin disagreed. She would be maimed. Tortured. And with Serrik on her heels—whispering stories of cruelty and destruction, luring her to his side, entreating her to help him destroy them all—they would have to strive to paint a kinder picture of their kind.

As if such a thing were possible.

He was the wrong ambassador for such a task. Looking down at his mismatched hands, he released a long breath. He knew the cruelty of his kind more than most. Yet, he did not wish to see his ilk wiped from existence.

Perhaps not for his own sake.

But most certainly for that of Ibin’s.

Ava let out a whimper and rolled over, caught in a nightmare. The blanket fell from her shoulders, and she wrapped her arms around herself.

You will be the literal death of me, human. Nos clenched his fists at his sides. But he could not let the little thing suffer. Shaking his head at his own foolishness, he silently crossed the room to her and pulled the blanket back up to cover her.

And was deeply glad she would not know anything of his “kindness.”

He would convince Ibin to sell her to the others. Perhaps it would take time. But he knew it was time they did not have. Others in the Web were already gathering, curious about the new owner of the tome and if she would seek to undo them all.

That was to say nothing of their wardens.

No, time was not their ally.

Returning to the door, he cast one last glance back toward where the human slept. Some part of him pitied her. It was not her fault she was cast away from her society and her family and trapped with the rest of them.

Nor was it the fault of the fly consumed by the spider.

Yet, here she was.

Silently shutting the door behind him, he headed back to the den. Ibin was still asleep where she was perched, the firelight casting her snowy-white feathers in amber, and glinting from the sheen of those that were jet black.

Sitting in his chair, he resumed his reading. Tomorrow, he would seek to convince Ibin of logical sense once more. There was one option ahead of him—one route that Ibin might agree to. One tactic he might attempt that the sweet-hearted stork might be mournful of but see sense in.

It would pain him to have to make a deal with the cretin he had in mind. But the individual he was thinking of was powerful, and if anyone in the Web could keep both their wardens and Serrik from turning Ava into the potential weapon that she could become? It would be him.

Ibin would see sense in that. And with the cretin’s particular gifts, it would be a…kinder way to deal with the human than many. She would not enjoy it. Oh, she would loathe it at first. But that was what he adored about his winged companion. With enough cajoling and enough careful explanation, she would come around.

He had to have hope enough to try.

Because if she did not see sense in ensuring that Ava was of no use to Serrik or the wardens?

It would spell disaster for them all. Not just the denizens of the Web.

But entire worlds.

Ava sat straight up.

She went from asleep to awake at the same speed that a bomb goes off at the moment of detonation.

Spider!

That was all she could process. Spider! Spider-spider-spider-spider! “Fuck—fuck—fuck—” She scrabbled out from under the tangled mess of blankets, furs, scarves, and miscellaneous whatevers and ran for the bathroom.

For the second time in two days she tried to throw up something she didn’t intend to eat.

But nothing came up as she hunched over the antique toilet—the kind that had the tank up mounted on the wall—and jabbed her fingers down her throat.

With a groan, she lowered her head to the porcelain rim. “ Fuck you , you cubic asshole!” Her hands were shaking as she pushed herself up to her feet. Adrenaline was a helluva drug.

Walking to the mirror, she stared at herself in the mirror. She… looked okay. Tired, sure. Like she’d been through hell, sure. Which she had been—more or less. Her hair was doing that thing it liked to do when she went to bed with it wet. Namely, literally everything all at once. Combing her hands through the curls in an attempt to get them to be a little less obnoxious, she sighed.

She’d made a mistake, hadn’t she?

A real, real serious mistake.

Lowering her head, she let out another long groan. What had she done? Entered into a contract with a psychopath and agreed to commit genocide , that’s what.

But if she didn’t do it, he’d just try again with someone else. And again, and again, and again. She was…saving people. The whole human race. Right?

Fuck.

Fuck.

And she was also saving herself. There weren’t any good answers. That was the problem.

It was when she looked back up at the mirror that she noticed something odd. Pulling aside the collar of the chemise, she leaned in closer to the silvered glass. “What the?—”

There was ink on her skin.

Tattoo ink.

Ava didn’t have any tattoos.

But there it was, just about an inch under her right collarbone and two inches toward her arm. It was just around the joint of her shoulder where people magically got shot with arrows in movies and always survived. It was small—about the size of a quarter.

And it was the outline of a spider, in the thinnest, dark green ink. It was a Celtic knot representation of a spider, and was extremely delicate. And…one of its legs was missing? Not entirely—like it was broken off just a bit after it started. It was the second to last leg on its right side. Whichever one that was.

She wasn’t a spider expert.

Nor did she want to be.

Though she had a serious suspicion she was about to become one before long.

Running her hand along it, she was at least relieved to find that it didn’t move, it didn’t bite her, and it didn’t hurt. It felt like an old tattoo. It’d also be easy enough to hide with her t-shirts. She debated lying about it to the others, claiming she’d always had it. But that went out the window pretty quickly. A seven-legged, green, Celtic spider tattoo?

No. They’d see right through that shit instantly. Nos would, at the very least.

“What did you do to me?” Now she was talking to herself. First to trees, then to herself. Great. She pulled the chemise back over the tattoo, not wanting to look at it anymore. She hated spiders. And she was going to get spooked every time she saw it in the mirror, thinking one was on her. Thanks, jerk.

But she knew what Serrik did to her.

He’d given her access to his magic.

Not like she knew how to use it. She supposed that part probably came next. Shaking her head, she walked out of the room. She should get dressed, go find Ibin, and figure out what the next steps with them were, or if she could get some food because she was starv?—

She stopped.

The book was sitting on the table by the fireplace. One, that wasn’t where she left it. And two?

It was open.

The pages were blank. But it was wide open. Inviting her to come look at it. “This is a trap. I know it’s a trap.” Ava pointed at it. “Listen. Hocus Pocus was, like, my favorite movie growing up. And the sequel was pretty good. Bette Midler can still rock it. But I know how you cursed books operate. You’re going to eat my hand or sprout an eye or eat my face off or—or something.”

The book just sat there.

Open.

Waiting.

“Son of a bitch.” She knew she swore too much. She’d always been given crap for that her whole life. But she stopped caring. Especially recently. Running both her hands down her face, she stared at the book. Should she ignore it? Or investigate?

The damn thing followed her. It was leashed to her like a puppy.

A cursed puppy. A cursed magical puppy.

“Fine. Fine, okay. Whatever.” She threw up her hands in frustration. “Why not? Why not. Let’s see how you can make this shit-show even worse. Somehow. Because I know you’re not going to make this any better, Book.”

Naming it Book just felt right. And slightly insulting for something that was apparently a thing that could access all magical spells ever written in all of human existence including in the future. So, it suited her needs.

Stepping forward, she looked down at it.

It did nothing.

“Am I supposed to say something?” She put her hands on her hips. “Wiggle my fingers? Do some…mumbo jumbo? If so, you’re out of luck, buddy.” She laughed. “I have no idea what I’m doing. So you better skip the preamble and just get to it.”

She jumped back in surprise as, apparently, Book listened to her. The pages started to whip by violently as if turned, not by wind, but an impossibly fast hand. It settled on a new set of pages.

And these were not blank. But illustrated like some sort of Medieval or Renaissance manuscript. Both pages were gilt and colorful, inked and displaying figures tangled up in some kind of…it was hard to make out.

She stepped forward to see what it was representing.

Her heart sank.

It was a war.

It showed total desolation—cars and cities, planes and tanks, modern-day human things shown as flaming wreckages in the antique style—human bodies strewn about, mixed in amongst twisted forms of creatures she recognized now as the fae.

And there, in the center of it, were two monstrous figures. One, she didn’t know at all. He was shirtless from the waist up, two large, deep blue bat wings spread from his back. A crown of silver, the metallic leafing tarnished over time, sat upon his head. In each hand he carried weapons, and down his arm were twisting, dark blue tattoos.

The fiendish smile on his face was one of pure delight and sadistic glee.

Standing opposite him was…Serrik.

Kind of.

From the waist up.

A cold shudder went down her back.

From the waist down, his body was transformed into that of an enormous spider. Dark green patterns twisted up with bright green ones along fur that covered his inhuman body. Golden chains and strings delicately draped between the arches of his pointed limbs. Of which he only seemed to have seven.

Ah. Yeah.

That made sense.

The tips of his legs, from each of the last joints down, were gold foil. His expression was passive, a sharp contrast to the pure demonic joy of his opponent. In his hand was a grimoire.

Her grimoire.

The one she was reading.

Because at his inhuman feet was a figure bound in golden chains, a collar around her neck that kept her tethered to the monster.

It was her.

Oh. Oh, god damn it. It all clicked into place. He didn’t just want her to be bound to him so she could use his power to free him.

He wanted her bound to him so he could use the damn book.

One that, if the iron straps on it were any hint and her memory of fae lore was accurate, she’d bet dollars to donuts he had no other way of accessing.

Well, time to state the obvious. “I…seriously fucked up.”

First she talked to a tree. Then, to herself. Now, to Book. But at least it seemed Book was sentient. Ish. It responded, at any rate. “How do I fix this? Give me a course of action. You wouldn’t have shown me this just to ruin my day. Or. Maybe you did. I don’t know. But help me out here.”

More rapid-fire flipping of pages.

It settled on another illustration.

Of her and Serrik. This time, he was in his human form. Were those terms she was going to have to start thinking in? Human and monster form? She wanted off the crazy train.

Focus.

It was an illustration of her and Serrik. He was on his knees before her. A look of betrayal was on his features as he gazed up at her, his hand reaching up to her face as if to say how could you? He was clutching a gaping wound in his chest, blood pouring down to his knees.

And she was holding the book aloft in her hands. And in her hand was a heart. His heart.

Ava stared at the image. “Well, screw me for asking, I guess. But I guess I did ask.”

The instructions couldn’t be more clear.

If she wanted out of this mess?

She was going to have to murder Serrik.

Now? She just had to figure out how.