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Anger

If he were holding a second glass, Anger would shatter that one as well. He would pulverize it, the fragments slicing him open, his fist bleeding.

But since he doesn’t have another vessel to eviscerate, he settles for an arrow and a different target. The weapon is already nocked, its iron tip pointing at Malice’s sternum.

There’s no way.

There’s just no way.

There’s no fucking way Anger could have heard this deity correctly.

The nefarious god reclines in his seat and steeples his fingers. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you don’t like surprises.”

“You are full of shit,” Anger seethes. “Another option is that you’re as delusional as you are demonic.”

“No, to the first accusation. I saw the way Merry fetishized you in the carnival. Why do you suppose I backed down? You’re the perfect contender to break her.” Malice’s corrosive voice deepens. “I gave you time to get acquainted. Am I to believe that cupcake didn’t strike you as a tad affectionate?”

“Even if she did, it means nothing.”

“I’m sorry to traumatize you, but not really sorry. She was originally born as Love. Sugar glaze and all.”

“That’s impossible!”

“You’re right. Cupcakes don’t have sugar glaze.”

Anger draws back the arrow. “One, two—”

“Think harder, mate,” Malice prompts. “It’s not impossible. There’s a distinction between a success and an attempt.”

Love had been the first goddess in history to wield that power in the mortal realm. As the most complex of all emotions, it had taken The Fate Court millennia to create her. But that does not mean there haven’t been prior endeavors.

Failures of conception are not supposed to survive birth. Yet in exceptional cases, some do.

That is why Merry had used the term lackluster star . She’s a prior attempt by their people to conceive a love goddess. Certainly, she’s the only figure who has lived to tell that tale.

What’s more, she told Anger how The Court evicted her at birth. In which case, the bastards scarcely afforded the goddess a chance.

Anger shakes off the indignation. Reluctantly, he lowers his bow.

“Well, at least your temper is as consistent as your dick,” Malice observes, running a bladed pinky nail over his lower lip. “There’s always a story within a story. No one seems to gauge why you’d disobey orders from The Court, much less The Stars. Theory is, you’re just that protective over your crew. But, no. Even as a leader safeguarding his own, it’s not the move of a god like you, widely known as the militant boss of the most illustrious crew in The Dark Fates. So let me guess: You had blue balls for the infamous Love.”

Anger’s retinas turn everything in smashing distance red.

Love. The mischievous vixen from his past.

From the moment he first saw her when they were children, Anger had wanted the goddess. Over the ages, he had concealed this emotional upheaval beneath a veneer of indifference, never telling Love how he felt until it was too late, once she developed the power to destroy him.

Over a year ago, she became a renegade deity by binding herself to a mortal man named Andrew, who possessed the exceptional power to see deities. This singular ability had threatened to break down the elusive myth of gods and goddesses, thus putting their world in jeopardy. But instead of reporting Love’s treasonous dalliance, Anger had kept his mouth shut. He aborted his job, defied The Fate Court to protect her secret, and was expelled as punishment.

In the midst of that, Love and Andrew fell in love, which transformed her into a human. To this day, she lives in the village of Evershire with her lover, a reclusive author who gets to kiss her, taste her, peel off her clothes, bare her flesh, and sink himself into the wet crease of her thighs. That mortal has the privilege of making her come, making her laugh, making her happy.

That fucking human gets to touch her.

But at least Andrew is treating Love the way she deserves. The first twelve months of his banishment, Anger had monitored Andrew’s ability to spoil Love and keep her safe, which that magicless inferior had done with aplomb. He’d filled her days with joy, imbued with a different type of power that Anger can scarcely hold a candle to. To this day, she is protected and nurtured. That’s the only source of comfort Anger has left, and he would not trade his circumstances for anything less for her.

Except for one problem. When Love and Andrew bound themselves to each other, they paid the price with memory loss. Neither of them remembers Love’s history as a goddess. All they have retained is their feelings for each other.

As a result, Anger had been swept from Love’s recollection as though he never existed. As though they never grew up or trained together. As though they never shared a forsaken thing.

Over time, his agony calcified into a grudge. Witnessing her with someone else while he lurked in the shadows, invisible to her, forgotten by her… the grief had compounded, darkening to a murky shade like soot.

However blissful her life has become, the goddess deserves to have her memory restored, and Anger isn’t about to sit by and do nothing. Before leaving Evershire, he made a vow to resurrect her former self.

But yes. Despite all of this, yes. He’s furious at the universe for stealing what should have been his.

Thousands of years keeping his desire a secret, and already two outcasts have surmised that Anger’s feelings got in the way of his actions. At this juncture, it’s unwise to stew in front of Malice. This god has a knack for abusing every scrap of intelligence he sinks his talons into, shaping it to his advantage like clay.

It’s one thing to verify Malice’s assumption. It’s another to get openly pissed off about it.

Anger allows his caustic silence to speak for itself. Yet instead of satisfaction, righteous pity darkens Malice’s features.

“Don’t worry. Resentment is healthy,” the demon says. “By the way, I see why The Fate Court used to pamper you, before they dropped you like a prodigal piece of shit. You react with expediency and a fuse shorter than my middle finger. Even so, you’re disciplined enough not to let loose. At least, when it counts.”

“I was not dropped like a piece of sh—”

“Mate? Yes, you were.”

“I know corruption when I hear it,” Anger spits. “You think I’m livid at The Court for all they have done. So wound up that I would do anything to defy their reign, including victimizing an innocent outcast.”

“You said it. I didn’t,” Malice preens in a singsong voice. He carries an exceptional tune despite its gruffness, his tenor the hybrid spawn of a one-night stand between a nightingale and a crow.

This hardly makes his point digestible. Anger chokes the arrow’s shaft, then jams it into his quiver, making the contents rattle.

Someplace in the cosmos, there’s a star that refuses to shine. It is the celestial from which Love had been born, the vessel that brought her to life.

Anger tastes the vinegar of his contempt. It assaults his palate, clashing with the tartness of anguish.

Why refute it? Of course, he would relish a chance to impale the skulls of every court member. Banishment has deprived him of his identity, his existence, his fate.

Worse, his rulers have demolished any faith he once kept in them. After nearly killing Love, ordering Wonder’s torture, aiming their weapons at Sorrow and Envy, and evicting Merry from their world, Anger would like nothing more than to maim each sovereign with his bare hands. But for his crew’s sake, and for Love’s future, he has refrained from scratching that itch.

Of course, not having passage back to their world makes this doable. Yet the notion of trumping The Fate Court’s decision and reclaiming his place rinses the brackishness from his tongue. He tastes the validation, as thick as syrup and laced with the sour tang of selfishness.

Like a true deity.

He steps nearer, teetering on a precipice because if there is any kind of deity like him, it’s this conniving male. It’s the emotions they have been taught to regulate, which have the same textures, the same scents, and the same boiling points.

Anger demands, “Give me proof.”

Malice demurs, “I thought you’d never ask.”

“I was not asking.”

“And I wasn’t fibbing.” Malice is ahead of him, retrieving a scroll from the crate of sepia envelopes. He unravels the leaflet, the parchment uncoiling like a serpent’s tail.

Anger reads the script. He’s familiar with the vellum texture, stardust ink, and bespangled emblem.

It is not a forgery. It’s from The Dark Fates. It proves the legend is true.

The demon god flashes his canines. “I like knowing things as much as I like hurting things. Before I was exiled, I prowled The Archives, particularly The Hollow Chamber. For a junk pile of outdated and so-called useless publications, have you ever puzzled over why that section is restricted? Not a bad place to stash inconspicuous secrets, with its reputation for insignificant subjects. Who would suspect anything of value in the Chamber, especially in a barred area? Trespassing into a banned domain is excellent for rooting out wisdom The Fate Court doesn’t want advertised. Consider this scroll a consolation prize for my troubles. In other words, I stole it. Why? Because I could.”

“I’d wager you craved a talisman,” Anger challenges. “And it’s the only confirmation you have that there’s a way to restore yourself.”

“Sure. Give or take.”

“What is your age?”

“Two thousand seven hundred. Why do you ask?”

One hundred years younger than Anger and his crew. Because deities come of age at two hundred, they would have seen him only a century later, upon their first return home for an intermission. Although Malice had gotten himself banished around the same time, mere days could have overlapped. A window in which the crew had gotten back to The Dark Fates, and Malice was just about to become expelled, would have been sufficient. In which case, any member of the crew could have glimpsed Malice, provided they’d been in the right place, at the right moment.

One goddess who frequents The Archives comes to mind. “Have you ever crossed paths with Wonder?”

“The voluptuous wildflower?” Malice ruminates. “I saw her once or twice. She was too busy being an elite goddess and doing her own research to notice me. Again, why do you ask?”

“No reason.”

Every reason. While growing up in The Dark Fates, Anger’s bygone peer had uncovered a different controversial scroll in the Chamber. To their crew— exclusively to their crew—Wonder had later exposed the restricted section as a deception, a melting pot of unobtrusive secrets. But if Malice is telling the truth, he never bothered to shadow her. Otherwise, this enterprising termite would know what role she served in Love’s story and capitalize on that information for his own gain.

The god dissects Anger’s response, then disregards it. He reiterates that he was banished when he came of age, never getting to serve the human realm. “I was a repeat offender, a habitual miscreant who often called solitary confinement my home. That demoted me quite a bit until The Court stopped finding it funny. I’ve been an exile for most of my life. Not enough time to decay, but plenty of time to sulk.”

Anger frowns. “Why would this legend grant such a reward?”

“Because breaking the heart of a deity is supposed to be an impossible task among our kind,” Malice elaborates, counting off his fingers. “Achieve an impossible task, and you become an irreplaceable god. Become an irreplaceable god, and you’re granted immunity in The Dark Fates. You restore your power and can return without consequences. The Court won’t have a say.”

This sounds too good to be true. Although banished deities are blocked from returning to their homeland, certain elements of dark magic will reopen the veil, but those sources are rare. According to Wonder, one of them is a mixture called Asterra Flora, which entails a meticulous process of combining a petal and seed uprooted from their world. But even if an outcast attempts to encroach on their realm, the culprit risks facing a stampede or worse.

And yet. This legend provides a channel to return without incident.

Anger tapers his gaze. “Why didn’t Love win this same power when she…”

“Broke your heart?” Malice the Maggot supplies. “Maybe you weren’t as moonstruck as you think you were.”

“Be careful with your presumptions.”

“So touchy. But if you’d rather stick with logistics, I suppose Love won that mortal’s heart prior to your infliction. She fell for her man before permanently injuring you, thus canceling out all other legends, thus losing that opportunity for immunity. Basically, it was all about timing.”

That stands to reason. “And how does this amount to taking power from Merry?”

“Because it establishes her as weak. A weak goddess can’t return or regain her old magic. Essentially, you’re seizing an opportunity before she even finds out it exists. But since you can’t technically claim another deity’s root emotion, you’ll be wiping the chance from her instead. That Merry’s an outcast makes this easier. She’s already used to demotion, so all you’re doing is toying a bit with her affections. And as a former lover goddess, she’s the ideal candidate to get her heart broken. Dare I say, the only candidate.”

“You’re so generous, you would offer me this chance to reclaim my place,” Anger draws out. “With no profit of your own.”

“There you go again, putting words into my mouth.”

“Again, I was being sarcastic.”

“Again, I wasn’t. My price is elementary, maybe a little mutinous,” the god says. “Once you’ve restored yourself in The Dark Fates, do what’s needed to reinstate me. Why would you do that? Two reasons. Empathy, for one. In banishment, we’ve both had our choices taken away, one vindictive god to another.

“Secondly, once you have me reinstated, I’ll make it worth the stress. How, you ponder? With knowledge. I’ve baited you with enough evidence to prove I know my way around The Archives. I find out shit and get things done. And despite your sexy poker face, you’ll need my brain when the time comes. Consider it a gratuity. Whatever other secret motive you have for returning home, I’ll help you find it when we get there. Though, I’d bet my rather large pomegranates it’s got something to do with Love.”

Anger’s ribcage clenches. Possession of the ancient scroll verifies Malice’s skills shouldn’t be taken for granted. Despite his cult, he’s meeting in secret with Anger, which indicates that Malice is keeping this document private. And if he has the means to obtain information covertly, there’s no telling what other tidings this creature can get his hands on.

Malice is right. Power and position aren’t the only reason Anger has quested to The Celestial City, the only motivation for returning to The Dark Fates. This legend won’t just restore him, it may also yield a solution for Love’s predicament. If he makes it home, Anger might unearth an antidote to her memory loss.

Malice would call it the cherry on top. Not that Anger is about to start quoting this motherfucker.

Logically, Anger can approach Wonder for this task. However, the goddess already made the attempt, informing him via a message in The Stars that she scoured The Archives for an outlet, a way to regain Love and Andrew’s memories. In the end, the effort was fruitless.

Although Anger hasn’t seen Wonder since the onset of his banishment, no other missives have come his way. The crew might not know his whereabouts, despite how often they have nagged him on the matter, but that is immaterial for celestial communication. So if the goddess had discovered an alternative by now, she would have informed him. Whereas Malice’s proposal dangles before Anger like a glimpse of sunlight to a desperate god.

He recalls the last time he saw Love. Her sightless eyes scanning the evergreens for him, her wave goodbye, and that same hand landing in the grip of someone else.

Before leaving Evershire, Anger had carved Love’s name into her favorite tree and promised he’d be waiting. Waiting to see her. Waiting to reunite. Waiting to welcome the goddess back into their crew. If he knows Love, she did not forsake her memory without foresight, and neither did her resilient mate. They must have made a plan to resurrect their past.

Still, Anger must do his part. Her fate, and the fates of his crew, depend upon it. Ascending back to his rightful place will return balance to their circle; together, they will reestablish themselves.

Malice’s bright leer has enough wattage to power the city. “Hooked, aren’t you?”

Not yet. But close.

All he must do is break a heart.

A heart that’s already hopping like a bunny in his direction, that does not deserve to be injured. A heart that, for no discernible fucking reason, Anger loathes to harm.

Guilt and ambition play a tug-of-war inside him. Will Merry recover? Deities are not fragile like humans. Surely, he can do this without the effect being permanent.

Either way, it’s reckless to let that quandary stop him. To deny Love, Wonder, Sorrow, and Envy their renewal would be the greater betrayal. This, merely to protect someone he just met. Ludicrous.

He doesn’t know Merry. He doesn’t want to know her, to see and touch her magnetic hands. He doesn’t want to think about the gap in her front teeth.

The selfless smile. The bright glow.

Even Love had never rendered him speechless. Yet in the span of minutes, Merry had made him just that uncomfortable, just that disarmed.

He does not want to go near her. Yet he will. And because she’s done nothing to deserve an everlasting ache, he’ll be careful, as altruistic as possible.

Anger will deceive Merry. But he will not destroy her.

It’s only heartbreak. How damaging can that be?

From across the city, carnival rides blare with noise—imitations of the real things. While far below this library, indecision dissolves like blood in water, bridging the gap between could and should .

Anger’s request takes aim. “Tell me more.”

Target hit. Malice gives him a genuine smile of camaraderie, a reaction that has been foreign to Anger for over a year. Or perhaps longer.

Momentarily, it fills the gulf of loneliness inside him. Then Malice indeed tells him more.

The Fate Court will accept Anger’s return to their realm because they’ll have no choice. To compensate, he will stoke their pride by claiming they have reformed him. Like an intricate web, they’ll save face by spreading that narrative throughout The Dark Fates—in exchange for Malice’s reinstatement, which will be the subsequent cost for Malice aiding Anger in The Archives.

A price, for a price, for a price.

Nonetheless, Anger is not about to let this anarchist run rampant once the deal is complete. Malice is withholding his ultimate motive for returning, and he struts around as if he invented violence. Whatever he’s plotting when he gains access to their realm, it’s hardly pacifistic.

Keep your enemies close.

Anger will be vigilant, attain what he needs from Malice, and then dispose of this god before he sinks his claws into their world.

By sunrise, Anger makes his choice.

By sunset the next evening, he acts on it.