Ithar approached him. “Master Benero…”

  Dominick put his hand up. “Ithar, I am not a master, just a humble oracle.” He didn’t miss the way Theo rolled his eyes.

  “Yes, again, thank you… You are welcome anytime.”

  Dominick stood and clapped Ithar hard on the shoulder. “Then I shall take you up on it. But we will take our leave. Have a good night, Ithar.”

  “And you, sir… and you.”

  The streets were quiet. The mage lamps illuminated as the warlocks passed under them, drenching them in a hazy glow as they strolled through Daedeth Quarter.

  It could have been the buzz from the brew or how Theo had looked at him all night, but either way something was shifting. He grabbed Theo’s hand.

  It felt… right. His hand fit right, and he swore there wasn’t a more handsome warlock in the entirety of the coven.

  “You’re fine… with this?” Theo’s grip tightened.

  Dom lowered his voice. “I think our lives are too short now to care.”

  “Praise Shadow for that,” Theo said.

  The mirror on the far wall was glowing when they walked into Dom’s flat. An unfortunate delay, as he was more than ready to get his mind off the doom and gloom of a missing Colton and Sera, and on to more enjoyable things.

  Dom swiped the mirror, and his mother’s round face appeared, covered in tears.

  The brews he’d just enjoyed threatened to come up.

  “What’s wrong?” Theo asked.

  “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” Dominick ran out the door.

  He was hot, then cold, the contrast dizzying. Panic coursed through him. The sudden onslaught of shame he felt for having seen his mother’s face while thinking of unsavory things was making him nauseated.

  It could be anything. She could’ve hurt herself. Or maybe it was his father? Nothing a healer couldn’t fix, he was sure. His mother had been on edge for weeks, just as he had, after not hearing back from Colton. His mother, Shadow bless her, was not the most patient woman.

  Dom barged through the front door. “Ma?” he called out.

  His parents were sitting at the small wooden kitchen table, murmuring to themselves. His mother, his beautiful mother, held her head in her hands, his father’s arms wrapped tight around her.

  “What happened?” Dominick demanded.

  His father turned, and in his hand was a pink slip with a black sun letterhead—a death notice.

  “No,” Dominick said in a croaked whisper and pushed away from the table.

  “Not him,” his mother wailed. His father looked at Dom with quiet sorrow as a single heavy tear slid down his face.

  “It’s a mistake! It has to be!”

  His father’s voice, usually deliberate, strong, and steady, was raw. “It’s no mistake, son.”

  Dom’s knees weakened with every breath he took as his mother rose from her seat. Her head barely reached the middle of his chest. He held her once slender back tight to him.

  “It’s not him. Not Colton…” This couldn’t be happening. The reports said minimal casualties. His brother was a seasoned and powerful fighter. A creeping thought poked at him. Colton hadn’t responded for weeks now.

  His mother’s soft hands were on his cheeks.

  “I’m going to fix this, you’ll see. I’ll prove it,” Dom swore.

  He ran. He ran and ran and ran until he stumbled through his front door, then tripped on his way to the bathing chamber and vomited. His hands shook harder with each heave of his stomach.

  There must be a mistake. Colton couldn’t be dead.

  “Dominick?” Theo called for him through the door. “Can I come in?”

  Dom rocked back and forth on the cool tile floor, waiting. He needed to think; he needed to make a plan.

  “Dominick,” Theo called again and grabbed either side of his face, forcing him to look into his sea green eyes.

  This was why he didn’t let anyone get too close. This was why he didn’t love. What was the point when it only ended in pain? He’d learned that the first time he’d opened up to someone only to be rejected. It was why he kept everyone at arm’s length. But now, the curse had gripped its claws into his family. He couldn’t do this. He wanted to be alone.

  “Dom, what happened? You can tell me.”

  The tenderness broke him. It was only then that the heavy tears began to fall.

  “Shhh, come here.” Theo guided him, resting Dom’s head in his lap. His hands were cool against Dom’s forehead, soothing him with soft strokes.

  “Colton.” Dom’s voice hitched. He couldn’t stop the despair that shook him, rousing a new set of tears. He shuddered and took a shallow breath. “They said Colton is dead.” The words wove through his mind, as if saying them out loud made them true. He wouldn’t believe it.

  “Oh, Dom.”

  “I need you to look. To be sure.”

  “Of course, of course.” Theo lifted Dom from the floor and gently laid him on the bed. Tenderly, he peeled Dom’s gray oracle robes off him. And when Dominick was comfortable and under the covers, Theo wrapped around him and lay there.

  A hollow numbing crept over Dom. Where was Colton? Why wasn’t Sera answering?

  Chapter thirty-one

  Seraphina

  Sera and Alistair stepped through the arched doorway leading to Ophelia’s pool. The air was warm and heavy with moisture. Sera could practically feel her curls frizzing in the humidity the closer she got.

  As the tunnel opened up, she gasped. It was beautiful, but pool wasn’t the right word for it. A dull blue light glowed from the rock on the far side of the underground lake. Its rays skittered across the water’s surface, lighting every part of the cavern. The stone was nowhere near bright enough to illuminate the entire room, yet everything shimmered.

  She’d never been allowed to enter the Ogdelo and witness the workings of the mirroring pools, so she had nothing to compare this to. But something told her that this place, a sanctuary of sorts, was special.

  Ophelia stood on the circular platform in the middle of the water. Threads of light in all colors rose and fell above the pool’s surface, reaching the cavern ceiling. Ophelia sifted through the many layers of colors and the strings.

  Sera would scold Dominick when she got back. The beauty of this magic had been lost in every description he’d ever given her.

  When a pillar of gold formed, Ophelia let the rest sink below the surface, coloring the water with reds, pinks, greens, and blues.

  “Come, witchling,” Ophelia beckoned Sera forward.

  Sera stepped gingerly onto the narrow stone walkway leading to the pool’s center, leaving a wary Alistair behind her. The colors churned in the surrounding water like ribbons, never mixing or muddy—just infinite strings, every color she’d ever seen swirling in harmony.

  Ophelia pointed to the gold pillar before her. “This is your life.” An almost solid structure towered over her, made of more threads than Sera had memories. “Here is the past, present, and predicted future.” Ophelia picked out a strand and coaxed it forward for Sera to inspect more closely. A black band wrapped the shimmering gold. Sera tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “I think you know what day this is?” Ophelia asked.

  Sera nodded.

  “And this one as well?”

  Feybury. It had been the first time she summoned the darkness. Then again by accident at Ironoak. She shivered at the thought of them, remembering the feeling of her magic against the humans’ skin. But before her, in the golden pillar, Sera picked out all the individual black bands, and if each one was an incident…

  “As I thought,” Ophelia continued. “Let us eat.”

  “Wait, is this…”

  “I do not think it is the time to discuss. Do you?” Ophelia tilted her head toward Al, who stood at the end of the stone walkway. The oracle was strange. She had an air of confidence, but not only that, an all-knowingness about her.

  “Perhaps not.”

  “Come then, I’m famished.”

  Sera followed the oracle and linked her arm back through Al’s.

  “What was that about?” he asked.

  “I’m not entirely sure.”

  They followed Ophelia through the cavern halls. There was a coziness to it, between the natural geological formations that surrounded such ordinary furnishings and the drips of groundwater from above echoing off the walls in sweet melody. Somehow, by magic perhaps, there seemed to be little moisture in the air.

  It was beautiful.

  The three walked silently. Alistair was rigid beside her, not that she could blame him; this must have been his worst nightmare, surrounded by so many demonic things. He kept his gloves on, every part of him covered except his head and neck. She imagined that if it wouldn’t have angered the lord further, he’d cover those too.

  When they reached the dining chamber, shadows danced across the walls in an intricate waltz. Five black chandeliers floated across the ceiling, hanging from what looked like thunderclouds above a long iron table where crystal goblets, fine white porcelain plates, and silver cutlery lay.

  Sera had never seen such opulence in one room.

  “Please take your seats.” Ophelia motioned to the two place settings near the head of the table and sat on the opposite side.

  The doors at the other end of the room opened. The lord of the manor instantly commanded the space. He was dressed the same as he had been when they arrived, in the same dark pants and jacket with silver-embroidered lapels. His white hair slicked back, but this time on his hand was the skull marking him as a lord. It was carved from what must have been a massive red ruby.

  It was the same color his eyes had been when she gave him that silver scar across his cheek.

  “Excuse my delay. I seem to have found someone very attached to you.” An amused smile spread across Lord Vasso’s face, making him even more striking.

  Sera slammed her hands over her ears as some poor creature let out a piercing howl. Then, from behind Vasso, a green goblin barreled toward her.

  “Snik!” Sera ripped her arm out of Al’s grip and rushed to him.

  He was safe. She gripped his small body in her arms, not caring that he was soiling her gown. The goblin hugged her back and cooed.

  “How did you find him?”

  “He was sniffing around one of our secret passages,” Vasso said, looking pleased with himself. “He probably smelled you.”

  “Oh, Snik.” Sera squeezed him harder. The goblin hummed back, and Alistair huffed.

  “He dragged some very dirty packs in. Am I to assume that they are yours and have them brought to your rooms?”

  “Thank you,” Sera said.

  “Why don’t you let Snik get cleaned up so we can return to dinner, shall we?” Ophelia interrupted.

  Snik snorted at the oracle.

  Placing her friend back on the ground, Sera asked the lord, “Could you have him brought to my room?”

  “Of course.” Vasso snapped his fingers, and a being half his height appeared through a hidden door. The creature was covered in silvery blue fur, with a beard that kissed the floor and elongated fingers and toes. His bright yellow eyes lit up the room seemingly on their own. The gentle creature approached Snik and took his paw, pulling him toward the doorway.

  She thought she was going mad. Truthfully, she thought she’d been going mad for months now, but before her, this creature, was thought to be extinct for centuries.

  “He’s a domovoi,” Vasso said.

  “I know what he is,” she replied. “I just never thought I would see one.”

  “You know of their kind?” Lord Vasso crossed his arms.

  She could feel every place his gaze touched. Her face, her arms, her hips, like a warm static. His magic was heavy in the air, causing hers to react. It swayed in her body. “I studied them. They were thought to be extinct.”

  Sera had spent hours of her youth studying the different creatures of Gehenna. She remembered this one fondly. They were guardians of the home, protecting the inhabitants from harm. But many witches and warlocks grew suspicious of the gentle creatures after the rebellion and slaughtered them. Yet here in this underground manor, one lived.

  “They almost are,” Vasso said, the hard lines of his face softening a touch.

  “Will the two of you please sit? I am famished,” Ophelia said as Snik and the domovoi slipped from the room.

  Alistair pulled out the chair farthest from Vasso. She let out a breath of relief that she wouldn’t need to sit near him. Across the room was enough, but to be so close? Sera adjusted the cuff of her organza sleeve to a more comfortable position.

  Al sat, holding his injured side. She could tell he was putting on a show, doing his best not to display any weakness in front of this threat, but his skin stayed pale.

  “I understand this is unorthodox, considering the current political climate,” Vasso said. “But I did mean it when I said you have full access to the manor and to please reach out to me or my staff if you need anything.”

  “And why are you being so hospitable?” Alistair was glaring daggers at the lord. She was sure that sitting near a demon wasn’t the most comfortable position for him, what with his position as Mesar, but Shadow save her, she needed him to be diplomatic.

  Dying before the first course wouldn’t help her save Nora.

  “Ophelia informed me of your arrival, and it is in my best interest—in the best interest of all of us—if I am hospitable instead of hostile,” Vasso said. His irises flashed from gray to red as he looked at Al. “If you wish to fight, however, I’d be more than happy to oblige.”

  Alistair smirked. “Is that a threat… demon?”

  Sera put her hand on Al’s knee, hoping he would get the hint not to push further. He responded by making a fist. Time to change tactics, then.

  “Ophelia, what have you seen?” Sera asked the oracle, hoping the standoff between the men in the room would end.

  “I have seen much, witchling. Your births”—she looked between Sera and Alistair—“and your deaths.” She looked at Vasso next. “I know what will happen to me, Eraphon, and the galaxy if we do not stay the course.”

  The future of the galaxy? There had never been an oracle recorded who was so powerful they could pull that far into the future. If there had been, she was sure they would have been worshipped as much as the coven founders. She would have read about them in her studies.

  “I didn’t know oracles were that powerful,” Alistair sneered.

  Sera pinched his thigh to get him shut up, but he didn’t flinch.

  “They usually aren’t.” Ophelia straightened her cutlery. “There was a reason I was sent away, warlock. It wasn’t because I was unskilled.”

  Ophelia looked at the lord. “Vasso, please provide us with wine and the first course. I will need it to get through these idiotic questions. Also, do something about these damned chandeliers.” She pointed up.

  Vasso chuckled. “As you wish it.”

  The chandeliers stilled, lowering their flames to a glow, creating an intimacy Sera wasn’t entirely comfortable with. Her darkness sat in her veins, dormant and waiting. At the sensation, she shifted in her seat.

  More demons emerged from what seemed like thin air, bringing jugs of wine and the first course. A soup.

  The thick cream held hints of crustacean and mollusk. She recognized it as a delicacy served in the Citadel, one she hadn’t enjoyed since being assigned to Dobro. Sera tasted a spoonful and groaned, savoring the creamy, buttery flavor of the bisque.

  A press of Al’s elbow into her side made her stop.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve had nothing but bread and jerky and piss-poor human stew for weeks.”

  “No apology needed.” Vasso gave her a wink. “Ophelia insisted we have a taste of your home ready for you.”

  Her heart gave an involuntary flutter.

  Alistair shuddered beside her. His skin had taken on a grayish tint now. A prickle of sweat dampened the hair at his temples.

  “Al?” He flinched when she laid her hand on his forearm. The heat coming off his skin had her doing the same. “Excuse me, Lord, my friend here is under the weather. I think I need to bring him to his room.” Sera stood, gripping Alistair’s arm tight to her side.

  “No reason he can’t go alone,” Vasso said, the corner of his mouth ticking upward as he leaned back in his chair. “You stay. Eat with us. Surely the Mesar can take care of himself.”

  He was enjoying this, the self-righteous bastard. If Vasso hadn’t thrown whatever magic at Al in the hallway earlier, she wondered if he wouldn’t be in nearly as bad a shape. “I’d prefer the company of the Mesar right now.”

  She shouldn’t have provoked him, but lord or not, maybe the bastard needed to be put in his place. Still, a thought nagged at her. He could have killed them multiple times, but he hadn’t. The only question was, Why?

  “We’ll have your dinner brought to your rooms, dear,” Ophelia said as Sera dragged Alistair to the hall.

  Chapter thirty-two

  Seraphina

  Al wasn’t resisting, which meant something was terribly wrong. After ten minutes of tugging him down hallways, his crushing weight lay across her shoulders. She threw open the door to her room and dumped him atop the red velvet comforter on one side of the bed.

  Snik jumped up yipping, and as delighted as Sera was to see her green friend, Al needed help.

  “Do not touch him,” she instructed the goblin. The last thing he needed was Snik’s little demon hands all over him. “Al, why aren’t you healing?”

  He mumbled something she couldn’t understand. Sweat soaked his shirt. Sera made quick work of the buttons down the front and did her best to peel it off him. She wasn’t a healer; he needed to do that himself. But the amount of magic he’d already used that day…

  Panic clawed at her chest as she slid off his boots and socks. Sera lowered herself to her knees and inspected his side. The cut was raw but seemed clean; she didn’t see anything too concerning. Sera pressed lightly around it, causing Alistair to hiss. Then, right before she pressed again, something wriggled under his skin.