Ozymandias swept by them with his staff in hand, his sigil blazing on his forehead. He stopped in the middle of the backyard. The power coming off him blazed like a bonfire.

  “Good hunting!” Mort called out.

  With a wave of his hand a portal opened. Ozymandias stepped through and then vanished.

  “Good hunting,” she whispered.

  EIGHTEEN

  Katia parked herself in the shade near the building and scrolled through all the messages she missed. Still no birthday greeting from her mom. She sighed.

  There came the sound of wings flapping, large ones. With her luck it’d be one of Hell’s crew dropping by to offer Katia the ultimate deal: Her soul in trade for Simon and Deanna’s lives. And God help her, she wasn’t sure if she’d turn down that offer.

  To her relief it was a Divine instead. As Ori’s feet touched the pavement, and his wings tucked close to his body, he gave her a quick look.

  “I have been tasked with bringing you to Mortimer Beaumont Alexander’s dwelling.”

  Riley must have made that request, and he didn’t look pleased being asked to haul her all over Atlanta. “Yes, please. Today has been a total bitch so far.”

  “A portal to another realm has been opened and closed nearby,” he said, his tone more severe than usual.

  “You can sense that?” A nod. Was it possible . . . “Can you go through one of those doors?”

  He shook his head. “Divines are forbidden to journey into other realms. But that isn’t preventing creatures trying to come here.”

  Like the thing in Demon Central.

  “Can you stop them?”

  “Maybe, once they are in this realm.”

  Ori offered his hand. When she took it she could feel the callouses on his fingers. At one time she’d had the same, but she doubted his came from wielding a shovel.

  “You should close your eyes,” he advised.

  “Why?”

  “Because if you have any issues with heights—”

  She slammed her eyes shut and then felt the air move around them as they shot upward. A few minutes later her feet once again touched solid ground, and that was a reassuring feeling. They were now in Little Five Points, standing in front of Mort’s front door.

  A rideshare with wings. My brother would be so jealous.

  Ori didn’t reply, but let go of her hand and rapped on the door. It opened immediately revealing Mort who looked as worried as she felt.

  “Oh, good, you’re here. Thank you for bringing her.”

  Without waiting for a reply Ori shot into the air like a rocket, winging his way back into the city. In the past the angel had always been civil, but not today.

  “He’s spooked or he wouldn’t be so abrupt.” Mort gestured. “Come in. You look awful. And what did you do to your hand?”

  “It was a rat trap.”

  He blinked at her a couple times, then ushered her inside. Katia was so tired she just let Mort take command. His first task was sending her to a bathroom to wash out all the wounds, at least those she could reach.

  Her clothes were filthy, and so was her mood. She stripped off her T-shirt, leaving the sports bra in place. She ran warm water in the sink, but then hesitated. The washcloth and hand towel were the decorative variety, not the kind used to clean whatever the hell it was in her wounds.

  A tap on the door, followed by “It’s me,” led to Riley’s entrance. She eyed her, assessing the various wounds. Katia pointed at the towels and her master immediately understood the problem.

  “Give me a minute and I’ll find something you can use.”

  “Thanks.”

  As Riley went on her quest, Katia leaned on the sink, so tired she wasn’t sure if she could remain standing. The cuts on her arms were darker now, which meant that whatever was in them was trying its best to kill her. The injuries from the tree weren’t much better.

  Simon’s will be the same. And he had no way to treat them.

  Riley returned with a roll of paper towels, a dark towel, a washcloth, a pair of scissors, and a box of latex gloves.

  Katia kept gripping the sink, despite how much it made her left hand hurt.

  “What if they die?” she said. “What if I never see him again?”

  “Ozymandias will hunt for them until there is no hope. You can count on that.”

  Katia met her master’s eyes in the mirror. “Simon sacrificed himself for me. We found the ring the necro wanted and he knew it was pulling him into this world. Something grabbed onto him and he gave it to me. That’s why I’m not there with him. Dee just jumped in to try to help him, and that’s why she got caught.”

  She sucked in a breath, trying not to sob. “Why did he do that? Why?”

  After donning a pair of gloves Riley ducked the washcloth in the sink, then rinsed it out, as if the movements allowed her time to weigh her words.

  “I’m thinking you already know why he did that. But you haven’t dealt with what it means yet. You’ll have time when he returns.”

  When he returns. It was like a prophecy.

  No matter how hard Riley scrubbed on the wounds the black stuff wouldn’t wash away. When all the injuries on her upper body were as clean as possible, she dried them with a paper towel. Then she stepped back.

  The next step involved trimming Katia’s jeans to shorts level and then cleaning her leg wounds. They were equally nasty, but didn’t have the dark drainage.

  “I sat near Beck’s bed when he was dying after Sartael wounded him,” Riley said, her voice quieter now. “I tried not to lose hope. I knew he was strong, that he had something to live for. He came back to me.” She gently touched Katia on her shoulder. “Simon is strong. Doubly so because his sister is with him. Do not give up hope.”

  Katia nodded, tears dripping down her cheeks. “I won’t.”

  A careful hug was delivered and then Riley herded her out to the veranda where Mort had already laid out a large First Aid kit on the table. He pointed to a chair and she readily sank into it. Once she was settled, a glass of liquid was handed over. It was orange and foamy.

  “What is this?” she said, sniffing the contents dubiously.

  “An electrolyte solution. I’m guessing you were moving magic around and probably didn’t realize it. If not, this is a nice top up.”

  Katia took a sip, then took an even bigger one because it tasted good and helped clear out the dusty film in her throat.

  While she enjoyed the beverage, the summoner examined her mangled fingers. At least it was her left hand.

  “Don’t appear to be broken,” he observed. “Some bruising and skin scraped off, but nothing bad. Have you had a tetanus shot recently?”

  “Yes.” It was required if you work at a landscaping firm.”

  “Okay, then that’s good. This treatment is going to sting.”

  The liquid he applied didn’t sting, it burned like Hell’s deepest infernos.

  “Oh my God, what is that stuff?” she demanded, waving the hand in the air in a futile attempt to stop the scorching.

  Mort chuckled. “A witchy version of liquid fire. It’ll stop hurting in a bit. It really does work, trust me.”

  She was about to argue that fact when the burning suddenly ended. She tentatively flexed those fingers and found they moved properly. Some of the swelling had gone down, as well.

  “Huh.”

  “Told you,” he said, smiling. “We disagree with the witches about a lot of things, but they know their herbs. This is a special potion and it’s not available to the public.”

  “What Mort isn’t saying, because he’s modest, is that he’s earned the trust of his magical neighbors. That’s not common,” Riley explained.

  The summoner didn’t blush, but he came close. “Ayden and I have had a lot of spirited arguments, but we respect each other and that’s vital.”

  He eyed the various cuts on her arm and began treating them.

  “How did you get this one?” he’d ask and she say it’d been a ravenous tree, a skeleton bird, or the sharp moss. And in one case it was a thin slice courtesy of the window at the factory. Riley sat across the table watching the process, wincing in sympathy whenever that incendiary stuff was applied to a new site.

  “How long will it be before his lordship returns?” Katia asked. Sweat had broken out on her forehead and she felt lightheaded.

  Mort hesitated, gave Riley a quick glance, then sighed. “I really don’t know. His lordship stopped walking the worlds because it was taking too much of a toll on him. I hope he can handle it one more time.”

  That was too honest but she needed to hear it. “Will they come through a portal here or somewhere else?”

  “Most likely here.”

  A yawn snuck up on her and she barely covered her mouth in time. “Sorry.” She set down the now empty glass as he taped one bandage and then began to work on another.

  Once the wounds on her legs had been treated, Katia looked like an advertisement for a bandage supply company.

  Another yawn broke free.

  “I have a spare bedroom,” Mort offered.

  “No, I’ll stay out here, wait for them.”

  He looked like he was going to argue, then nodded his understanding that she would not be moving until they returned. Because they just had to.

  Mort packed up the kit and left her on her own. She noticed that he’d taken the First Aid supplies with him, which said he wasn’t convinced that anyone else would be needing his care in the next few hours.

  Body aching courtesy of her shelf climbing and the murderous trees, she stretched out on a lounge chair on the veranda. The ceiling fan above her slowly moved the muggy air around, swirl by swirl. Bees clustered around a flower out in one of the raised beds, humming happily at their colorful find.

  It was impossible to fall asleep no matter how exhausted she was. Instead Katia kept an eye on the backyard, and then every few minutes shifted her attention to the sundial. It was a pretty one with a fancy filigree thing on the dial. Though it wasn’t as accurate as the clock on her phone, in its own way it reminded her that time was passing. Time neither Simon nor his sister had.

  “He needs your help,” she whispered. “Please show them the way home. Please, for me.”

  About a quarter of an hour later, Mort headed to the factory. He’d promised to return as soon as possible once the dead folks were rescued. That meant he would have to de-activate the building’s ward and the one around the Deaders. She wished him luck with all that.

  Katia watched the sun slowly shift across the grass, blade by blade. She knew how to sit vigil because she’d done it for her brother when he’d been in a coma. Watching for any little sign that something was happening. But like that vigil in Kansas this one was the same: Nothing changed as the night grew closer with each passing minute.

  Riley eventually joined her, sitting in a nearby chair. “How are you doing?”

  “All I want to do is hug him and know he’s safe.”

  Her fellow trapper took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “When he comes back, talk to him, find out where his heart is. I’m sure he thinks of you as more than a friend or he wouldn’t have done that.”

  Katia instantly shook her head. “We can’t be more than friends.”

  “Why not? If you say you’re not going to trust him because of your ex back in Kansas, that’s not going to work for me. Before I dated Beck, I had an abusive boyfriend. Nasty dude, though I did find out why he was so bad, and I understand him better now. Not that it gave him the right to hit me.”

  “But—”

  “You trust Simon to keep you alive during the exorcisms, but you don’t trust him for anything else?”

  “But—”

  Riley held up a hand, cutting her off. “How long are you going to let the ex screw up your future? Because he’s taking up a lot of headspace, and he’s not worth it. I know how that works. Oh, do I.”

  After that uncharacteristic scold, her boss retreated into the house, leaving her alone with her doubts.

  “Ouch,” Katia whispered. That hurt almost as much as the witchy medicine.

  Noah had never been physically abusive, but he’d had his own way of jacking with her head. He would always make her the villain, even when he’d clearly done something wrong. It was always her fault. Always. It wasn’t until she’d arrived in Atlanta that she realize what he’d been doing. There was a term for it—gaslighting. Noah had been a master.

  Riley was right: She and Simon would have to talk this out.

  But first he had to stay alive.

  † ~ ‡ ~ †

  When Mathias hadn’t been able to re-open the portal to retrieve the exorcist and his sister, he’d panicked. So, he’d nearly cried in relief when the door to his lover’s world opened without any difficulty. He wore the ring now, the one that came from his immensely powerful ancestor. From what he’d read about that Chaffin, he’d been an evil bastard. It appeared this bit of metal recognized his bloodline because it felt heavier now, far weightier than a circlet of metal should.

  One of the small male-like creatures met him when he crossed into the realm. It was short, maybe two feet tall, clad in clothes that were covered in moss. Its face was that of an elderly man, wrinkled, pale and sad. The fear in the little one’s eyes was even greater than the last time he’d been here.

  It was a captive, a minion, not much different than the dead he’d reanimated, which only made Mathias feel worse. At least he’d set the first batch free, and the ward on the factory would soon fade so that the second group could escape. Means would see to that. That was one of the reasons he’d not set that reanimate free with the first group because Means was much smarter than the others.

  The unexpected loss of the exorcist and his sister troubled him. He’d never intended to harm them, despite his blustery warnings. Now they were trapped in a world he couldn’t reach. At least not yet. Maybe if he could defeat the Unholy Terror then he could find a way to bring them back. He owed them that.

  The little man beckoned him forward, and it was then Mathias saw the scarring around his neck, the moss ripped away. More of the Unholy Terror’s handiwork.

  The path they followed showed the continual desecration of this once bountiful world. The trees resembled willows, but now they were dying, their barren branches touching the ground as if in sorrow. No small animals skittered around, and there was no sound of birds roosting in the branches. It was as if this realm knew it was doomed.

  The clearing where he’d spent many an hour with his lady was crowded with the inhabitants of this world. Some looked Fae, others not so much. Tall, short, mossy, hairy. All different. No doubt they had been summoned to witness his arrival, and his demise. If the ring on Mathias’ finger wasn’t powerful enough, he’d be another source of food for this horror.

  This had to work. There was no Plan B.

  His enemy sat on a low throne made of hewn stone. This time the hood on the dark cloak was up, obscuring its face. It wasn’t a summoner, that much he knew. He didn’t think it was a witch, either. The spell it’d woven kept him from seeing through the glamour.

  Mathias halted about twenty feet from the throne. His adversary ignored him, attention riveted on a small creature lying in the dirt in front of her. It looked like a fawn, with pale beige fur, tiny horns and cloven hooves. Its tongue hung out of its mouth, its eyes glazed. From the way its muscles had contracted it had just died in agony.

  The Unholy Terror’s head rose and it sniffed the air as if it could sense the ring’s power. “Bring it to me.”

  He glanced at his lover, memorizing her face for what might be the last time. Then he pulled on the magic buried deep in the metal, channeling it into himself.

  “Bring it to me!” the Unholy Terror commanded.

  Mathias smiled. He had prepped the spell even before he’d stepped into this world, and now he cast it directly at his enemy. He’d spent hours crafting it, designed it to strip away her power, then kill her.

  It enveloped her and the throne raising a torrent of fire and energy around her. A low screech rent his ears and still he kept pouring everything he had into the enchantment. The ring grew hot, almost scorching.

  To his horror the Unholy Terror stood, the flames his spell had created now forming around it like a shield. Somehow it’d shifted that spell to one of protection. No one should be able to do that.

  With a blast of energy the spell broke and the rebound struck him. As Mathias tumbled backward, he heard his lover cry out. When he struggled to rise a heavy black boot stepped on his arm. His foe glared down at him.

  Before Mathias could stop it, the ring slid off his finger and rose in the air, hovering for a moment in front of the Unholy Terror. Then the evil slipped it over a claw and onto a finger. A low hiss came now, for it’d just felt the surge of power that came with that circlet.

  “Ah, I know this well, just as I knew your ancestor. It holds much dark power. It calls to me.”

  How the hell had it known of that Chaffin? What was the connection?

  The Unholy Terror turned its hand one way and then another, studying the ring. With a nod, it crowed. “It will be mine now.” Movement began beneath its cloak now, and it seemed to grow wider somehow.

  The foot retreated, and for a second Mathias thought he might escape death. The Unholy Terror stalked a few paces away, then turned back. And laughed.

  “Why are you doing this?” he demanded. “What has this to do with my ancestor?”

  “So stupid. He was not like that. He knew which side held the power.”

  After a barked order many hands seized him. Soon he was bound to one of the dying trees as his foe retreated to her throne.

  “Cut him,” it ordered. “I will taste the blood, I will taste the pain, and I will grow stronger. Then none may stop me.” It pointed at the one being he’d hoped it’d forget. “You! You will cut him.”