Crecious licked his lips, voice trembling. “Resealed, but not restored. Weak. If it can be broken once, it can be broken again.”

  A pulse of satisfaction rippled through Lucifer’s form, if such things as satisfaction could be said to touch him. He reached into his mind and focused on the connection to his scattered demons. He saw the carnage above: blood on the streets, fear in the eyes of mortals, nature wreaking havoc, chaos blooming in cities and towns alike. He could taste the panic, feel the despair, and with a thought, he could command his children to shape their destruction and urge them to greater acts of delicious corruption. The humans will question if there is such a thing as a creator who loves them. After all, why would a loving creator allow such horrific things to happen?

  He wanted to laugh. It was almost too easy.

  “And what of the human?” Lucifer asked. “I can feel the residue of a soul that doesn’t belong. Not to mention, an elemental whose time has not come. Was this soul who drew the king of Egypt’s line to my door?”

  Crecious nodded eagerly, his tail curling. “Yes, Lord. A human female, Shelly. She was dropped into hell, courtesy of Vicious. And then Ra, the ancestor of Ramses you speak of, came after her. He made bargains, risked everything to breach your realm. They both escaped, but not without cost.”

  The pieces fell into place, dark and delicious. “Interesting. A human worth chasing. The blood of Nile kings meddling in my affairs. The soul bonded and the rulers of the fifth element relying on dragons to do their work. That means they are weak.”

  Lucifer’s gaze sharpened, a thin crack of malice splitting his perfect stillness. “And what of the dark elementals? You mentioned the fire king, Viscious. His kind have always been useful . . . though unpredictable. I’m assuming they still make acolytes out of any Marks they can get to before the light elementals?”

  Crecious’s claws clicked. “I only know that he was involved in the deal with the human girl and young pharaoh. I cannot see what his dealings in the upper world are.”

  “No matter,” he said with a wave of his clawed hand. “I can have my demons find out what I need to know.” Lucifer turned, looking out across the endless expanse of hell, a landscape of torment and longing, the layers now multiplied and twisted beyond even his own original design. Osiris’s failure might actually benefit him; so much corruption, so little true order. The underworld was ripe for reshaping.

  He closed his eyes and reached outward, his consciousness threading through the tether to his demons again. After so many centuries of darkness, he wanted to see everything. He watched through their eyes, saw a riot in Paris, a murder in São Paulo, a child’s scream in the darkness of Detroit. He whispered, and they heard. He commanded, and they obeyed. Each act of violence, each drop of fear, fed him, swelling his power, fueling his hunger. He sent out a thought to the hordes. “Follow any dark elemental you come across and attach yourselves to the Marks they claim.” It will be amusing to see how the dark element royals respond when they realize they don’t have complete control of their own acolytes.

  “Let them plot light or dark, it matters not,” Lucifer said, voice as cold as the void. “Let them come. Every soul that seeks to open my door will find only despair and servitude.”

  He could feel the pulse of the gates, still fragile, still aching from the last breach. It would not take much. A whisper here, a temptation there. The right push, especially through the greed and ambition of the dark elementals, and the world above would burn. His revenge on Osiris would be slow and exquisite. And Mother Gaia’s cherished elementals, the young souls so impressionable? He would corrupt as many as he could, dragging their souls from her grasp, twisting their light until it fueled his eternal night.

  Lucifer sat upon his throne once more, watching the flickering souls drift and scream in the shadows. He felt no satisfaction, no triumph, only the endless hunger to unmake what the light so feebly tried to mend.

  He would watch. He would wait. And when the gates cracked again, when the foolish, desperate heroes above lost sight of their purpose, he would claim everything.

  Let Osiris remember his role. Let the soul bonded struggle for their balance. In hell, nothing was ever truly sealed. Not when the darkness wanted out.

  And Lucifer? He would always want out.

  CHAPTER 12

  “Note to self: When someone asks you to come to the dragon realm, the answer should always be no.” ~Penny

  Penny had been in some awkward rooms before—family court, a failed speed-dating event involving a warlock, even that time she’d accidentally crashed an elven wake. But the dragon realm’s great hall, with its vaulted ceilings, flickering blue flames, and the scent of ozone and roasting meat wafting in from somewhere, took the cake.

  She stepped out of the portal into a crowd of strangers. A collection of mythical beings. All of which looked weary as hell as they stared at her.

  Ra cleared his throat, stepping up like a bouncer at a magical nightclub. “Everyone, this is Penny. She’s the witch from the Blackhorn coven. She’s agreed to help Rory.”

  He turned to Penny, gesturing to the others. “Penny, this is Kimba. She’s the soul bonded queen. That’s Osiris, the soul bonded king, former ruler of hell. He’s mostly retired, and he’s complicated.”

  Osiris, with his all-imposing presence and unreadable eyes, gave her a nod that was equal parts regal and “I really don’t give a shit about you because they made me be here.”

  For a moment, all Penny could do was stare at the king and queen. The fifth element. The forgotten soul bonded. In the witches' grimoires it was written as a myth, as nothing more than legend. But here they were in the flesh. Ra cleared his throat, and she shook off her amazement and focused back on the introductions.

  “Sepheron, the dragon king,” Ra continued, gesturing to the massive, red dragon with golden eyes.

  Sepheron inclined his head as smoke rose from his nostrils. She really hoped he didn’t get hungry. Apparently, at least in the past, witches were at the top of their menu.

  “The redhead with perpetually cut-up clothes is Gabby,” Ra said, nodding to the tall, female who had a wicked gleam in her eyes and a smirk that could cut glass. “She’s our trouble magnet.”

  Liam, standing close to Gabby, gave a lazy wave. “I’m the magnet,” he said, waggling his eyebrows up and down suggestively.

  “Also known as the resident pervert,” Shelly added wryly.

  Liam shrugged. “You know what they say? Every group of warriors out to save the world needs a pervert.”

  “No one says that,” Gabby told him as she pinched his side, which just made him move closer to her.

  “That's Aston,” Ra kept going, ignoring the banter, pointing to a tall guy who, though obviously well built, had serious nerd vibes. His arm was wrapped around a smaller, dark-haired female who very much looked like she might stab Penny if she even took a step towards Aston. “He’s attached to Rory at the soul, so good luck prying him away.

  “Next to Aston is Elias. He’s British, but we try not to hold it against him. Luckily, he doesn’t talk much.”

  Elias glared at Ra. “When did you get a sense of humor? I liked you better without it.”

  The large Egyptian male simply stared back blankly at Elias. Then moved on to the next person. “Beside him is Tara, his soul bonded. She’s also Shelly’s best friend and is violent when it comes to my female’s safety."

  Tara watched Penny with an open, curious expression, her freckles standing out on pale skin.

  “Noted,” Penny said.

  “And Rory,” Ra finished, nodding to the young woman with the death glare at Aston’s side. Rory had a stubborn jaw, a soul-searing gaze, and the air of someone who’d bite your hand if you tried to pet her.

  Penny wrapped her arms around the old grimoire, pressing it to her chest as if it could protect her. “Nice to meet you all. Y’all look exactly like the world’s weirdest yearbook page.”

  Gabby grinned, unfazed. “Just missing the pitchforks and the ‘Most Likely to Save the Universe’ superlative.”

  Liam elbowed her. “That’s obviously me.”

  Osiris raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. Kimba’s expression was unreadable, but her eyes missed nothing.

  Sepheron’s voice rumbled. “Are you capable, witch?”

  “Define capable.” Penny shrugged. “If you mean, ‘Can I break a spell put on someone else’s mind by a psycho witch?’ Maybe. If you mean, ‘Am I going to accidentally explode your castle?’ Also maybe. It’s been a week.”

  Shelly stifled a laugh. “She’s honest. From what I understand, that’s as good as you get with witches.”

  Penny turned her attention to Rory. “So, you’re the one with the scrambled brains.”

  Rory crossed her arms, chin up. “I’m not broken. Just pissed that someone thought they could mess with my head.”

  Penny grinned. “Good. Anger’s useful. It means you’re not letting Danni win.”

  Rory cocked an eyebrow, lips quirking. “You going to monologue, or are you actually going to do something?”

  “Listen, kid, I’m contractually obligated to provide at least ten minutes of cryptic warnings and dry humor before any spellwork,” Penny deadpanned. Humor was her go to when she was nervous, and she was nervous as hell. “It’s in the witch handbook. Right after the section on hexing ex-boyfriends.”

  Gabby laughed. “I like her, she’s got spunk.” Turning to Penny, she added, “I’d seriously hate to have to kill you, so don’t double cross us. I’m tired of being disappointed.”

  “Tell me how you really feel,” Penny muttered as she motioned for Rory to take a seat on the floor. “I don’t need you passing out and cracking your skull on the stone floor.” She knelt in front of Rory, dropping her battered satchel with a thud. She started pulling out supplies: beeswax candles, a bundle of dried rosemary, a stick of black chalk, and a crystal that shimmered faintly with green light.

  She looked up at the crowd. “For the record, I don’t usually do this with an audience. Or in a room with dragons. Or with the fifth element royalty glowering at me.” She flashed Osiris a too-bright grin.

  Osiris replied, voice sharp as a knife, “Just don’t give me a reason to intervene.”

  “That’s the goal,” Penny said, arranging the candles in a tight circle around Rory and herself. “Here’s the deal. Memory blocks are nasty, especially when put in by someone with power and a mean streak. I’m going to try to break it, but it’s like picking a lock from the inside while someone is setting off fireworks in your brain. I’ll need silence, no interruptions, and, uh, if I start foaming at the mouth, just knock me out and try again tomorrow.”

  Rory snorted. “You’re making me feel really confident, Penny.”

  Penny smirked. “Good. Confidence is the only thing standing between us and magical brain soup.”

  Penny leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Seriously, you’ll have to meet me halfway. If you feel something locking down inside your mind, push back. If Danni’s magic fights me, fight harder. It’s yours to take back, not mine to steal.”

  Rory met her gaze, fire burning in her eyes. “I want my memories. All of them. I want to remember what she took. Let’s do this.”

  Aston squeezed Rory’s hand. “I’m right here.”

  Penny nodded, then glanced at the others. “Last call for the faint of heart. No refunds.”

  No one moved.

  Penny rolled her shoulders, exhaling slowly as she dipped her finger into the vial of shimmering green oil. She met Rory’s eyes–steady, burning with anger–and offered a lopsided, reassuring smirk. Then she pressed her finger to Rory’s brow, drawing a sigil with practiced care: a spiral at the center, lines radiating outward, ancient and purposeful.

  As she drew, the crystal at her side pulsed, its green light growing sharper with every pass, casting eerie shadows across Rory’s face and Penny’s hands. The air thickened, charged with the heady scent of rosemary and the sweet, almost cloying aroma of melting beeswax. Beneath it, the room’s ever-present undercurrent of dragon magic prickled Penny’s skin, a reminder that even the stones here had teeth.

  She set the last mark, then placed the crystal gently in Rory’s palm. “Don’t let go,” she murmured. “It’s your anchor. You drop it, you lose your way back.”

  Rory’s grip was iron. “I’ve been lost long enough. I’m done being Alice in the damn rabbit hole.”

  Penny nodded, then began to chant, her eyes remaining open so she could gauge Rory’s outward reaction while her mind would keep watch inside the spell. The words were low and guttural, not so much spoken as breathed into the world. They belonged to an old tongue, almost as old as dragons, a language that tasted like iron and rain and thunder in Penny’s mouth.

  The flames of the candles flickered and flared, the sigil on Rory’s forehead glowing as if lit from within. The room’s sounds faded: no more shuffling feet, no nervous breaths, nothing but the sizzle of wax and the distant, lonely roar of something deep in the castle’s heart.

  Magic coiled around Penny’s hands, invisible but heavy, making her limbs tingle and her scalp prickle. She felt her consciousness slipping—like stepping off the edge of a dock into a cold, bottomless lake. The world of the hall receded, colors blurring, light fading.

  For a moment, there was nothing but blackness–thick, pressing, absolute. So much for watching Rory’s outward appearance. Penny reached, searching for the thread of Rory’s mind, and found it: a spark of stubborn, furious will burning in the dark.

  She pushed forward, her magic meeting the barrier left by Danni’s spell. It was slick and oily, a wall built from pain and lies, writhing and whispering in a voice that was not quite human. The closer Penny got, the colder the air became, and there was a bitter taste on her tongue.

  She pressed harder, chanting louder in her mind, her magic probing for a weakness. Finally in the darkness, Penny saw the sigil on Rory’s brow blaze, the crystal in her hand pulsing in time with her heart. Penny’s magic wormed its way in, not forceful but relentless—seeking, nudging, teasing at the edges of the block.

  She felt resistance, a sickening pushback—Danni’s magic was angry, lashing out in defense, trying to twist Penny’s intent, to confuse and repel her. She gritted her teeth, sweat sliding down the back of her neck, and poured more of herself into the spell, letting her own will—her own hard, bitter refusal to be bested—surge through the channel.

  With a final, whispered word, Penny’s magic pierced the barrier. It didn’t break cleanly; the edges tore and bled, the darkness screaming as it was forced open. Suddenly, she was through, tumbling into the maelstrom of Rory’s mind, with Rory herself standing at her side—wide-eyed, braced for battle.

  Penny steadied herself, reaching out a mental hand. “You ready, kid?”

  Rory’s anger was fire and steel. “Absolutely.”

  The darkness around them shivered, the memory block shattering at the edges. Together, they stepped forward—into the storm of memory, pain, and buried truth.

  Penny’s magic swept through her, not gentle but an insistent force that refused to let Rory hide from the locked rooms in her mind. The world around her faded: the great hall, the whispers, even Aston’s hand in hers. There was only blackness, thrumming with the echo of her own heartbeat. Then, light flared a sickly, flickering orange, just like that night.

  She was small again—well, not as small as she once remembered. Eleven years old, on the cusp of growing up but still young enough to believe she could keep the whole world safe if she just tried hard enough. The air was thick with smoke, her eyes stung, and her throat was raw from screaming. The walls around her groaned and spat fire, shadows dancing like demons across the ceiling.

  In the chaos, she could hear her father’s voice, desperate and hoarse, “Rory! Hold on, baby! I’m coming!”

  She lunged toward him, but an iron grip yanked her back. A woman she’d met a few times in a store where her mom liked to shop. Rory remembered her name was Danni. The woman’s hand was cold and unyielding. The woman’s nails dug into her arm, dragging her away from the only light, away from the sound of her parents’ love.

  Rory twisted, kicked, her vision swimming. On the other side of the flames, her mother’s silhouette appeared, her arms outstretched, her face streaked with soot and terror. Their eyes met for a heartbeat, and in that look there was everything: love, fear, hope, and the agony of goodbye.

  But somewhere in the fire, another sound—a cry, small and helpless, just beyond the roaring flames. Rory twisted, trying to see, and suddenly she remembered: her baby sister.

  The memory hit her so suddenly she gasped, even in the dark of her mind. She saw herself, ten years old, sitting on her mother’s lap, old enough to know what the word “big sister” meant and what it meant to promise you’d protect someone forever. She remembered the day her parents told her she was going to have a baby sister—her mother’s hand on her belly, Rory’s hand pressed there too, feeling a tiny kick, the wild, giddy hope that filled her up and made her feel important.

  Then, the hospital, the day her sister came home. Rory remembered the pink hat, the impossibly tiny fingers curling around hers, the way her parents beamed.

  “Her name’s Aurora and she’s yours, too, Rory,” her mother whispered in her ear. “You’re her protector and her best friend. You will have each other always.”

  Rory had promised, over and over, that she’d keep her sister safe.

  She remembered the bottles, the late-night feedings, changing diapers, the little giggle that always made her laugh even when she tried to act like she was too old for baby games. She remembered singing silly songs to Aurora, reading her picture books, feeling her sister’s dark hair—soft as down—under her fingers. Eight months. Her sister had only been in the world eight months when everything went to hell.

  The memory shifted, darkened. The night the fire came. She saw her mother pushing her toward the door, heard the panic in her father’s voice—“Get Rory out! I’ll get the baby!”—heard herself screaming as Danni’s magic yanked her back. “Mama! Aurora!” Rory’s scream was an animal thing, ripped out of her soul. “Don’t let her take me! Mama, please! Don’t let her take Aurora!”