Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Oscar had been dead for just over twelve hours when Rae and Centross entered the bed and breakfast. The sun hadn’t set yet but it was brushing the horizon, bathing the world in orange light and deep shadows even as the rain continued to pour down.

“Hungry?” Rae asked softly as he wiped mud from his shoes onto the welcome mat before taking them off and hanging up his rain jacket.

Centross shook his head quickly, wiping off his own shoes and hanging up the jacket Ulysses had let him borrow.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asked with a slight frown, his fingers brushing against Centross’ cheek gently. “Water? Hot chocolate?”

It was mid-April and getting warm but the rain was freezing. Centross just shook his head again.

Rae’s frown deepened but he nodded. “How about we get you into some fresh clothes? And then bed?”

“OK,” he whispered, his voice rough from crying. His eyes were red and puffy. His hands were shaking.

“I think you should take a shower,” he said as he took Centross’ hand and led the other necromancer upstairs to their room. “Or a bath to get all the rainwater off of you. I’m sure you’ll feel better afterwards.”

“They killed a kid and blamed it on me. How the fuck am I supposed to feel better about this?” On the second floor Centross yanked his hand out of Rae’s grasp.

Rae pressed his lips together to stop unwanted, unhelpful words from slipping out. “Don’t snap at me when I’m trying my best to help you.”

“Fuck off,” he snarled.

“Centross…”

“You don’t know what it’s like to lose family,” Centross snapped.

“I do,” he said, his voice sharper this time. “I lost family just like every other necromancer. I know it hurts but I don’t like it when you snap at me like this. I am trying to help. I will bring back Oscar but you need to do something other than wallow in self-pity right now. That won’t fix anything. Please just clean up and get some rest.”

“Shut up.”

Rae exhaled slowly through his nose. “Go to bed, Centross. There are a few people I need to talk to and then I’ll join you.”

“I—” Centross’ shoulders tensed up, his breathing hitching and his eyes welling with tears, his dark hair sticking to his forehead with rainwater. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and shaking. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“I know but you were just snapping at me. You need some space to clean up and calm down. I have stuff I need to do. I will be back in about an hour; you’ll survive until then.” Rae left the room, closing the door behind him. A second later he heard Centross scream before the sound devolved into quiet, choked, painful sobs. Rae swallowed hard against a wave of tears and went downstairs quickly.

Just over an hour later, Rae knocked on the bedroom door before entering. Centross was curled up in bed, with Hope and Bucket curled up against his back.

“Centross?” Rae asked softly as he crossed the room and sat down on the bed, reaching out to rub his back gently.

He shifted slightly, dark eyes fluttering open to look at Rae before he yawned.

He got changed and lay down next to Centross, pulling the sheets over both of them and wrapping his arms around the other. “I’ve got you,” he whispered into his hair. “It’s going to be OK.”

“Who did you talk to?” Centross asked, his voice slurred with exhaustion and muffled from hiding his face in Rae’s shoulder.

“Jamie and Athena,” Rae told him. Bucket moved to curl up on his pillow, purring loudly. “I wanted to tell them what happened before someone else could spread any lies about what happened.”

“Oh…”

He nodded. “We’re going to figure it out. You’re not going to be hunted and buried for a crime you didn’t commit.”

“I should have stopped it,” Centross whispered miserably. “I should have been able to bring Oscar back.”

“You didn’t know this was going to happen,” Rae told him. “No one knew what was going to happen. We’re going to fix it, I promise.”

“Do you know who did it?” he asked.

“Unfortunately.” He sighed heavily. “We’ll figure it out another day. You need rest right now.”

“OK…” Centross’ voice trailed off into a yawn, his eyes slipping closed again. He drifted off to sleep as Rae held him close, rubbing comforting circles into his back.

“I’m sorry for making you do this,” Rae said, his voice soft as he paused in the doorway, hovering between entering the house and leaving before Ocie saw him.

Jerry looked at him, exhaustion weighing heavily on his shoulders. “You’re not making me do this. I agreed to this.”

The necromancer frowned, nodded, and stepped into the house.

“The casket is in the storage-basement area; we’ve been keeping it there the past two days since it’s cooler, even if the—even if his body doesn’t seem to be… you know.” He shrugged, his voice trembling slightly. “We’re planning on burying him on the edge of the forest. Follow me.” Then Jerry turned and led Rae through the dining room and into the storage area.

It was colder in there and Rae stumbled when he saw the little coffin. “I—” He swallowed hard, his chest aching and his throat burning with unshed tears. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know.” Jerry’s hand rested on its dark wooden surface. He sounded like he was trying not to cry. “I know this wasn’t your fault, even if Ocie is struggling with that… not that I can blame her. She wasn’t there when that woman appeared.”

“I’m sorry about her. Sheriff Perix is only here because of me and my doings.”

His snort of laughter was sharp and bitter. “I can’t blame you for the murderer running amok. Especially since she’s angry simply because you’re alive.”

“I’m not supposed to be alive,” Rae said softly. “I’m not even alive. I’m dead, regardless of how easily some people seem to forget that fact. I have not been alive since I was buried twenty years ago.”

Jerry just shrugged. His hands were surprisingly steady as he undid the clasps keeping the casket closed. “What’s it like to raise the dead?”

“I—” He lost his words when he saw the little figure wrapped gently in thick, white fabric. “Jerry…”

He was so gentle as he lifted his son, cradling them against his chest. He pressed a kiss to where the top of their head should be under the cloth. “I suppose you have to take them now.”

“No.” Rae shook his head. “No. I’ll bring you both there. I won’t take your son from you. I—I just ask that you don’t show anyone else.”

“OK,” Jerry said, dark red eyes wet with tears.

“Thank you.”

He nodded. “In that chest over there, there’s a decoy I made so the casket stays the same weight.”

“I wouldn’t have even thought about that,” Rae said softly as he took it and placed it in the casket, closing the clasps again.

Jerry just shrugged. “Hm.”

“Out the back door?” he asked.

“Unless you want to risk Ocie and Fenris seeing you,” Jericho said. “We should hurry; the funeral is this afternoon and I can’t promise they’ll stay upstairs for that much longer.”

Rae nodded and left, taking a deep, unneeded breath of fresh air once he was outside and standing before the forest that covered the valley between the two mountains. “We’re heading to that crevasse up there,” he told Jerry, pointing to the gash in the mountain’s side that was barely visible through the silvery sheets of rain pouring down around them. “It’s not as bad as a walk as it looks.”

Jerry nodded, staying silent as Rae led him through the valley and up the twisting but maintained path, bringing them to the death magic bleeding hole. The only sign that the creeper hybrid struggled with the hike was the few times he adjusted Oscar in his arms and paused for a moment to breathe. When they stopped just before the entrance, Jerry let out a slow breath, staring up at the twin peaks reaching up into the sky. Then his eyes landed on the runes carved into the walls and floor of the hole that created a clear doorway between the outside world and whatever was inside the mountain.

“What’s here?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder to where he could almost see part of his home on the other side of the valley. “It’s so close…”

Rae stepped over the threshold, death magic swirling around him and welcoming him like an old friend. “It’s enchanted. I think part of the magic here keeps people who aren’t necromancers away.”

“Oh. We’re going inside, I assume?”

“Inside and down,” he said, starting the descent down the massive staircase. “Don’t look over the side; it’s a long drop down.”

The two of them climbed down into the darkness that quickly gave way to a glowberry-lit brightness, still dim but the path was bathed in warm golden light, the vines creating a green veil between the path and the cavern. Then they reached the bottom and turned the corner. The Cathedral of War sat on the other side of the short bridge, in the very center of a black, motionless lake that reflected the glowberry light like a star-filled night sky.

“What is this place?” Jerry asked, his voice a whisper—awed in the presence of humming, chanting death magic—but still echoing so loudly in the quiet cave.

“The Bone Chapel,” Rae told him as he crossed the bridge. “The Cathedral of War. A haven for necromancers and a cemetery.” He pushed open the door and glanced back, seeing Jerry still on the other side of the bridge. “It won’t hurt you. It won’t hurt Oscar.”

“I’m supposed to trust you?” he asked.

“You’ve trusted me this far, haven’t you? Jerry, you can just turn around, leave, and forget you’ve seen this. I wouldn’t blame you; I know I’m asking a lot from you.”

Jericho frowned but nodded and crossed the bridge, passing through the doors into the Bone Chapel. His red eyes widened when he saw the walls in their glorious, terrifying existence, the layers of bleached white bones standing in silent testament to everything that had believed in a higher being to the point of forgoing an eternal death below six feet of dirt and instead gave their very body and soul to be built into the walls and ceiling of a place of protection of everything and everyone cradled by necromantic magic.

“It doesn’t want to hurt anyone,” Rae told him, the left side of his chest aching dully.

“OK.” His voice was strangled with surprise and fear. “How long has this been here?”

“I don’t know. Well before Lennarius raised the hordes, at the very least. I—" He shrugged. “I think it’s ancient. I think people used to know about it. I think people used to travel here to visit it based on the stables at the top, the rooms under it, and even the staircase going down. It’s smooth, it’s even, and it would be impossible to create something like that quickly. It must have taken a group of skilled stonecutters a year or two… but I’m not really an expert on stonework. There are other structures at the top a bit off the main path, but they’re run down, crumbled, and have been abandoned for decades. There’s only snow and plant-covered ruins. The mountain is reclaiming them.”

“This is horrifying,” Jerry said weakly, his head tilted back to stare at the ceiling and the skulls watching him from on high. “What the fuck.”

Rae laughed softly, sympathizing with but not truly understanding his fear. “Yeah. Follow me; we have to go deeper.”

The look he gave the necromancer was one of poorly disguised terror.

“It’ll be OK,” Rae said before crossing the main room and opening a smaller door in the back wall. On the other side there was a tunnel of stone bricks, lit by ghostly blue flames dancing in dusty lanterns. It sloped downward gently, the stone smooth underfoot. It continued like this for a few feet around a bend and ended at the top of a twisted staircase going deeper underground.

At the bottom of the staircase was a large hall, with wood planks covering the floor, tapestries hanging from the walls, and the stone ceiling vaulting upwards to keep the room feeling like a cramped cave. At the other end of the hall there was an empty fireplace, ash smeared across the stone bricks from fires long since extinguished. There were tables set around the fireplace, and closer to the entrance were shelves of old, dusty barrels. There were hallways branching out from the hall, disappearing into darkness where the lanterns sat unlit.

“Oh…” Jerry paused, adjusting his hold on his son, his expression strangely sad. “People used to live here.”

“I think so,” Rae agreed with a nod. “If you go down the hallways to the left, you’ll find more living spaces: dormitories, common areas, and even places that must have been gardens at some point.”

“It was a monastery most likely. You said necromancers traveled here to see the chapel. You call it a chapel.”

“Necromancers don’t have our own special god,” he argued. “We’re not—we don’t get our powers from worship.”

Jerry shook his head. “I’ve seen how Centross talks about death and life; I’ve seen how he works his magic. There is a reverence to it that I don’t see in any other magic users except maybe life witches. It might not be something holy to you but that doesn’t stop you from respecting it—that wouldn’t stop other necromancers from worshipping it.”

“I—”

“You called this a cemetery and a haven. Even I can feel the death magic. It’s important. Not only did people travel to visit but I see no reason why there wouldn’t have been people living here to maintain the place and keep it safe.” He shrugged before softening his voice. “There’s nothing wrong with that, Rae. I’m not trying to demean it.”

Rae shook his head quickly, grave dirt welling up in his throat. “No—I’m not upset about that.”

Jerry raised an eyebrow at him.

“I lost everything because people hated necromancers,” he said, his voice soft and breaking with grief. “My granddads talked about how people were scared of necromancers when they were young, how it was hard to find a place to live where they wouldn’t be chased off, and how Everett was shamed for marrying a necromancer. And then they watched it get better for their daughter—for my mom—and saw that she was treated just like anyone else and no one batted an eye at her magic except for the oldest, most spiteful people in the town. And then Lennarius came and wiped out three generations of necromancers because of his actions.” Rae shrugged as he twisted his fingers together nervously. “It hurts to think that once necromancers weren’t feared—that there were people before me who didn’t have to be quiet about their magic—that they could gather like this and not be hunted down… and yet they feared destruction to the point that they purposefully hid this place away from anyone who wasn’t a necromancer.”

“I’m sorry,” Jerry said softly, scared of breaking the silence that filled the room once Rae went quiet. “I truly am.”

“We both lost family because of necromancer hunters—because of Lennarius. I’ll bring Oscar back, I promise.”

“Once it’s safe for him,” he told Rae. “I’m not losing my son for a second time.”

The necromancer nodded and turned down one of the hallways on the right, walking down it for a few minutes until they reached a thick wooden door. It opened with the loud creaking of rusting hinges to reveal another darker tunnel.

“What is this?” Jerry asked quietly, nerves starting to make his voice shake.

“The catacombs,” said the necromancer. He stepped through the doorway into a tunnel made of stone bricks and bone, an expansive warren under the motionless lake surrounding the cathedral. Neither of them had brought anything for light—no candle, lantern, or place for magical flames—and so the place stayed dark. Still, Rae could sense the walls pressing around him like a grave from the dead that formed the underground cemetery.

“I—” Jerry took a quick step back away from the looming darkness. The hallway behind him was still lit. The air was fresh despite the centuries the monastery had spent locked away. Rae stood just inside the doorway—on the wrong side—with the blackness seeming to swallow him whole. The air that leaked out from the catacombs was still, cold, and stank like death. In the lantern glow, the necromancer’s cloudy, dead eyes gleamed like some forest creature caught in a beam of light.

“Do you want me to take Oscar?” asked the dead man, his voice soft. His lips were cast in shadows, giving the illusion that dark, rotting blood was dripping from his mouth. “You don’t have to come down here.”

Jericho Cree swallowed hard against raising panic, kissed his son on the forehead, and handed Oscar’s body over gently, his legs refusing to take another step forward into the darkness. “I’m sorry,” he whispered to the child. “I’m so sorry.”

Rae cradled their body to his chest before meeting Jerry’s gaze. “I’ll be right back,” he said. “I promise.” Then he was gone and Jerry was alone.

Tears burned his eyes and the back of his throat, shame curling deep in his chest. What kind of father was he if he couldn’t walk blindly into the darkness for his child? What kind of coward did that make him? He had already gone so far—he had already trusted Rae when the necromancer said the Cathedral of War wouldn’t hurt him, yet he couldn’t be the one to lay his own son to rest. Pathetic. Coward. Weak. Jerry leaned heavily against the wall, looking anywhere but the tunnel where Rae had taken his son, tears dripping down his cheeks and silent sobs wracking his body.

“I’m sorry,” Rae said a few minutes later when he stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him, his arms empty. “I can’t imagine how hard this is for you.”

Jerry just shook his head, wiping at his tears. “You’ll be able to bring him back, right?”

“Yes,” he promised. “I’ll bring him back… you should go back home, Jerry; go be with your family.”

But the most important member of his family was somewhere in the tunnels on the other side of that wooden door. Still, Jericho nodded and let the necromancer lead him from the Cathedral and into the fresh air of the outside world. There on the peak they parted ways, Jerry going back to his too-empty home and Rae going back to Lodestar Grove.

The morning after the funeral—the morning after Jerry took Oscar’s body and buried an empty casket—there was a knock on the Nightingale house door. Icarus stood outside, their jacket pulled tight against the rain, the fabric of their gloves glitching from leather to wool to linen and back to leather again.

After a moment the door swung up to reveal Ocie, looking worn. “Can I help you?” she asked.

“I heard what happened,” they said. “I heard what Centross did.”

“Oh.” She frowned, her expression hardening. “What do you want?”

Icarus frowned and held their hood tighter as a gust of wind tried to rip it from their hands. “I want to help you get revenge.”

“How?” The rain poured down harder, lightning splitting the sky, thunder rumbling across the world, mimicking the water mage’s anger.

“My father,” they said before sending a wary glance at the sky. “Can I come inside?”

Ocie blinked at them for a moment before nodding and stepping back so they could walk in. “Jerry and Fenris aren’t here at the moment.”

“Where are they? I’d like to extend the offer to them.”

“I’ll pass the message on to them.” She grabbed the front of their jacket tightly, her eyes mirroring the dark, rolling clouds outside. “Tell me how you can help. Tell me how you and your father can fix this.”

Icarus swallowed hard, the world shifting and shattering—before returning to normal each time—around them in little bursts of power as their heartbeat sped up. “Father wants to finally rid the world of those necromantic monsters.”

Her eyes narrowed at them and she loosened her grip but didn’t let go fully.

“He wants to start with the necromancers here: Centross, Rae, and Isla,” they said. “Then those touched by their magic.”

“Caspian,” Ocie said softly, her eyes going wide. “But—”

Icarus frowned, staring at the floor to avoid her gaze. “It’ll be quick and painless, I promise, which is more mercy than what Rae’s affording Momboo.”

Lightning cracked across the sky and Ocie let out a slow breath, her expression tight and dark with fury. “Don’t you dare—”

“The point is that Caspian has been touched by death magic,” Icarus said quickly as they jerked back to get out of her grip. “Everything touched by necromancers needs to be taken care of to rid the world of those monsters.”

Her fingers curled around thin air between them like she wasn’t sure if she should grab them again or lower her hand. “Even Oscar?”

“He was just a kid,” they said softly. “Maybe they were touched by necromantic magic but they didn’t deserve to die like that. Father says that war calls for tough sacrifices but I’m promising you revenge on Centross and the necromancers who killed Oscar.”

A single salty tear escaped from her dark lashes, dripping down her cheek. “What does your father want?”

Icarus took a deep breath and fixed their collar, nerves making the fabric under their fingers change rapidly. “He wants to talk with you; he didn’t tell me the majority of his plans but I think mainly he just wants to make sure you won’t step.”

“Revenge in the form of staying on the sidelines?” Ocie asked sharply, turning away from them with a scoff and walking deeper into the house. Outside, the wind picked up, howling around the mountainside house like a pack of hungry wolves.

“You’d have to talk to him,” they said softly. “I’m sure he can come up with something better for you to do; he’s really smart like that.”

She snorted in laughter, the sound choked like she was holding back tears. “What is your father like, Icarus?”

“Excuse me?”

Ocie turned to face them fully. “He’s willing to kill people.”

“Lennarius wiped out entire cities,” Icarus said. “He was killing without any care of who got hurt. Father—he wants to make the world a better, safe place.”

“And unfortunately that comes at the cost of more death.” She sighed heavily, leaning back against the counter. “Of course.”

“Isla, Rae, Centross,” they said with a frown. “And Lennarius, just necromancers, just those corrupted by death magic. Do you want the hordes to be raised again?”

Her hand shook when she raked it through her hair, her fingers getting caught on knots. “Where does your father want to meet?”

“He thinks it would be best if you visited his office in Westgrove along with Jerry.”

“And he’ll be able to fix this?” she asked, her gaze darting to the stairs with Oscar’s bedroom at the top.

Icarus frowned. “He can’t bring Oscar back; he doesn’t mess with that magic, but he’ll give you revenge.”

“When?” Ocie asked.

“As soon as possible,” they said. “But it’ll take about two hours to get there.”

She frowned. “Jerry should be back this afternoon…”

“How does tomorrow sound?” Icarus asked quickly with a step forward, the loose strands of their hair turning gold in the watery kitchen light.

“Tomorrow afternoon,” she said, her gaze sliding past them to stare out into the storm. “Jerry and I will be there.”

They nodded with a quick smile, relief flooding them. They hadn’t messed up. Fable would have no reason to be mad at them. “I’ll come here around noon to bring you to Westgrove if that’s OK?”

“Sure.” In that moment—in the washed-out light of a flash of lightning—Ocie looked exhausted, her skin pale and her eyes red. “I’ll see you tomorrow…”

“I’m sorry,” Icarus said again before turning and leaving, making sure to close the front door quietly behind them. As they headed away from the Nightingale house, the rain seemed to come down harder, as if the world was crying for what had been lost with the death of a little boy.

“Ocie,” Jerry said, his voice soft as he leaned in close to whisper in her ear. “Are you sure about this?”

Ocie’s stormy gaze flicked away from where she stared at the massive front doors of the Gilded estate to glance over at him, a frown twisting her expression. “Yes,” she hissed back, quiet enough so Icarus, who stood at the door, wouldn’t hear their conversation. “I’m certain. I want revenge.”

He sighed heavily but nodded and climbed up the stairs to enter the mansion. He pulled off his raincoat once he was inside, taking Ocie’s coat also. When the elderly butler stepped forward to take the coats, Jerry handed them off before following Ocie and Icarus upstairs.

“I didn’t realize your family was so well-to-do,” Ocie said as she looked around at the grand entrance and staircase. Her voice was almost teasing if not for the bitterness underlying every word it has had since Oscar’s death.

Icarus glanced back, their golden eyes narrowing slightly at her tone. “Yes. Father is the mayor of Westgrove and the Gilded family has lived here for hundreds of years.”

“Lords and Ladies of Westgrove for hundreds of years, I assume,” she said.

“Father is the mayor,” they said firmly before reaching the first landing and turning down the hallway. They knocked on a door, waited a moment, and opened the door, entering the room and holding open the door for Jerry and Ocie. “Father, Ocie and Jerry are here.”

Fable looked up from his work, smiling slightly when he saw Ocie. He got to his feet and held out his hand for her to shake. “Ocie, it is a pleasure to meet you, though I do wish it was under better circumstances. I am sorry for your loss.”

Ocie shook his hand. “Icarus said that you can help.”

“Yes.” He sat back down, gesturing at the chairs in front of the desk. “Please, take a seat, and we can talk.”

She sat down, with Jerry and Icarus on either side of her. “You sent Icarus to talk to me about this.”

Fable nodded. “I did. What has my son told you?”

“I said that you wanted to get rid of all necromancers and everyone else touched by necromantic magic,” Icarus said quickly before anyone else could speak up. “I said that you really just wanted to make sure that she wouldn’t try to stop you.”

“Icarus,” he said sharply with a frown. “I wanted to hear from our guests. Either control yourself or get out.”

Icarus blinked quickly like they were trying not to cry and slumped back in their chair, crossing their arms over their chest as they stared at the floor.

“I want to help,” Ocie snapped. “I want revenge for what was taken from me!”

“I’ve been told Centross did this,” Fable said, his fingers drumming against his desk like the rain drumming against the windows outside.

“Yes,” she said even as Jerry shook his head. “He did. I found him standing over my son’s dead body. Who the fuck else would it be?!”

“Your partner doesn’t seem to agree.” He tilted his head to the side, his golden eyes narrowing sharply at Jerry. “Well?”

“I don’t think it was Centross.” Jerry frowned but took Ocie’s hand gently. “He wouldn’t do that. We’ve both known him forever and he loved Oscar. He would never hurt a child.”

Fable clucked his tongue as he leaned back in his chair. “He is a necromancer. They are not human—they are monsters. Their thoughts and desires change on a whim and the only thing consistent about them is their desire to cause harm.”

“Can you help me or not?” Ocie snapped, lightning cracking across the sky outside.

“Yes,” Fable told her, his words coming slowly like he was thinking through what he was saying carefully. “I can help you. We’re working for the same goal in a way, even if your plans are more localized while I wish to rid the world of evil.”

Jerry grumbled something under his breath.

“Do you just want to see Centross dead?” asked the mayor of Westgrove. “Or do you want to kill him yourself?”

That made Ocie pause for a moment, pressing her lips together in a hard line as she frowned, staring over his shoulder at the storm raging outside. The back of her throat burned with unshed tears but she was so tired of crying. She needed to do something to patch over the gaping hole left behind in her chest. “Let me kill him,” she said softly, praying that it wouldn’t sound like she was begging. She didn’t want to beg for something she deserved.

Fable hesitated for a moment, his eyes widening like he hadn’t been expecting that answer, before he nodded, his voice grim. “I will see what I can do, Ocie. I can’t promise you anything; I will make plans according to your wishes but if the opportunity arises, I cannot tell anyone else not to take the shot. This business is too important to throw away a chance at ridding the world of a monster.”

“OK.” She swallowed hard against rising tears, nodding jerkily. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he said, his voice soft. “Again, I am so sorry for your loss. I wouldn’t wish this tragedy on anyone.”

Ocie nodded again, not trusting her voice to stay steady as she got to her feet. Jerry stood with her, his hand resting comfortably on the small of her back as he said. “Thank you for this meeting, Lord Gilded. It was very informative.”

“Ocie, Icarus will be in contact with you later with more information on your role in exterminating the necromancers,” Fable said. “If you have any more questions or pressing concerns, I am sure we can set up another meeting. I want to help you as much as possible.”

“Thank you,” she said, her voice soft. Outside, the rain lessened slightly.

He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I believe that is all. You two should get home before the rain makes it too dangerous to travel.”

Jerry nodded sharply before kissing the top of Ocie’s head, his voice soft. “Come on, let’s go home.”

She nodded before following him out of the office and to their horses outside. Once outside, she didn’t bother putting on her raincoat, tilting her head back to feel the rain land on her face.

“Are you OK?” Jerry asked as he helped her into her horse’s saddle, his expression sad. “Baby, it’s not too late to back out.”

“I’m fine,” Ocie said sharply, gathering the reins. “Jericho, I don’t want you trying to hold me back.”

He frowned. “I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret later. Killing Centross seems like something you’ll regret.”

“He killed my son!” Lightning cracked across the sky and her horse jumped to the side. She swore, struggling for a moment to stay in her saddle. “He killed my son,” she hissed at him. “Don’t you dare try to tell me he didn’t. Don’t you dare—I found him standing over my son’s body. Then he was cruel enough to puppet Oscar’s body. He—" Her voice cracked and she folded over in her saddle, sobs shaking her entire body. “He made me bury my child.”

“I—” Jerry swallowed hard and reached out to rub her back gently. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“I just want him back,” she whispered. “I don’t mean to snap at you; I just want Oscar back.”

He nodded. “I know, baby, I know. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“Can we go home?” Ocie asked, her voice rough from crying. “Please?”

“Of course we can,” he said, leading the two of them from the Gilded family’s estate and onto the road leading back to Lodestar Grove.

“Why the fuck have you been following me?” Arisanna snapped at Icarus, climbing out of the river and grabbing her shoes where she had left them in a sheltered spot out of the downpour. She had rolled her pants up to her knees to keep them from getting wet from the river but it did little to help when it had been raining nonstop for five days at that point. On the other side of the river, the forest was still black, twisted, and ash-covered from the fire she had started, killing Namir and a part of herself with him in one fell swoop.

Icarus frowned at her. “Because you keep running away from me when I try to talk to you,” they said, their boots sinking into the mud of the riverbank. The constant glitching of their jacket made its waterproof effect pointless, water easily soaking through it whenever it changed to anything that wasn’t oilskins.

“Have you considered the fact I don’t want to talk to you?” she asked, sitting down on a rock and wiping mud off her feet before pulling on her boots. “Have you considered that, hm?”

“You’re so annoying,” they scoffed, rolling their eyes.

“I think the word you were looking for was ‘bitch,’” Ari said as she got to her feet and rolled down her pants. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Oscar died a few days ago,” Icarus said with a shrug. “Thought you might want to know.”

She rolled her eyes. “Let me guess, four days ago?”

“When it started raining, actually.” They stuck their tongue out at her. “In case you haven’t noticed.”

“Bastard,” she swore. “I’m not blind nor am I stupid.”

“Then start acting like it,” Icarus snapped. “Because right now I see you playing around in the mud like some child while the future of the world is at stake because there are still necromancers and death magic touched things alive.”

Her hand curled around the handle of her axe, dim sparks dancing around her forearm. “Call me a child one more time and I will do you the favor of removing your head from the rest of your body.”

“Centross killed Oscar,” they said even as they took a quick step away from the light mage and her weapon. “He’s getting a bit unstable—a bit like Lennarius even.”

Arisanna froze, her eyes wide as she stared at Icarus, her heart starting to race, her breathing speeding up, and her chest feeling tight. “What?” she forced out between gritted teeth. “No—”

“I’m just passing on the information I’ve been told.” They shrugged almost carelessly. “Apparently he attacked and knocked out Jerry before Ocie found him standing over Oscar’s dead body with the murder weapon in hand.”

“Shut up!” she snarled. “He wouldn’t!” Because Centross wouldn’t—couldn’t bring harm to a child. Because Centross had been framed, even if no one but Fable, Perix, and the necromancers knew. Because even if everything good and human about Arisanna Aetheric had been burned away, she knew the man who used to be her best friend; she knew the man who sparred with her, who welcomed her to Lodestar Grove—one of the first places she felt safe after fleeing Namir the first time—and introduced her to Fenris, who had been there for her and a pain in her ass most of the time and responsible for the majority of her bruising after sparring but was never cruel like her adopted father.

Icarus just shrugged again. “Don’t let Ocie hear you say that. I think she was two seconds away from murdering Jerry because he didn’t fully believe that Centross would do such a thing either.”

Arisanna stared at them with wide eyes, pure light curling around the head of her axe where she had pulled it from its sheath. Cold raindrops dripped down the back of her neck, making her blue hair stick to her skin and soaking her shirt.

“But you can never truly trust necromancers,” they said with a sharp grin that reminded her of Fable, his silver tongue, and his cruel words. “They’re monsters. They’re inhuman. They don’t care about anything. They lack empathy.”

She lacked empathy. She didn’t give a damn about anyone. She was a monster just like the necromancers but the only thing making her “good” was the fact that her magic came in the form of a stupid, useless light show.

“Fable’s planning to kill all the necromancers,” Ari said.

“Yes.” Icarus looked at her like she had grown two heads.

“He—” She swallowed hard and shook her head, something deep in her stomach hurting with forgotten grief for the little, dead boy. “He had Oscar killed.”

That made Icarus scoff. “Don’t be stupid. Father wouldn’t do that. What happened to Oscar is a tragedy but it helped get Ocie on our side and made it so none of us would have to kill a child. Father actually talked to Ocie and Jerry earlier this afternoon.”

Her gaze jerked away from where she had been staring at the swirling river to stare at Icarus, meeting the golden eyes they shared with their father. “Oh?” she asked, forcing her tone to be lighter, refusing to let any emotions or feelings betray her.

“Ocie wants to kill Centross herself,” they said with a smile.

Arisanna had forgotten what it was like to feel fear; she had forgotten the way her heart beat like a trapped bird trying to escape its cage or the rabbit instinct in her gut to freeze and cower until the danger was gone. “And if he’s innocent?”

“He isn’t,” Icarus said with such steadfast confidence that Ari felt a flash of hatred for the alchemist standing in front of her. “Even if he didn’t kill Oscar, which he did, he is still a necromancer. He needs to die for that.”

“Is your precious father planning on holding a meeting soon so we can figure out our next steps?” she asked sharply.

They shrugged. “I assume so but I’m not sure when. It’ll be soon though.”

“Cool,” Ari snapped. “Get the fuck away from me.”

“Did you wake up on the wrong side of bed?” Icarus asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

“I swear to fucking god!!” She snarled, pointing her weapon at their throat, burning light dancing across them like fireflies. “Leave me the fuck alone. I don’t like you. I am only tolerating your presence in my life because we both want to get rid of Lennarius. Do not push your luck because I don’t give a flying fuck who your father is; I will kill you regardless.”

“Father will tear you apart if you hurt me,” they hissed but they still turned and stormed off into the forest, little puddles of gold left behind in their footsteps.

Arisanna waited until they were out of sight before dropping her weapon, barely flinching when it landed less than an inch away from her foot, the sharp blade of the axe buried into the mud. Her hands were shaking, light dancing across her skin and leaving little burn marks behind. Her knees buckled and she suddenly found herself kneeling in the mud, gasping for breath and retching when she couldn’t get enough air.

She wasn’t supposed to feel emotion like this—she wasn’t supposed to care about Centross—she wasn’t supposed to grieve Oscar. What the fuck was wrong with her? Why did it feel like the world was ending? It wasn’t as bad as it had been when Namir turned up to drag her home but nothing could match the unending, all-consuming fear that followed her now-dead adopted father around.

Something was going horribly wrong and Ari couldn’t fix it regardless if she wanted to or not. She wasn’t supposed to want to fix it—she wasn’t supposed to feel or care.

Chapter Text

“How are you feeling?” Isla asked gently as she entered Momboo’s bedroom, the basket she brought left on the kitchen table and her shoes slipped off by the front door.

Momboo lay slumped in her bed, her skin pale and cracking, her eyes dull and bloodshot, and her hair dry and dull. “Isla,” she forced out, her voice rough and cracking around the simple word. “I didn’t expect for you to come by.”

She sat down on the edge of the bed and took Momboo’s hand gently. “You shouldn’t be alone all day and you haven’t told me to stay away.”

“I think I should hate you for your involvement in my death,” she whispered, squeezing Isla’s hand.

“Hmmm.” Isla shrugged. “I’ve never hurt you.”

Momboo laughed weakly, blood speckling her lips. “Your son did.”

She shrugged again. “He did not mean to and he is not entirely to blame. You grabbed him. You’ve hurt him before.”

“I don’t have enough energy for hatred anymore,” said the dying life witch. “How long has it been raining?”

The necromancer got to her feet and opened up the blinds, letting the weak morning sunlight filter in through the rain and glass. “This is the sixth day now. It’s not raining that hard right now so you can see the sun, which is nice.”

“Poor Ocie,” Momboo said softly.

“I know.” Isla nodded. “It feels like the world is ending when your child dies.”

She coughed wetly. “I suppose I’m lucky I’m dying before my children; I’ll never know that pain.”

“Do you want some tea?” she asked as she stepped away from the window. “It’ll help with your throat.”

“Please?”

Isla nodded. “Of course, I’ll be right back.” Then she went downstairs to the kitchen, coming back after a minute with a hot cup of tea.

Momboo sat up slowly, leaning heavily against her pillows to stay up as she took the mug from Isla. “Thank you,” she said before taking a sip.

“It’s the least I can do,” Isla said as she sat down on the edge of the bed.

Downstairs, the door opened and closed before there was the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Ocie appeared in the doorway, her golden hair dark and clumping together like she had been swimming in the ocean. When she saw Isla she frowned. “Oh. You’re here.”

“I can leave,” Isla said, getting to her feet. “I’m sure you want to speak to your sister privately.”

“Yes,” Ocie said at the same time that Momboo said. “No.”

Both the water mage and the necromancer looked over at her, wearing twin expressions of surprise. Momboo coughed roughly before shaking her head. “Isla, you can stay. Ocie, what’s going on?”

Ocie sniffled, wiping at her nose with her shirt sleeve. Outside, the rain started to come down harder. “You already know what’s going on.”

She made a soft, sad noise in the back of her throat, setting her tea mug down on the bedside table before opening her arms with Ocie. “Come here.”

She crossed the room in a second, climbing onto the bed and curling up beside Momboo, resting her head in the life witch’s lap. “I don’t know what to do with myself,” she whispered.

“I know,” Momboo said, stroking her hair. “I’m sorry.”

Her gaze flicked to Isla as she asked softly. “Does it get any easier?”

“I don’t know,” Isla said truthfully, staring out the window and across Lodestar Grove to avoid her gaze. “I never had to deal with Rae’s death for long.” She swallowed hard. “The first time, I only had a few hours before I was dead myself and… I don’t remember my time in the afterlife. I don’t remember what it was like being dead. Maybe I remembered what had happened, maybe I didn’t… maybe I spent twenty years grieving my son.”

“And the second time?” Ocie prompted.

“He was only dead—” Her voice broke. “He was only gone for a few hours before Momboo brought him back. I don’t know what I would have done had she not done so.”

Momboo laughed, the sound strangled. “I have a pretty good idea, seeing how you threatened me into helping.”

“I’m not sorry about that,” Isla said. “My son was dead. I had woken up alone on the kitchen floor of my childhood home just for the first thing I saw to be the dead body of my son.”

“Could he bring back Oscar?” Ocie asked softly, not even daring to breathe for fear the slightest flicker of hope would break her beyond repair.

“I—” She paused and frowned. “Rae may try but I do not know more information besides the fact that he and Centross were talking about it. There is no guarantee that it will work.”

“Funny how my kid’s murderer is talking about bringing him back,” she snapped.

Isla shook her head. “I trust Centross when he says he didn’t do it. I do not think you should be so quick to judge.”

“How dare you?” Ocie snarled, sitting up quickly enough to make Momboo squeak in surprise. Outside the wind howled and thunder rolled across the sky. “How fucking dare you?!”

“The people my son associates with are not cruel enough to kill a child.” Her voice was sharp and hard with anger. “Rae is better than that. And I know who Fable associates with. I know how cruel Sheriff Perix can be. She will have no problem killing a child, especially a necromancer, when she has already buried plenty of necromancers, both old and young, alive before.”

She scoffed but said nothing, laying her head back down in Momboo’s lap.

Isla sighed heavily and got to her feet. “I am not your enemy here, Ocie,” she said softly as she reached out to brush her hand across Ocie’s shoulder. “I lost just as much as you because of a necromancer. I hate Lennarius for all the pain he has caused. I only pray that you stop hunting innocent people and focus on the real danger here.”

Ocie flinched away from her touch with a strangled sob.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” said the necromancer. “You can message me at any time if you need anything. Just please stop aiding people who want to hurt the people I care about.”

“The people you care about killed my family,” she whispered angrily. “I want them to suffer.”

Isla frowned as she said sharply. “Then blame the people truly responsible for this: Lennarius, Fable, and Perix.”

“Go away!”

“I’ll see you later, Momboo,” she said, her voice soft. “Message me if you need anything. I brought food and I’ll stick it in the icebox before I leave, OK?”

Momboo smiled thinly at her. “Thank you for your help.”

“Of course.” Isla smiled back before leaving, pulling on her shoes and opening her umbrella before leaving the house.

“I just want my son back,” Ocie whispered to Momboo when the door closed behind the necromancer. “That’s all I want.”

Momboo frowned as she stroked her sister’s hair. “You’ve talked a lot about wanting revenge.”

“I—” She shrugged and swallowed hard. “I want to think that killing Centross will make it hurt less.”

“I don’t think it works like that,” she said sadly.

“I want it to.”

“I know and I’m sorry,” Momboo whispered, her hand shaking where it ran over Ocie’s golden locks. “I know.”

Ocie didn’t have anything else to say, only curling up tighter and staring out the window, her eyes red and puffy from crying. Outside, the rain poured down harder.

The cabin in the woods was small but neat, with a fenced-in garden in the front full of flowers, herbs, vegetables, and fruit. Fable dismounted his horse, tied it up outside the garden, and knocked on the front door.

It opened a second later and Haley frowned at him, tilting her head to the side like a confused animal. “Oh,” she said softly, her eyes hidden behind a bit of white fabric. “You’re late. I almost thought you weren’t coming.”

Fable frowned at her. “Let me in. We need to talk.”

“You’re not asking nicely,” she huffed even as she stepped back to let him in. “I expected better from Lord Fable Gilded, Mayor of Westgrove, necromancer hunter.”

“Then you already know what my plans are,” he said, stepping into the small kitchen area and looking around with a sneer.

Haley frowned and put a kettle onto the stove. “I know what you believe your plans to be, Daedalus. It’s fitting what you named your son: Midas or Icarus? Your son isn’t supposed to be alive; they are unnatural. They are clay and bone and mud and magic and so very wrong. Prometheus and his little clay figures. Pygmalion and the statue he fell in love with. Don’t you think it’s funny how she doesn’t get a name? Forever forgotten and unnamed, erased by history.”

“I don’t have time to listen to your nonsensical ramblings,” Fable snapped as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Haley suddenly stumbled, grabbing onto the counter quickly to stay standing. “You’ll have to forgive me,” she whispered. “You came on a bad day. It’s loud and bright and there’s too much meat everywhere. Everything’s screaming. The world is crying and there’s a leak in my roof; I can hear each drop as it hits the pot. Plink, plink, plink. It’s so loud and I am only human.”

“Where is Lennarius?” he asked sharply, slamming his hand down on the counter, making her jump.

“Tea?” she asked shakily as she turned and reached for the mugs.

“Where is Lennarius?” he asked again.

“I have pomegranate?” Haley offered after a moment of silence, her voice and hands trembling. “It’s red. It’s blood.” She grimaced before smiling, showing off her straight, white teeth. “Just like the blood on your hands. It won’t wash away. It’ll never wash away. Your hands will be forever stained scarlet with blood—with tea.” Then she laughed. “Daedalus. Daedalus. Daedalus, with your maze and your wings and your son of clay and your dead child and your locked-away monster. You set her free—set Campe free. You gave the minotaur the keys and you let her loose on the poor, innocent children of Athens and Crete.”

“You’re not making sense,” Fable told her.

When she laughed, it was hysterical and high-pitched. “You chose Iphigenia!! You chose the sacrificial lamb in the form of a child!! Innocent blood spilled needlessly to get good winds for your war against the necromancers—the holy city of Troy—against Illium.” Tears dripped down her cheeks. “Iphigenia. Astyanax. You—Agamemnon—chose the sacrifice and you sent wily Odysseus off to do the dirty work. He was just a little boy.” Her voice cracked and she let out a broken sob. “He was so scared and you left Hector alive to see her dead son broken at the bottom of the wall. Poor Astyanax. Poor Hector. Poor Andromache. It is so cruel to make parents outlive their children, even the children they have taken in without stitching them together in the womb.”

He sighed heavily. “You’re talking about Oscar.”

“Are you Odysseus?” she asked. “Apollo cursed Cassandra so no one would understand what I say. Wily Odysseus, resourceful Odysseus, much enduring and long-suffering, sacker of cities. Godlike Odysseus. He who deceived the cyclops by being Nobody. Will you finally understand me?” Her voice rose to a shout again. “Will someone finally understand me?! Those at Lodestar Grove cannot make sense of my words; they don’t even try. Does the monster with his silver tongue—the viper—know the weight of my voice?”

“I want to know where Lennarius is,” Fable repeated.

Cassandra—Haley—shook her head, her smile watery and forced. “I don’t see how this will end. I am Polyphemus. I’m blind. They’ve ripped out my eyes and cursed my tongue. Cassandra was killed when she was brought to Mycenae. Have you come to kill me?”

“No,” he said, his voice sharp with annoyance and impatience. “I haven’t.”

“You’re looking for Hades,” she said softly, rocking back and forth on her feet. “You want to find him and kill him. Bury him alive in the ground like how he took down Persephone, Kore, and Demeter. Will Lodestar Grove be the newest daughter-city he destroys in his desire for vengeance? The most recent daughter snatched from her mother too soon?”

Fable grabbed her wrist, squeezing hard enough that her head jerked up to look at him. “I want to stop him from destroying anything else.”

“Hades has gone away to raise the dead,” Haley said and perhaps it was the clearest thing she had ever said. “Orpheus refused to bring back Eurydice and so Hades will destroy everything to make Orpheus do his bidding. He has gone to raise the dead. He will return with a horde. He will tear Lodestar Grove and everyone in it apart. You will lose your son should he be allowed to succeed.”

“And how do I stop it?” he asked sharply.

She shook her head. “My mind is cheese. All the thoughts slip through. Agamemnon doesn’t win the war. He doesn’t storm the gates or scale the walls. Odysseus gets through but you are not him. You’re not him because you choose the sacrifice but you make others do the work. Coward.”

Fable slapped her across the face. “How dare you speak to me like that!”

Haley started laughing when she hit the floor. “Hades will die but you will fail. You will lose. You have a wooden horse within your ranks—a Judas, Loki, Medea, and Rhea.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he hissed as he stepped on her hand, frowning when she choked on a sob of pain. “You are a crazed prophet. You’re making this up.”

“Cassandra,” she said in agreement, tears dripping down her cheeks. “Cursed, forgotten, and murdered with no one who will grieve her. At least Iphigenia and Astyanax have people who will mourn him. I saw them die—I felt it—I knew their death in the very fiber of my being where Epros and Kinaxis whisper the future in my ears.”

Something cracked under his shoe. “Who is the traitor?”

“Who said anything about a traitor?” she asked even as she writhed in an attempt to get her broken hand away from him, her free hand clawing at the hard-packed dirt floor. “You betray her first. You’ve betrayed her. She just wanted revenge on Lennarius and you’ve twisted it to destroy everyone.”

“Her?” Fable frowned at the prophet before his eyes narrowed suddenly. “Arisanna.”

Haley choked on a sob of pain. “Murderer. Coward.”

He stepped off her hand and knelt down in front of her, grabbing her face roughly and forcing her to look at him, his long fingers digging into her skin. “You started this conversation by rambling and now you’re being actually useful. What changed?”

“I am Cassandra.” She spat at him. “And you are nobody.”

Fable smacked her hard enough that her head bounced when it hit the floor and she curled up with a pained groan, one of her hands broken and rapidly turning many shades of black and purple and swelling. “I am growing tired of this,” he warned.

Haley blinked away the black spots starting to invade her vision and spat blood out of her mouth from where she had bitten her tongue. The ever-present humming in the back of her mind that muddled her thoughts was gone. It was quiet. “I know,” she whispered. “When this is done there will be so much blood on your hands you won’t know where to start to cleanse yourself of your sin.”

He pulled out his sword.

She was still staring at the blood she had left on the floor, her breathing ragged. “You’re going to die and they will celebrate it. Your clay creation will mourn you should they survive but nothing is written in stone yet. Clay is malleable. It can be written, erased, and rewritten. It is only the fire of the present that solidifies the stone of the past.”

“This has been an interesting conversation,” Fable said. “But you have been largely unhelpful and I can’t risk the necromancers getting more information from you.”

Haley laughed, untying the fabric around her eyes with her good hand. “Don’t pretend to feel bad about killing me. An act of mercy, right? Putting the mad dog down?” Then she looked up at him, her purple eyes filled with tears. “My death won’t change anything. I can promise you that, Daedalus. The future is already woven.”

The sword swung through the air and her head disconnected from her body. Blood splattered across the worn wooden floor. Fable sighed heavily as he wiped his blade clean on a kitchen towel and slid it back into its sheath. Then he turned and left, riding back to Westgrove.

“Lord Gilded,” said Wilton as he opened the door, a stable hand grabbing Fable’s horse. “Let me take your coat. Mr. Fenris Nightingale arrived a few minutes earlier and wants to talk to you.”

Fable stepped inside and pulled off his coat, handing it over. “Where is Mr. Nightingale?”

“In the parlor, sir. He has been offered refreshments but he was very insistent on waiting for you, especially when I informed him you would be home soon.”

“Very well,” he said before turning and crossing the entrance to enter the parlor. It was an airy room with a tall ceiling and floor-to-ceiling windows, the walls painted a deep green. There was an empty fireplace against the interior wall and half a dozen chairs spread out around a center coffee table.

The visitor—Fenris—was not sitting in any of the chairs, instead standing by one of the windows, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared outside at the rain. His ear, pointed and tufted with dark fur, twitched when the lord approached and he turned.

“Mr. Nightingale?” Fable asked as he paused in the doorway, raising an eyebrow at the stranger. “I apologize for not being home when you arrive.”

He shrugged his broad shoulders, the movement making his jacket ripple. “I knew there was a chance you wouldn’t be here since you didn’t know I was coming,” he said, flashing a quick smile full of sharp teeth. “You must be the Lord Gilded I’ve heard so much about from your son and Ocie.”

“That is correct. I spoke with Ocie just yesterday.” He held out his hand for Fenris to shake. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“I want to help,” Fenris growled softly even as he shook Fable’s hand.

“Come up to my office; we can talk more there.” Fable turned and led Fenris upstairs.

“I will admit, Lord Gilded, that I don’t fully believe it when you blame Centross,” Fenris said once they were inside the office, Fable closing the door behind him. His golden eyes stared out at the raining world outside. “I’ve known Centross for a very long time and he may be a necromancer, but he wouldn’t kill Oscar.”

Fable sighed heavily. “He is a necromancer and a monster. We already know that necromancers are easily capable of great crimes against their family; just look at Lennarius and his dead brother.”

“Hmmm.” He shrugged. “I blame Rae.”

“Oh?” he asked, sitting down behind his chest.

Fenris scoffed. “He is newer to Lodestar Grove, having only been found almost a year ago. He was never close to Oscar. He’s hurt people already; he’s killing Momboo and yet he still tries to claim that it’s not his fault when I saw it. He’s threatened me.” He rolled back his sleeve to show off the scars on his forearm. “Rae Morningstar did this to me. He killed Oscar. He has a reason to target people I care about because I called him out on his bullshit when he brought Isla back.”

“Hm.” Fable frowned. “Why are you here, Fenris?”

“Excuse me.”

“Why are you here?” he asked. “Because you want to tell me that I am wrong in my guess on who killed Oscar? Because you want to support Ocie and Jerry? Because you want revenge on Centross? Or Rae? Or Lennarius? Why do you want revenge on them? For killing Oscar? For killing Momboo? For hurting you? For destroying the world?”

Fenris snarled, showing off sharp fangs, red bleeding into his golden eyes. “I want to make every single necromancer suffer for how they have hurt me and people I care about. They all deserve to die.”

“And what about their supporters?” Fable asked with a smile.

“Who?” he growled out.

“As I hear it…” He paused, letting the moment drag out as the blood witch’s growl intensified. “Caspian. Athena. Jamie. Ulysses.”

“Delusional,” Fenris said quickly. “They’ve been deceived. They’re dangerous for their loyalty but they can be made to see sense.”

“So you don’t think that everyone supporting necromancers should die?” Fable asked as he raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t want more innocent people to die.”

“Fenris, are they still innocent when they support monsters?”

“I know them,” Fenris said with a shake of his head. “They’ve been tricked. Athena and Jamie especially don’t deserve to die.”

“You used to date Rae and Centross,” Fable said, frowning as he met the blood witch’s gaze. “How can I trust that you won’t ally yourself with them?”

“Rae took Centross from me,” he snapped.

“That doesn’t answer my question. How can I trust you?”

Fenris jerked forward with a growl, his hands slamming down onto the desk. “I love neither of them. I stopped caring for them when they proved themselves to be dangerous, inhuman monsters. They are necromancers and they should be buried alive where they belong.”

Fable just raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’ve dug both of them up before,” he admitted. “I won’t make that mistake again.”

He nodded. “Very well.”

“Let me help,” Fenris begged, his hands forming fists. “I want to help.”

“You’ve been trained how to fight, right?” he asked.

“Yes, I have. Why?”

Fable sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I have unfortunate news about one of the people working with me.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow but stepped back so he wasn’t looming over the mayor, crossing his arms over his chest, his ears pressed back against his head.

“I know Arisanna knows how to fight.”

“No…” he whispered, golden eyes widening, his tail tucked between his legs.

Fable frowned. “It’s truly a pity but I’ve been informed that she has sided with the necromancers,” he said, only partially lying. “Overheard talking with Lennarius about raising the hordes, in fact.”

“No.” Fenris shook his head. “She wouldn’t. She hates the necromancers more than anyone I know.”

“That doesn’t mean she won’t side with them to come out on top.” He sighed heavily and shook his head like he was sorry for what was happening. “It is a pity because she was one of my best spies. I told her my plans. I trusted her and maybe that was foolish of me but…” He trailed off, letting Fenris connect the dots.

“She knows how to combat whatever you’re planning,” he said.

“I don’t think she knows that I know she’s become a Judas,” Fable said.

Fenris frowned. “She’s acting like a double agent?”

“Yes.” He got to his feet. “Prove your loyalty by getting rid of her.”

“You want me to kill her?” he asked sharply. “She’s my sister.”

“And she is working with a man who has taken everything from you, who will take everything else you have, and who will destroy this peace and end the world.” Fable sighed heavily and softened his tone. “I know I am asking a lot from you but I have no other choice. I cannot let Lennarius come into power again. I refuse to fear for my life and my family’s lives again.”

“But my sister?”

“Out of everyone on my side, you know how to fight the best,” he said. “Make it quick. I do not want to see her suffer. Knock her out of commission and lock her up so she cannot tell anyone what she knows for all I care. Just make sure Lennarius and Rae don’t know my plans.”

Fenris growled, his tail lashing anxiously.

“Once you do that, I will know that you are on my side,” Fable promised. “Then you will have your revenge on all necromancers. You won’t have to be scared of Lennarius raising the hordes. Isn’t that what you want, Fenris? Don’t you want future generations to not have to fear the dead anymore?”

“I—” He swallowed hard and looked away from the mayor, staring out the windows.

“Rae killed Oscar and is killing Momboo. Lennarius killed your family; every single Nightingale except you is dead because of him. How many more families are you willing to see wiped out in order to keep your supposed sister alive? She doesn’t care about you, Fenris, and I am sorry for that, but she has chosen the side that has committed genocide.”

“Her or the world is what it boils down to, right?” Fenris asked sharply.

Fable sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “Yes, it seems so. I am sorry for pushing this choice on you, Fenris. I truly am. I understand the struggle. My own sister has sided with necromancers before. I thought she had learned the error of her ways but she has come back and continues to side with them. I—" He shook his head, cutting himself off. “I will have to kill her.”

“Fine,” he said sharply before his voice went soft and sad. “Fine, I’ll take care of her.”

“Thank you, Fenris,” Fable said gently. “I will not ask anymore from you. What you are doing now is enough. You’re sacrificing so much and you are helping to save the world by removing a monster.”

Fenris nodded jerkily, his throat burning as he stared outside. “Right. Yeah.”

“It will be OK one day,” he promised as he escorted Fenris out of his office and downstairs. “I promise.”

Then the blood witch left quickly before anyone could see him cry, the door slamming closed behind him.