The Night Everything Fell Apart (The Nephilim Book 1)(10)

A flash of profound pain, quickly masked, passed through Cybele’s eyes. “Even if Luc does tell her when I left, that’s all he knows. He doesn’t know where I am now.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Cybele sighed and pushed to her feet. “Are you hungry? I have food. And I brought extra clothes for you. Clean jeans, boxers, and as many shirts as I could stuff into my backpack. I figured you’d probably need those the most.”

That was certainly true. When he didn’t have the presence of mind to pull off his shirt before he shifted, his wings ripped it to shreds. And presence of mind had been in short supply lately. “Thanks,” he said.

“I’ll fix us something to eat.”

“I need to get cleaned up. Is there water in the house?”

“No.”

“I’ll try the garden well.”

Arthur left the house and all but attacked the rusted pump. He doubted Cybele was hungry. What she wanted was space. What he wanted was to feel human again.





THREE


Maweth bounced and bounced, careening off the shining curves of his prison. He tried angling his bat-wings for a somersault, just to spice thing up. Honestly. He was bored out of his skull.

Not quite bored enough to wish for a visit from his master, though. Bastard.

For the millionth time, he lectured himself on how stupid he’d been. After thousands of years of demonic existence, you’d think he’d be too wily to stumble into a trap. But who could blame him for being distracted? He’d been massively stressed out for the past couple centuries. Earth’s population was exploding. So many people, coming to so many ends.

He blamed his captivity on the lights. They’d been all rainbows and sunshine. So pretty. So sparkling. So unlike death. They’d caught his fancy. He’d reached out to touch them and...bam!

Damn alchemy anyway. It was very deceitful magic, constructed with the elements of metal, fire, and blood. What Maweth had thought was light was really a mirror, a dazzling quicksilver mirror, fused alchemically with salt, flame, and a drop of blood. Though the mirror was solid, the quicksilver it was made of moved like a liquid, swirling and reflecting all the colors of the rainbow. Very pretty. The dazzle had lured him. He’d approached and poked at the mirror with a finger. Before he knew what was happening, he’d been inside the blasted thing. Where there were no rainbows, just dull gray walls. And no getting out, except when his new master called.

To make matters worse, his master was a Nephil. Nasty creatures, Nephilim were, at the best of times. The occasion of Maweth’s capture was not the best of times. The Nephil who’d caught him had been steamed when he realized Maweth couldn’t do what he wanted him to do.

Maweth thought then that he’d be set free. No such luck. His master was very adept at changing his plans to suit unexpected circumstances. He’d quickly found an alternate use for his captive’s talents.

All that had taken place, Maweth estimated, four months ago. Ninety-nine percent of that time had been spent in utter boredom. The rest had been spent doing things he’d rather not dwell on. Right now, his master was occupied with the fruits of one of Maweth’s labors. Which was another thing he’d rather not think about.

He started to hum, adding a grunt every time he struck the concave surface that defined his world. He tried a double backflip. The inside of the mirror was a little tight for the maneuver. His body splatted flat, arms and legs spread, his nose pressed to the mirror’s surface. His master’s office, its lines curved in fish-eyed distortion, loomed above him. As he pushed himself off the wall, the office door swung open. A familiar, black-garbed figure stepped into view.

His master. Vaclav Dusek, Nephil adept and alpha of the Alchemist clan.

Ah, shit.

Maybe, Maweth thought hopefully, just maybe, Dusek had other things on his mind. Paperwork or something.

Nope. The Nephil stopped at his desk. Maweth’s stomach lurched as the mirror lifted, dangling on its chain. His world spun wildly. He braced himself for the inevitable command.

“Maweth. Come.”

With a sigh, he somersaulted out of the mirror. He landed on the desk with a flourish he was sure would’ve earned a perfect ten in the human Olympic Games.

“You called, oh Master my Master?”

Usually Dusek chided him for his petty sarcasm. This time he didn’t. He smiled instead. At least, Maweth assumed the smug curve to his master’s thin lips was a smile. Dusek was pleased about something. His latest thrall, no doubt.

Maweth was right.

“Success, Maweth,” the Nephil said with an expansive air and a generous wave of his left hand. The gold ring on his middle finger caught the light.

Maweth repressed a shudder. Dusek’s ring, fashioned from alchemical gold augmented by a drop of his own blood, was creepy as all get out. In the place where a normal signet ring would’ve had an initial or a stone, there was a face instead—a perfect reproduction of Dusek’s countenance. The golden face could change expressions, blink its eyes, and even, on rare occasions, open its mouth and speak. The thing gave Maweth the willies.

“Stunning success. It took longer than I had anticipated, but the result was well worth it. Your latest dormant recruit not only survived her Ordeal, but revealed herself to be a member of a clan I hadn’t previously mastered. Vodou magic. The elements of flesh, blood, and breath. Quite a prize.”