Kingdom of the Wicked (Kingdom of the Wicked #1)(92)

Something stirred in me.

I rushed to his side, hands fumbling, and tried to stop the bleeding. “It’s all right. It’s going to be all right. You just have to heal yourself.”

Once again, I had no spell, no magic to call upon to bind his wound together. I was too rattled to think clearly. I only had my two hands, and the hope that he could heal himself quickly enough. He slowly turned to me, the light leaving his eyes before he met my pleading gaze. This couldn’t be happening. I needed him.

“No.” Now more than ever, he had to get up and be okay. I shook him a little. He was unnaturally still, pupils fixed. I knew what that meant and couldn’t . . . he couldn’t be dead. This stupid, arrogant demon was supposed to be immortal. “Get up.”

He needed to heal. He just needed some time. I could hold his wound for a few more minutes. That’s all he needed. A few minutes. I could do that. I could stay there until he stitched himself together again.

I was still kneeling there, hands full of gore, when his body vanished from this realm.

I stared at the wet blood on my palms. There was so much of it. Too much. No mortal would survive those injuries. Wrath had always healed instantaneously before.

He was hurt, but not dead.

Just like Lust when he’d been struck with Wrath’s blade. He couldn’t be dead. That was the point of immortality. But . . . I’d seen life leave the demon’s eyes. Lust hadn’t looked like that. He’d still been breathing when he’d vanished back to Hell. I suddenly couldn’t breathe. Without him, I . . .

I held out my hands; they were shaking. I glanced down and watched in a strange, detached manner as my whole body violently trembled. Seeing my sister’s mutilated body had been horrible, but watching someone get eviscerated . . . I rubbed my hands down my skirts, but the blood wouldn’t come off. I scrubbed and scrubbed and—

“Enough of that.” Envy wrapped long fingers around my wrist, grinding the bones together. A little more pressure and he’d fracture something. “All of this unpleasantness could have been avoided if you’d have listened. You have no one to blame but yourself.”

“W-will . . . w-will h-he live?”

Envy knelt beside me, and pressed the flat side of his dagger beneath my chin. The blade was still slick with Wrath’s blood. “You ought to pray to your goddess he doesn’t. Now give me the Horn of Hades and I might consider ending you swiftly.”

I dragged my gaze away from the spot of blood where Wrath had fallen. He’d fought for me. He put himself between his brother and me, and paid for it. Anger suddenly swept in, cleared my mind of grief. I glared at Envy, and shoved my hand into my skirt pocket. I quickly looped Vittoria’s amulet over my head, finally bringing the Horn of Hades together.

A whiplike crack split the silence as the devil’s horns were reunited. Power surged through me. “Get out. Get out before I make you.”

“You’re making a terrible mistake.” Envy didn’t stagger back or run, but he did obey me. “I will not soon forget your disobedience, pet. And neither should you. It is no small thing to have a prince of Hell for an enemy. Come.”

He gathered his invisible assassins and left the dank tunnel. I waited until he was gone before I slumped to the ground. After that show of power, I couldn’t bring myself to move. I pulled my knees to my chest. Things had gone spectacularly wrong, and this time I had no idea how to move forward. Wrath was gone. My family was in hiding, and winning against the princes of Hell all by myself seemed more impossible than ever. Seeing Wrath ripped open from hip to hip rattled something in me. I’d thought he was invincible, so what chance did I really stand?

I wanted to be brave, and bold, and smart, and vanquish my enemies with cunning. Admitting I had much to learn felt like defeat. I had magic, and the Horn of Hades, but no time to learn darker tricks to even the playing field. Nonna said she’d try to slow the gates of Hell from opening, but who knows if she’d succeed before our time was up.

Being a realist didn’t mean I was a defeatist. Maybe things would be better if I stopped fighting, and waited to see if the devil wanted to claim me.

Or maybe now that I had his horns I should summon him, make a bargain of my own, and stop further destruction. My attention shifted back to where Wrath had fallen. I had a feeling I knew what he’d do. And I knew what Vittoria had chosen. But I still wasn’t sure what I wanted.

So I sat there, beside the drying blood of my worst enemy, and wept.





Forty-Four

Resurrection spells are part of both the dark arts and the Forbidden because they go against the natural order. If you attempt to steal back life, Death will take its retribution elsewhere, balancing the scales. As above, so below.

—Notes from the di Carlo grimoire

An hour later I found myself outside the ruined palace. I had nowhere else to go that was safe, and hoped Wrath’s magic was still somehow protecting the building. I’d made it into the lower level and had just closed the door when a tiny spike of coolness grazed my neck. I went to ignore it when I recalled what Nonna had said about being Marked by a prince of Hell.

Wrath had given me a way to summon him.

I dashed upstairs, and pulled supplies out of an extra bag I’d packed days before. Black candles, a few animal bones from the restaurant, my own personal grimoire I’d started, and . . .