If there’d been a decent highway between them, the drive wouldn’t have taken that long. The fastest route would be 67 to 34 and south on 49. Better than gravel, which Zola knew was exactly what would be waiting for her closer to her destination.

  Mill Spring, Missouri. Unless you lived in the area, it wasn’t a place many people knew about. And that wasn’t a bad thing. It was the site of an ancient slaughter, demons against men, gods against the dead, and their whispers would haunt the woods until the end of all time.

  Zola left the pavement for a gravel road that treated the shocks of the old Chevy with far more gentleness than the road to the cabin.

  It was an odd thing how commoners were always drawn to places of old power, though they themselves had no idea what ghost’s footsteps they walked in. In the hollows of the old world, long forgotten or never known in the collective consciousness of the commoners, dark things dwelled.

  Zola took another right at a four-way intersection of gravel roads. She smiled to herself, amused at just how close the black altar was to the crossroads. A bumpy curve led to a small gravel lot she could park in. Zola turned the car off before slamming the door, breathing in air cleaner than that of even the cabin.

  She walked off the lot and made her way through the underbrush until she reached a chain-link fence. The gate opened without protest, more there to keep the unsuspecting from falling into a forty-foot deep pit than to actually restrict entry.

  The dead grew into a buzz around her, but it wasn’t like the ghosts of the commoners. This was an imprint, a general unease left by the slaughter that once happened there.

  Leaves crunched beneath every footfall until Zola stopped on the precipice. Forty feet down waited the bright blue water some referred to as the Gulf. Zola had always known it as the Blue Hole. But regardless of its name, the old collapsed cave held far more history than the commoners knew.

  A sharp slope with few handholds led down to the surface of iridescent blue water. Zola’s feet slipped on decaying leaves and moss while the scent of mud overtook the world around her. A metallic tang settled on her tongue, an odd sensation she’d come to recognize when gravemakers were near.

  Best to be quick, before it decided to surface.

  The story went that the Blue Hole had been a cave that collapsed, a sinkhole fallen into an underground lake. It was an easy lie to believe the way the surface rose and fell with the water table, but to those who knew what to look for, hints of darkness waited all around. And to those who knew how to listen, the forest was never quiet.

  Zola sank into the edge of the water, soaking her cloak up to her knees as she settled onto the rocky floor. Before her stood the entrance to the cave. A flooded pit where the undines once battled, and if the stories were to be believed, where an elemental was slain. An Old God, like Aeros, cast down into oblivion.

  The altar wasn’t buried in the darkness, thank the gods for that. Zola wasn’t fond of the old places of the world. Too many ways for magic to go wrong. Too many chances for things to find you.

  The hair on her arms stood up as a frisson of fear lanced down her back.

  Best to be quick.

  “Arcesso altaria.”

  The surface of the water vibrated and flowed to the edges of the lake, splashing against Zola’s waist as a narrow altar of black bone rose before her. Charred femurs and bizarre hinged bones from creatures long extinct formed the flat plane of the altar. The skull of a demon, its gnarled horns bonded to bones above, created the pedestal.

  Zola let the ley lines flow through her, bending them ever so slightly. She didn’t want to accidentally incinerate Ronwe. That would leave them in a world of shit.

  “Infernus Ronwe Accersitus,” she whispered as she drew the letter of blood from her cloak and laid it on the altar. It wasn’t unlike the ritual Damian had once used to commune with Azzazoth, but the call to Ronwe would be a great deal less subtle.

  The scarred altar burst into flames and rolling, swiveling bones swallowed the letter. But instead of merely relaying a message, the very air began to shake around Zola. Droplets of water popped from the surface of whitecaps as the lake vibrated with malice.

  It was only a shadow at first. Wisps of rising steam that absorbed the light. Then the edge of the altar bent as the hand formed, and the air spun, picking up water and debris and flinging it all around until the shadow took shape.

  Pungent brimstone tainted the air, and then Zola wasn’t the only one breathing in the depths of the Gulf.

  “Betrayal?” Ronwe said through gritted teeth. The demon closed her eyes and slowly peeled her hands away from the altar. “Do you have any idea how much that burns? To be pulled through a summoning circle? Torn through the runes of the prison that you chained me to?”

  Zola smiled at the demon. “This is not a time for games, Ronwe. Ah wanted to make that explicitly clear for you. Do we understand each other now?”

  “There are more civil ways,” Ronwe said.

  “You lied to me.”

  Ronwe grimaced. “Omitting the facts is not the same as lying.”

  Zola let out an exasperated breath. “Why didn’t you tell me about the bloodstone?”

  “It is not as if a broken bloodstone is the only artifact of power that may suit your needs. And it was my prison, Adannaya. You should understand that better than most. I never want to see that thing again, and if its magicks were used against me once, I need not tell you the rest.”

  “Ah could have killed you a hundred times over by now. And Ah’ve never harmed you. Ah know what you’ve done in that community, for that community. Ah want to trust you and yet Ah can’t.”

  Ronwe’s voice was quiet, the water had stilled around their feet. “It could kill you all. You don’t understand what you seek.”

  “Then for fuck’s sake, tell me.”

  Ronwe sighed. “The bloodstone was bonded to an Old God, to enhance their power even as it spared their life. For the Titan, you will need the blessing of a priestess, a green witch. I tell you in good faith, the magic must be anchored to the earth itself if you hope to survive.”

  Zola frowned at the demon.

  “The fragments of the bloodstone were buried at Corydon. I’m sure you recall, yes?”

  “How could Ah forget? It was stolen from our cache at Gettysburg before it turned up at Corydon. Unleashed by some idiot Confederates. That was a battle that didn’t need to happen.”

  “Perhaps,” Ronwe said. “But it was not the Confederates who set me free.”

  “No one else was there,” Zola said.

  “Oh, child,” Ronwe said. “Philip Pinkerton released me from that stone. I carried my own prison to Corydon.”

  “No,” Zola said, her eyes widening.

  “It’s distasteful what was done there, but a bargain is a bargain. And I keep my word, Adannaya. I always have. I cleansed my palette in the blood of the second battle of Fort Wagner, as the commoners named it.”

  “Philip…” Zola squeezed her eyes shut. “Ah was so blind to what he was.”

  “If you seek out the remnants of that bloodstone, know my prison will not be so easy a target. You know what waits beneath the mooring post.”

  Zola’s voice hardened. “Then it’s time to set an old wrong right.”

  “Heed my words, Adannaya. The guardian there is beyond you. Do not face him alone.” Ronwe looked into the black water at her feet. “Of course, that is only if you get out of here alive. You violated the altar by pulling me through, Zola. You never should have summoned me here. This is not my doing.”

  As Ronwe’s form faded, unbidden by Zola, the screams came calling.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Zola’s scream joined the cacophony when the blue water turned black, and a grip like steel threatened to crush every bone in her ankle.

  Dead, milk-white eyes opened in the water, rising to the surface as Zola struggled to free herself. She blasted the thing with a fire incantation so fierce the superheated water scorched her own flesh as it faded. Ice did nothing. Air was useless.

  Instinct took over. She had to slow it down long enough to escape, to climb out, but gods only knew what would happen. The only blade on her came into her hand, and she plunged the key of the dead into the heart of the gravemaker.

  Whispers rose around her.

  Only a moment. Zola, I can only hold it for a moment. Run!

  Tears cut through the panic in Zola’s chest as she recognized the voice. But it wasn’t possible. Damian was trapped in the Abyss, lost to them, lost to himself.

  Run, goddammit!

  With one violent twist, Zola tore the key of the dead from the gravemaker’s chest. She lunged, her ankle pulling free so slowly she thought time itself might have frozen. But then the water splashed around her as she used the dagger for leverage on the steep slope out of the Gulf.

  A glance back showed her that black water and the hollow eyes of the gravemaker staring up at her.

  “You’re losing your damned mind, woman. Pull your shit together.”

  Her breaths came fast and shallow, but it didn’t slow her sprint through the woods. Small branches and twigs snapped off as they snagged her cloak, as twisted as the gravemaker who had come to claim her. She raced back to the car, where she slammed the door and crushed the accelerator. Gravel pinged and sprayed into the woods as Zola sped away from that damned place.

  * * *

  The pounding of Zola’s heart slowed as she reached pavement once more. On a straighter stretch of road, she grabbed her phone and said, “Call Ashley cell.” The line rang through after a time.

  “Hello?” a groggy voice said.

  “Ashley,” Zola said. “You just getting up, girl?”

  “Hey, I got stabbed. I’m allowed to be lazy for a couple days.”

  “Not today. We’re going to need your blessing. The magic of the devil’s knot has to be anchored to the earth, or this transfer could kill all three of them.”

  “The blessing of who?” Ashley asked.

  “The blessing of a green witch. A priestess.”

  The line was quiet for a time. “I’m not a green witch anymore, Zola.”

  “The hell you aren’t. That coven still follows you, girl. That makes you more priestess than anyone else I know.”

  “I’m not worthy, Zola. I can’t put everyone at risk.”

  Zola mashed the accelerator and her car roared as she passed a slow-moving truck. “Put them at risk? That’s been a group effort, girl. Not doing this is putting them at risk.”

  “I can’t lose them. I can’t lose them like that, Zola.”

  Before Zola could respond, the line went dead.

  “God damn it,” she muttered to herself. “Damn kids and their identity crises. Damian worried about becoming a dark necromancer. Ashley worried she’s no longer a priestess of the green witches. Sam worried about being the weak link between Damian and Vicky. Ah’ve had quite enough.”

  Zola called another number.

  “This is Beth.”

  “Elizabeth?” Zola said.

  There was a sigh on the other end of the line. “Ashley is really the only one I let get away with calling me Elizabeth. And that damn werewolf.”

  Zola would have laughed if she wasn’t gritting her teeth. Hugh had a way of calling you whatever the hell he wanted to call you. “We’re going to need Ashley for a ritual. And it’s one only a green witch can perform.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem,” Beth said. “So why are you calling me?”

  “Because for some reason, that fool doesn’t think she’s worthy. Ah need you to talk some sense into her. We need her for this, Beth. Ah don’t trust anyone else to offer their blessing for the devil’s knot.”

  “Dammit,” Beth said. “The more she’s embraced the blade of the stone, the more times I’ve heard her say that. But it’s not how I feel. It’s not how the coven feels. We’ll do what we can. But Zola…”

  “Yes?” Zola said after a beat.

  “I can’t make you promises about this. She’s walking a different path than all of us now. You know that.”

  “We’re all walking a different path. Every last one of us. Do what you can. If it goes wrong, perhaps it’s time for someone else in the coven to become the priestess.”

  Beth hesitated at that. It struck a chord, as Zola knew it would. She didn’t like manipulating her friends. But occasionally desperate times called for being a bitch.

  “I’ll be in touch.” With that, Beth disconnected.

  Zola patted the steering wheel. “Now we’re in some shit, aren’t we, girl? Yes, we are.” She pushed the accelerator down harder, and the car roared its agreement.

  * * *

  Zola parked outside the cabin and hurried up the stairs. She paused at the front door, staring at the railing that was so much newer than the rest of the porch. It stood out like a billboard. She remembered Damian flying through that railing when she taught him to use a demon’s aura against itself. One lesson of any hundreds she’d taught him in that place.

  She flexed her jaw and stormed inside.

  “Did you get what you needed?” Vicky asked, shrugging into her backpack.

  Zola eyed her and Luna. “Where do you two think you’re going?”

  “Wherever you are,” they answered in unison.

  Vicky grinned at Luna before turning back to Zola. “Well?”

  “Ah got what we needed.” She gave a sharp nod. “And more that we didn’t.” She pulled the key of the dead out of her pocket and set it back in the trunk. “We’re going to Corydon.”

  “What’s a Corydon?” Luna asked.

  “A small town in Indiana,” Zola said. “More importantly, a battlefield where Ronwe’s bloodstone is hidden.”

  “Let’s go!” Vicky pulled her backpack off one shoulder and rooted through it for a moment until she pulled out the dead gray flesh of the hand of Gaia. “I’ve got jerky and a couple waters too, if you need a snack.”

  “You have ammunition?”

  Vicky lit a soulsword. “I’ve always got that.”

  “For the pepperbox. You may need to keep your distance in this fight.” She looked to Luna. “Both of you. This place has a guardian. Not unlike Aeros.”

  “Aeros can be pretty slow,” Luna said. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Zola grimaced. “Fulvus is different. A shapeshifter of sorts. Best case is we distract him while one of us retrieves the bloodstone.”

  Vicky nodded. “Sounds easy enough.”

  “That’s what makes me worry,” Zola said, tightening the rope belt around her waist. “Ready?”

  Vicky shrugged into her backpack again and held out her hand. Zola and Luna both grabbed hold while Vicky laced her fingers into the hand of Gaia. The world vanished into darkness.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “You bring company,” Gaia’s ethereal voice said before the golden motes of her body had coalesced.

  “Hi Gaia,” Vicky said.

  Zola felt the girl squeeze her hand. It made her smile, the thought that a child, a teenager now no less, showed that kind of small compassion. The golden path illuminated beneath their feet, stretching to the distant stars of the Abyss.

  “It is good to see you all here. There was a brief moment where I feared Damian had been lost, but the colossus was brought under control once more.”

  “When?” Zola asked.

  Gaia looked upon her, golden eyes narrowing as she studied her. “A short time ago. But the magic I sensed on him stains you as well.”

  “Gods, it was him,” Zola whispered.

  “What?” Vicky asked.

  “At the altar. A gravemaker had me. Ah stabbed it with the key of the dead. It was just a reflex.”

  Gaia turned to the horizon. “There is not much magic stronger than that for a necromancer. The keys are few, but their power has not eroded over time. Damian’s inundation with the gravemakers may have consequences reaching further than I realized.”

  “He’s still in there.” Zola’s voice cracked, but not even the rising anger in her chest could burn away the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes.

  “For now.” Gaia’s musical voice was a contrast to the dire warning her words delivered. “Where do we journey today, young one?”

  “Corydon,” Vicky said. “It’s a battlefield in Indiana.”

  “Would you like to see Damian before you depart?” Gaia asked.

  Vicky looked to Zola.

  “No,” Zola said. “We’re short on time as it is.” What she didn’t say aloud was that she didn’t need to see him trapped inside that thing. Ronwe’s words about Philip had pierced her heart, and she had no desire to be crushed by her emotions.

  Luna held on to Vicky’s arm a little tighter, looking up at the Titan with plain apprehension.

  “We have arrived. Release my hand, and I shall return to Damian.”

  “Thank you,” Vicky said. “We’ll be back.”

  “I hope that is so, little one.”

  The stars spun like Zola had been punched in the temple, only to switch to a tremendous falling sensation, and then nothing as they stumbled out of darkness and into the light before a log cabin.

  * * *

  The cabin was new, and certainly hadn’t been there the last time Zola had set foot on the battlefield. But as she looked around, and took in the small parking lot and paved drive leading away from the area, she realized there were a great deal of things that hadn’t been there.

  A cannon sat beside them on carefully laid bricks beneath the drooping branches of a gnarled tree. Two tourists wandered about the cabin, which explained why Luna had suddenly launched herself to the rooftop out of sight.

  Commoners might be aware they weren’t alone in the world now, but seeing a death bat could still cause a scene. And that they didn’t need.

  While they waited for them to leave, Zola wandered to a ruined stone structure. She didn’t remember what it used to be, but it had been destroyed a long time ago, judging by the even decay of the mortar and stone.

  She followed an asphalt walking path while Vicky bent over to read one of the monuments. Zola saw it as she turned, behind a low split-rail wooden fence. A simple black post she knew had a massive chain attached to it. The sight alone felt like a weight in her gut.

 

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