My hair stands on end, and I can’t breathe because of this proximity to the goddess of death herself. A hollow, chilling whistle cuts through the air—once, twice, three times. I’ve learned that sound accompanies each swing of her scythe as she reaps souls.
Hardly a blink later, I can sense she’s gone. I finally inhale, clearing my throat as I try to stop my hands from shaking.
There is a very short list of things that frighten me in this world. Though I’ve yet to see her face, the goddess of death is quickly becoming the top item on that list.
Crypt emerges from Limbo, leaning against the outside of the cottage as he cracks his neck. His markings lit up nearly an hour ago, and he promptly vanished, yet they still glow faintly as he watches me start to pace. It makes me wonder if he went to tend to Limbo or if he was, in truth, waiting outside whatever dreamcatcher-protected room our keeper is in.
“Update,” he demands, ignoring the fresh corpses nearby.
I rub my face. “Maven stopped giving me any. It’s beyond aggravating.”
He smirks. “Dislike not having access to her pretty mind? Welcome to the club, Crane.”
“Shut up and make yourself useful.” I motion at the bodies. “They’ll be devoured in Limbo, won’t they? Maven shouldn’t have to see them when she returns.”
“We both know she would enjoy such a welcoming party,” Crypt muses, but he grabs hold of two of the corpses and vanishes with them. A moment later, the third disappears, and then the Nightmare Prince returns to stretch languidly and lean back against the cottage.
Baelfire wanders outside. He clearly just showered. “Thought I heard a fight out here.”
“It wasn’t much of a fight, I assure you,” I mutter.
The dragon shifter grunts and squints into the distance. “Which one is the Great Hall? I’m fucking starving. Do they do an actual Starfall dinner here, or is it all like…weird shit?”
“Why wouldn’t they have a normal Starfall dinner?”
“I don’t know, why the hell would women not be allowed in?” he counters. “This place is backward-ass enough that a holiday dinner made entirely of literal shit wouldn’t surprise me.”
“Women aren’t allowed in because the Garnet Wizard thinks romance is too much of a distraction to his acolytes.”
“What, he thinks gay romance just doesn’t fucking exist?”
I snort. “It’s not a rule I agree with, but he’s several centuries old and has cherry-picked which modern values to adopt. He respects women well enough, but the thought of a coeducational environment sends him into fits.”
“Weird fucker,” Baelfire mutters.
I've often thought so myself. Still, I respect my mentor. There is no more powerful caster in the world.
A moment later, Everett also walks out and frowns at us. “What are you three doing out here?”
Crypt lights another of his cigarettes. He’s going through them at a rate that would be alarming—or would be if I cared two fucks about him.
“Drugs,” he says cheerfully, taking a puff and offering it to Everett.
The ice elemental rolls his eyes but joins us outside, watching the slight colors in the dark sky until Baelfire turns to him, folding his oversized arms.
“So, what did the wizard mean about remembering you? You know him?”
I’ve been wondering about that, too. We all look at the Frost, who feigns disinterest as he picks invisible lint off his sleeve.
“Must’ve gotten me confused with my dad or something.”
I scoff. “We all know that’s a lie. He talked about you at eighteen. What did you?—”
“Just drop it,” he snaps. “My business is my business, so unless you three shits want to stand around a fire holding hands and singing kumbaya, leave me the hell alone.”
Always so godsdamned moody.
But then I tip my head, curious. “Show me your hands.”
