Jewel gave a derisive laugh. “It’s kind of hard not to be a part of this entire group, pack, whatever we want to call it, and not pick up on the snark factor.”
Heather nodded. “That is very true. Snark is as snark does.”
“That makes no sense.” Andora sighed as she shook her head.
“Anyways,” Jewel continued, “I left out some things about hell. The souls that go to hell become demons. They are not only tortured by their own misery, but they torture one another. They despise themselves and everyone around them.”
“Kind of hard not to despise wicked, nasty people or souls,” Heather pointed out.
Jewel reached up and tucked a strand of her strawberry-blonde hair behind her ear. “Only the Great Luna can send a soul to hell. The Realm of the Dead, however, is where demons, supernatural creatures like ourselves, warlocks, and others reside. It was created by the god who is the antithesis of the Great Luna. He rules this realm but has been imprisoned here for thousands of years. According to the book, the djinn—the most powerful of the supernaturals, as we know—were the ones who sealed it.”
“Okay.” Heather put one finger up. “First, you said the demons were in hell. And this supposedly isn’t hell. And second”—she popped up a second finger—“you’re saying we’re in a place where Antithesis god, who has been imprisoned for who the hell knows how long—and I imagine is pretty pissed off about that—wandering around like lost sheep ripe for the picking?Andthere are demons here? How and since when are demons not bad?”
Before Jewel could respond, Andora spoke up. “What was the name of this book that you read all this information in?”
Jewel’s face scrunched up as she tapped her chin. “The title on the cover was actually in a language I didn’t know. I mean, why would I know it? I don’t speak supernatural languages, but when I opened the book, the letters that hadn’t looked like letters at all began to move about until they formed words that were in the English language.”
Fane shook his head. “Even a healer shouldn’t have the ability to transmorfmitify.”
“I’m sorry,tranmofo-what?” Heather asked, as she, too, now leaned toward Jewel.
“Transmorfmitify,” Fane repeated. “It’s the ability to change a supernatural language you don’t know into one you can read.”
Jewel huffed. “No offense, Alpha, but you seem to be forgetting that the rules in the supernatural world aren’t really absolutes. They’re more like playground regulations that change at the whim of a child who has lost the game and suddenly needs to reform the injunctions in order to make it fit his agenda.”
Jewel’s eyes snapped to Heather whose head had fallen back as a fit of giggles bubbled out of her. If the blind healer had been sitting in a chair, Jewel was pretty sure she’d have fallen out of it.
“Only you would use words like regulations, injunctions, and agenda to describe the scenario of a kid on a playground,” Heather said through her laughter.
“Glad my vocabulary entertains you.” Jewel shifted her body as she felt the ghostly thing of her mother move closer to her. Even without looking she knew when it was nearer because an icy chill ran down Jewel’s spine.
“Perhaps this little excursion won’t be as boring as I originally thought.” Heather sighed as her laughter died down.
Jewel had no doubt what they were going to be facing would be way more interesting than any of them wanted. As she set aside her emotions about Dalton, her mother, and how she’d wronged all those she loved, she focused on the book that she’d read. At the time, Jewel hadn’t thought anything about it. It was just another interesting book in the Colorado Pack mansion. She’d believed that she’d dealt with the emotions of losing her mother, killing all those innocent people, watching her friends be hurt and being unable to do anything about it, and learning about what Kara had endured. But it had been eating her from the inside out. So books had become a replacement for all the people she loved. She couldn’t let books down. Books couldn’t die. Books were a constant thing that she could return to again and again.
“Jewel.” Fane’s voice brought her out of her thoughts.
Her eyes, which had gone unfocused, once again were filled with the color of the red walls around them.
“Not to bring up painful memories,” Andora said, her voice gentle, “but high fae magic was used on you. Dark magic. And witch magic. Correct?”
Jewel nodded.
“There are texts that are written in languages that only those with dark magic inside of them are able to translate,” the queen continued. “Why Dillon has one or more—” A single brow rose as she looked at Jewel.
She shook her head. “That was the only one.”
Andora nodded. “Why Dillon had such a book is an interesting question.”
“Seems to me that a lot of supernatural crap ends up in places that it shouldn’t,” Heather pointed out. “Cough, cough, fae stones.”
“She’s not wrong,” Jewel agreed.
“Do you remember more of what it said?” Fane’s eyes glowed slightly, like Dalton’s did when his wolf was close to the surface.
“The ruler of the Realm of the Dead is called?—”
“Don’t,” Andora said quickly. “Names have power. We do not want to draw his attention.”
