Ireappear on the roof of the old pub, the slate slick with rain beneath my boots as I take a seat, my legs dangling over the side. The world shimmers back into focus around me, the transition like plunging into cold water.
She’s even better up close, with her righteous fury and sharp edges. Her energy is a delicious, chaotic hum under my skin. Raw power, barely contained by that disciplined exterior. She has no idea she’s the epicentre of the storm that’s about to break over this sleepy little town.
From up here, I can see Nyssa striding away, getting soaked to the bone. I haven’t missed this weather. Much like everything else in the Pantheon realm, the climate just is. It’s there. No change, no weather systems, only a constant, boring cycle of nothing.
Nyssa disappears from sight, and I narrow my eyes. I should follow her, but she will be expecting that. If I don’t follow her, it will catch her off guard more. Always be unpredictable. That’s where the real chaos lies.
“Dastian.”
Dreven’s sombre voice fills the air around me. I don’t bother looking up.
“Couldn’t stay away?” I ask, still watching the street where she vanished. “Afraid I’d steal your new favourite toy?”
The shadows beside me coalesce, darkening until they form his familiar, grim silhouette. The rain doesn’t touch him either, but on him, it looks less like a neat trick and more like the world is too afraid to. “She is not a toy, and you will not interfere.”
“Interfere?” I finally turn my head, giving him a wide, innocent grin. “I was just having a chat. Making friends. The gods only know how fucking bored I’ve been these last few centuries. You, on the other hand, lurk in her garden like a common creep. Who’s the one interfering?”
His silver eyes are chips of ice. “I was assessing a threat.”
“Right. A threat you seem to find utterly fascinating.” I chuckle, leaning back on my hands. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. I won’t tell Voren you’ve got a crush. He’d never let you hear the end of it.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. “This is not a game.”
“No, it’s not,” I say, dropping the playful tone. “It’s a shitstorm waiting to happen.”
“What did you tell her?”
“Nothing, not for lack of trying. She is as obtuse as you.”
“He’s telling the truth,” Voren says, appearing on my other side like a sly fox. “She really doesn’t like him.”
His lazy grin is annoying as fuck. I ignore it and him. “I told her what she needed to hear: she can’t do this alone.”
“And you offered your services, I presume?” Voren drawls, looking out over the rain-swept rooftops with an air of profound boredom. “Gallant of you.”
“Of course. I’m a helpful kind of god.” My gaze drifts back to where Nyssa’s cottage sits. “She thinks she can trust her rules and her Order. But they have no idea what’s slithering in the dark. When she finally realises that, she will remember our conversation.”
“So that’s it?” Dreven asks. “You’re going to leave her to come to her own conclusions.”
“Yes. Happy now?”
He grimaces at me, but I know he is satisfied that I won’t go pestering her. As much as I’d love it, hanging around waiting for the slayer to get her shit together is time wasted in this realm that has been thrown into jeopardy by a madman and the impossible way he broke the veil between realms. Nyssa will dig her heels in and refuse help if we keep showing up with warnings and offers she doesn’t want right now. Our time is better served trying to track down the darkness that slipped through the cracks.
“So, where do we start, oh great strategist?” Voren asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Dreven shoots him a look that could freeze hell. “We start where it began. The crypt.”
“Boring,” I say, getting to my feet. I find myself at a disadvantage while these two loom over me. “That place is a dead end. Literally. The magic is spent, sealed by Nyssa’s very interesting blood. No, the energy that came through… it scattered. It didn’t linger. It ran.”
“And you can feel it?” Dreven asks, his silver eyes fixed on me. He’s always so serious. It’s exhausting.
“I can feel the ripples,” I correct him. “Chaos leaves a signature. An echo. Like a scream in the mountains. There are several new screams in this little town. The question is, which one do we want to shut up first?”
Voren sniffs the air. “The dead are agitated. There’ssomething new preying on the lost souls near the old docks. Something hungry.”
“See? An excellent starting point,” I say, clapping him on the shoulder. He glares down at my hand as if it’s tainting his pristine coat.
I pull my hand away with a flourish. “Don’t get your duster in a twist, Wraith Boy. It’s just a friendly gesture. You remember those, right? From before we were locked in a cosmic oubliette for a few centuries?”
