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“More than a bit. She didn’t help the family at all. Quite the opposite, really. Took me years to recover from her madness, and still, demons love to bring it up when it’s least convenient.”
Oleander nodded with mock sincerity. “That must have been really hard for you.”
Asmodeus sighed, a long, wearied exhale. “It wasn’t easy. They question everyone’s weaknesses. Well, not Hemlock’s—everyone already knows he’s a weak link. But convincing them to let Wisteria be the one for the sacrifice? There are others under Slang’s protection, but it was important to me that the sacrifice came from our line. That’s where the real benefits lie.”
“Slang’s protection?” Oleander leaned in, his curiosity piqued.
“The marks on her wrist. They’re called Slang’s protection. There’s an old saying: bite marks on the wrist mean the end of times.”
“The serpent deity?” Oleander asked, his tone sceptical.
His father took a long drink, unfazed. “Who knows? The Holy Circle nuts really believe in it, which is all you need to know. They’re the easiest to manipulate.”
Oleander nodded, trying to keep his thoughts from spiralling. He wondered how much of what his father said was truth twisted by his own agenda. The lines had always blurred with Asmodeus. “Is that why you’re so friendly with the curates in the Holy Circle?”
Asmodeus chuckled, a dark edge to his laugh. “Oleander, here’s some advice.” He leaned forward and gripped Oleander’s shoulder with surprising force. “If you show up at the services, act the part, and make enough noise about your belief—and, of course, if you have powerful allies backing you up— you can get away with anything. They’ll let you do whatever you like.”
A cold shiver ran down Oleander’s spine. His stomach churned, but he forced himself to remain still. Asmodeus shrugged, leaning back in his chair, taking another sip of his drink. “Nobody actually believes in the Silver Book. Well, maybe those lunatics in the Holy Circle, but I don’t have to believe in it. I don’t have to convince anyone. As long as they think I do, it doesn’t matter.”
He struggled to respond without revealing his growing discomfort. “That’s… cleverly done.” He paused, then added, “But how do they not suspect how you really feel? Especially when you’ve consumed the Purification Smoke?”
Asmodeus grinned, a wicked glint in his eye. “I take the antidote, obviously.” He laughed. “Don’t tell me you don’t?”
Oleander hesitated. “I… hadn’t thought about it. I assumed the ceremony was sacred. Tightly controlled.”
Asmodeus winked at him over the rim of his glass. “Nobody cares what you do, as long as they stay in power.” He took another long drink. “Wait until you come into your power. That, plus Wisteria’s sacrifice? Our family will be unstoppable.”
The realisation of who his father truly was hit Oleander like a physical blow. The horror of it sank deep, each word twisting the knife further in. His father truly didn’t care about who was hurt, as long as he came out on top.
He swallowed the bile rising in his throat. “And would you take the Devil from me, if I proved to be too weak?” His voice faltered, but he didn’t dare meet his father’s eyes.
Asmodeus patted him on the knee, his gesture oddly reassuring. “Don’t worry about that. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. You’ll do just fine. We both will.”
The tension was palpable as Oleander’s mind raced. He gave a jerky nod and bade his father goodnight. Asmodeus was incapable of loving him back and the reality of that fact was jarring.
He walked numbly to his bedroom. He had gained his father’s pride only to realise that pride and love were not interchangeable emotions. This realisation chased his thoughts as he laid in bed, plaguing him with regrets for all the shit bargains he’d made—all for a father who saw him as expendable.
“I hate this,” Wisteria said. “There’s nothing less dignified than swimming with my brother.”
A slender crescent moon hung in the velvet starless sky, spilling a thin wash of silver across the softly lapping lake, just enough to guide their path to the runic spiders cave. He was slightly out of breath trying to keep up with his sister, and the idea of having a conversation felt beyond him. Yet he found himself saying, “Most beings find it relaxing.”
“Relaxing?” She scoffed. “Covered in slime?”
“It’s a freshwater lake, you prissy bogwitch.”
“It’s disgusting.” Her strokes grew quicker and Oleander struggled to keep up. “Where are these damned runic spiders? I’m cold.”
“Their cave’s—” he gasped in a breath. “—just up there.”
Wisteria, not at all out of breath, asked,“Why didn’t you bring Hemlock, again?”
“Obviously, I would’ve preferred him to you, but he’s busy. Besides, he’s helped me break the last twenty magical bargains. You can help me once.”
“Do I get to pull a few fingernails off?”
“What? No!” He splashed her. “Stop asking if you get to maim me! I just need someone from the family to officiate the breaking of the bargain.”
She splashed him back. “So why not ask grandfather Nils?”
