GRIM TURMOIL

HEX UNITE BOOK TWO

NICOLE ZOLTACK

Copyright 2020 by Nicole Zoltack

Cover Artist: Merry Book Round

ISBN: 9798709738089

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Created with Vellum

To my dad

CONTENTS

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Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Other Books By Nicole Zoltack

About the Author

Acknowledgments

Author’s Note

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CHAPTER 1

You would think that after we killed a swarm of murderous harpies that we should be given honors. A parade. A round of applause at least.

But no, that’s not the case at all.

Not that I expect any of that. I mean, it’s right in my job description—kill evil paranormal creatures deemed to be a threat to the paranormal world.

That’s me. Donovan Darthe. Grim reaper and paranormal executioner. As a paranormal executioner, I’m not meant to judge the ones I’m sent out to kill. Doubly so because I’m a grim reaper.

I've come to realize that I view death differently than non-grim reapers. I think death is sacred. It's not the ending of one's life. It's merely the next step in your journey. Now, I'm rather hoping the grim reapers who scorn me and curse my name because of my chosen profession are wrong, that I'm not doomed to go to Hell. I've sent more than my fair share of souls down there.

But right now, that harpy flock is a distant memory as we reflect on the thought that HEX Unite—Hunters, Slayers, and Executioners Unite—the organization we work for—might be crumbling apart at the seams.

And Adriana is at the center of it all.

The oracle rubs her pink lips. Her fingers reach for her braid, but she doesn’t undo it. Only about half of her blond hair is braided. Her eyes aren’t wholly white at the moment as they are when she’s seeing a vision, but even so, her pupils are hardly visible. The concern in her dainty features makes me want to hug her.

But I don’t.

HEX Unite uses oracles for their ability to see the present and the future. Maybe they also use their abilities to see the past as well, but the visions have always been accurate. Whatever an oracle saw, even about the future, has always come to pass.

Until now.

Because the vision that started all of this revealed a yeti named Zenzil as the one who killed the harpies.

Not us—Adriana, Sommeil Martin, Zanatre, Simone, and myself.

But we did. Along with three salamanders—Shyn, Jiku, and Duruh—we killed the harpies as well as their recruits—salamanders, controlled selkies through stolen seal skins, and a gargoyle.

The harpies also wanted to recruit demons, but we stopped that and ended all of their lives.

Which means Adriana's vision had been wrong. Not only that, but those harpies had been the ones to kill Zenzil, not the other way around.

HEX Unite’s oracles are how paranormal hunters, slayers, and executioners are sent out to do their duties. It’s how we know who to hunt and send to Magical Prison and who to execute.

But if the oracles’ visions can’t be trusted…

“I can’t see the future correctly,” Damara said. “None of the oracles can.”

“None of the oracles can see the future correctly,” I say slowly, “but you were able to see the present, weren’t you, Adriana? If you can still see the present correctly, then it’s all right. We can make things worse. It’s not as badly off as we fear.”

Adriana ignores me and picks up a candle. Her office is sparse, barren. Every time I come in here, the place looks different. The walls and floor are white, and there aren’t any pieces of furniture. Just a few candles here and there on the floor, all of them at various heights.

Sommeil claps my back, his one dimple appearing as he smiles broadly. A sandman who hails from France, he’s my best friend and partner. All paranormal executioners work in pairs for safety purposes, but that doesn’t mean paranormal executioners never die during an assignment. It happens more than I care to think about, but we’ve been at this for five years now. We met at Magical Hunters Academy, the school that trains paranormal creatures and beings to become hunters, slayers, and executioners.

“I have always found it ironic that a grim reaper can be an optimist,” Sommeil teases me.

I snort. “I’m not an optimist. I’m a realist.”

“Well, then, I will be the optimist of the group,” Simone declares. Her blue eyes sparkle, a lovely contrast to her sepia skin tone.

She's a witch, a healer, who is also from France. She's either dating Sommeil or else she just has a crush on him because she flirts with him all the time. As for Sommeil, he flirts with all the girls. Not Adriana, though. Not that she's mine, but I do really like her, and now that I've spent a lot of time with her because of the whole yeti/harpy mess, I like her even more.

“Everything will work out just as it should,” Simone adds as she runs a hand through her short, dark-brown hair and fixes her sideswept bangs.

Zanatre, a gargoyle currently in human form, rolls her eyes. “Because that sounds so optimist,” she says sarcastically, her purple eyes flashing. “What if it should be chaos? Turmoil? Devastation? What if that’s the future?”

“I don’t think that’s what Adriana needs to hear right now,” I say softly, not wanting to seem like I’m scolding. Zanatre and I have a rocky relationship, plus she seems to hate Simone. For a time, I thought Zanatre hated Sommeil, but recently, she’s been vying for his affections, and she even kissed him. It’s no coincidence that her change in attitude toward the sandman started once Simone joined our crew.

Adriana shudders. “I don’t want to hear anything at the moment,” she says quietly. “I would like to be alone.”

“Are you sure?” Zanatre touches the oracle’s arm. Maybe the stone being actually does have a heart.

The oracle nods, and Zanatre forces Sommeil out of the room. Simone trudges behind them, but I don’t follow.

Only one of the candles in the room is lit, the one in the upper right corner. I go and retrieve and cross back over to Adriana, holding up the candle so that she could light hers if she chooses.

“You can see if you can look into the past,” I suggest lightly. “Maybe the time we first met?”

The oracle blinks a few times. “I don’t use the candles to look into my own past. I don’t need them too. I do have memories, you know.”

“Ah, yes. Of course.” I feel sheepish, and I rub the back of my neck. “Ah…”

“Donovan, please. I just want to be alone right now.”

“Are you sure that’s for the best? You seem… I don’t mind. I’ll just stay here and shut my mouth. Moral support. Not that you can’t support yourself. Ah… Um…”

I wince inwardly. Why am I becoming a babbling idiot? I was like that around her before she gave us the assignment to go after Zenzil. Then, with that whole mixup, we ended up spending a lot more time together, and I felt more comfortable around her. Right now, my skin feels like it's itchy all over. I want to crawl out of it, and actually, I can, but I doubt her seeing my skeletal face will do much right now to help.

“I just don’t want you to feel like you are going through this alone,” I finally offer.

“Clearly not since the other oracles are going through this too,” she says. Her eyes look at me, but I get the feeling she doesn’t really see me here.

"I guess I'll go then," I mutter. "Just know that I'm in your corner, okay?" I start toward the door, realize I’m holding her black candle, and head back to the corner to return it to its spot. "I'm not just literally in your corner, Adriana."

Now, she meets my gaze, and I think she actually sees me. There’s a ghost of a smile on her lips.

I so badly want to tell her how much she means to me, to ask her out, but it’s really not the time or place, so I just smile at her, dip my head, and head toward the door.

“Thank you, Donovan,” she murmurs. “I need to be with my sisters right now.”

“Irina?” I ask, confused. She only has one sister who is a decade younger than she is at fifteen.

Her smile shines brighter. “That’s what we call each other, the oracles.”

“I should’ve realized that. Um, I don’t mean to bother you and linger when you want to go see your sisters, but have you ever thought about why it is that oracles are only ever females?”

“Banshees are only ever female to my knowledge. There are some creatures that tend to be one gender. Banshees are never born, for example. Um… there are a few male sirens. Not many, though. Incubi are males only, but then again, there are succubi that are only female. Oh! Gandharvas! They’re wholly male.”

“Yes, but they tend to mingle with the Apsaras, don’t they?”

"They are both kinds of nature spirits, after all." She shrugs one shoulder.

"There are the ladies in the lakes," I point out. "Also only female."

“Actually, there may or may not have been a few lords of the lakes,” she says, looking more and more relaxed, and I’m so glad I took the chance to ask her a question that has actually been on my mind lately.

“I didn’t realize that. Ladies and lords… Should I call you Lady Adriana from now on?”

“Why? Do you plan on pushing me into a lake?”

“No. Guess it’s a good thing Headquarters is in the middle of a wasteland.”

“Good for me or for you?” She quirks her eyebrows, her lips curling in a slight, teasing smirk.

“Well, you know Sommeil will never be a lord.”

“Not after that water torture he went through.” Just like that, our teasing banter is done. Her eyes turn dark, and she rushes past me.

“Adriana, what happened to him isn’t your fault,” I call after her, following her to the hallway.

“How isn’t it?” she demands, backtracking to shake a finger at me. “I sent you two off, and then you came back and told me about how wrong I was, that I hadn’t seen the present accurate, and I tried to see the future, and everything was all murky, and I don’t know what’s going on with me, with the others… It’s like… I don’t know. I have to talk to them.”

And she rushes away, leaving me to feel like a fool.

Footsteps sound from behind me. A hand claps onto my shoulder, but I don’t jump or flinch. At least I know it’s not that infernal raven.

“Sounds like things could’ve gone better,” Sommeil says.

“Why are you still here?” I grumble.

“Why not?” He shrugs as he walks around to face me. “I still owe you that bet we made.”

I groan and run a hand down my face. “You don’t have to—”

“I do. Zenzil never fought us with a blade, so you get to learn a few pointers on how to flirt.”

“Because you’re an expert on women,” I say dryly.

"Eh." Sommeil holds out his hands as he shrugs. "All I can say is that I've been kissed today, and you haven't."

“By a gargoyle who I thought hated you.”

“Zanatre and I have never hated each other,” he protests.

“So you like her then?”

“Of course I like her.”

“But then you like everyone.”

“Exactly.” He winks and then huffs a sigh.

“What’s the deal between you and Simone?”

“Simone and I go way back.” Sommeil rubs his chin. He has a bit of facial hair, not a lot, though. His hair is almost long enough to brush his shoulders.

“You two met in France?”

“We did.” He nods. I find it interesting that he’s not smiling, his dimple nowhere in sight.

“When you were kids? You never did say when you moved to the States.”

“Donovan Darthe. Sommeil Martin.” A woman with long, curly black hair, high cheekbones, and dark eyes strolls up to us.

“How can we help you?” Sommeil asks.

Her gaze flickers to me. Even without her revealing herself to me, I recognize her for what she is.

“Morta?” I ask.

The grim reaper nods. “I knew we would cross paths eventually.”

“You work in recruitment, right?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t we meet then?”

“Maybe because you applied before you were even eligible to work here,” she says wryly.

“What can I say? I go after what I want.”

She inhales deeply. “I take it you don’t jump the gun anymore?”

“I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

“For now.”

I grimace.

Sommeil chuckles.

“You two have been summoned,” Morta announces.

Sommeil and I exchange a glance. There’s only one person who summons people here at HEX Unite.

And that’s Madra, the head of the whole operation.

CHAPTER 2

Morta’s dress flutters about as she spins around and walks away. We don’t need her to lead the way, but she’s heading in that direction, so we’re more or less following her anyhow.

When we first arrived back at Headquarters, there had been general craziness and chaos. People were milling about as if they didn't know what to do. Now, the place is like a ghost town, only it's missing the actual ghosts.

“What do you think she wants?” Sommeil whispers to me.

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

"Nah, your guesses are always better. Tend to be more on the nose even though you don't have a nose."

I rub it. “I have a nose,” I point out.

“Not when you’re flashing your skull,” he counters.

“At least I have one that’s thick but not dense.”

“Same difference, frérot, same difference.”

I chuckle, but I’m not really in a laughing mood. Everything is all topsy-turvy. The oracles not being able to see the future is devastating, but things could be worse, right?

Not that I want to think about that.

Morta's heels clack loudly against the tile floor, and she even opens the door for us. I'm surprised she doesn't follow us inside but just shuts the door for us. Her heels clack again as she walks away.

I've been inside Madra's office once before, when I was sworn in as a paranormal executioner. It hasn't changed in appearance since then. It's a decently-sized room but not too massive. The desk takes up about half of the space and behind her is a filled bookcase, the books stacked nice and neatly. She can only fit maybe three or four more books onto it. The desk is marbled stone, polished to a fine sheen. Two chairs sit opposite the desk, leather. No pictures hang on the walls, and the black curtains are shut over the window. In the back corner rests her helmet.

Madra stands. All valkyries tend to wear armor, and the Head of HEX Unite follows that rule. Hers is blue and gold. Leaning against the corner of her desk is her spear. I’ve heard she uses a spinning bladed boomerang, but it’s not in sight.

Her long blond, almost white hair doesn't shift at all, not a strand out of place from her coiled bun as she holds out her hands. "Please," she says, pinning us a cool stare with her sky-blue eyes. "Have a seat."

It’s an order, not a suggestion, and Sommeil and I comply.

“I’ve heard about your assignment,” Madra muses as she sits down. She drums her fingers on her desk. Outside of her tablet, the surface is entirely cleared off. I find it almost unsettling that there are no pictures, no papers, no books on it.

“Which one?” Sommeil asks. “We’ve been on a few.”

I just shake my head. Sometimes, he doesn’t know when to quit joking around and when to be serious.

“This most recent one that took you over a day to complete and also required the aid of another paranormal executioner as well as a healing witch. You even brought an oracle out into the field if I am not mistaken, and I never make mistakes.”

Madra's dry tone has me swallowing hard. It's not always easy to tell the age of a being from another race, but she seems to have wisdom that's gained from long years even though she doesn't look all that old. She looks like she's maybe in her late thirties, but she has to be at least double that, if not three times that.

“I don’t prefer to be kept in suspense,” she adds starkly.

I glance at Sommeil, who nods to me. Of course this would be the one time he doesn’t want to talk.

I open my mouth and pause. Sometimes, he likes to jump in, but he says nothing.

“Adriana… Ah…”

“I want to hear what happened,” she says. “There are no cats around here.”

“No cats have our tongue, eh?” Sommeil bursts out laughing.

Honestly, it’s not that funny, but I also don’t want to get Adriana into trouble. She needs this position. She’s saving up so her sister can attend Magical Hunters Academy.

Her sister. I just realized Adriana and her sister Irina are both oracles. Only recently did I learn that their parents had been boogeymen. Since oracles are only females, every so often, a paranormal couple will give birth to one. I don’t know if we’ll ever discover why that happens to which parents. Are Adriana and Irina the only siblings to both be oracles? Has another family given birth to multiple oracles before?

“I do not have all day,” Madra comments dryly.

“Yes. I’m sorry.” I clear my throat. “Do you want the others? Adriana? Zanatre? Simone?”

“I asked for you two. If you don’t start to answer my questions, I’m going to have to add another question to my stack—what are you hiding?”

“There’s nothing to hide,” Sommeil says.

“Nothing at all,” I echo. “Adriana gave us an assignment. We went to go and execute a yeti named Zenzil.”

“He committed what crime?” she asks.

“None, as it turns out.” Sommeil shrugs. He doesn’t always have to grin for his dimple to be visible, like it is now.

“We thought he killed a swarm of harpies,” I explain. “When he ran through a human town, we lost track of him. We, ah, that’s never happened to us before, not getting our target on the first go, so we returned to, ah, here, and asked Adriana for assistance.”

“You couldn’t come up with a Plan B?” Madra asks. Her pursed lips only served to sharpen her already sharp features.

“We did track down Zenzil, don’t you worry,” Sommeil says easily. “That’s when Zanatre decided to tag along. She overheard Donovan talking to Adriana about it.”

“Does Zanatre often drop eaves?” Madra asks.

“Will she get in trouble?” I ask quietly.

“Because she hasn’t been cleared to return to active duty?” the head asks. She places her elbow on the desk, her fist beneath her chin. “On the contrary. She has been cleared.”

“Oh, ah, I didn’t realize.”

“You don’t have all of the information, Donovan Darthe. As of yet, neither do I, hence this meeting. Continue.”

I shoot Sommeil a glance. I am not liking how this meeting is going.

“We fought the yeti again,” the sandman says, picking up on my cue. “He got away, slipped right through my hands like sand through an hourglass.”

“I decided we should go to the harpy nest, to see if we could find any clues there to his state of mind or where he might go, but the harpies were there,” I say in a rush. “We barely got away.”

“Sixty, yes?”

I nod. "The yeti showed up, and we didn't know what to do. We couldn't execute him. He didn't kill the harpies, but we'd already attacked him twice, so he went after us, and we tried to explain what we saw. We wanted to bring him in, but he went off. At this point, we split up. Sommeil and Zanatre went after the yeti while I returned here to talk to Adriana."

“We tried to go to the yeti’s house, but we were ambushed by a boogeyman named Barath.” Sommeil falls silent. I doubt he wants to go into details about that.

“Adriana showed me the vision she saw. She saw Zenzil kill the harpies, but it wasn’t a vision from the future or the present or anything at all. It wasn’t a vision.” I shake my head. “The harpies killed Zenzil instead.”

"We end up indirectly killing the boogeyman," Sommeil pipes up. "We were free from his sack, but so was a manticore. I wonder if boogeymen are like clowns and taste funny… Or maybe they're disgusting like boogers."

After being friends with Sommeil for so long, there’s nothing he can say that will shock me, but I am surprised he would say that in front of our boss.

“You were inside a boogeyman’s sack? You and Zanatre will have to be questioned about that later.” Madra leans forward, her hands gripping the edge of her desk. “The vision was correct in reverse? It was inverted?”

"I suppose so," I say, "but she didn't see a vision of the harpies killing anyone, and they killed many more times, and she didn't have a vision of who would kill the harpies either."

“You all did.”

I nod.

“And all of their allies?”

“All but one,” Sommeil cuts in.

“Darko the—”

“Gargoyle,” Madra murmurs, interrupting me. “Ah, yes. Darko Stonehenge. I might have known. You spared him?”

“He’s locked away in Magical Prison. We wanted to know what the harpies wanted.” Sommeil crosses his arms.

“The harpies twice tried to reach Maw of Death—”

“Gueule de la Mort,” Sommeil corrects.

“You think they were working under someone else’s direction?” Madra asks.

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I don’t know if Darko pretended to join up with them later to try to conceal that he was the kingpin, or maybe the harpies just wanted an army, but why? What did they hope to gain?”

“Maybe you should’ve left one harpy alive,” she says dryly. “After all, you weren’t given an assignment to kill them.”

"We did what was necessary," I say hotly. "They not only killed a dozen selkies and stole the skins from a dozen more, but they killed salamanders too, including Duruh who fought alongside us!"

“If you have to guess, do you believe that the harpies and the others have a goal in mind?”

“I…” I glance at Sommeil.

“Any guess on our part wouldn’t be worth a snowflake at the South Pole,” Sommeil states.

“Maybe they organized for another purpose, but Darko’s involvement when you consider his brother…”

Moving as fluidly as a dancer, Madra stands, but she loses the grace as she marches over to the windows. With flicks of her wrists, she parts the curtains. Little light pores in. It’s nighttime already. Of course. This day has been long and tiresome indeed. If I close my eyes for longer than it takes to blink, I’ll be out in no time, no sand required.

"It's conceivable that they sought to raise an army to take me down, to take all of Hunters, Slayers, and Executioners Unite down," Madra says, her back to us as she stares out the window.

“Niko tried. He failed.”

“Niko’s not the first to try. He’s not the first to fail, but others have succeeded.”

“Ah, do grim reapers have a cat’s nine lives or something?” Sommeil asks.

Madra whirls around. For a brief second, her skull is visible. I don’t react, of course, and neither does Sommeil. I’ve frightened him too many times while we were roommates at Magical Hunters Academy for him to be fazed by it still.

“I am not the first head here at Hunters, Slayers, and Executioners Unite,” Madra says.

“Oh, yes. Of course.” Sommeil rubs his chin. “The other heads were murdered.”

“Each and every one of them.” Madra crosses back over to her desk, but this time, she doesn’t reassume her seat. She braces her hands on her desk as she leans toward us. “I figured when I accepted this position that history will repeat itself in my case as well.”

CHAPTER 3

Madra straightens. “Do not fear for me. I do not fear death, but then what grim reaper would?” She smiles at me as she walks around the desk to sit on the edge of it, much closer to us where we still sit in the chairs. “Vif had been the founder of Hunters, Slayers, and Executioners Unite. He saw the need for an organization that could help to combat the growing presence of crime and villainy in the paranormal world.”

“Was he a valkyrie too?” Sommeil asks.

“Yes. Not all heads have been valkyries, but then again, we are warrior angels.” She grins again, but her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “There was a time when the paranormal world was so rife with murders and kidnappings and worse that Vif had enough.”

"Was there any particular thing that set him over the edge?" Sommeil asks.

“As a matter of fact, yes. His wife was murdered on their wedding day. I suppose you could say that Vif became the first paranormal executioner because he then went out and killed the murderer.”

“Wow,” I murmur.

“Vif’s sister, as luck would have it, was an oracle.”

“Not a good one, seems like,” Sommeil mutters.

“If you were five years old and you saw how your parents would be killed and in alarmingly brutal fashion, wouldn’t you be affected?” Madra snaps. “Thea had been mute ever since that first vision.”

“How do we know about it then?” Sommeil wonders.

“She found her voice again after her brother told her about what happened to her sister-in-law,” I guess.

“Yes.” Madra nods. “Exactly so. Vif begged his sister to help him so that others would not have to feel the pain that he did.”

“Wait. To not have a loved one murdered… He wanted to change the future!” I exclaim. “But I thought…”

“His sister would not do it at first. She had never allowed herself to be trained in the oracle arts, but she did at least receive some tutorage. To compromise with her brother, she would tell him only about the crimes as they were committed, not before.”

"So Vif had to settle for that," I muse.

“Indeed, until…” Madra lifts a finger. “Thea fell in love with the one who trained her.”

“Who trained her?” I ask, having assumed the trainer was another oracle.

“A fairy. After all, there are a few fairies who have premonitions,” Madra states. “Oliver was his name.”

“What happened to him?”

“Thea saw a vision of Oliver dying. He was trying to save a sprite’s life, and there was a rockslide, and both he and the sprite died. Thea went to Vif, begging him to make certain that Oliver wasn’t anywhere near the stream where it was to happen. Vif did what he could, but…”

“The premonition came true anyhow,” I suppose.

“Yes. Thea was furious, and she spent hours, days, weeks inducing visions. She told Vif everything she saw, and whenever they tried to alter the events of the future, the future fought back. Even when they managed to capture a demon or a cyclops and send them to Magical Prison, something would occur. The demon managed to somehow open a portal to Hell to leave his cell and then returned to kill anyhow. The cyclops staged a break. Another tricked a prison guard into falling in love with her, and the guard released her. Trying to prevent the crimes did not work.”

“There’s one way to do it,” I say darkly.

Sommeil shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“I’m not advocating it,” I hasten to explain, “but…”

"Given that the visions of the future are no longer accurate, that is no longer even an option to consider," Madra says.

“Has it been considered?”

“By me?” Madra asks. “That is none of your concern.”

I stare her down. “I beg to differ. If we’re told to go and hunt someone down with the intent to execute someone, then that person had better be guilty of a horrific crime, or else I won’t do it. I’ll resign. Free will needs to mean something.”

"Free will means whatever people think it means. You can choose A or B, but that doesn't mean that the fabric of the universe doesn't already know what you will decide. Human nature—which extends to paranormal creatures and beings too—is very much predictable. If I had knowledge of these events, I would have predicted that you wouldn't rest until every last harpy had been executed, and I would have been correct."

“Fabric of the universe?”

“Some would call that God,” she says simply.

“Do you?” I ask, almost demanding. Why? I can’t say, but I know there’s Heaven, and I know there’s Hell. There are angels and demons, and there is God.

And there is Lucifer.

“That is none of your concern,” she repeats in a tone that suggests I am on thin ice.

“We don’t have to worry, though. We aren’t trying to prevent future crimes from happening. We only need to know about the crimes that are happening now, the crimes that already happened,” I say. “Wait. Are the oracles not supposed to look into the future?”

“Why do you ask that?”

I find it quite curious that she picks this moment to lift her tablet from her desk. Why doesn’t she want to look at me anymore?

"That's the only way to explain it," I murmur. "If the oracles can see the future, they know the outcomes of the assignments before they happen. They know if paranormal executioners die before they go out there, but they send them anyhow!"

“Donovan, you are a grim reaper.”

She says nothing further, which makes me think she wants a response.

“Yes,” I grumble, not seeing where she’s going with this.

“I wouldn’t dream of telling you how to be a psychopomp,” she continues. “You know how to guide souls to their final resting spot, and I don’t. I am not a grim reaper. I don’t profess to know all there is to know about being a grim reaper or about being a sandman.” She nods to Sommeil.

“A bit of friendly advice?” Sommeil says. “Bring a sandman to the beach, and you never have to worry about sand being in uncomfortable places.”

I blink a few times. So does Madra. It’s hilarious, actually.

“Moving on,” the Head of HEX Unite states. “My point is that you do not know all that oracles are capable of. They cannot see every moment of the future, and they cannot always direct what they can see. The present and the past are both much easier to control, but the future… It is much like an untamed beast. It’s wild and fickle—”

“But the visions come true.”

“Glimpses,” she murmurs. “The oracles see glimpses of the future. Do you honestly think I would be that heartless and cruel to send out my men, my agents, knowing they would die? You aren’t the first to ask me this, though. Another paranormal executioner did, once she learned how we operate here, with the oracles. Her parents had been murdered. They had been paranormal executioners before her. Mirella is her name. She’s a witch, one of the strongest alive.”

“Does that mean the future isn’t set then?” I demand. “If the visions the oracles see always happen, then the parts they don’t see, they aren’t set?”

“But the oracles can still see the future, from my understanding,” the valkyrie murmurs. “They are not seeing the future accurately. That is the issue.”

“Have you—”

Madra waves her hand. “I did not call you here to discuss the oracles as that is not something you are knowledgeable on, now, is it?”

I set my jaw and dip my head. She’s right. Who am I to waste her time asking questions she’s no doubt asked already? She’s the Head of HEX Unite. She knows what to do.

Then again, I’m fairly certain this is unprecedented.

“I do have a question,” I ask, leaning forward in my seat. “If I may.”

Madra eyes me but says nothing.

“The harpies… We spoke with Niko in prison. He said that harpies murdered his parents. That’s why he and Darko have it out for you.”

"Are you asking if that's true?" she asks quietly, carefully folding her hands. "Or are you asking why the harpies haven't been dealt with before?"

I don’t hesitate. Sometimes, not having a filter isn’t a good thing.

“The latter.”

She lifts a perfectly arched eyebrow. “You believe the word of an imprisoned gargoyle?”

“He’s being reformed.”

“Ah, yes. Jessa,” she murmurs.

I glance at Sommeil, but the sandman shrugs. The name doesn’t ring a bell.

Madra clenches and unclenches her fist repeatedly. “Yes, the harpies may well have killed their parents. Our system is not perfect, admittedly, but we do what we can. You must realize that we can’t possibly catch absolutely every villain, don’t you? After all, we’re all a few wrong choices away from becoming villains ourselves.”

I flinch. That's a very dark, pessimistic view on life, and it's saying something for me to feel that way.

“Does it bother you that the harpies weren’t killed long ago?” Madra asks. “Do you know how often their flocks change about and intermingle? Do you realize it would have been impossible to determine which harpies were guilty from those who were innocent?”

“Harpies tend to be evil,” Sommeil says slowly.

“So you advocate eradicating them from the face of the Earth? Is that what you are suggesting?”

“N-No, of course not,” Sommeil stammers.

"Good because I am rather certain that there are more than a few who think sandmen are basically sandmonsters. What if someone were to deem all sandmen as evil? Tar you all with the same feather?"

“We aren’t all evil,” Sommeil says with a smirk. “You don’t employ evil paranormal creatures.”

“Don’t I?” she murmurs in a way that makes my skin crawl.

For some reason, I think back to the Headmaster of Magical Hunters Academy. He'd been killed… three years ago? No, two. Shortly before the whole prison break at Magical Prison, actually. I don't know all of the details, but I do recall that there had been some kind of plot for him to expose us to the humans. Or had he wanted war with the humans? Honestly, exposure would most likely result in war, even if unintended.

But Madra isn’t like him.

Right?

“You’re questioning me,” Madra remarks.

I don’t react, but I also don’t deny the claim. Interestingly enough, neither does Sommeil.

“You did just insinuate that you employ evil paranormal creatures,” Sommeil says after a period of awkward silence.

“You know what happens when you make assumptions, don’t you?” Madra asks.

“You make an ass out of you and umption,” the sandman jests with a wide grin.

I go to facepalm, realize that’s not a good idea in front of our boss, and opt to rub the back of my neck instead.

“What are our two main objectives?” Madra asks calmly.

“We are to keep the paranormal world both secret and safe,” Sommeil and I answer simultaneously.

"To that end, are there any lengths you won't go?" she asks. "After all, you hunted that swarm of harpies all across the world, didn't you? Gueule de la Mort.” Her accent is surprisingly good. “You aren’t even certain if any of those harpies tagged along to observe. It’s possible some hadn’t killed the yeti, hadn’t even been there for it. How many do you think would have been needed to bring down the yeti. All sixty of them? No. But you killed them all. Yes, I know, they fought you. They would have killed you, but in their point of view, you were chasing them down. You were stalking them.”

“They weren’t innocent,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Of course not, but you can see how our end goal is to keep our world safe, yes? If that means utilizing certain beings who have committed questionable acts…” She spreads out her hands.

“That’s why Niko wasn’t executed,” I murmur. “You thought Darko might try again.”

“You weren’t charged to go after those harpies. Not technically. And those salamanders you killed… that boogeyman as well… But you opted to spare Darko as well. You wish to utilize him, to try to see what exactly it is that he had planned, if he had been the ringleader… Of course, with the harpies all being dead, he can say anything, and we would be none the wiser. You do understand what I am saying, don’t you? Sometimes, what we need are alliances with those who have aligned themselves with evil, but those alliances… They can be broken as easily as they can be forged. It’s a tricky balance, trying to keep our world both secret and safe, but so far, we have been managing. We all are doing what we can.” She leans forward. “All of that said, do you still not trust me? Do you not trust that my main objective is always to ensure the safety and the security of the paranormal world?”

I stand. “You accepted this position knowing that the previous heads had all been murdered. You don’t have an enviable position. I do think you’ll do whatever is necessary to keep us safe.”

We both turn to Sommeil. The sandman has his hand out, a tiny cyclone of sand twirling about on his palm. He closes a fist.

“What he said,” he drawls.

I blink a few times. So does Madra.

“What?” Sommeil asks. “Was it something I said?”

CHAPTER 4

Madra just shakes her head ruefully and then starts to chuckle. The growing tension in her office melts away, and I start to laugh. Sommeil does, too, but his sounds forced, at least at first.

"Well then, unless either of you has anything else you wish to share about your last assignment…" Madra stands and motions toward the door.

I glance at Sommeil, but he just lumbers to his feet. "Thank you," the sandman says. "I'm absolutely famished anyhow. Can barely think straight. Exhausted too."

"You look it. You two have been put through the wringer. I appreciate everything you've done for the organization."

Sommeil’s ears perked up. “Say…”

“Yes.” Madra laughs a bit, and I feel even more at ease around her, especially when she adds, “I know that you’ve been hoping for a bit of R&R, Sommeil. Some vacation time to… head to the beach. Is that right? I wouldn’t have thought the beach would be the first locale a sandman would wish to travel to, but if that is your wish, go ahead. Go home. Pack. Go to the beach or somewhere else, but you are both to take some time off.”

Sommeil rubs his hands together. “Brilliant. Merci beaucoup. Come on, Donovan.”

The sandman reaches to grab my arm, but I wave him off, nod to Madra, and off we head out of her office.

A part of me doesn’t feel right to just walk away and leave Adriana behind, but I did talk to her at least. She knows I’m here for her. Right now, she needs to be with her sisters.

Maybe I should reach out to her sister by blood. Irina. Not that I have her number, and I only met her once before. Well, met is a bit strong. I spied the two sisters talking, and I asked Damara about it because I was too… Shy isn’t the word for it, but I wasn’t ready to talk to Adriana. She turned my head the moment I saw her in the hallway here at Headquarters years ago. We ate in the cafeteria a few times together in large groups, and I got to know her superficially. It’s not until yesterday that I really got to know her on a personal level.

Wow. It’s hard to believe that everything happened so fast. Two days. Sommeil’s right. I’m exhausted and starving.

Back to Irina, I’m sure Adriana will reach out to her. Besides, since I don’t know Irina personally, if I did contact her, she would freak out, and that’s the last thing I want.

We leave Headquarters behind.

“Want a lift?” Sommeil asks. “We can go to my place. No sense in us both making meals for one.”

"Sounds good to me," I say, hoping he'll make something. He loves to cook, and he utilizes rich sauces on just about everything. How he doesn't weigh three hundred pounds, I don't know.

“You just want me to cook, don’t you?”

“Since when can sandmen read minds?”

He snorts. “I’m just going to either heat up leftovers or order a pizza.”

“Why not just throw a frozen one into the oven?”

His scandalized gasp has me roaring with laughter. “It’s bad enough that I would be willing to buy pizza. You know I prefer to make my own, but I’m starving and tired—”

“And lazy.”

“You can’t call me lazy when you’re riding on my coattails.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I squint up at the bright moon. “You know we’re only being told to go home and take time off because Madra can’t risk sending anyone out right now.”

“You said so yourself, so long as the oracles can see the present, there’s no reason why we can’t be sent out on assignments.”

“You saw all of the chaos when we first arrived,” I remind him. “If their visions of the future aren’t accurate, can they be certain that won’t affect their visions of the present? Trust me. They’re telling everyone to go home. That place is like a ghost town.”

“Ghost town?” an annoying, familiar voice repeats before the owner gives a nasty kraa.

Obsidian is here. Death and bones, I can’t stand the raven. He’s lazy and talks far too much, and one of these days, he’s going to get me or him killed.

Hopefully him.

Sommeil and I have been meandering to his car. Fortunately, we’ve almost reached it.

Unfortunately, Sommeil drives a convertible. The top stays down always. Rain or shine.

I legit think it’s busted, but I’ve never asked.

Sid goes to rest on my shoulder, but I bring up my hand to keep him away.

“Your pet’s back,” Sommeil says. “You should’ve been there. Our last battle had a lot of dead bodies for you to devour.”

Sid lets out a vicious kraa and flies straight at Sommeil. I swear he wants to peck out the sandman’s eyes.

“I’ve told you, Sandy. He doesn’t like being called that,” I murmur.

“Just like I don’t like being called Sandy,” he returns.

Sid can’t get near Sommeil’s face because he keeps swatting at the raven, so he settles for sitting on the sandman’s head, his claws pinching and trying to grasp his long hair.

“You might want to apologize,” I remark, feeling a bit amused.

“I’m sorry!” Sommeil cries, still trying to swat the bird away.

“Besides, if I were to have a pet,” I say, “I would much rather have—”

“If you say a crow…” Sid glares at me.

“I was going to say a bat,” I finish.

“Bats? They’re bizarre.”

“And you aren’t?”

“Hey. I’m resourceful. The other ravens wish they had it as good as I do.”

“I don’t let you eat the ones I kill,” I protest, “so why do you bother hanging around me?”

“Do I even want to know what you two are talking about?” Sommeil asks as we reach his car. He opts to jump in instead of opening the car door like a normal person.

I go to open the door, but it’s locked.

“Just hop in.”

“Can’t you unlock it?”

Sommeil just grins at me.

Sid lands on my seat.

“If you don’t move, I’ll squash you,” I warn.

I don’t give the raven much time at all to move. I miss sitting on him by inches. It’s such a close shave that a feather lands on my arm.

“You mentioned a ghost town,” the raven reminds me.

“Why do you care, Sid?” I retort. “Ghosts and ravens don’t exactly mix.”

“Why do you hate me so much?” the bird whines.

“Why do you insist on harassing me?”

“Trust me. If you want to be harassed, I’ll harass you. This is nothing.”

“Scram.”

“But I’m hungry.”

“I have no food for you. Find your own carrion.”

Sommeil starts to drive. Sid doesn’t leave. Somehow, the raven’s able to perch himself on the dashboard despite there being no top to protect him from air resistance and the strong breeze generated by the convertible.

“When I die,” the raven claims, “I’m going to come back as a ghost and haunt you. I’ll devour all of your kills then. You’ll see.”

“Nice try. Animals don’t become ghosts.”

“You think you know everything, Grimy, but that’s not the case.”

“And you wonder why I hate you when you call me names like that.”

Sid gives a kraa and flies off.

“Good riddance.”

Sommeil glances over. “Why do you hate the raven?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“And what did he call you?”

I snort a laugh. “If you want to know that, Nosy, then you should’ve taken Zoolingualism.”

“Nah. Sandmen don’t need to talk to animals. I’m just curious. Not nosy. There’s a difference.”

"With you, there isn't."

“Keep it up, and your belly will stay as empty as that raven’s.”

“How did you know—”

“I could hear one side of the conversation,” he reminds me.

Sommeil’s apartment complex isn’t that far from mine. I’ll most likely walk home. Maybe I should’ve driven here so I could have my car. I’ll need it for… What exactly, I don’t know. Sommeil will probably head off on that vacation he’s been dying for, but I’m not in the mood to relax. All anxious and uptight, and my neck muscles are all tight, my upper back too.

I try to massage the right side of my neck as we climb the stairs to his apartment on the third floor, room 323. Emerald Meadows Apartment. It's a misnomer. His apartment complex and mine are on the outskirts of the wastelands of the Wilds, so there's nothing emerald about the vicinity.

After Sid flew off, Sommeil had me order a pizza to be delivered, and it arrives not two minutes after we do. The sandman takes the pizza box from the man, who nods and walks away.

“You don’t have to pay,” Sommeil says as he places the box on the coffee table in his tiny living room area. He nods to the fishbowl filled with money on his breakfast nook. “Take your money,” he says.

I’ve always wondered why he has the fishbowl, but I’ve never asked. Who needs a tip jar in their place? Or maybe he just likes to have money on hand for bets. Then again, he doesn’t make bets with anyone else. Or maybe he does.

I only fish out half of the cost of the pizza. If I hadn’t paid, he could’ve used this money, but he wouldn’t have wanted me to contribute any. I guess I could’ve just slipped the money into the fishbowl when he wasn’t looking. I’ll have to keep that in mind for next time.

Sommeil grabs two plates, and I pull apart the pizza slices. My mouth is watering. The smell makes my stomach grumble, and I actually feel hunger pains.

"Talk to me about Simone and Zanatre," I tell him. I take a bite of the only pizza Sommeil will ever eat from a pizzeria. There's only one place that will do it, and as much as he pretends to turn his nose up at pizzeria pizza, he's ordered it enough that the place has added it to the menu. Loads of bacon and onions and a fresh cream sauce instead of traditional pizza sauce. Normally, I find it too heavy, and it'll sit in a pit in my stomach, but I've devoured half my slice before Sommeil answers.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Yeah, sure. And you haven’t seen the Eiffel Tower.”

“The timing isn’t right,” Sommeil says with a wave of his hand. He reaches for a second slice.

“If you wait for the right time, you’ll die waiting,” I inform him. “Isn’t that why Zanatre kissed you? Because she wants to live without any regrets?”

“Are you so sure she doesn’t regret kissing me?” he asks. “She’s back to treating me the same.”

“Maybe because you haven’t treated her any differently after the kiss,” I point out. “If you don’t like her that way, let her go.”

“I don’t know, frérot. That’s just it. I don’t know. Simone and I… We’ve been friends a long time. We’ve always teased each other since we were kids.”

“It’s not teasing. It’s flirting, and she basically acts like you two are dating.” Somehow, I’ve finished a second slice, and I reach for a third. My last one. He can have five. I don’t care.

“We aren’t.”

“You haven’t dated any girl recently,” I point out.

“I’ve had a few dates here and there, but nothing serious, no. I just… I’m a sandman. I’m not meant to be in one spot for too long. I’m fluid, you know, free.”

“Your parents are sandpeople,” I remind him. “It’s possible to fall in love.”

“I know, but…”

“Are you trying to see if you can find a sandwoman?” I ask.

“The ones I’ve met so far… They’re not any good for me, but I… There aren’t a lot of sandwomen. If I were to marry a witch and have children, they would be witches.”

“There’s no chance of you having a sandy witch?”

“Keep it up, and I’ll put you to sleep,” he jokes. “No.”

“And if you marry a gargoyle…”

“I don’t think a sandman and a gargoyle have ever fallen in love. Think about it. Can there be more of an opposite than that?”

“Vampires and werewolves.”

“Aren’t opposites.”

“Angels and demons.”

“Demons are fallen angels. Try again.”

I shrug. “All right. You win.”

But Sommeil doesn’t smile. He just leans back on his recliner and continues to chew his bite.

“Last slice is yours,” I remark as I toss the crust of my third slice into the box.

Sommeil says nothing, and I close my eyes.

What if a grim reaper and an oracle have a baby? We would most likely have a grim reaper, right? Or could we have a boogeybaby because that’s what Adriana could’ve been instead of an oracle? Have any oracles given birth to oracles?

The idea of giving birth to a boogeyman or boogeywoman freaks me out. I don’t understand them enough. Adriana could help with that, though. It’s terrible of me to think that all boogeymen are evil. I mean, not all demons are, right? There have to be some good ones, and if Adriana hadn’t been an oracle, I’m sure she would’ve been a good boogeywoman. It’s just that they feed on fear.

In a way, though, I feed on death. Like crows. And ravens.

Sid. Ugh. I hate that raven.

My head begins to droop, and I force my eyes open. At the window, I swear I see a small dark form, but then I lose the fight as my eyelids start to droop of their own accord, and I drift off to blissful sleep.

Or not so blissful sleep…

CHAPTER 5

All around me is nothing but grayness. I'm in some kind of void. It's not that dissimilar from when I help to guide souls to their final resting spots. Only then I can generally see the rest of the world, albeit through a hazy fogginess.

I turn around without having to take a step. There's no one here until there is.

A ghost appears before me. With white hair and fur.

A yeti.

Not just any yeti either.

Zenzil, the yeti the harpies killed.

The one Adriana assigned for us to execute for a crime he hadn’t committed.

He hadn’t killed the harpies.

The harpies killed him instead.

I don’t know if Adriana’s magic is borked to the point that it just happened to reveal the inverse of what happened or if that was just some kind of unlucky coincidence. All I know is that we had no idea Zenzil would be the one to die or that we would be the ones to kill the harpies.

Maybe we’re the ones who unwittingly changed things. I know Adriana says that’s impossible, but what she saw didn’t happen. Either her magic is just flat-out wrong, or else we did manage to change the future.

It's conceivable that if we hadn't shown up, Zenzil might've been the one to kill the harpies as she saw. Maybe he would've stumbled upon the harpies in the midst of their grand, master evil plot. Maybe to save Madra—if she had been their target—Zenzil found the courage to turn against his friends, the harpies, and killed them. He would’ve been an honorary paranormal executioner in that case.

Instead, we bungled that all up by coming forward and planting in Zenzil’s mind that he would kill the harpies. He had to have gone to see them. Maybe he was distraught, even in an enraged state because of his fear that he would kill his friends. Why he had been friends with them, I don’t know. There’s a lot I don’t know.

And the harpies, on edge from the fight earlier with Sommeil and me, well, they wouldn’t have taken lightly to Zenzil being enraged, and they attacked and killed him.

Zenzil’s ghost hovers before me, saying nothing but giving me a look of pure desperation.

“Zenzil,” I say, my own tone taking on the form of his desperation as my own. “Tell me what happened with the harpies.”

“Grim Reaper,” he utters.

“Please, Zenzil, I never wanted—”

“Grim Reaper, avenge me.”

I gape at him, but before I could ask him what he meant by that because we already did avenge him, I could feel myself wake up.

With a gasp, I jerk upright and glance around, uncertain of my surroundings. There’s a collection of sand paintings on the wall. Are they really paintings if they’re made with sand? I don’t know, but at least I know where I am.

Sommeil’s snoring away. He doesn’t react at all as I stand and rub a hand down my face. Stretching doesn’t help to settle my nerves at all. My entire body feels like it’s been through back-to-back marathons. What did Zenzil mean by asking for me to avenge him? The harpies are dead.

What happened between him and the harpies? Unless I learn that, there’s no way to uncover what needs to be done to avenge him.

Hmm. Maybe I could ask Adriana if she’ll be willing to…

No. I don’t want to bother her with this. She’s done so much, and she’s not supposed to be involved in field work. For now, as much as I want to help Zenzil, I can’t.

But I do want to help him, and that gives me pause. Helping him would mean that I’m willing to potentially kill again without it being an assignment. It would be exactly why my parents and the entire grim reaper community is against me.

Some people view grim reapers as evil because they lump us in with demons and their ilk. It's not fair or right to do that. Just because we are involved with death doesn't mean we're dark and dangerous.

Then again, I am dark and dangerous, and there are a few who view paranormal executioners as evil. Not many. Most of the paranormal community accepts HEX Unite as necessary.

Or as a necessary evil.

Are we the good guys or not?

I head to the kitchen and peek in the fridge. The orange juice is past its sell-by date, but it smells fine, so I pour myself a swallow. Yeah, it's fine. There's an entire carton of eggs that are dated today, so I grab a pan to heat up as I scramble the eggs, add a bit of milk and some cheese.

By the time the eggs are done, Sommeil stumbles into the kitchen. “Good. I’m starving.”

“Good? No thanks? Seriously?”

“Hey, I housed you for the night.”

“Accidentally.”

“Whatever. I gave you a roof over your head. And you aren’t going to eat twelve eggs yourself.”

“Trust me. If I wanted to, I could.”

“I’ve done it before. I go through stages where I’ll eat a carton in three days and then forget I have a carton until it’s about to go bad and then have to eat them all.”

“Or you could eat some scrambled and make cakes or something else to use the eggs.”

“This is true, but…”

Sommeil takes over and plates the eggs. We eat in the living room in silence.

“You have that look in your eye,” the sandman comments. “What’s on the agenda for today for you? And why do I have the feeling you’re going to try to rope me into something I don’t want to do?”

I lean forward, elbows resting on my knees, hands clasped. “You know me well.”

“I do.” Sommeil appraises me. “You don’t do vacations. You never relax.”

“And I don’t rest on your laurels.”

The sandman heaves a sigh. “What do you have in mind?”

“I’m going to head to Magical Prison.”

“And do what exactly?”

“Come now. You can’t hazard a guess?”

Sommeil grumbles. “I’m showering first.”

“Fine.”

“You do dishes.”

“I cooked.”

“I don’t care.” Sommeil sniffs. “And you’re gonna shower after I’m done.”

“Is that your not-so-subtle way of saying I reek?”

Sommeil grows quiet.

“Really, dude?”

“When you are your grim reaper… whenever you flash your skull… you smell like death.”

“Really?”

“You never noticed?”

“Come now. Do skulls have noses?”

Sommeil throws a pillow at me. I catch it as he heads to the shower.

Whistling, I load up the dishwasher as Sommeil showers, and then I hop in. The hot water does nothing to soothe my nerves. Something very wrong is going on, and I don't know if I can help to sort through things and make things right.

But that doesn’t mean I won’t try.

CHAPTER 6

A minotaur guard allows us to enter. He doesn’t say much at all, choosing instead to grunt, and we’re ushered into a room similar to the one I interviewed Niko before with Adriana. Although we asked to see the Stonehenge brothers, nothing happens. No one comes.

Finally, I peek my head out of the room. A golem is heading my way, also in a guard uniform.

“I’m sorry about that,” the golem says, his words coming slow and haltingly. “Hunruk was last in the siren wing. He had his ear’s shut so they couldn’t trick him into freeing them, and he thought he could read your lips, but he hasn’t the foggiest who it is that you want to see. You do want to interview a prisoner, don’t you?”

“Yes. Two actually. They are—”

“Forgive me,” the golem says. “My name is Jakov.” He holds out a clay hand.

I shake it. Sommeil grimaces but does the same, and I give my partner a strange look. His expression tells me he’ll explain himself later.

“And you two are…” Jakov prompts.

“We’ve been through this,” Sommeil groans. “I’m never going to get to go on my vacation. I have a hotel to book…”

“Your bags are already packed and have been for a month at least,” I remind him and turn to the golem. “Don’t mind him. He’s Sommeil. I’m Donovan. We’re from—”

“HEX Unite. Paranormal executioners. Are you here from Madra?””

“We are from HEX Unite,” I say carefully. I’m not sure, but I don’t want to lie to the man of clay.

The golem slowly nods. “All right,” he says. “Can’t be too sure, you know. The Stonehenge brothers… They’re quite powerful, you know. Even with magic-dampening cuffs on, I don’t know if I would want to see them in one room together.”

“Maybe we should see them one at a time,” Sommeil suggests. “Try and catch them in a lie or some such.”

I shake my head. “Actually… could you just bring us to the gargoyles in their cells? We can talk to them there. Together.”

“There’s not a lot of room for two gargoyles in here with you, even if they’re in their human forms.” The golem sluggishly moves his hand toward the door. “If you will follow me.”

He brings us up to the seventh floor, but on the sixth, I hesitate and notice that there are more than a few grim reapers there. Most of them lift their chins at me or grin at me as if they approve. About half of them are in their skeletal forms.

I suppress a shudder. I’m not the only grim reaper who kills, but they did it because they wanted to. My killings are meant to help keep us all safe, but am I really all that different from the grim reapers locked up behind bars?

“Do not mind them,” Jakov says. “Up here.”

I glower at the grim reapers and head on up to the seventh floor. Spying a yeti makes me wince, and we only have to go partially down the left wing before we reach the gargoyle brothers.

“Well, well, well, look what the clayman brought in.” Darko chuckles. “Jakov, go ahead. Get me a sammich.”

I gape at the gargoyle. “You don’t get to talk to him like that.”

“Don’t I?” Darko asks wryly. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“I think you better—”

Sommeil chuckles. “Don’t worry about Donovan here. He’s a bit hot around the collar. If you’re hungry, you’re hungry. Jakov?”

The golem grins, although it takes a few minutes for that grin to form. He's so slow-moving, almost like a sloth.

“You go ahead and take your time,” I tell the golem. “Darko doesn’t look like he needs a sandwich all that badly.”

“Oh, I’m not going to get him a sandwich,” the golem says. “Not unless he wants one made of clay and smothered in poison. I’m not a cook, and prisoners eat when they’re told to. Not the other way around. In fact… some dinners have been known to get lost on the way up to the topmost floors.”

Darko scowls. I bet he had been putting on a show to pretend to be a big shot around his parts, but we all know that’s not the case. He’s not calling the shots around here.

“You two are going to be in here for a long, long time,” I say.

Sommeil huffs a sigh. He wants to talk, and I suppose we might as well try that good cop/bad cop routine.

Does it say something that I’m the bad cop?

“Let’s not worry about time. Life. Death. None of that,” Sommeil says. “Where would you two go if you could leave here?”

“How about you give me some fairy dust so I can show you?” Darko asks.

I ignore him and eye Niko. The gargoyle is in his beast form, shoulders slumped. He hasn’t looked up at us at all, not once.

“How about no?” I say, tired of this. My fingers brushed against the blue-eyed skull on my chest. The urge to yank off the chain whip and use the weapon on Darko grows with every passing second, but I resist. I’m above that.

Aren’t I?

But I can feel it welling within me, the urge to do whatever it takes to get to the bottom of all of the chaos that’s brewing. People have died, some justified, some not. More people will be murdered, I’m sure, but I long to minimize that as much as possible.

“How about you have no leverage,” Darko says. “You have nothing to give us. Our fate isn’t in your hands, and you have no authority over us, nothing to give those who do have authority. If you’re here, you aren’t even trusted to be out on a new assignment. Why is that? Because you screwed up by allowing me to live? What else have you done to screw up?”

By coming here. I don’t voice the thought aloud, though.

“You were in charge of the harpies, weren’t you?” I demand. “You charged them with—”

“Is that what you think?” Darko laughs mercilessly. “How about I tell you what I think. I think you’re a sad, pathetic excuse of a grim reaper. If you want to be an edgy grim reaper, just kill who you want. Don’t try to legitimize it by being a yes man. Oh, excuse me. By being a paranormal executioner.”

I scowl at him, but before I can counter, he turns to Sommeil.

"And everyone knows a sandman lacks a spine. That why you're with the grim reaper? He's all bone, and you're spineless? Cowardly, pathetic… you two are probably the worst paranormal executioner partner team ever. But then again, you only kill when you're told to… but that's not quite right, is it? You spared my life and sent me here, but then you killed the harpies. I know you did. There hasn't been a huge influx of harpies brought in. But you weren't charged to kill them, were you? You just went ahead and did it. You boys keep on acting as if you can do whatever you want with impunity, and you'll end up here, or you'll cross paths with a team of paranormal executioners who'll bring you two down with ease."

“We—”

“I happen to know of a paranormal executioner, a witch. I don’t recall his name, but he had been fired for killing someone he hadn’t been assigned to kill. Why was he fired but you’re allowed to do as you want?”

“I don’t know, but seriously, you should be thanking us.” My gaze remains fixed on the still silent Niko. “It took paranormal executioners who acted on their own accord to kill harpies. Didn’t harpies kill your parents?”

Darko doesn't blink. His grin is vindictive, his eyes wild. He's not quite in his gargoyle form, but he's monstrous-looking even as a human.

“I know your type, Death Love,” Darko says. “You don’t fear death. When I get out of here, and I will, I will hunt you down, and I will torture you for every second I’ve wasted in this hellhole.”

“Trust me,” I respond coolly, “this place is nothing like Hell.”

“I hardly think leading souls to Hell is hardly the same as actually going to and spending time in Hell,” Darko says.

“You know you’re going to end up there.”

“You so sure about that?” Darko’s eyes glitter with madness. “I’ll linger as a ghost, and I’ll hunt you down. Ghosts can kill, and I will have my revenge.”

“The harpies—”

“I don’t care about the harpies.”

“Do you know any yetis?” Sommeil asks.

“Are you yeti to die?” Darko asks with a smirk.

“Are you?” I ask.

“You don’t have to lose any sleep over me.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not afraid of you losing any zzz’s.” I grimace.

“Why did you come here?” Niko finally asks. “He’s not going to give you anything.”

“On the contrary,” I tell the quieter one. “He’s given me a lot.”

“So you think.” Niko just shakes his head. “Darko…”

“If you’re going to tell me to cooperate, don’t bother.”

“I know better than that,” Niko mutters.

Darko motions me closer. I have no qualms stepping up to the bars. He could reach through despite how thick his arms are, but I’m not afraid. My fingers rub against the dark gray skull. If need be, I do have weapons on me.

“No grim reaper will help you on your journey. You might know the way, but it’s disorienting, death is. Don’t believe me? There’s a grim reaper who wanders about Blackwood Willow Grove. He died a decade ago? Two decades ago? Something like that. He killed so many, but worse than that, he wouldn’t even act as a grim reaper then. Rumor has it that he caused more ghosts than any others. As a result, even the darkest other grim reapers scorned him. When he died, it’s said other grim reapers were there to watch him turn into a ghost.”

Darko motions for me to come closer. It’s not really possible. I’m already right in front of his cell as it is. If anything, I suppress the urge to take a step back.

“Those grim reapers who watched him die?” Darko continues. “It’s said that they then killed the ghost. It’s not easy to accomplish that feat, but it can be done.”

“Oh, I’m quivering in my boots,” I mock. My gloved hand grips the bar nearest Darko’s face. “You gave up your freedom, potentially your life, for the harpies. Did you believe we wouldn’t kill you?”

“You killed every last harpy but not me.” Darko smirks. “You want to use me. Gargoyles don’t allow themselves to be used.”

“No?” My thoughts turn to Zanatre.

“That gargoyle who flew with you, who fought with you… She’s not a true gargoyle. A real gargoyle answers to no one.”

“Ah. Which only serves to make us even more inclined to believe that you truly were the mastermind after all.” I glance at Sommeil, a plan formulating in my mind.

"Potentially. Potentially not. You'll never know." Darko's arms are too strong for him to be able to cross his arms, so he merely holds his elbows. "You're too closed-minded. You think the world revolves around that organization—"

“So you admit you hate HEX Unite.”

“I admit nothing,” Darko states. “If you wish to believe I’m the mastermind… Do you really think I would have sent the harpies to finish the deed? If you want something done, you have to do it yourself.”

“You ended up in here,” I spit out.

Darko just smirks, and my spirits fall.

He wanted to end up here.

He banked on us not killing him.

Or maybe he knew we wouldn’t. It’s possible he has another ally waiting in the wings. A witch, maybe, or a fairy. Someone who has visions or premonitions. Someone who told him things would go according to his plan.

Or maybe to their plan…

If he does have another ally, whether or not they’re the true mastermind, I need to find them, and I need to start to figure out a way to have leverage. There has to be a way for us to flip the script. We need to be the ones in control.

Darko’s the one locked up, but he’s the one who seemingly has nothing to lose and more to gain. Does he want in here because of Niko? Are the brothers up to something? Niko might only be acting like he’s capable of being redeemed. His brother is sure to halt any real progress Niko might’ve been making.

Darko shifts the topic of discussion and mocks Sommeil and me mercilessly. Niko doesn’t say much at all. He won’t even look at me, but I don’t mind. If the two of them are up to something, we’ll uncover what it is.

Maybe the one Zenzil needs to be killed so he can be avenged is the one I'm staring at.

I’m a grim reaper. I’m also a paranormal executioner. I don’t take lives lightly, but I just might be willing to help Zenzil, no matter what it takes and even if it darkens my soul.

CHAPTER 7

When it becomes clear that Darko is only going to use the time to continue to insult us, Sommeil and I take our leave.

“That was not exactly productive,” Sommeil says.

I barely nod, doing some digging on supes.com.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

"Looking up something…" I tilt my head to the side. I'm having no luck, but…

I turn right back around and head inside. Portia is there, the angel guard.

“Didn’t I just watch you leave?” she asks dryly, her arms crossed, her iridescent armor almost blinding.

“Yes. I just wanted to ask if you have a last known address for either of the Stonehenge brothers.”

“We do.” She purses her lips. “They’re in prison. What harm can they be up to?”

“Trying to unravel the thread from before they were imprisoned.”

“I see.”

She produces her tablet. I'm not sure from where. As she searches, I clear my throat.

“Ah, do you think it’s possible that Niko…”

“What about him?” she asks without looking away from her screen.

“Do you think he can be reformed?”

Her glower is impressive. You wouldn’t think an angel could be intimidating, but she is.

“I think he might’ve had a possibility of that, yes, until you two screwed that up.” Her gaze shifts to over my shoulder as Sommeil approaches. I half-expected the sandman to go ahead and leave for his vacation to somewhere nice and sunny. Honestly, after his water torture experience, I wouldn’t be surprised if he finds a desert to hang out in.

“Darko,” I breathe out.

“Aerohollow. Direcrest Route 13. That’s where they live.”

“Aerohollow?” Sommeil asks. “I’ve never heard of that. Is that even in the United States?”

I shake my head. “It’s not in any human country,” I murmur.

“How is that possible?” He furrows his brow.

I point skyward.

“A floating city?” He gapes at me. “Sonar… planes… How is that possible? How can it be that humans haven’t discovered it? Even if the place is invisible to the human eyes, it should still show up on sonar!”

“So you would think.”

“How are we going to get up there?”

“I will leave you to it,” Portia says, tucking her tablet away, “but I would be remiss if I did not warn you. Aerohollow is not the safest of locales.”

“Considering it’s where one of the Stonehenge…” Sommeil trails off when the angel shakes her head.

“They both lived there for a time until Niko was sent here.”

“Ah. Two birds, one stone,” I say.

“You are so very cavalier with death,” she remarks.

I don’t mean to, but I flash her my skull.

“Yes, it is not surprising,” she says dryly. “Leave now. You have all you need, I trust?”

We depart, and I reach for my dwindling supply of fairy dust.

“We can’t just teleport to a floating city,” Sommeil warns. “We’ll plummet! Neither of us can fly!”

I grimace and rub the back of my neck. Some grim reapers have wings.

I don’t.

“Should we call up Zanatre?” Sommeil asks.

“She wouldn’t want us to use her as a ferry,” I point out.

“Then how are we going to get up there?” Sommeil asks.

“We aren’t. You can go. I’ll handle this myself.”

“You heard that angel. You going alone—”

“I’ll be fine.”

“We are partners for a—”

“I’m not going as a paranormal executioner.”

“What are you going as then?” Sommeil snorts.

“A concerned citizen. Trust me. I can handle this alone.”

The sandman shakes his head. “I don’t like this.”

“I’ll call you if I run into any problems.”

The sandman rolls his eyes and sprinkles my chest with a bit of sand. “A fat lot of good I’ll do for you then. I won’t be able to help you out of a jam!”

“Then I’ll call on Damakon.”

Sommeil lifts his eyebrows. “I thought—”

“Yes.”

“But he’ll—”

“I know.”

“Your funeral.” Sommeil shrugs and then hesitates. “I really don’t know if you can count on him as backup.”

“If he won’t come, I’ll try Zanatre.”

“Or you could call the gargoyle before you call the pegasus who hates you."

“I’ll be fine.”

Sommeil shakes his head, huffs a sigh, and uses his fairy dust to leave.

He has a right to be worried. Damakon and I used to be friends. We had weapons training together during year three at Magical Hunters Academy. I almost clipped off his wing. It had been an accident, but the pegasus still hated me for it. We used to say we would be partners together. He even said that he would allow me to sit on his back as we would soar across the sky, executing those threats we had been charged to rid from the world.

Needless to say, that didn’t happen. Who knows if it would’ve, though, anyhow since Sommeil and I always made a good team from the very start.

I use fairy dust, not to go to Aerohollow because Sommeil’s right. I’ll fall. Gravity has too strong a hold on me.

But there is a way around that.

Halloween—surprise, surprise—is my favorite holiday. I’ve been working on and off for years on a set of mechanical wings. They’re ready for a test flight. They’ve been, but I’ve been too busy to bother to test them out.

Until now.

My apartment is a little bit of a mess, but the wings are right where I left them—in the back corner of my room. I drag the wings out onto the balcony, strap them on, and inhale deeply.

No regrets.

I climb onto the railing, close my eyes, hold out my arms and wings, and take a step.

I don’t have to. The wings capture the air for me, and I glide a bit. To increase my altitude, I now start to flap, just slightly, and I zoom up several feet higher and faster than I intended.

It takes me a good half hour to get the hang of it, and I'm not going to attempt barrel rolls or dives anytime soon, but I should be able to fly up to Aerohollow.

The floating city is the only one that exists as far as I know, and it's above Italy. With commercial flights, it would take fourteen, fifteen hours to get there, but with these wings, I can use the fairy dust and not plummet.

I hope.

Just to check on this theory, I use a pinch of fairy dust to bring me to the outskirts of the Wilds. Immediately, I start to fall, but I recover easily enough.

Great. Here we go. I sure hope this is worth it.

The fairy dust brings me beneath the city. It rests on a cloud, and I can just make out a shimmer all around it as I struggle to hover in place. A magical shield of some kind. Now that explains why they’ve been undetected, but…

A loud roar sounds. A plane is heading straight for the city. I drop down, waiting, horrified as the plane flies right through the city. The plane continues on, completely fine, as is the city.

Well, I'll be. I figured the city might have protective measures like this, but it's still impressive to see it in action.

The city itself is beautiful with white stone buildings, marble streets… Every house is basically a palace. And I do mean marble streets. All you have to do is get up here somehow, and you can walk around.

Sommeil and I had nothing to worry about. Still, I love that I’m learning how to fly. My wings are constructed from the same material as the dark gray skull on my chain whip. Considering how well they work, maybe I should utilize them on future paranormal executioner assignments. It certainly would’ve been helpful against the harpies.

With a press of a button on my right shoulder harness, the wings collapse onto my back. For the most part. My scythe is in the way. With a muttered curse, I try to retrieve my weapon, but the wings are in the way. I have to let them back out, and then I can collapse the wings.

Great. A grim reaper walking about with his scythe out and mechanical wings. The people here are going to love me.

I keep my head down and try to minimize drawing attention to myself. All kinds of winged beasts are flying about, but there are enough walking, too, that I don’t look entirely out of place.

Direcrest Route… Where is it?

I wander about, taking note of the route numbers, and have to head south and south and south. The buildings aren't as tall or elaborate, closer together. It's not what I would call slums, exactly, but it's not as welcoming as other parts of the floating city.

Finally, I find the place. Portia didn’t give me a house number, but she didn’t need to. There’s only one building on this route, and it’s a brick building like the others, but with a huge crack down the front as if it suffered an earthquake. The cloud the house rests on is a darker color than the white elsewhere.

It’s so strange, the marble street interspersed with the cloud. I haven’t the foggiest notion how the cloud can support the weight of this entire place, but I have a feeling it’s because of magic, pure and simple. Maybe a witch or an entire coven made some kind of floating or levitation stone that allows the entire place to be afloat. Without it… I shudder to think of what might befall Italy should this place come crashing down.

I head on inside. The door is locked, but both of the windows in the front have no glass. Or, rather, the glass is shattered all over the place, I realize as I climb through and almost step on a large shard.

The place looks abandoned. Maybe Darko hasn't been here recently. A spider the size of my hand scrambles about in an impressive web that stretches from one corner of the living room to the other. I have to duck, so I don't disturb it.

No TV. A couch. No chairs, no table. The kitchen… I don’t spend much time there. No one took out the garbage, and it reeks like something died in there. Maybe a rodent got stuck in the trashcan. Who knows? Not me, and I’m not about to rectify that.

The bathroom, thankfully, has some soap and shampoo. The only other room is a bedroom. Two beds on opposite walls. One is made. I check beneath the mattresses of both, hoping to find some papers or a tablet, something.

Nothing.

I check the entire place over, even venture back to the kitchen, but there’s nothing to go on. Nothing at all. I even decide to take my chances and head back to Route 12 and ask a few sketchy-looking fairies about the Stonehenge brothers. They don’t say a word at all, just sharpen their wings as if they are blades.

With a gulp, I look above me. Firebirds, thunderbirds, and a phoenix are all flying about lazily, but I get the impression they’re watching me. There are far too many eyes on me. Once again, I’m stuck at a dead end.

Why do I have a feeling that eventually, I’ll end up the one dead at one of these upcoming ends?

CHAPTER 8

Disgruntled, I opt to use my fairy dust to return to my house. I remove the wings with a sigh and rotate my shoulders. It’s going to take some getting used to—the mechanical wings. When I’m flying, I don’t feel their weight so much, but they’re heavy, about fifty pounds per wing. I know. How can I fly when I’m wearing something that weighs that much? I don’t want to bore you with the details, but there might be a bit of magic involved through the use of a spell from a witch who owed me a favor. Her grandmother died, and Franciscka specifically asked me to help ensure her grandmother went to Heaven instead of lingering as a ghost. She loved her husband very much, and she wanted to watch over him as a ghost, but when I explained that I could tell her husband would be dying soon, she agreed. And he did die, in his sleep. I like to think she managed to visit him in his dreams to call him home to her before his heart stopped.

Not that grim reapers usually accept gifts like that. It's frowned upon, in fact, but Franciscka knew about my wings, and she knew I was having trouble figuring out how to make them work. I mean, it's not all that hard to make wings out of metal pieces. It's even not that hard to make them spring out and fold back down onto your back, but so that you can fly? That's something else altogether. Birds have hollow bones, but you and I, our bones aren't hollow.

Although some do have empty skulls…

After a quick bite to eat, I opt for a wardrobe change into—surprise, surprise—another pair of jeans and a black tank top. Then, I put on new gloves and my skull chain whip. With my scythe on my back, I head to the parking lot only to recall that my car is still at Headquarters.

Which is a good half hour walk away.

I have just enough fairy dust to make it there. It takes me no time at all to help myself to more fairy dust. The place is still a ghost town, so I don't have to worry about swiping some from our supply.

The oracle wing is even more desolate and abandoned than the rest of the place. Maybe Madra sent them all away too.

But if there aren’t any hunters, slayers, executioners, or oracles working… is there still HEX Unite?

Unnerved and more than a bit disappointed that Adriana’s not here, I check my phone. No call from her or Sommeil or anyone. Hmm, maybe I should let Sommeil know I’m all right and back from my fruitless pursuit.

I send him that text, head out of HEX Unite, and proceed to almost plow into Zanatre.

“Donovan,” she says, jerking back. “Watch where you’re going.”

“Sorry.” I tuck my phone away. “Why are you here?”

“Like you care.”

I cross my arms and lift my chin. “I wouldn’t have bothered to ask if I didn’t care.”

She snorts. “That’s rich coming from the guy who thinks I care only about killing. Seriously. HEX Unite didn’t cite me for it. I wasn’t fired for it. Marcus Lawrence wasn’t a good man, and not everyone changes, and how do you know that he wouldn’t have gone on to kill not just Ana but another woman? And another?”

“Have you checked on Ana Butler lately?” I ask. “Let’s see…”

Instead of hopping onto the paranormal underground internet, I just look on the humans'. It doesn't take me long to find Ana. After Marcus' murder, Ana went on a lavish cruise vacation where three people mysteriously died under suspicious circumstances. She changed jobs, relocated three times, and at each spot, there have been some questionable deaths.

My stomach sinks. I should’ve done more for her. Why did I just give her money as if that would solve her problems? I don’t know for certain that she’s the one, but now…

Zanatre and I stare at each other. Wordlessly, she hands me her phone. We’ve been passing our phones back and forth as we try to piece together what Ana’s been up to since we last saw her.

The police have brought her in for questioning. The article is dated yesterday.

“You going to leave it to the humans to judge her?” I ask.

Wordlessly, the gargoyle nods.

“If you hadn’t killed Marcus… If he had killed her…” I start.

“He might’ve killed more,” she mutters.

“If I hadn’t given her funds…”

“You think that’s how she could afford the cruise?” Zanatre asks.

I shrug. “Most likely. I thought she would use them for the funeral expenses, but now looking back, his parents would’ve helped out. Maybe they would’ve handled it entirely. I don’t know. But…”

"You wanted to do what was right," she says firmly. "How Ana spent the money, what she did on the cruise, and after… all of that is on her."

I stare at the gargoyle, seeing her maybe for the first time without a haze of judgment. Her face is pale, and she looks sick to her stomach.

“You wanted to do what you thought was right,” I mutter.

“Maybe I’m desensitized to death and killing,” she murmurs. “I know I shouldn’t go after humans, that I shouldn’t judge them…”

“Have you done this before? Target people you think are evil?”

“No!” She shakes her head quickly, her denial swift and loud.

I cross my eyes and narrow my eyes a bit. I might even flash my skull.

Zanatre throws up her hands. “I made a friend.”

“A friend?”

“Yes. Contrary to what you believe, I am more than capable of making friends.”

“A human friend?” I venture.

She nods. “Her name is Jasmine, and honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if she has a bit of witch blood in her from far back. She has no magic of her own, and she has no idea who I am, but when we went to see a movie together with another one of her friends, that’s when I noticed Marcus and Ana. They got into a fight. Nothing physical. I wanted to step in, but Jasmine said it wasn’t our place to interfere. When is? When it’s too late?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

I say nothing.

“And what’s worse is since everything with Marcus… I lost touch with Jasmine. I abandoned her. She hasn’t texted me an invite to a party or to see the movies or anything in a long, long time. I don’t know if she ever worked up the nerve to ask out Carlos, a guy she works with. She’s a photographer. They both shoot weddings.”

“Why did you stop being friends with her?” I ask, confused.

"Seeing her reminded me of Ana and Marcus… It was so quick and simple, killing Marcus in the heat of the moment, and it scared me." She rubs her arms as if she's cold even though the sun shines down on us with her unrelenting heat. "Your judgment isn't the only judgment I felt. I almost wanted Headquarters to drop the hammer on me, but when they didn't… I thought maybe it made things justified, but they might not have even realized. Or maybe they do. Maybe they do look into human affairs and just ignore it."

“The humans are in charge of their world.”

“But what about those like Jasmine? Those who could maybe have a door to this world?”

I shake my head. “Zanatre, we can’t—”

“I know. We have to keep the paranormal world secret and safe. Safe from who, though? Ourselves? Because the humans don’t pose a threat to us.”

“Not right now,” I murmur.

“And that’ll ideally always be the case, which means we are our own worst enemies.”

I hesitate. “Maybe we don’t have to be enemies.”

Zanatre smirks. “If we were really enemies, you wouldn’t be in possession of that skull whip.”

“You so sure about that?” I chuckle and lift my chin. “We can spar if you want.”

“Nah, I’m good.” She rubs her chin and asks casually, “So… where’s Sommeil?”

I blink a few times.

“I’m surprised he’s not with you. Or did you think you would try and find Adriana here? I guess he wouldn’t want to be a third wheel. A third eye? A third wing? Nah, you don’t have wings—”

“Zanatre.”

“Yeah?”

“Did you just try to befriend me to try to get in Sommeil’s good graces?”

“Does Sommeil have good graces?” she asked wide grin.

“Unreal. You’re using me!”

“Relax, Donovan, I’m not using you. Why can’t you trust me? I just unloaded on you truths I’ve told no one else. No one else knows about Jasmine or what I’ve done. I told you before that I feel utterly alone. Yes, I want to be friends with you, and no, it’s not because of Sommeil, but if your default is to judge me, then you can just go ahead and find some dead soul to save because maybe they’ll care about what you have to say.”

She brushed past me to enter Headquarters without looking back.

A part of me feels terrible. Maybe I was too harsh on her, and maybe it’s because I’m trying to deal with everything. Ana might be a serial killer. The United States uses a judicial system with a judge and a jury. Will they find her guilty? I know that their system isn’t flawless. There are times when the innocent are sent to prison while the guilty go free.

But our system right now is being exposed. It has flaws too.

Now what? Zanatre needs time to cool off, and I need time to get my head on straight. What I need most is a distraction.

Maybe I can call Adriana.

I open my phone, but my thumb slips, and instead of opening my phone book, I open the directory to the workers of HEX Unite. It lists every paranormal hunter, slayer, executioner, and oracle, as well as their phone numbers and addresses.

Hmm… Adriana lives about five minutes away from my apartment. Maybe I should just swing by.

So I do that. I drive over to Adriana’s apartment. Red bricks, two stories, a U-shaped building. It takes me a bit to locate which section she’s in. My heart pounds as I knock on her door.

The door next to her apartment opens. A pixie stands there, leaning against the frame. “She’s not here.”

“Do you know where she is?”

“No.”

“Do you know when she’ll be back?”

“Do I look like an oracle?” she snaps. She gives me the once-over, cracking her gum, chewing like a cow. “Who are you, sunshine?”

“I’m not sunshine,” I grumble, meeting her gaze for the first time.

“I can see that now. Never knew death could be so… handsome.”

“Never knew manners could be so beautiful.”

Her jaw drops, and her gum falls out of her mouth.

I walk away without another word.

That is, I only make it two steps before there’s an ear-shattering wail.

I whirl back around. “Where is that coming from?”

The pixie glowers at me. “Why do you care about us?”

“If someone’s in danger—”

“Can’t you tell?” she snaps. “That’s a banshee wail.”

The wail sounds again, and I realize she's right. A banshee is heralding a death. Someone nearby needs me. I can already feel the stirring within me.

In my haste to leave and locate the person in desperate need in their final seconds, I already don my skeletal form, embracing the coldness of death within. The world has shifted, wholly in various shades of gray, and I rush along.

It doesn’t take me long at all to locate the body. The person is in their parked car. A heart attack most likely.

Before I can reach them, however, another skeleton approaches. Her scythe is purple and glows fiercely.

“You don’t have to,” I start.

She turns to me, and the eyeholes of her skull narrow. "More like you don't have to, not with her, not with anyone else. You're not a grim reaper. You're an abomination, and I wish they would lock you up already. Either that or kill you. Not one grim reaper would assist you. You'll go straight to Hell, that is, if you don't wander the world alone for the rest of your days… And that's only if the grim reapers decide to let you and not just kill you entirely, destroy your soul, leaving no remnants of you anywhere, in this world or Heaven, Hell… The world, this life, the afterlife… there's no place for you, Donovan Darthe. Begone before I take it upon myself to send you to an early grave once I've helped this poor soul."

“Let me—”

She’s gone, taking the soul with her.

At this moment, I hope this is rock bottom because I doubt I can feel any worse than I do right now.

CHAPTER 9

Self-loathing. It’s not something anyone wants to feel, and maybe I’m a glutton for punishment, but I opt to do something that is far overdue.

Seeing my family.

My parents. My mom and my dad have both made it clear that I'm no longer their son in their eyes, but that can't change the fact that their love brought me into this world, and their blood courses through my vein. No, we can't pick our blood family, but that doesn't mean we have to be stuck with them.

That sentiment is something I’ve told myself many times. After all, I’ve found a second family in Sommeil. For a time, Damakon has been in that circle. I have a few other friends as well. Maybe Adriana. Damara is more a coworker than a friend. Zanatre is not a friend but maybe one day if we can stop fighting so much. I don’t know Simone all that well, and…

My found family is very small, and maybe growing smaller. I’ve ruined a lot of relationships. Maybe I’m poison, my touch death even though I never did master necrokinesis, aka death touch.

But no matter what, I still long for my family to understand me, to approve of me and my choices, to accept who I am. Maybe to even be proud of me.

I’ve told myself to not worry about that, to move on, but that grim reaper has me desperate for my parents even though I know the outcome already. I don’t have to be an oracle to know this is a bad time, but honestly, I can’t be put in a worse mood at the moment, right?

Have you ever seen those trucks that tow houses around? Full houses? That's what my parents live in. They go around from the outskirts of major cities to the outskirts of major cities, looking around for a spot to see if there aren't any grim reapers in the area so they can fill that void until another grim reaper moves in and decides to settle there. I can't tell you how many different cities around the world I've seen. I've even lived on the outskirts of human cities. There are times when I thought I would never find a place to settle down and have the chance to live a normal life, but then my parents drilled into me that we weren't normal ever since I was small.

“We have a sacred duty,” my mom used to say.

“Other grim reapers find a place to live,” I would argue. “A major city can have more than one grim reaper.”

“Yes, but we’re three, not one,” Dad would counter.

I left for Magical Hunters Academy. Living in one place… I enjoyed it, and now I have my apartment, but I’m saving up for a house. My parents didn’t have access to fairy dust like I do, which means I don’t have to live in the Wilds. I can pick any city that I want in any country that I want. I can still work for HEX Unite.

But only if HEX Unite can survive this.

Death has its own unique design for every person, and I use that to detect where exactly my parents are. Northeast United States. Not Maryland. Pennsylvania. Allentown. Not far from I-78.

I use my fairy dust to arrive and wind up next to a tree that shades their truck. I can see a tall form by the window. The curtains are closed.

With a deep breath, I head toward the door when it opens.

"You," my mom says, lifting her nose into the air. Her hair used to be every bit as dark and black as mine, but now, there is a thick streak of white on her right side that makes her look regal. Her stiff back only reinforces her frigid air of superiority.

“Mother.”

“You do not get to call me that anymore.” Her nose is so high that I can’t see her eyes. The skin around her jaw is hardly visible, her jawline essentially her skull.

I almost smile. I’ve never called her “Mother” before. Does her remark mean I can still call her “Mom,” or is that forbidden as well?

Before I can ask, Dad calls from inside the house, “Who are you talking to, Alessia?”

“No one important, Duncan,” she says haughtily. “No one who is worth your time or mine. He was just leaving.”

She turns to go.

“Mom,” I say, hating that I’m so weak that I’m willing to receive humiliation and dismissive tones just to try to feel like there’s a spot for me here.

Who knows if there will be a spot for me long-term at HEX Unite after all.

“You do not get to call me that either,” she says, her back to me still.

But she can’t enter. Dad stands in the doorway. I have his light blue eyes, but right now, his are as stormy as the sea during a hurricane.

"Why are you here? You dare show up at our home when you've done everything you can to besmirch the good name of grim reapers everywhere? So many fear us as it is! We have worked so hard to change the public's opinion of us, and you go and destroy years and decades of hard work, and for what? To kill a single harpy!"

Dad flings a tablet at me. Master Vanhydle at Magical Hunters Academy trained us in with all manners of weapons, and she also ensures that we have lightning-quick reflexes, so I catch the tablet almost without thinking.

There’s a picture on it.

A picture of me.

Choking the harpy with my skull chain whip.

Death and bones, this is just what I don’t need.

“We raised you better than this,” Mom cries. She holds out her hand, gesturing to the skull chain resting on my chest. “You walk around with that killing device strapped to you?”

“Well, Mother, don’t you have a scythe of your own?”

She lifts her chin.

“Do not dare talk to her like that,” Dad demands.

“I’ll apologize after she does,” I snap. “You have no idea what those harpies were up to, what they were planning.”

“Do you?” Dad counters evenly. “Because based on this article, no one knows, not even anyone at HEX Unite. You were acting on your own. This wasn’t even a mission.”

“Didn’t I tell you this would happen, Duncan? I knew that once he had a taste for killing, a taste for blood, that he wouldn’t be able to stop it.”

“That is exactly what you said.” Dad wraps an arm around her as if she needs protection.

From me.

Did they think I came here to kill them? My scythe is on my back. Yes, I have on my chain whip, but I never go anywhere without it.

“You’re afraid of me,” I murmur.

“We’re ashamed of you is what we are,” Dad spits out. “You’re no son of ours. We aren’t to judge those who die! Everyone dies!”

“Yet you’re judging me!” I counter.

“What did you say?” Mom asks.

“You’re judging me. You say we aren’t to judge the dead, but it’s fine and dandy to judge someone while they’re alive, is that right? Death and bones, Mom, Dad! You have no idea what those harpies did! They killed so many. They stole skins from selkies to force them to—”

"Do you believe with absolute certainty that the harpy you killed, that you choked to death with that… with that death chain you wear on your person…" Mom shudders.

“It’s all right, dear,” Dad murmurs to her, rubbing her arm.

“Do you believe that harpy stole one of the skins?” Mom forces herself to finish.

“Whether she did or not doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does! Duncan, how can he say it doesn’t? I don’t understand! This is not the grim reaper we raised!”

“Of course I’m not,” I snap. “Because I care about the living and the dead. I protect—”

“How can you try to claim that when you don’t even know if that harpy—”

“That harpy swarm acted as one,” I say through gritted teeth. “They’re all guilty of murder and kidnapping and coercion and—”

“Can you believe this?” Dad asks Mom.

“He’s willing to lump them all together, but he’s conveniently oblivious to the fact that everyone else is lumping all of us grim reapers in with him and his crimes against both life and death!”

“Those harpies were trying to get demons to do their twisted bidding!” I shout. “How can you possibly think that’s a good thing!”

“And their bidding was what exactly?” Dad demands. “You can’t say, can you? HEX Unite has gone too far. You’ve gone too far. You’ve gone rogue. Can’t you see that?”

My chest heaves. I’m gulping down air. I’m furious at myself for coming, furious at them for treating me like this, furious because they’re not entirely wrong, furious because I’m guilty.

I’ve treated Zanatre unfairly. I’m still judging her, and I think I’m starting to understand something.

My parents pushed me away because I wanted to make a difference. I stand on a different hill from them. They’ll never understand me.

I’m pushing others away because I’m afraid I made the wrong choice, that I’m standing on the wrong hill.

There comes a time in our lives when we have to decide what is right and what is wrong in terms of our own choices. Just because we may have made a mistake doesn't mean we can't change things and turn them around.

If Zanatre wants to be friends, we can be friends.

If I want to ask out Adriana, I can.

If I want to be a paranormal executioner, I can and should be one.

But there need to be rules.

Boundaries.

Lines that cannot be crossed.

And if I witness evil, if lives are in danger, even if I’m not instructed to be HEX Unite, I will do what is necessary.

HEX Unite claims it stands for keeping the paranormal world secret and safe.

I will continue to uphold that ideal.

Because it is an ideal, an abstract rather than an absolute.

Honestly, the paranormal world will never be one hundred percent safe. So long as people have free will, there will be mistakes and crime.

There will be evil.

But there will also be goodness.

There will be light and life.

“Are you even listening to us?” Mom asks.

“Have you once listened to me?” I murmur. “Mom, Dad, I hold life as sacred. You view death as sacred, but there is more to life than just death.”

“How dare you act—” Dad’s fuming.

“You two have bounced around from place to place your entire lives together. You don’t bother to grow roots or settle anywhere because you view this place as just a temporary stopgap. You aren’t actually living. You have no friends, no hobbies, just yourselves. There is more—”

“We don’t need anyone else,” Mom says.

“Not even me. I understand. You want me to forgo the name Darthe? Ask me to, and I will.”

"That won't change anything," Dad says gruffly.

“Because I’ve tarnished the image of grim reapers everywhere. How about this, though? How about the criminals I’ve stopped?”

“There will always be more crime,” Mom says, her tone softening a bit.

"There are unrest and turmoil right now, but if we can't bring back order, there will be anarchy, and then you and everyone will be begging for HEX Unite to save you all. You'll find value in your lives then. Just you wait and see."

CHAPTER 10

Without another word, I toss my dad his tablet. He fumbles but catches it, and I nod and use fairy dust to leave. As much as I try to ignore the fact that neither of them asked me to forsake their name, a tiny bit of me is very pleased. It’s absurd to want their approval. They’ve made their views abundantly clear over the years, but how many children can turn their backs on their parents entirely? Who doesn’t long for their parents’ support and love?

Now, I’m back at Adriana’s place, standing next to my car. I know it’s possible she’s returned from wherever she’s been, but when I grab my phone, it’s not to call her. Instead, I scroll through the news to find the article about the harpies.

Then, I scroll on to look at the news reports about the harpies from before that.

All of them have been published by Supes Tribune. Why am I not surprised? That news report isn’t at all like Supes Journal and Times. Supes Tribune is more a gossip column than a news outlet.

Supes Tribune is an hour's drive away. Normally, I wouldn't bother since I have a stash of fairy dust, but I'm worried HEX Unite might go under lockdown soon, with no one going in or out. Besides, the drive might help me to blow off some steam.

Unfortunately, that's not the case. I'm still anxious and unnerved by the time I arrive. Supes Tribune is a tall skyscraper made of reflective glass. Inside, everything is in a soft blue or a bright white.

A receptionist sits at the large desk before me. She’s on the phone, typing away, and nods maybe to me. Her words are spoken so softly and quickly that I can’t discern what she is discussing.

I go to walk past her, but she stands, and I realize she’s a centaur. There’s no way I’ll be able to go around her.

Impatiently, I wait a bit, longer and longer. My nostrils flare, and I’m about ready to pull out my phone to reread some of the articles in question when she hangs up.

“Apologies,” she murmurs, but she’s clearly not sorry in the slightest. “Are you here for an interview?”

“No, I am here to talk to the writers.”

“They’re busy.”

“Don’t they take breaks?”

“Their breaks consist of finger exercises before they resume writing. It’s what writers do,” she says dryly.

“So they don’t go out and investigate?” I press. “How do they know what to report?”

“You don’t need to—”

“Do you employ oracles?” I ask.

She bursts out laughing. “I don’t employ anyone. I’m just the receptionist.”

The centaur is being willfully obtuse, and my nerves are frazzled. I take a deep breath, but, yeah, that doesn’t help me any.

“Supes Tribune. Does the Tribune employ any oracles?” I ask, my tone even if a bit curt.

She purses her lips, clearly displeased with me. “I have work to get back to—”

“Then direct me to the writers, and I will leave you be.”

After a glance to the left toward a long hallway, she murmurs, “All of our writers are male, if you must know.”

So no oracles then.

I nod twice. “May I see one of the investigators? One of the reporters? Whoever it is that goes out into the field?”

“Let me ask you this, Mr…”

“Darthe.”

“Mr. Darthe, do people come to your place of employment and make demands?”

“On occasion,” I challenge.

Which is a bit of a stretch, but I can very well imagine that it’s possible a grieving widow may have shown up demanding justice for her murdered husband.

“This is highly irregular,” she snipes. “You must go, or if you would like, I will possibly be persuaded to arrange for a meeting. When would work for you?”

I pull out my phone. The article with the picture of my choking the harpy stares up at me. The name of the author is a Ruben Kilpatrick.

“I really haven’t got all day,” the centaur says, tapping her hoof impatiently against the tiled floor.

“The grim reaper paranormal executioner. It is you, isn’t it?” a troll with bluish skin and a green mohawk asks, walking over to me. “You are Donovan Darthe, aren’t you?”

"I am." I grin, hoping he'll be more amenable to helping me. "I was hoping to see Ruben Kilpatrick. Do you think—"

“Ah, the writer of the articles on you. Sure, sure. I’ll take you to him.”

“It’ll be your funeral, Rans,” the receptionist mutters.

The troll pays her no mind and gestures for me to follow him. He leads me down the hall to the right. The place is like a maze with doors all around, multiple hallways, and stairs. So many stairs. Eventually, he opens the door to a huge room that houses cubicles and writers typing away at keyboards, their monitors filling with their frantic words. They type as if possessed, as if they will face the fires of Hell if they do not write fast enough. I suppose that's one way to reach a deadline.

Without hesitating, the troll walks around the cubicles and finally brings me toward the middle. We arrive at a fairy’s station. With dark hair and eyes, the fairy continues typing away as if oblivious to us, reminding me of the receptionist.

“Ruben, I brought—”

“I’m busy.”

“It’s someone you’ll want to interview,” the centaur says. “Or if you won’t, I will.”

“Rans, you’re nothing more than an editor. You’ll never be a writer.”

The troll stiffens. “An editor—”

“Sucks the life out of a story. Ruins a writer’s voice. Is nothing more than a wanna-be writer but can’t hack it.”

I wince. This Ruben guy seems like a real jerk.

Rans gives me a rueful look and turns and walks away.

“I’m Donovan—”

“I don’t rightly care.”

“Well, I care to know how you’re taking pictures of a battle—”

“I’m a writer, not a photographer.”

“Then who took this picture?” I shove my phone in front of his screen so he has no choice but to start to pay me attention.

"You're worried about a writer and a photographer instead of the real problem. That's my issue with you all at HEX Unite. You think you're changing the world, making it a better place, and honestly, maybe you could if you would just know what you're doing. You have no idea what the harpies were after, who they were working for."

“Maybe they were working for themselves,” I argue.

“Maybe. Maybe! There should be no maybes! In your line of work, there should be absolutes. There should be paranormal executioners roaming about, killing without being assigned to do so. You, grim reaper, are nothing more than a killer. Why hasn’t a paranormal executioner team been sent to take you down?”

“I have upheld the testaments of HEX Unite in every fashion every day,” I snap. “If you would do any research, you would know—”

“That your parents hate you? That the other grim reapers despise you? That only the grim reapers in the prison seem to understand you, and you want to know why that is? It’s because you’re one of them. You’re continuing their work.”

“I think you might want to think again,” I say, growing more and more agitated by the second. “But that’s enough about me. Why are you publishing articles about HEX Unite?”

“Ah, but am I really? I’m posting about horrific acts.”

“The harpies had to be stopped!”

“So you say, but there are humane ways to kill and inhumane ones. It’s become quite clear that HEX Unite has no measures in place to ensure that their executioners provide a swift and painless end to those they deem a threat on a wide-spread level.”

“Those threats forfeit the right to die in a pleasant manner when they take the lives of others,” I say through gritted teeth. “Who are you to judge—”

“Ah, but I don’t judge.” The fairy lifts a finger, a dark grin spreading across his face. “That is for our readers to determine, and I must say that they are starting to judge HEX Unite very harshly. Not that my opinion matters any, but I think—”

“Death and bones, your opinion doesn’t matter. You need to stop writing about HEX Unite right now. Stop writing about paranormal executioners.”

“Ah, so you want me to not finish this article?”

I narrow my eyes. “What are you writing about?”

“Are you trying to censure me, grim reaper? What’s next? You’re going to threaten me with your scythe?”

“I’m not here to threaten you,” I grind out.

“Then why are you here?”

“You never published about HEX Unite before. No one ever did. We don’t need—”

“Bad press? So you admit that things don’t look well for the agenda?”

“We’re an organization charged with—”

“Every head of the agency has met a violent end, isn’t that so?”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to lie, to feign ignorance, but I keep my mouth shut. I don’t want to give him anything, and I feel like he’s baiting me. Everything about this conversation has gone so very wrong. I’m not learning anything, yet I feel like I’m giving away far more than I should.

“Do you think the current head will also be murdered?” Ruben asks. “Who do you think will replace her? Someone just as incompetent?”

“I think that you—”

“Oh, I’m flattered, but I think I can do much better staying here typing at my computer, so if you have nothing else to say…”

“Actually, I wasn’t going to suggest you,” I return. “There has been nothing done, no act committed, that should make you question Madra. She—”

“Is that so? Then why are there no paranormal hunters out in the field? No paranormal slayers? No paranormal executioners? Yet there have been murders, kidnappings, and thievery. Other crimes as well. I’m not the only one to realize this—”

“If you realize that there is so much evil in the paranormal community, then you must agree that there is a real need for—”

“For one agency to dictate who lives and who dies?”

“HEX Unite is not a new organization!” I protest. “It’s been around for centuries, and—”

“And maybe it needs to be dismantled. Maybe it has done what it could. Public support for the agency is lessening every day. The people no longer believe HEX Unite can keep them safe. What do you have to say about that?”

He’s baiting me. He wants a quote that he can put in about how I think the people are wrong. He’ll twist my words, make it seem as if I am against them. He wants to use me to prove his point.

I won’t give in to him, and I won’t stand for this either.

But censorship is wrong too. He has a right to print what he believes.

And as much as I hate to admit it, so far at least, he hasn’t written a lie.

“HEX Unite will always do everything in its power to keep the paranormal world safe and secret,” I say firmly. “You can print that.”

“Ah, a parrot.” Ruben just shakes his head, but he’s grinning broadly, looking mighty pleased. “And what happens when HEX Unite no longer has any power?”

“Then the paranormal world will falter and descend into anarchy,” I say, “and you will have played a role in that.”

The fairy just chuckles as I walk away. It’s not easy to make my way through the maze of cubicles by myself, but eventually, I find my way back to the hallway. I don’t bother to wave to the receptionist on my way out. Not that she looked over at me when I approached either.

Maybe I'm being paranoid, but is it just me, or did Ruben seem to know more than he should have?

CHAPTER 11

The moment I walk out into the afternoon sunlight, I feel the familiar, gut-wrenching tug of a soul about to leave his or her body. I almost hesitate, not wanting to get involved in case another grim reaper resides in the area. Everything today has been one epic disaster and failure after another. I wasted Sommeil’s time at the prison, and we had to endure insults for our trouble. All of that time taking the chance and the leap of faith to use my mechanical wings had been for naught. The Stonehenge brothers’ house held no secrets for me to uncover. As for my parents, that went without saying how terrible that had been, and now with Supes Tribune.

But I am a grim reaper, first and foremost, and I will not shirk my duties in that regard. If there is another grim reaper, I will back away, but if not, that poor soul will need guidance.

Dying is not an easy process. The start of what comes next should never be a solitary endeavor. When we are born, we enter the world and are not alone. Our mother is there, a doctor, nurse, midwives, fathers… Yes, I’m speaking generally, in most circumstances, but from our first breaths until our last, we have people there. We are not meant to be alone, especially not with the transition from life to death and what happens after.

The pull takes me to the field behind Supes Tribune. The grass grows tall, a bit wild, with a few colorful flowers sprinkled about. The stench of blood overwhelms the scent of the flowers, and I hurry to investigate.

Nestled in the tall grass near a bush is an elf. Her wounds are extensive, and even if I had a healing draught—which I don’t—I doubt she could survive.

She’s not dead yet, and she might have a few moments, so I opt to approach her as myself rather than my grim reaper self.

“Do you need anything?” I ask.

She glowers at me as she struggles to breathe. There’s so much blood coating her mid-section, and I can’t tell the nature of her wounds.

“I need to be able to… I need…” She closes her eyes and winces.

“Is there someone I can call? Someone I can—”

“I…” She waves her hand toward me, and I hold it. Her heart is barely beating.

It’s time.

I close my eyes and reveal my skeletal form.

The elf manages to open her eyes and see me before she breathes her last.

Her soul emerges from her body, and I release her physical hand and take her soul’s.

“What… What is happening?” she asks.

“You died,” I murmur.

Her eyes grow wide, and she turns about, spinning in the air, floating above her body. Her gaze falls to the ground, to her still form, and her lips twist with displeasure.

It’s always interesting to see how a person reacts to seeing their dead form for the first time. It’s that moment when their death sinks in, and from the look of it, she’s not happy at all.

“I’m going to kill him,” she says angrily, desperately.

“Kill who?”

“Yandor Greatwolf,” she spits out. “The dwarf who murdered me. I’ll haunt him, stake him… He’ll pay for what he did to me!”

“Ah… What’s your name?” I ask.

She blinks a few times, anger leeching away from her face as she looks at me. “Grim Reaper, leave me be. I will stay here as a ghost—”

“What is your name?” I repeat.

The elf hesitates. “Faye,” she finally murmurs.

“Your parents, do they live?”

“Neither. Why are you—”

“Do you realize that ghosts can die?”

“That is not true,” she protests.

“Who is the expert on death?” I narrow the eye holes of my skull. “I know what I am talking about, Faye.”

“You merely want me to go with you. I must do what I must! You will not stop me!”

“Faye, this Yandor killed you once. If he kills you again, if he kills your ghost, you will not be able to move on. You will not gain entrance to Heaven. You will never have another chance to see your parents again, and if you linger as a ghost, and Yandor were to die in a car accident in five minutes from now, you will be stuck as a ghost here, doomed to remain on Earth until the end of time. You will not be able to move on unless you kill Yandor, and if you do not…”

“He murdered me!”

Her will and conviction are strong. She'll have more time than most in order to make her final determination, so I feel confident asking, "What happened?"

"You need all of the gory, gruesome details? Of course you do, Grim Reaper. There is a patch of gloriosa queenwort blooms around here. I sought some. That dwarf crept up on me and hit me in the back of the head. He tried to kill me with the blow, but I struggled and fought back, merely to defend myself, and he stabbed me. Repeatedly." She yanks her hand free, both of her palms touching her ghostly midsection. Blood appears there as if her soul is wounded. It's merely a projection of her soul's feelings.

“If he struck you in the back of the head, he might have only meant to—”

“To knock me unconscious? Oh, no. He had that blade in his hand from the first. He intended to murder me all along. That blow wasn’t as hard as he could strike either. I know because he got in more than a few punches and kicks too. No, he wanted me to be awake for it. He didn’t want to just slip behind me and slice my throat before I knew what was happening. He wanted me to feel every pain at that last struggle for life.”

“Why? And you knew his name. Did you know him? Who was he to you?”

“He’s nothing more than a villain. He’s killed other elves in recent weeks. I didn’t think… He hasn’t been around these parts, so I thought… I asked my friend to come with me. Thank you stars she did not come because he might have killed her too.”

“Or maybe he would have spared you and chosen someone else who was alone.”

For a moment, we're silent. My mind races. Multiple murders had been committed by a dwarf, but why? And, perhaps more importantly, why hasn't the organization sent someone out after him?

“How long has this been going on?” I ask, figuring that if it’s only been in the last day or so, that the oracles couldn’t have seen it, maybe. Well, not as a future vision, but what of the present? The past? More and more, I worry that whatever is affecting the visions of the future will start to affect their magic wholly, rendering them… well, rendering them as human, essentially.

What would that mean for the future of HEX Unite? Would we have to resort to the same measures as the humans? We strive to go in and move against villains as quickly as we can after they commit their dastardly act so as to ensure there are no serial killers of paranormal creatures.

“At least two weeks now, maybe three. It’s possibly even a month or more. I don’t know for certain who was the first he killed.”

“Only elves?”

“No. Several elves, but there has been a tiger shifter we believe had been killed by him as well as a gorgon, an imp, an ogre… I don’t know what he’s after or why he’s doing this, but…” She pats her stomach and then kneels beside her body. Her hand pushes through. “Grim Reaper, search.”

“For what?”

“My organs. See if he took anything.”

“Why would he do that?”

“As a trophy? For a witch? For a spell? I don’t claim to know what goes through the mind of a dwarf.” She grimaces.

I’m not squeamish, but the idea of rooting around through an open cavity of a dead body isn’t exactly pleasant.

“You said you sought some blooms, right?” I ask. “Maybe he wanted them for… Why did you want them?”

“Do you want me to linger as a ghost?” she snorts. “I can feel—”

“No. You don’t need to worry. Go and see your parents. Let me take you to them, and I assure you that I will avenge you.”

“You? Bah, you’re a grim reaper. Your type doesn’t—”

“I’m—”

"You're him," she says, her tone almost breathless, although she no longer has to breathe. "You're that grim reaper paranormal executioner. It's about time HEX Unite steps up and actually does their job."

“So you’ll come?” I ask, holding out my hand.

Faye hesitates and takes my hand, and without a word, I bring her to the Heavenly Gates. Waiting on the other side are two elves with silvery hair and purple eyes, just like their daughter.

But Faye lingers by my side. “You will avenge me?”

“Not just you.”

She nods slowly. “You may want some of the gloriosa queenwort blooms. They can serve to fend off evil thoughts. It’s also delicious mixed into a smoothie with other herbs.”

“And you wanted it for which?”

“I wanted enough for both,” she says with a smile. “I thought the blooms might help to prevent any evil thoughts generated toward me, against me.”

Like Yandor Greatwolf.”

Her nostrils flare. “I didn’t quite reach the blooms, but you’ll find them. I don’t know if they’ll help to protect you or not, but it can’t hurt.”

“I’ll get some.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

“You’ll do it. I have faith in you.”

I shake my head, but she’s already heading through the open gates to her parents, who embrace her warmly.

Leaving them to their reunion, I head back to her body. Warmth burns throughout my body as I relinquish my grim reaper form. My stomach churns before I even touch her body, but she’s right. Her stomach is missing.

Who is this Yandor Greatwolf? How has he been able to operate in the shadows for so long undetected? How long have the issues with the oracles gone on? Something of this magnitude never should have been allowed to happen.

HEX Unite is broken. That much is becoming crystal clear, but how do we move forward from this? The paranormal world is vulnerable to the same threats as always, but now, those who have banished or at least fought back the rising tide of darkness have been essentially released from their obligations. It won't take long for villains to realize this and for them to seek pride, vengeance, greed, whatever their black heart's desire.

I am very worried about the current affairs of the world. Am I the only one? Where are the other paranormal executioners? Why are they willing to lay down their weapons? There is still more to be done!

There’s always more work to be done. As much as we try to shove the darkness aside, shoving the darkness to be locked up in Magical Prison or else banishing the light entirely by ensuring those villains can never commit another crime ever again, there’s always more shadows, more darkness, more evil.

It’s a constant, never-ending battle and one that I fear will never be won.

CHAPTER 12

The body of Faye remains before me. I cannot leave her like this, and while I endeavor to think of a solution, I call Sommeil. If he has not left yet for his vacation, maybe I can convince the paranormal executioner to come with me on the hunt for Yandor Greatwolf. The dwarf must be stopped at all costs and as quickly as possible. The recollection that he has an elf’s stomach and perhaps organs from his other victims… Who is this dwarf? Why is he such a villain?

I can’t abide thinking about why he is harvesting organs, and I listen to the phone ring and ring.

Sommeil does not answer.

With a grimace, I opt to hang up instead of leaving a message. Sid swoops on down and circles around the head of the body.

“I’m not in the mood to talk right now,” I spit out.

“No? Then why do you have that phone in your hand?” the raven points out.

“Maybe I’m in the mood to talk to someone who isn’t you.”

“Now, now—”

“Now nothing. Go. You shouldn’t be here.”

Sid lands on the grass and tilts his head to the side, staring at me.

I stomp over swiftly enough that the raven takes flight again. I won’t dare let him near Faye’s body.

“If you’re hoping to… You need to go.”

“I’m not here for her.”

“Then you can go because I certainly don’t need you.”

I turn my back to the raven, maneuvering myself so that I can see all of Faye. The raven will not have anything to do with the dead elf.

The arrival of the raven only makes me that much more on edge, and my fingers shake as I call up Adriana. As with Sommeil, though, the oracle doesn’t answer.

Worry and anxiety fill me, and I'm so desperate to have a backup for this mission that I call up Damara next, even though I doubt the oracle has ever put her weapons training to the test out in the field. As I'm beginning to realize will happen with every person I call, Damara doesn't answer.

I have to go into the directory to locate Simone’s number. The witch is a capable fighter and a healer as well. I’m sure the two of us would make for a great paranormal executioner pair, but she also does not answer.

“Why are you calling so many people?” Sid asks.

“Why aren’t you leaving?”

“Maybe I will after you answer my question.”

“Maybe you should realize that I don’t care what you want.”

The raven gives a loud, obnoxious kraa. “You’re in a foul mood. Why’s that? Did you know her?”

“I met her far too late.”

“What happened to her?”

“What does it look like happened?” I snap.

“I can tell that she bled a lot. There’s a…. There’s a strange scent to her.”

"Strange scent?" I give him a second glance, curious. Ravens have been known to be exceptionally perceptive birds, but they don't have a magic of their own. While we're capable of learning their speech, that does not mean that they are speaking in English or Spanish or German or any other language save for their own.

“It’s easy enough to explain. Bodies have different smells.”

“Depending on how long they’ve been dead. Maybe…” My stomach rolls around, and I trail off, not liking this conversation one little bit.

“She won’t taste good,” Sid announces, “if that’s what you’re worried about. I don’t want to eat her.”

“How can you say that with such certainty?”

“Well, have you ever eaten a deer that saw the hunter? That saw the bow? Their bodies will tense up. They’re afraid. That fear, that muscle tightness, it makes the meat tough.”

“So because she was afraid—”

“I can smell her fear. She was murdered, wasn’t she? I don’t understand. How could one of her own kill her like that?”

“She wasn’t killed by an elf. A dwarf did this.”

“Elf, dwarf. You all are close enough.”

“Not really,” I mutter.

I scroll through the directory. Sometimes, paranormal executioners will work with various partners until they settle on a good fit. From the start, I've been working with Sommeil, which, right now, gives me a distinct disadvantage. I suppose I can call Damakon, but there's no telling how the pegasus will handle that. He and I need to make amends. We should've long ago, but pride can be very powerful, and he probably won't want to answer because of our history. He might even answer and then turn me down because he'll feel used, that I'm only calling because I need his help. Which would be true, but that's only part of it. I do miss our friendship.

Again, Damakon does not answer, but for him, I do leave a message.

"Damakon, it's me. Donovan. I know we haven't spoken in a long time, and that's my fault. Well, you could have called me, so it's partially your fault… Yeah, It's my fault. Forget that. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for so many things. I never would have intentionally hurt you, but if I'd clipped your wing off, it wouldn't have mattered if I intended that or not. The end result would've been the same. I hope your wings are as strong and powerful as ever, and I hope you've been flying around all over the world. I'd love to hear about your travels sometime, and if you can forgive me, that… I would appreciate it. Call me back if you want. Or text. Email. I, ah, I'm working on a case right now, so if I don't respond right away, that's why. A dwarf has been going around killing. A lot of killing. Sommeil… he's off somewhere, and I'm not just calling because of Yandor Greatwolf. I'm not. He's the dwarf. But, ah, if you aren't busy… I don't think anyone has any assigned cases right now, but if you aren't busy and if you can forgive me, maybe we could handle this together. I… Yeah. Bye. I hope you're doing well. I really do. Bye."

I hang up and want to chuck my phone. That message had been terrible. He’ll listen to it, maybe just a part of it, and he’ll never want to speak to me ever again.

“You need a partner to go after this Yandor guy, huh?” Sid asks.

“You need to keep your beak out of this,” I say firmly. “Now fly off. Shoo. I need to think.”

“No.”

“No?”

“There’s no need.”

“There’s no need for me to think?” I ask dryly.

“No need for you to keep calling. No one is answering—”

“You don’t understand.”

“What don’t I understand?” The raven flaps his wings impatiently. “I know that you and that sandman always go out together. You’re supposed to be in a flock of two. I can be a part of your flock.”

“Flocks are for birds,” I remind him.

“Then I’m perfect for the job!”

“Not hardly,” I mutter with a shake of my head.

“Why not? You think that this Yandor guy will be willing to kill a raven?”

“Without hesitation.”

“But why would he bother going after someone like me? I’m nothing more than a bird. He won’t suspect me at all until I’m too late!”

“I hardly think you’ll be able to stop him,” I say. “You’ll only get in the way and get yourself killed. Or me. You might get me killed, and I can’t have that.”

“Yeah, I know. You won’t care if I die, but you can’t go after this guy alone. That fear I smell from the elf? She’s the most afraid anyone’s ever been. I never smelled so much fear before.”

“You can’t smell fear,” I protest.

“I can. It’s a… It’s a bitter smell.”

"Death. Death and decay smell bitter."

"No, death and decay smell rancid." The raven shakes his black head back and forth. "She smells bitter. Acrid. You really can't smell that? Man, your nose is worthless."

“Get your beak out of here,” I say through gritted teeth.

"Look, I don't know what's going on. There hasn't been a lot of you paranormal executioners about. You—"

“You pay attention to us that much?” I ask, surprised despite myself.

“Well, yeah. Where you guys go, there are dead bodies soon, so…”

“You’re a scavenger and a lazy one at that.”

“I’m not fat!” He flutters his wings indignantly.

“I said lazy, not fat.”

“If you’re a lazy bird, you’re a fat bird. I’m not lazy.”

“My point is that you cheat. You don’t kill for your own meals.”

"Is that what you think? I'll have you know I'm an accomplished hunter."

“Are you kidding me? I saw you eat garbage.”

“Once! The one time I ate garbage, of course you had to be around.” Sid shudders, his feathers all rustled about. “Let me be your partner. You shouldn’t go out there alone. That Yandor guy has been killing a lot.”

I eye the raven curiously. “What do you know?” I ask suspiciously.

“I know that I’ve smelled this level of fear before.”

“Where?”

“Not that far away,” Sid says a bit nonchalantly.

“That body, had it been…”

“As bloody as this one? Yes.”

“You’re sure… You can’t be sure Yandor killed that person.”

“Another elf. I noticed the pointed ear.”

“Ears.”

“Ear. One of her ears was missing.

“Maybe her hair—”

“Her hair had been hacked off.”

I shake my head. “Maybe she had short hair—”

“No. I saw a few loose strands. Her hair had been long. Like all the way to her rump long. Outside of those loose strands, the rest of her hair was gone.”

An elf stomach. An elf ear. An elf hair. What is Yandor Greatwolf up to? It's as if he's collecting bits and pieces, but why? Just to be a souvenir, a trophy?

“So I can help you. I’m knowledgeable.” The raven hops from one foot to the other.

“Take your knowledge elsewhere,” I murmur, staring down at Faye. I won’t leave her here out in the open, exposed. Too many animals, like Sid, will be tempted to eat her.

I call the cleanup line at HEX Unite. In addition to having to do a week-stint as a guard at Magical Prison, new recruits also have to work cleanup, which means claiming any bodies of both victims and targets and handling them. With victims like Faye, we are tasked with locating a relative. If a relative cannot be found within a week, we bury the body. With targets, they're to be buried or burned. We don't allow scavengers to have access to even them.

I don't want any raven, crow, or other scavengers to come after the body. The phone rings and rings and rings.

HEX Unite really is like a ghost town. No one answers. I debate going through the rectory and trying to find the name of the person in charge of cleanup.

“Let me,” Sid says.

“Let you what?”

“Let me help you,” Sid declares. “You don’t want me to fight with you. Fine. I get that. You think I’ll slow you down or that I’ll get killed. I know how devastated that would leave you.”

“You really don’t know me at all,” I mumble.

“But you need more help than just with the fighting. You want her to be reunited with her family, right?”

“Yes,” I say slowly.

“Let me handle that.”

“How are you going to be able to find them?”

“There’s an elvish settlement in the woods to the south.”

“Yes, but—”

Before I can stop him, the raven swoops down toward the body and yanks off her necklace.

“I’ll find her family,” the raven says despite having the chain in his beak.

“But the elves—”

"Elves learn how to talk to animals when they're three," Sid says. "They're a bit snobbery at times, but they like ravens. Sometimes, they'll feed me bread. Not this particular elvish settlement. I haven't seen them before, but other elves have. They're nicer than grim reapers. Elves are. Most everyone is nicer than grim reapers."

“You don’t know of any other grim reapers.”

“Don’t I?” Sid cocks his head to the side. “Let me help. I still don’t think you should go out there alone, but I can do this at least.”

Before I can object, the raven flies off to the south.

Maybe that raven can be useful after all, but there’s no way he’s ever going to tag along on a mission. No way.

Not that I should be doing this mission alone. Yandor Greatwolf is clearly a serious threat.

Not that I should be doing this mission at all. It hasn't been assigned to me, and if I continue down this road of killing those I deem worthy of death… doesn't that make me a serial killer just like Yandor? I've never been one to believe that the ends justify the means. There's a right way to handle things and a wrong way, but the world is not divided into absolutes. There's black and white, yes, and right and wrong, but there is also fifty thousand shade of gray in between, and I think that's where I'm operating.

That’s where I’ve been operating.

In the gray.

I’m making some questionable choices, yes, but they’re the only choices I can make.

And that includes starting with trusting Sid to find Faye’s family so I can get started on finding her killer and avenging her murder.

Even if I have to do it by myself.

CHAPTER 13

Although I am more than a bit alarmed and maybe even feeling a bit out of my depth, I stare at the grass bent near Faye's body. It's clear enough where the dwarf had walked, but the elf's footprints I cannot find. Which isn't that surprising, I suppose. Elves are known to be light of foot. Some claim that they don't even break the surface of snow, that they don't sink into it with each step. I haven't lived in overly snowy climes, and Magical Hunters Academy resides in California, so I haven't seen this in action. If it is true, that must be a sight to see. Elves tend to be tall as it is, and if their party is all sunken into the snow, and the tall elves are above the snow, the elves must look like giants compared to the others.

While Sommeil would’ve found my thoughts amusing, I can’t bring myself to smile. I have to try to deduce if the dwarf came from the west and went off in the east or the opposite. His footprints aren’t definitive enough for me to discern which way to go. The soil here is completely dry, with no mud at all. His prints are merely bent grass, no heels, no toe indentations at all.

There are towns in either direction, so I pick a coordinate at random. I opt to head westward, following the trail, but eventually, it just disappears. There is no sign of where he could have gone, leaving me to wonder if he had used fairy dust but to appear here? Or to leave from here.

Wrinkling my nose, I opt to return to Faye’s body. I can see elves traveling with the raven in the near distance. Good. They’ll take care of her physically while I will mentally? Emotionally? Spiritually? I’m not sure which way to think of it as, but I will do my part.

To the east I head, and I go on and on and on. The tracks go a bit farther, and that’s when I smell it.

Death.

I don’t smell fear as Sid claims to, but I do sense that something is very wrong.

And that’s when I come across the first body.

Unfortunately, animals have already come along, and I shoo them away. This elf has been dead for a time, I think, hours at least. The soul has already departed. He must have killed this elf before I came here because I didn't sense his soul. There are also no signs of a ghost lingering about, but if this elf had become a ghost, it's possible that he has already tried to go after Yandor Greatwolf.

That the dwarf killed Faye after killing this elf has me wanting to head back west again, but that had been a dead end. I whistle a bit, hoping Sid will hear me, but I don’t know if he will or if he’ll understand.

On second thought, I spare the half hour it takes for me to bury the body. When I go to shift the body into the grave I dug with my scythe, I realize that this elf is missing an ear. Had that been Yandor's doing? Because there's a chunk of his thigh that is gone. Bitten by the animals? No, I think it might have been cut away.

My stomach churns, and I quickly bury the body. Then, I keep on going.

The sun beats down on me by the time I reach the village. I wish I could’ve used my car, but when tracking, you have to do it by foot, and it seems that the dwarf headed this way anyhow.

My stomach leads the way now. There isn’t any grass for me to use to track the dwarf’s movements anymore. I walk along the sidewalk until I come to a diner. Inside, I order the special, not bothering to see what it is. It’s a human town, and I don’t want to stick out like a sore thumb. A man wearing a bandana pays his bill, turns around, sees me, and grins.

“Wicked chain,” he says. “You own a bike?”

“Thinking about it.”

“I’m looking to sell if you’re interested.”

“I don’t have the funds right now.”

“Just in case…” He removes a card from his jean pocket and hands it to me.

A picture of a skull biting a feather stares up at me. The skull is grimacing. It’s a striking picture.

“I’m also looking for new recruits for the gang,” he tosses out. “You new here?”

“Just passing through.”

“Gotcha. No problem. If you do want a bike, call me. Even if I’ve sold mine, the other guys might be selling.”

I nod, and he leaves.

The special is some kind of questionable meat covered in brown sauce. It tastes better than it looks at least. As I eat, I scroll through my phone. Ruben posted about the murders of the previous heads of HEX Unite. He hasn’t posted about the dwarf, though, but I do log onto the message board that lists missing persons. It breaks my heart to see how many there have been in the past three days. Even the last week has seen a huge increase over normal times.

Times right now are most certainly not normal.

The future has never been more terrifying.

I do notice that one case has been resolved, and I click on it. An elf named Valerin has been recovered. Or his body has been. It had been missing his thumb and a pinky from opposite hands.

Yandor’s work?

Valerin had been recovered in Wintervista Wood up north in North Dakota. I've never been to the state, but I'll head there now. Who knows where Yandor has been? But that had been a week ago. I don't think he would have backtracked.

As I chew my last bite, a new claim goes up for a missing elf. This one hails from Regal Timberland, which is just beyond the Wilds far to the West.

Now that is probably a better bet.

The name of the elf in question is Brath, and as soon as I pay, I slip to the bathroom. I’ll have more privacy here to use fairy dust, and in a matter of seconds, I’m outside of Regal Timberland.

Instead of heading into the forest, I walk around the perimeter, trying to find any sign of which way Brath might've gone. If Yandor is picking off elves who leave their earthen cities alone, then maybe this fearsome dwarf murderer isn't so deadly after all but rather more opportunistic. Not that I will underestimate the man. He's clearly quite capable of murder.

My senses are both somehow muted but also strengthened when I venture to the world in between, and I embrace my grim reaper self. The coldness feels far more bitter than normal, but perhaps that is merely my imagination.

I head to the right, moving without consciously deciding where to go. It’s as if I’m called to go in a certain direction, and then, that’s when I feel it.

A soul is ready to depart a body.

Brath?

I head there now without any more delay. The Regal Timberland is the name of the city within the forest, but the forest stretches out a great deal, a bit more sparsely rather than dense. Near a river coursing through the northern part of the forest is where I spy the dead body.

For a moment, I tarry, hesitating, deliberating. Yandor must be nearby. If I seek him now, I can perhaps find him and end him before he has a chance to kill again.

But that would mean dooming Brath to being a ghost, and when he’ll no doubt want to go after his murderer is not a fate he should have to suffer. What if he should fail? What if I am the one to kill Yandor even if Brath is there helping? Would he still be able to move on? No, it would be far better for the elf to move on now and allow me to avenge both him and Faye.

I rush over to the body, and I kneel beside him. His soul has departed, but he remains reclined as if he does not accept yet that he has died.

“Brath?”

The soul jerks, and he flutters away from me. “Who are you? How do you know my name? Where is he?”

“The dwarf?”

“Where is he?” Brath spins around wildly. His body is similar to how Faye’s had been, and I have a feeling that he’s missing an organ. I don’t really need to know which one.

“You do not have to fret. I will handle the villain. Come. It is time—”

“No.”

“No? But I can avenge you. I will avenge you and all of the others he has slain.”

Brath’s nostrils flare. “He has slain others?”

“I don’t know how many.”

“That dwarf will rue the day he came across me!”

"Yes, because I will—"

“Not I. We.”

And his will is that hardened that he becomes a ghost that very second.

Brath grins at me, his eyes bright despite his ghostly appearance. “I will avenge him.”

“But if he kills you—”

“He did that once. He shan’t again.”

“But, Brath…” I trail off as I realize that I feel the tug of another who needs me.

Although I hate to leave Brath, I have no choice, but I don’t need to worry as he follows me. Behind a boulder on the other side of the bank, much farther up, is another dying elf. She’s staring down at her bloody and broken body. Eyes wide, she wordlessly takes my hand. She’s in shock, and I whisper assurances to her as I lead her up to Heaven. We don’t speak of the manner of her death, not until we reach the Gates.

“I will avenge you.”

“Oh, I have no doubt of it, paranormal executioner,” she murmurs before moving toward the light.

She recognized me. No wonder she did not linger about.

I race back down to her body. Brath remains there, and the ghost says not a word.

Unfortunately, I end up discovering almost a dozen more bodies. Most of them want to become ghosts. Of those, the vast majority I can convince to move on and trust me to avenge them, but there are two more—Jarrah and Carisma, both elves—who become ghosts like Brath. The trio is hellbent on killing Yandor, and honestly, I cannot say that I blame them, but this is going to be very tricky, very tricky indeed.

This dwarf, Yandor Greatwolf, is killing faster and in far too great a number. Why?

Honestly, at this point, the motion does not matter. Yandor must be stopped at all costs and as quickly as possible.

CHAPTER 14

A locator spell is what we need or something similar, something that will guide us directly to the villain.

Carisma tries to grab her body, but her hand passes through.

“I’m not sure you’ll have time to adjust to being a ghost before we find him,” I remark. “It can take some ghosts years to master being able to touch objects in the physical world.”

“How about instead of lecturing us, you just help her?” Brath asks.

My nostrils flare. Brath is a bit brash, but Carisma is darker. She's a force to be reckoned with, and if I had to take her soul, I would be guiding her down below, not above. As for Jarrah, he doesn't say much at all, but his drive is just as firm as the others.

“What do you need, Carisma?” I ask.

“I have fool’s gold in my pocket. I was on the hunt for sage and a black carrot. I have gray milk back home.”

“A locator spell ingredients?” I’m thrilled.

Jarrah shakes his head.

“You’re a fool,” Brath says. “Those are potion ingredients. A spell doesn’t need ingredients.”

“Yes, of course.” I rub the back of my neck. It’s growing late and a bit chilly. I’m not sure how much longer I can try to track down the dwarf right now, but the last thing I want is for the ghosts to fly off by themselves and to get themselves killed and be gone for all eternity.

“We’ll still need raven’s blood, then,” Carisma continues.

“And then a witch,” I assume.

“Yes. Do you know of any?” the elf asks.

“Yes, but I’m not sure where she is, and…” I pull out my phone. “No texts, no missed calls.”

"Well, at least you aren't working alone, Grim Reaper." Brath smirks. He goes to clap my back. I don't feel his hand, but I do feel a slight breeze from the whiff, which isn't all that bad, actually.

“We’ll keep going for another hour,” I declare. “Then, I’ll need to sleep, but you three will not go after Yandor. Do you understand? I do not want you all to end up dead before we have a chance to gain you all your revenge. He needs to be stopped.”

“So long as I get the killing blow, I’m amendable,” Brath says.

“Why you?” Carisma asks, her eyes narrowing. She has raven-black hair and bright blue eyes. Her hair is so dark that even as a ghost, it’s ebony.

Brath has silver hair and eyes. Those eyes glitter darkly right now.

I take a few steps, leaving them to argue, grateful they’re willing to stop searching overnight. Supposedly willing. It’s quite possible they’ll change their minds or else are playing me, but I can’t chain them down. Well, I could, but I want. Ghosts have been known to wear chains from time to time, either as penance or because someone has captured them.

When I don't feel the urge to help anyone else, I release my grim reaper form. Carisma died near sage, but locating the black carrot takes up the rest of the hour. Carisma leads the way to her treehouse. It's a house inside a tree. Not all of the elves live in a house similar to hers, but it's quaint and cozy inside, appearing like a normal house, although nearly all of the furniture is made from trees or clay.

“Don’t you dare sleep in my bed,” she remarks.

I sprawl out on her couch. Surprisingly, sleep comes easily, but I have nightmares that my fingers are chopped off, my nose, my tongue… When I wake, I feel even worse than I did when I first fell asleep. I’m not rested at all.

Thankfully, the ghosts are lingering about. Brath is trying to pick up a flowerpot, but he's failing. Carisma's hands keep passing through knife handles. As for Jarrah, the light blue-haired elf is holding up a book.

Now that is impressive.

I clear my throat.

Carisma jerks back. Brath slaps his hand through the flowerpot, and Jarrah drops the book. The loud thud has the other two ghosts staring at him.

Jarrah just smirks at them without saying a word.

I stand. “I—”

“Help yourself to a quick breakfast, Reaper,” Carisma says. “You’re lucky we wanted some time to train ourselves as ghosts, or else we never would’ve allowed you to sleep.”

“I’m so glad you want me along that badly.”

"We're ghosts," she reminds me. "We aren't stupid. We know what'll happen if we fail, but with you on our side, we'll be just fine. We'll have our revenge even if we have to just serve as distractions."

Jarrah snorts.

Carisma glowers at the ghost.

Jarrah floats past her. “What are you going to have to eat?”

“I don’t know.”

I enter the kitchen and check out the fridge. It’s a wooden one, but there’s melting ice in the bottom that keeps everything cool. There are three eggs, so I opt for that.

When I turn around, someone’s set out a plate and a frying pan.

“Grab a knife and get practicing,” I tell Jarrah.

“I know how to—”

“Of course your elven hands know how to. Your ghost hands need a bit of practice.”

Jarrah tries. It’s a bit harder, as I thought, but on the tenth try, as my eggs are frying, he manages to nudge a handle.

The other two ghosts descend on him with question after question. If their remarks could have weight, he would’ve perished under the mountain they grew on top of him.

Raven’s blood. A witch. That’s all we need.

Carisma and Brath are raising their voices, and Jarrah’s not telling them anything they don’t already know, which is just frustrating them enough to make them shout.

“Quiet!” I shout.

They shut up like that.

“Do any of you know why he’s killing so many? What he wants?” I ask. “He’s taken fingers before, ear, stomach…”

“Who knows? Maybe he’s eating the body parts.” Carisma grimaces. “I wonder if brains taste like eggs.”

I only have a few bites left, but I push the plate away.

“Any ideas where he might be off too next?”

“Just get the raven’s blood and track down a witch,” Carisma states. “I’ve already gathered most everything.”

“Why not just go seek out a witch and buy a potion from her?” Brath asks. “Wouldn’t that be easier?”

“Don’t you know anything, Brath? A witch would prefer to be brought the ingredients. It helps to lower the cost, for one thing, and for another, if she’s missing an ingredient…”

“You do realize not all witches are females, right?” he asks.

Another fight is brewing, and I ignore them, opting to retrieve the gray milk before heading outside. The day is bright and sunny, but it feels as if a raincloud hangs over me, as if depression and solace will be my companions for the rest of my days.

“Bring a knife with you,” Jarrah pleads.

“I have several.”

“For me.”

I grunt, head back in, and grab him a knife. This time, the trio follows me, and we return to the river, heading upstream. In the near distance is a mountain.

"You know about that?" I ask, pointing to a gigantic snow-capped rock.

“It’s said to be abandoned,” Brath says.

“Dwarves used to mine there. Some kind of rare ingredient for a spell or some such nonsense. The miners started to become sick, though, and they shut it down. Happened maybe three decades ago?” Carisma asks.

“Let’s check it out,” I say. “Yandor has to be somewhere, and yes, he might’ve gone away, but there have been so many bodies here.”

“There were bodies dropped here about a month ago,” Jarrah pipes up.

“You think he killed those people too?” I ask.

The ghost shrugs, reaching for the knife I tucked into my belt. His hand keeps passing through.

We make it about halfway to the mountain when there’s rustling up ahead in the edge of the forest.

On high alert, I race forward, but it’s just a buck who stares at me for a long moment and then leaps away.

I’m far too jumpy.

“What do we have here?” a low, chilling voice asks.

I whirl to my left. Emerging from behind a tree is a dwarf. Pinned to his side by the blade he holds to her throat is a young dryad.

"Let her go," I say, trying to hold back my desperation. "You don't need her. Take from me what you want. My hand? My ear?"

“I don’t need you. I don’t need anything from a grim reaper. I need… I need…” The dwarf glances away as if he’s trying to recall something.

His eyes are dark and beady, hardly visible beneath his thick caterpillar-like eyebrows. His beard reaches down to his impressive stomach, twisted into at least a dozen braids. Only two have beads. Some of his hair is thickly braided too. He’s short and stout, like most dwarves, and he has a pair of double-bladed battle-axes on his back.

“You need to let her go free,” I say.

“I don’t think so.” His lips curl into a nasty smile, and he goes to move his arm.

Carisma shrieks and flies forward. I can’t grab her, but that doesn’t stop me from trying.

Yandor slices the girl’s throat and shoves her away before trying to lash out with the bloodied dagger. The ghost rears off, and it’s a good thing too.

That blade is magical. It might be able to affect ghosts.

“I need… I need…” The dwarf looks around wildly.

The girl stumbles away from the dwarf and falls to the ground. I rush over to her. The slice is superficial, but there’s still a lot of blood.

“Run,” I murmur to her, and she nods, stifling back a sob.

But the moment she stands, Yandor’s face turns monstrous. “I need her heart!” he cries, and he slashes with his dagger wildly to keep the trio of ghosts at bay. He races after her, but I stand in his way.

“You won’t.”

“I need—”

“I don’t know what you need or why, and I don’t care.”

I barely have time to bring up my scythe to block his blow, but he moves far faster than a dwarf should. He clutches his battle-axe in a meaty paw and swings at me with it. Most would need to use two hands to wield the monstrous weapon, but Yandor has control and aim with it in only one hand.

He pushes me back and back and back, and then he rushes toward me, his arms wide. I go to chop him down, but he moves almost with a vampire’s speed, and he head butts me so hard that I fall onto my rump. My scythe goes up to protect me as I jump back to my feet, but the dwarf is racing away.

“I need her heart!” he cries.

I yank on my skull, circle the chain whip above my head, and let it rip. The chain wraps around the dwarf, but he’s so thick that it can’t wrap around him multiple times. He’s struggling to break free, but the ghosts come. Jarrah is able to uppercut him. It’s not a blow with much power, but it stuns the dwarf to be hit by a ghost, and it allows me to step forward behind the dwarf.

“You need to stop all of this,” I demand. “You can’t go around killing people, and—”

“I need a heart. Lungs. Knees. Feet. Heart. Lungs. Knees. Feet. Heart—”

“No!” Jarrah’s eyes blaze. “You aren’t going to have anything else!”

“And you aren’t going to take him to Magical Prison, Reaper. You promised!” Carisma spits out.

Brath says nothing, but he’s a sneaky one. I wouldn’t have thought him capable of accomplishing the task, but he grabs the knife I brought along for Jarrah. Together, the two ghosts stab the dwarf underneath his chest, under his ribcage, and upward to his heart.

The dwarf shudders, and he wavers upright. The cabin can’t keep him standing, and he falls.

Dead.

The sound of flapping fills my ears, and I glance up to see Sid. He circles twice and then descends to land on the dwarf’s bloody chest.

“You killed him already. You didn’t wait for me!”

CHAPTER 15

In a blinding flash tinged with darkness, the ghosts move on. I don’t know if Carisma is able to achieve Heaven or not. She did help to save a life. The elf girl should be able to survive her encounter with the dwarf.

Although that dwarf had acted strangely. I had several dwarven classmates at Magical Hunters Academy, and not one of them had been stark raving mad like Yandor Greatwolf seems to be. Then again, none of those dwarves had gone around killing people and collecting body parts.

Just like with the harpies, I’m left baffled. What had been his endgame? Had he just been insane? Or had he been possessed? I don’t know if it’s the ghosts I had been hanging around as to why I would make that leap, but something had been very wrong with the dwarf.

I kneel beside the body of the dead dwarf.

Sid hops onto Yandor’s shoulder. “I had it all planned out,” the raven complains with a nasty kraa. “I was going to blind him so you could kill him. I was going to let you have the killing blow! Do you know how far I had to fly to get up here!”

I narrow my eyes. “You shouldn’t have been able to fly this far—”

“Elves have magic, too, you know,” he says with a flick of his wing that seems very reminiscent of a human waving a hand.

“Ah, okay. Yes, that makes sense.” I rub my chin. “Can you tell me anything about the dwarf? Any smell? Anything that might suggest…”

“If you want to see if I can detect magic on him? No. Come on. I’m not magical, remember?”

“Fine. Do you smell fear?”

“Not really.”

“He wasn’t afraid? I had him tied up. Ghosts were after him. I was after him. He should’ve been afraid.”

“Maybe he was brave. Nah, that can’t be it.” The raven shakes his head and then pecks at his wing a few times before straightening his head and lifting onto his claws a bit. “Maybe he was too stupid to be afraid?”

"That can't be it either. If he were stupid, he never would've been able to kill so many." I'm honestly baffled by it all. "Can you maybe track and see where he—"

“Track? A dwarf who might be able to teleport places? Even a bloodhound wouldn’t be able to do what you want.”

With a grimace, I pull out my phone. Sid is eyeing the dwarf hungrily, and I turn my back to them.

And then a thought comes to me.

“Have you ever eaten someone who is under the influence of a spell? Or magic of any kind?”

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“Let me know if he tastes different.”

“You want me to eat a killer? That’s okay in your book?”

“Let’s just say I won’t stop you.”

“Maybe I don’t want to eat from him. Dude was crazy.”

I groan. I can’t with this raven. I just can’t.

I log onto supes.com, and I start to try to uncover anything and everything I can about the dwarf, hoping to at least locate his house, but then I notice something else.

Another article. By Ruben Kilpatrick. It's about Yandor and about how he killed. It's horrifying to learn that the dwarf may have killed upwards of fifty various paranormal creatures over the past month and a half. Just how does Ruben get all of these details? And he even knows I'm on the hunt, which may or may not be looked on too kindly by Madra and the other higher-ups at HEX Unite.

I’m surprised he knows so much. I really am. How long is it going to take for him to realize the dwarf is dead? That I killed him? Will a picture of that surface, I wonder?

And then, there’s an update.

Yandor Greatwolf is dead, killed by the infamous grim reaper paranormal executioner Donovan Darthe.

I glance over my shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” Sid asks with a kraa.

Nosy bird.

“Nothing.”

“There’s no one else here,” Sid adds. “Just you, me, and this corpse here you killed for me. Not with me. For me. It’s the least you can do. A finder’s fee, if you will.”

“You didn’t find him.”

“I did. I came here, didn’t I? I found him here, didn’t I?”

I wearily rub my forehead. For all of Ruben’s insights into the victims and what was taken from them, including details I didn’t even know about the trio, there’s nothing about Yandor’s motive, and—surprise, surprise—the fairy uses that against me, to paint me as the most wicked, vicious paranormal executioner ever to live. And he makes mention of my visiting and threatening him too. Funny. I don’t recall that.

Death and bones, I hate this. All of it.

“Where are you off to next?” Sid asks.

“I don’t know,” I mumble. “I think… I can’t keep trying to do this all alone, and there’s… I mean, yes, I want to know what Yandor was up to, but I don’t think anyone else is going to take up his cause. Unless he had been possessed… Or influenced… I mean, if he had been possessed, the ghost would’ve been forced to leave his body to find someone else to possess, but there was no ghost. So many had been influenced instead. Or maybe insanity influenced him. In which case, that’s not contagious, but if someone had tampered with him…”

“You’re going around in circles,” Sid says dryly. “I do that. I’ll fly around in a circle and a loop and a circle when I’m trying to figure things out.”

“What do you need to figure out? Never mind. I don’t care.”

“You just wish you had wings.”

I smirk. If the raven only knew… But I bet he would try to take credit for that, say I was inspired by him or something like that, that deep down, I did it for him because I want to be friends.

Not.

“You’re jealous of me and my freedom and how I don’t have to listen to an organization. I do what I want.”

“You’re going to put your beak somewhere you shouldn’t one of these days, and you’re going to end up dead,” I warn.

“You really do care!”

I just shake my head and remove my pouch of fairy dust. It’s time to get out of here.

“You can tend to him,” I say.

“No way. I’m done. He does taste a bit…”

“Off?”

"Yeah. I can't explain how. I mean, dwarves do tend to taste a bit… earthy! That's it. They taste a bit like earthworms, actually."

“They don’t just live in mountains or caves anymore,” I point out.

"But they did for hundreds of years, and it's embedded into them."

“So this guy… Does he taste more like a witch?”

“Are you kidding me? I won’t eat a witch! Not if I know she’s one.”

“Why not?”

"I don't want a witchy relative to hex me. No thank you. I have standards, you know."

“So you do want to live.”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Does he taste like anything you can think of?”

“No, sorry. It’s just… not right for a dwarf but also different enough from everything else I’ve tasted.”

“And you’re like a rat. A bird garbage disposal. You’ll eat anything.”

“You eat garbage one time…” The raven tilts his head to the side, appraising me critically. “Why did you say I could tend to him? You planned on abandoning me here! So far from home!”

“You can fly back.”

“Do you know how long that would be!”

“Birds migrate all the time.”

“Ravens do not migrate! Not without the use of fairy dust. You know you want to help a friend out.”

“I don’t see any friends here.”

“That’s because you don’t have any friends. Sandy’s not here, is he? Didn’t return your call. He doesn’t care about you. I’m the only one who does. Maybe. I haven’t decided yet.”

“You’re a nuisance with wings.”

“And you need to appreciate that I help to clean up after you.”

“Um, no, that’s the job of—”

“Trust me. I clean up after you.”

I huff a sigh, but when I sprinkle the fairy dust on me, I allow some to go up higher so if the raven wants to tag along, he can.

He does, of course, but all he does is give a kraa before taking off.

I brought myself back to my car, and I hop in and head to my place. A quick meal, shower, and wardrobe change—yes, into a fresh black tank top and new jeans—I opt to walk to Headquarters to give myself a chance to think as well as to stretch my legs.

It’s the wrong choice. Should’ve driven over or, better yet, just used fairy dust.

Because I’m not far at all from my apartment complex when a fairy flies up to me.

“You’re him, aren’t you? That killer grim reaper? I guess I better make sure I stay out from your scythe’s reach.”

“You don’t have anything to worry about unless you—”

“That’s your problem right there. You act like you can judge anyone and everyone. But what? No one can judge you for your crimes?”

“I haven’t committed any—”

“You haven’t? Tell that to the werewolf you killed.”

I gape at the fairy, but he’s already flying off. A werewolf? I haven’t killed one in almost a month. That werewolf Damara saw kill another werewolf, and I don’t mean an alpha fighting an alpha to be the leader of the pack. I’m talking about a werewolf killing another because he thought the other one was moving in on his girl.

But it had been in a month. Yandor had been operating in the shadows for that long undetected by the oracles. Could Damara had seen wrong? Had Sommeil and I erroneously killed the werewolf? It’s not as if the other werewolf could’ve killed our target. It’s not a backward-type thing like it had been with Zenzil the yeti and the harpies.

That fairy isn't the only one to harass me. A dwarf comes up to me, claiming that Yandor had been framed, which clearly isn't true, but I don't engage him, ignoring his shouts as I pick up speed. The dwarf doesn't chase me down at least.

But the worst is a banshee. She’s not currently wailing, but she walks just behind me. I can feel her breath against my arm. When I glance over, she moves up to walk beside me.

“Do you need something?” I ask.

“I’m waiting for you to kill someone,” she says, her voice a bit hoarse and soft. It’s as if she doesn’t know how to talk when she doesn’t have to keen.

“You aren’t seriously going to follow me until—”

"I take little pleasure in this life of mine," she murmurs. "If I can herald the death of one, my life at least has a purpose. You have killed many times. I can be your partner—"

“I already have a partner.”

“The sandman is not here.”

I can’t believe it, but I find myself looking skyward, but Sid is nowhere in sight.

“I don’t want you here with me,” I state firmly. “I’m not going to kill anyone soon.”

She continues walking with me, though, and I’m growing more and more agitated.

"I'll have to keen soon for myself, I sense," she mutters, and she takes off.

It’s not true. Yes, she frustrated me, and I did not appreciate her presence or what she had been implying, but I wouldn’t have killed her.

But that she thought I would bothers me more than words can say.

CHAPTER 16

Finally, I approach HEX Unite, but there’s one small issue.

There’s a cluster of people in between Headquarters and myself.

A protest.

People are protesting HEX Unite.

Don’t they realize we’re doing the best we can? That we want to keep them safe? That’s all we ever wanted. We don’t take our jobs lightly.

Clearly, it’s a thankless job.

Frustrated, I ignore their barbs, and I make a point of not looking at the signs they hold up. As much as I'm sure they feel that they're in the right and myself and the other employees of HEX Unite are wrong, I'm just as sure that we're the ones in the right.

Not that we’re perfect.

Not that HEX Unite can’t err.

And that’s why I won’t argue with them. Because maybe things do need to change.

Actually, things have no choice but to change. If the oracles never can recover their magic entirely…

I don’t want to think about that.

With a sigh, I throw open the door, grateful it’s not locked. Once inside, I shut the door and head through the maze to Madra’s office. The place isn’t quite the ghost town it had been before. A few others are wandering about, but no one is talking to anyone else, and it seems like no one is happy.

I’m certainly not.

As I reach the hallway that leads to Madra’s office, a sprite flies up to me.

“Where are you off to, Donovan?” she asks.

I squint, trying to recall her name. “I need to see Madra.”

“I’m afraid she’s already in a meeting right now. I can put you on the schedule, though.”

“All right.”

The sprite whips out her tablet. “Let’s see… two weeks from Friday.”

“No thank you.”

“But…”

I turn on my heel and walk away. Two weeks? Forget that.

Unsurprisingly, my feet bring me to the oracle wing, and I knock on Adriana’s office. She’s not there.

Feeling a bit defeated, I head to my workspace. It’s a huge room broken up by desks in neat columns. Almost like cubicles, I guess, but there aren’t walls separating us.

Sommeil and I share a desk. It's where we file the reports of our cases on our tables. We never bring our tablets along with us on assignments, not after Sommeil accidentally broke his. Actually, I broke mine, too, on the same assignment. Thunderbirds are fierce, and they are some of the largest birds to ever exist. One flap of their wings can cause a fair number of buildings to be demolished. We had been almost crushed, and our tablets were the only casualties at least. Aside from the thunderbird, that is, of course. That had been a wild cause, and it had been last year. That thunderbird had threatened to annihilate an entire village. He already cast a thunderstorm that killed at least ten and wounded a dozen more. If we hadn't taken out that thunderbird, who knew how many would've died. That town housed thousands of people.

“But HEX Unite is evil,” I grumble, thinking about the protestors outside.

Death and bones, I’m tired, and I flop onto my chair. Sommeil’s is on the other side of the desk.

I retrieve my tablet from my drawer, and I glance through everything on it. Man, we’ve let a real backlog pile up. Reports are meant to be done within twenty-four hours of the target being killed, but we have three to write up before we deal with the whole harpy mess. And how can I even handle that? We don’t have the names of all of the harpies. Oh, and that boogeyman. I don’t have to file a report for him, right? Because the manticore killed him, not us.

Of course, if Adriana hadn’t released the manticore from the boogeyman’s sack, the boogeyman might still be alive… or, most likely, have been killed by our hands, so maybe I should write it up.

To stall, I check for another article on my tablet. Surprise, surprise. There is one.

HEX Unite is destroying the fabric of the paranormal world.

We are not like humans. We are stronger, faster, more durable. We have magic, and they do not. They are weak and inferior, but that does not mean we can easily kill them. No. Because they know their limitations, because they know they are weak and inferior, they have made weapons that can defeat us. While some might be able to survive regular bullets, there are a few who know which bullets can harm and kill us, and their nuclear weapons…

But that is not the purpose of this article. Perhaps at another time, I will discuss with you the threat the humans pose.

Right now, the threat we face is from one of our own.

Not just one individual.

One agency.

HEX Unite. Hunters, Slayers, and Executioners Unite.

Unite against what?

Against the rest of us.

Do not be deceived. HEX Unite has spent many centuries crafting lies to act as if they are helping us. They claim they wish to keep the paranormal world safe and secret.

Secret from the humans. That we should all want, yes, and for the most part, it seems as if HEX Unite does indeed want that goal.

However, HEX Unite knows that there are several humans who know about the existence of the “underground” paranormal world.

Rebel, for one, a well-known supernatural bounty hunter.

Yes, a human acts as a supernatural bounty hunter, but does she merely collect bounties?

Yes, I suppose you could make that argument, but have some of those bounties included taking the lives of paranormal creatures?

Yes, and yes. This dangerous human has been able to take down several paranormal creatures, including some would say the most devastating of all.

And Rebel is not the only one. There’s an entire contingency in Pennsylvania who know about us as well and who have also taken out a fair number of paranormal creatures.

Now, some will argue that they are taking out evil paranormal creatures, but who are they to judge?

And that is precisely the issue I have with HEX Unite. They judge us. They determine which ones of us are a threat. They do this in the name of public safety.

But what if they aren’t? What if they are instead taking out the paranormal creatures they know will rise up against them and threaten their death grip on the paranormal community at large?

I've already written about how one paranormal executioner, a grim reaper turned hired scythe, came to my place of work and threatened me. Donovan Darthe has been photographed killing a harpy, choking the harpy with the death contraption he wears around on his chest, a kind of chain whip with a skull attached, naturally. Is that not disturbing? He parades around with a weapon on him. Naturally, many have weapons on their belts or on their back, but to have one wrapped around their chest like that… It's disturbing.

That harpy in the picture, I have on good authority, had not been pegged by HEX Unite to be killed, so why then did Dr. Death, I mean, Donovan Darthe take it upon himself to brutally choke the harpy? With that same skull chain whip he walks around wearing as if it is a badge of honor? Does he think people can’t take one look at him and realize that he is the embodiment of death? He is living death, and he dishes it out as if it is ice cream served on a summer day. Donovan spreads death everywhere he goes, making a horrible mess, ruining lives, destroying families.

If he is capable of killing so many and without even the sanction of HEX Unite, you would think that Madra, the Head of HEX Unite, might think twice about employing such a dangerous man. Maybe she should even send out a team of paranormal executioners after him.

I’ll tell you why she won’t.

Madra is afraid of Donovan. She fears he will be the one to kill her. After all, the heads of the agency tend to end up dead.

If Donovan Darthe, Dr. Death, kills Madra, would he try to claim HEX unite as his? Would he rule with an iron fist? Of that you can be sure. He will seek to destroy us all, seek to kill anyone who looks at him the wrong way.

Leave him be, I beg of you all. Do not take this as a challenge. Do not rise up to him. The grim reaper will be all too pleased to claim self-defense as to why he will end your life and yours and yours. He is so skilled a killer, taught by that dastardly school Magical Hunters Academy, and he will not fail.

What then must we do? We cannot live in fear for the rest of our lives, I quite agree.

What then must we do? That certainly is the question of the hour.

But still, we must try to find a way to bring HEX Unite to heel. We need the agency to be brought back to rights. No one can deny that there are some among us who are evil.

But why should HEX Unite choose who lives and who dies? And if they can see the future, if that is why they did not lift a finger to help Rebel take down one of the most villainous of villains, then why can’t those at HEX Unite see that they are the true villains?

We must arm ourselves and be vigilant, but we cannot be the ones to strike first.

But if they come to us, then we must defend ourselves, and I beg of you to be careful.

I do not wish to have to write about your obituary next.

I toss my tablet onto my desk. Disgust has my stomach roiling. How does Ruben know so much? No one but Sommeil has ever called me Dr. Death. It’s a nickname I don’t really care for at all, but then again, I tolerate it because he hates being called Sandy, and that hasn’t stopped me any.

But everything else he wrote about… The idea that Madra is frightened of me is laughable, but do people truly view me as he said? Do people fear me? Do they even hate me?

So what if they do? I know my intentions are pure. I truly do have the public’s interests at heart.

But intention means nothing. Action is what matters, and my actions have been a bit… outlandish lately, perhaps. Going after that harpy swarm had been reckless and maybe a bit impatient. I could’ve returned to HEX Unite and ask for another team or two of paranormal executioners to tag along. If I had, maybe the salamanders wouldn’t have fought alongside us. Duruh might still live.

But no. There’s no doubt in my mind the salamanders would have fought alongside us regardless of how high a count the number of paranormal executioners was.

He’s telling the people to arm up. Right now, he’s telling them not to fight, but if this continues, I’m certain that will change. He’s going to turn the court of public opinion against us, and honestly, I am making that far too easy on him.

There has to be a way for me to help keep the paranormal world safe without my adding fuels to the flames he’s igniting.

But how?

Wearily, I rub my forehead and rest my head on my crossed arms against the desk. My gaze falls on the ground beneath my feet when I spy a slip of paper on the floor.

Curious, I pick it up and read it. Adriana’s beautiful, calligraphy-like handwriting details a few words. The Feral Gardens, northern bank of the Serpent River.

A location.

Without delay, I teleport there. I think I might hear a crash as I go, and I hope that’s not my tablet falling, the screen cracking. Oh, well. A potentially cracked, broken tablet is a small price to pay to help Adriana out if that is why she sent me this location.

CHAPTER 17

I’ve barely had time to adjust to my feet resting on the northern bank of the Serpent River when a dragon roars and breathes out a fiery blast.

A cerberus, the three-headed dog that it is, stands before the dragon, taking the blast in stride. After all, cerberuses hail from Hell. They can withstand the heat.

But they cannot withstand being clawed apart, shredded by the swipe of that mighty dragon.

The cerberus barely even whimpers as he falls down. He stops breathing before his body hits the grass he stood on.

My gaze shifts from the dead dog to the dragon. The glint in her eyes allows me to realize the dragon is actually a dragon shifter.

The dragon eyes me, and I gulp. Adriana sent me here, but the oracle is nowhere to be found. Does she mean for me to take out the dragon? By myself? It’s possible she assumed Sommeil would be with me. Normally, that’s an accurate assumption, but not now. Never now. This life I’m living feels like a stranger’s.

“Why did you kill him?” I demand, pointing to the remains.

The dragon shifter curls her lips into a nasty smile. Trust me. A dragon’s smile is actually a sight you never want to see.

She slowly transforms into her human self, but she appears no less deadly considering the wide array of weapons she has tucked into her belt. Blades of various sizes, a morning star, a mace, even a battle-axe, one-sided.

The dragon shifter continues to smile that nasty smirk. “Why do you want to know?”

“You didn’t need to kill him.”

“No? You so sure about that? Cerberuses aren’t exactly the most gentlest of creatures. They tend to eat people!”

“Yes, some do, but not all. How do I know that this one did?”

"How do you know if I care what you think?" She lifts her chin. Her hair is a dark green that trails down her back, much like the spikes on the back of her dragon. Her teeth are a bit crooked, like her mouth is too small to house them all, and her dress has seen better days, a worn-out black color with tiny pulls all over it.

“I need you to come with me.”

She barks a laugh. “Oh, I don’t think so.”

“How do you know if I care what you think?” I mock.

Her eyes darken and turn an amber color. Her skin changes, giving way to scales, and she breathes out fire as she shifts into her dragon. I convert to my grim reaper self but still roll out of the way of the flames. Bones shouldn’t be capable of being burnt, but she is a dragon, after all, and their fires burn hotter than most.

Her claws rake through the air, and I bring my scythe up to block them. She grabs me into her claws, lifting me up, and I can see a dragon nest and a huge egg inside.

Has she given birth to a dragon egg? Would that be a dragon baby or a shifter like herself? Is she just defending her egg? Is that why she attacked the cerberus?

“Did the cerberus want to turn your egg into an omelet?” I ask.

She throws me high up into the air. I hit my head onto a tree branch, and I barely manage to grab a lower branch to prevent me from having a fall that would’ve pulverized Humpty Dumpty a million times over.

The dragon shifter assumes her human form, and she starts to juggle not two, not three, but five daggers and knives. She launches them at me with quick darts. Her accuracy and precision are impeccable, and only because I fall down to another branch do I avoid having my bones nicked.

“If you must know, I hunted that cerberus to be my youngling’s first snack,” she hisses.

My eyes grow wide, and I scramble to climb the tree higher. I can just peek into the nest, and I see a dead minotaur inside as well as a dead harpy, and also a troll who is very much alive, tied up, and glancing at me with pleading eyes.

Fury laces through me. It’s one thing to hunt for your child. I understand that, but there are animals. You don’t have to kill a fellow, intelligent paranormal creature or being to feed your family. Yes, animals can be intelligent, but that doesn’t stop me from enjoying bacon, but this? This is despicable. It’s vile, and it’s just the kind of thing that would warrant a paranormal executioner.

Because no doubt if she’s feeding her child with this diet, this is her menu as well.

I go to launch myself at the shifter, who is back in dragon form, when a phoenix rises up and bats his massive fiery wings, forcing my trajectory to move away from the dragon.

Lucent. I’ll bet anything he’s Lucent. I know him from Magical Hunters Academy.

He’s also a paranormal slayer.

With him is Miyako, an ex-girl. She’s a kitsune, and she still has only six tails. Still impressive, of course, but the clip at which she gained them made me wonder if she would have seven or even eight by the time I next saw her.

She’s in her half and half form, mostly human-looking with fox ears and her tails. Her hand is raised, and lightning crackles in her palm, forming into the shape of a sphere as large as her head.

Man, she really has gotten powerful.

“Valance,” Miyako calls. “You need to stop this and come with us. If you don’t…”

The dragon flies over to her nest and sits on it. A second later, she peers over the side in human form. “You brought a phoenix with you? Come now, Foxy. You can’t think that’s smart. At least Dr. Death here might prove a little bit of a channel, but Phoenix here doesn’t know fire like I do.”

The phoenix just hovers in place. He’s not here to engage. Miyako isn’t going to attack either. They’re here as paranormal hunters. Were they sent here? Or are they taking it upon themselves to capture her and send her to Magical Prison?

Valance throws back her head and howls with laughter. In the next second, she’s back in her dragon form, her egg in her claws.

I’m ready to try to find a way to go after her, but she’s left the troll behind at least, and I don’t want to risk harming the baby.

Lucent heads to the nest, whereas Miyako crosses her arms.

“Thanks a lot, Donovan,” she snips.

“Nice to see you, Miyako. How’ve you been?”

“Better.”

“I’m sure. You upset that you weren’t able to kill her?” She glances around. “Where’s your sand buddy?”

“His name is Sommeil, and—”

“I know what his name is, Donovan! I’m not an idiot!”

“I can’t believe you’re still upset at me all these years later. I asked you about your tails because I didn’t know. I wanted to learn! Is that such a bad thing?”

"Your question could've been phrased better, and there are books! You could've done research if you wanted to get to know about kitsunes!"

“Why do that when I could get the answer from the fox’s mouth?” I counter, crossing my arms, unintentionally mimicking her.

She tilts her head to the side, and I realize I’m still in my skeletal form. I jump from branch to branch, descending all the way to the ground. When my boots touch the ground, I’m back to my human form.

Miyako appraises me but says nothing, and I turn to Lucent. He’s carrying the troll. I can’t really see how through the flames, but I don’t smell burning flesh. Not that I thought the phoenix would be irresponsible and touch the troll if he couldn’t control his heat.

“Is he all right?” I ask him.

“We heard about reports in the area about people going missing. There was a dragon spotted. We didn’t realize she was a dragon shifter until now, and…” Miyako throws up a hand in exasperation.

“You wanted to bring her in,” I state.

“You wanted to kill a momma dragon for wanting her child,” she counters coolly.

“She kidnapped a troll and killed how many others? Her diet is—”

“You two can stop fighting,” Lucent comments, having assumed his human form now that he’s on solid ground. “He’s all right. Possibly dehydrated and hungry, but he should survive.”

“Do you mind taking him on ahead to be healed?” Miyako asks.

Lucent glances from her to me. “Are you sure?” he asks her. “You two fight even worse than I remember.”

“I don’t need the judgment,” she says bitterly.

“I mean, you’re dating—”

“Lucent, if you don’t want to be late for the meeting, you’ll want to get going, don’t you think?”

The phoenix nods. “Don’t be late yourself.”

“I won’t be.”

I watch as the phoenix uses fairy dust to teleport himself and the troll away.

“You should come to the meeting,” Miyako says gruffly.

“You didn’t have a comment about my pointing out that I wanted to learn about your kind from you. Is that really so terrible?”

“It’s not that it’s terrible. I just thought that if you wanted to be with me, you should’ve known about kitsunes already, you know? Like how interested are you—were you—in me if you didn’t know what I am? It only forms who I am as a person!”

“Which is why I wanted to know, and I didn’t just want to know about kitsunes. I wanted to know about you.” I shrug. “If you think about it, the whole thing is kinda ridiculous, but if something so small as that could get us to split, we weren’t ever going to make it in the long run.”

"No, we weren't. I don't know. Two strong, capable paranormal beings… We're bound to bump heads. I'm not too full of myself that I can't admit that I reacted a little… I don't know. There were a few other signs that we might not work out, and I guess maybe I used that as an excuse some?"

“We were young,” I say. “We’re both much smarter now.”

“More mature.”

“Stronger.”

“Willing to forgive and forget?” she asks.

“Definitely.”

“Good. So you’ll come to the meeting?”

“What’s the meeting for?”

“There’s been talk that HEX Unite is slipping, that it’s not enough to keep the paranormal community safe. People think it’s failing, that we can’t keep everyone safe.”

“The meeting is with Madra?” I ask.

“No, actually. It’s with some paranormal hunters, slayers, and executioners. Right now… Things at HEX Unite are a bit…”

“Tumultuous.”

“That’s one way to put it,” she mumbles. “The meeting is at Mason Aleworks. We have the upper room set aside for us. It’s to start in twenty minutes.”

“Cutting it close, going after that dragon shifter.”

“We would’ve had her in magic-dampening cuffs in no time if you hadn’t been here.”

“I was here first, and—”

“And you would’ve killed her, Dr. Death.”

I flinch.

“I’m sorry.”

“Did you hear that from Sommeil? Or from that terrible Tribune writer?”

“Sommeil calls you Dr. Death?”

Well, that answers that question.

I grimace. “I hate it when he does.”

"And now that guy calls you that nickname. Did you really threaten him?"

My eyes narrow, and I scowl. “You really don’t know me.”

"Oh, I know you. I also know how others perceive you. At times, you can be a little… on edge, which makes others on edge, and it's just not good. I don't know. I'm not trying to…" She huffs a sigh. "I don't think you threatened him. He probably overblew it."

“He definitely overblew it,” I grumble.

“Enough about him. For now anyway.” She gives a painful smile, appearing almost apologetic. “We’ll most likely talk about him and his articles at the meeting. Will you come?”

I blow out a breath. Why does it feel like this might be some kind of a tipping point?

CHAPTER 18

Miyako waits patiently, but I know she has to be more than ready to go. Mason Aleworks is the bar closest to HEX Unite. They don't serve ale at all, ironically enough, but it has a host of drinks humans can't drink because they'll kill them. They're most famous for having drinks catered to each paranormal race. The troll one is green and looks like snot. Ogres' is pink with a black rim. The one based on phoenixes is served on fire, and so on. The bartender will sing when he brings out the sirens' drink.

The grim reapers’ drink is black and white, the white in the shape of skulls. It actually looks really cool, but it also smells and tastes like death.

As a result, I don’t really like going there. It’s not that you have to order the drink that you are, but everyone looks at you sideways if you don't, and honestly, I don't need that kind of judgment right now.

Even more honestly, no one deserves to be judged.

Well, that’s not true. If you commit a crime, you should be judged and judged hard and even harder if the offense is violent.

But I guess that’s the whole issue at hand, then, isn’t it?

But what are they all planning, the ones attending the meeting? Are they hoping to be able to form a new organization from the dying embers of HEX Unite? Can’t we just regroup and figure out a way to fix HEX Unite? Because I will be the first to admit that it needs to be fixed.

For that to happen, we need at least one oracle at the meeting. Without such a huge component of HEX Unite, we can’t figure out how to fix things going forward, whether it’s a new organization or the same one.

“It’s all right,” Miyako murmurs. “I understand.”

“Understand what?”

“You aren’t going to come. It’s fine. Really. We can’t get a hold of everyone anyhow. We’re all so spread out everywhere. I mean, seriously, what were they thinking to just turn us all loose? Like the villains are going to just stop on our say so.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “It’s… I don’t know how it came to this, but things have to change.”

“I agree with you there.”

Her eyes burn with an unasked question—Then why won’t you come? But she does know me, and she doesn’t ask. I appreciate that, and in my mind at least, that cements the renewal of our friendship. We had been friends before we ever started to date.

“We all have to do what we think is right,” she murmurs.

“In our own ways if we have to, but we have the same goal.”

“Yes.” She grins and shakes her head. “Donovan Darthe. Try not to kill anyone tonight?”

“I’m not a fan of making promises.”

“Don’t I know it.” She ruefully shakes her head.

We awkwardly stand there a moment, and then I give her a hug. It's even more awkward, but then she relaxes and hugs me back to make it a real embrace. We laugh, and she heads to the meeting via fairy dust while I use some to head to my apartment. I'm beat, worn out, and a part of me is worried about the meeting. I'm not sure why, can't really put my finger on it, but what if the meeting is a trap of some kind? Not that I could hazard a guess as to who would set the trap or why they would, but I guess I'm getting cynical and suspicious as I get older.

I have some leftovers from earlier in the week in the fridge. After heating that up, I devour it and go to bed. I’m crashing hard, and sleep should be a welcome respite, right?

Or maybe not.

Yandor Greatwolf is there. He somehow has it so that I can't move. I'm perfectly immobilized, and he has me lying down on a table. He brings up a battle-axe, and he chops off one of my arms. I know this is a dream for many reasons—first and foremost because Yandor is alive—but also because I feel no pain. That is good, at least, but that doesn't stop me from screaming when he chops off one of my legs.

The dwarf picks up my leg and carries it over to another table. There’s a menagerie of body parts littered all over the table, and he starts to rearrange them.

What in the world? Why is he doing this?

But then, without warning, Yandor just disappears, his body seeming to explode into bats. No, not bats. Harpies. The harpies descend on the body parts and on me as if they’re vultures, and I can't do anything at all.

I’m so utterly helpless.

I can’t move at all, but that doesn’t stop me from trying. The table is on wheels, and the more I try to shift my body, the more the table wobbles a bit. I rock back and forth on the table. I don’t have a plan per se, but I can’t just lie here and have the harpies attack me.

Without warning, one of the harpies upends the table, and I don’t fall to the floor. I fall through it, falling, falling, falling.

A dragon is there. The beast opens his mouth and proceeds to swallow me whole. The heat from the fire burning in his gut unnerves me to the point that I have to do something. I have to break free.

But I have no weapons. My skull chain whip isn't on me, and I don't have my scythe. I have nothing at all.

The fire licks at my boots, trying to claim me, to devour me. There are some bones in here, and I grab one when the dragon vomits me.

Disgusting.

Before I can do more than try to look at my surroundings, a sack lowers over me. Is this a boogeyman’s sack? Some believe boogeymen live in their sacks or that they house a pocket dimension of some kind. I never did ask Sommeil or Zanatre about it, and I never considered what a so-called pocket dimension might look like, so I’m not that surprised to see that I’m in nothing at all. There’s blackness all around me.

A low grumble sounds, almost like a roar, and a manticore leaps at me. The lion body and the human head… I’ve always thought the beast a bit disturbing-looking.

The manticore lets out a deep, lionfish roar, which makes no sense because of their human head, but I’m not about to tell the manticore that. Instead, I try to run away, only now realizing I have my arm and leg back.

Not for long, however, as the manticore pounces onto my back, forcing me to the ground and ripping off my other arm.

Again, I feel no pain, but again, I scream. Won’t this nightmare ever end?

And then Damakon is there. The pegasus zooms down, and I think he’s going to save me or else kill the manticore, but no. The pegasus tears his horn across my gut.

That stings, the first time I can feel anything, and I go to cry out when the scene shifts. I’m standing in a field of flowers. My hands go to my stomach, but I have no wound. I’m healed.

Confused as to where I am and also wondering if something is going to jump out and attack me, I walk and walk and walk. Eventually, I come to a black and white checkered blanket. There’s no picnic basket, though, and no one is around.

Not even birds are singing. It’s eerily quiet but also hauntingly beautiful.

I bend down to pick a flower, but the stem won’t snap, and I still have no weapons on my person, so I leave it.

Soft footsteps sound behind me, and I turn to see Adriana there.

Maybe my nightmare is turning into a dream!

I hold out my hands, and she takes them. My heart pounds, and my mouth grows dry.

“Adriana, I hate you.”

What? My eyes grow wide. That is not what I meant to say at all.

“I know,” she murmurs, squeezing my hands. “I hate you too.”

A tree grows from a sapling to a fully adult tree in a matter of seconds, and a tapping sound starts. Maybe a bird I can’t see is striking or pecking the tree.

I try again. "I hate you," I say firmly, even though I mean the opposite.

Wait. Do I? Do I love her? I know I like her but to love her when we haven’t even dated at all, that’s ridiculous, right?

“I mean, I really loathe you,” I say, the words coming out all wrong.

“I really loathe you too,” she says, smiling, still holding my hands.

My words are coming out meaning the opposite of what I'm trying to say. Is that the case for her? Or does she really hate me?

“I can’t do this anymore,” she says, and as more trees sprout up from the ground, she walks away.

I try to go after her, to see if I can maybe get my mouth and tongue to cooperate, but I can't move. My legs are transforming into the trunk and roots of a tree, and I'm stuck there, unable to do anything. I can't even talk anymore. My throat and mouth feel closed off.

The only thing I can do is hear. My eyes have shut at this point, and I can’t open them. Am I turning into a tree? Why?

But my ears work yet, and the tapping won’t stop. If anything, it’s louder and louder, so loud that I can’t think. I can’t focus on anything, and then I realize I’m not standing up with my eyes open, but instead, I’m lying down with my eyes closed.

My eyes open. Oh, all of that had been a dream. Well, that explains a lot.

The tapping still hasn’t stopped, though. That’s what woke me in the first place. What is it? Something’s tapping at my bedroom window.

At first, I ignore it and do my best to fall back asleep since it’s late. Or extremely early, but I swear I hear someone say, “Nevermore.”

What in the world? If this is Sid trying to pull a prank of something…

I throw my covers off and rush over to the window. My curtain is thrown to either side, and I peer out and nearly jump from fright, and trust me, it takes a lot to scare a grim reaper.

But seeing the ghostly apparition of Zenzil floating outside my bedroom door does just that.

I gape at him, but then, Zenzil’s gone, just like that as if he had never been here in the first place, and maybe he hadn’t been. Maybe I’m still dreaming.

Confused, I hesitate. Against my better judgment, I open the window, but I don’t dare call out. The night air is chillier than it should be, but there’s no one there.

I shut and lock the window and return to bed. Maybe I’ll be able to get some more sleep, hopefully without any more dreams.

Right when I'm at that haze between sleep and wakefulness, right when I'm about to succumb, there's serious pounding at my door, the kind that suggests urgency and terror.

Great. Now what? Is Zenzil haunting me? Why? If he wishes for me to avenge him, I need to know who was behind the harpies’ plot. Death and bones, I need to learn what the plot itself had been. To raise an army, clearly, but for what nefarious purpose?

Why are there only ever more questions and never an answer in sight?

As the pounding at my door continues, I huff a sigh. At least I’ll be able to learn the answer as to who is disturbing my slumber at the very least.

CHAPTER 19

For some reason, I’m almost afraid to open the door. Maybe because of the nightmare, but then I laugh to myself. I live in an apartment complex. If there was a manticore wandering about the halls, people would notice and scream. Not only that but manticores don’t have hands to knock. Just massive paws with terrible claws.

I open the door to find Sommeil there.

A wounded, bleeding Sommeil.

“Come in,” I say, yanking on his arm, shutting and locking the door behind him. “What on earth happened to you?”

Sommeil ignores me and heads to the kitchen. “Do you have any food?”

“I might. Help yourself, but, ah… You might want to wash up some first?”

“What?” He glances down and realizes he’s trailing blood all over the carpet. Awesome.

“Shower,” I tell him.

“It’ll burn,” he whines.

“Do you want to clean up all of the blood?” I counter.

“No,” he grumbles, and he heads to the bathroom, still leaving bloody prints behind.

As much as I know I should tend to the carpet immediately, I hurry to the kitchen. There aren't any more leftovers, so I heat up one of those frozen dinner meals that is never enough food. You need to eat two of them just to maybe feel satisfied, and they're so high in sodium that you shouldn't eat two. Maybe shouldn't even eat one.

As that heats up, I tend to the carpets. Normally, there’s a crew at HEX Unite who will take care of cleaning up “crime scenes.” They’ll deal with our clothes, too, if they get bloodied, so I don’t have a lot of experience in this area. Still, I do what I can. Would it pass a human forensic team? No, but a human won’t be looking for blood here.

Blood. It doesn’t make me squeamish. There isn’t much that does, but I can’t get the idea of Yandor collecting body parts out of my head. Why would he do that?

Why do serial killers do what they do? They’re insane. Sometimes, there is no reason behind the madness.

But I can’t shake the feeling that he hadn’t been mad, that something had been off about him. Maybe I’m wrong, though. Maybe I just don’t want to think a person with a healthy mind is capable of such terrible, heinous crimes. What is the world coming to? And what happened to Sommeil?

I have his food on the table with a fork waiting for him when he comes out of the shower. He borrowed some of my clothes, which is fine, but the sandman doesn’t normally wear tank tops, so I’m a bit amused, although I keep that to myself.

Sommeil devours the food in less than three minutes.

“Want another?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “It’s not as if I normally eat this kind of food so early in the morning.”

I check my cell. It’s almost six in the morning. I slept later than I thought I had.

“Do you mind if I get myself something while you start telling me what happened?” I call over my shoulder, already heading into the kitchen.

Sommeil doesn’t follow me, but my apartment is small, with the dining room being as large as the table and situated across from the kitchen. He just sits there, staring into space.

“Sommeil?”

“Sorry, frérot.” He huffs a breath.

"Where have you been?" I ask gently, but when he doesn't answer, I look over my food options.

Man, do I need to head to the grocery store. I pour myself some cereal, but I don’t have any milk, so I have no choice but to eat it dry. Nah, not happening. I opt for some toast and coffee. I’m not normally a coffee drinker, but I brew myself a dark roast pot and, of course, drink it before it’s had a chance to cool down, and my mouth is burning. I can’t even taste the toast when I sit across from Sommeil and take my first bite.

“Did you go on vacation?” I ask him.

Sommeil blinks a few times and hangs his head. “I had been on vacation in a desert.”

“A desert?” I want to laugh, but he’s unamused, and the nicks on his skin, the cuts… He had been attacked by something, clearly. Sommeil is no pushover, so it had to have been serious.

“An oasis,” he clarifies. “It had been so beautiful, so peaceful… A tiny pond. No ocean. No water torture. Nothing like that. I was enjoying myself, well, for the most part.”

“Were you there alone?”

“No. Who wants to vacation alone? Not that I brought anyone with me, but there had been a few other people vacationing there. You know the spot. Geyser Desert.”

“Ah. Near the hot springs?”

“Yes, but I never made it to one.”

Geyser Desert is near the edge of the Sonoran Desert. Sommeil had gone there before, during the break between our first and second years at Magical Hunters Academy. He asked me to go with him, but I hadn't. I really do need to consider taking a vacation myself one day, but not anytime soon. Not with all of this turmoil going on in the world right now.

A lot of people enjoy the Geyser Desert. It's actually supposed to be a nice place to go visit. There are camels to ride. A few dragons will even allow you to ride on their backs, but you have to give them a gemstone or a precious stone or something worthwhile. Coins and bills won't cut it. It has to be something they want. Pixies, I think, have a marketplace nearby, and they trade and sell all kinds of stuff like a bazaar. There's even a supernatural zoo that will wander around the desert as well as a supernatural circus. It's something Sommeil loves. He's the extravert. I'm not really an introvert… or maybe I am. It's not that being around a bunch of people drains me. It's more that I just prefer to be alone more times than not.

A hot spring does sound nice, though. My body is all tense. A soak would do wonders for me, but I can’t imagine that a sandman would want to submerge himself into one, especially after what happened with the boogeyman not that long ago. I’m not going to ask, though, and risk dredging up terrible memories.

“What prevented you?” I ask.

"A mob of angry imps," he says with a rueful smile. "They just showed up and saw me and attacked. I don't know why. At first, I defended myself, but I didn't want to kill any of them, so I fled."

I blow out a breath. “How were the other people there? The other vacationers, how did they seem?”

"Honestly… No one seemed to like my presence. I don't get it. I was more my normal self, happy, talkative… There were a couple of beautiful ladies there who I wanted to get to know, but they all wanted nothing to do with me. The pixies refused to sell me anything. When I asked the price of items, they told me three, four, five times higher than anyone else."

I stare at the crumbs on my plate and take a long swallow of my bitter coffee.

“What’s going on?” Sommeil demands. He leans forward and brushes back his longish brown hair.

“Sommeil…”

“What is going on?” he repeats almost angrily. “Do you know? Why would they hate me?”

“It’s not that they hate you,” I say slowly.

“So you do know!”

I nod robotically.

“I’m not in the mood for you to beat around the bush,” Sommeil growls.

“You honestly haven’t seen any of the news reports?”

“News reports? Nah. Why bother with that?”

“And why bother to answer your phone,” I remark.

“I turned it off. Vacation, remember?”

“And if I really needed you…”

“You could have used fairy dust to…”

“I didn’t know where you were. You never said.”

Sommeil rubs the back of his neck and shifts to the side as he yanks his phone from his pocket. I wait as it turns on, and when he realizes he really does have missed calls from me, he grimaces, his one dimple appearing even though he’s displeased.

“I’m sorry, frérot. Je suis désolé. What do you need?”

“What did I need.” I wave my hand and lean forward, stretching out my hand to take his phone. It takes me moments to bring up an article from Ruben Kilpatrick. Sommeil reads silently, but his expression turns darker and darker.

“What is this?” he demands as he begins to tap on his phone, maybe looking up other articles.

“A fairy is riling up the people against HEX Unite, and honestly, I can’t say they’re entirely wrong.”

“What do you mean? They’re acting like we’re criminals! We’re the ones saving them—”

“I know what we do. What we intend to do.”

"You're having second thoughts. You doubt our purpose."

“I don’t doubt our purpose at all. I am wondering about our system, though. We… Do we jump to conclusions? Should we maybe have trials…”

"Trials! Next, you'll want juries too!"

“I don’t know. I just… How can we trust the oracles? Their magic is… acting up. Without them, how can we locate evil paranormal creatures?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s not as if there aren’t missing people listed on supes.com. Crimes can be notified to us by the people. We could have—”

“So you admit there’s another way we can handle things,” I point out.

“Yes, of course there’s another way, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a better way.”

“We need to… I don’t know what we need.” I run a hand through my hair, brushing it back.

“I can’t believe this. Have other paranormal executioners been attacked?”

“I don’t know,” I tell him honestly. “I really don’t know what to think about any of this.”

“Have you been able to call anyone?”

“No, actually. You aren’t the only one to not return my calls.”

“How many times do you want me to say I’m sorry?”

“It’s fine,” I assure him.

“Are you so sure about that? Why had you called?”

“Which time?”

Sommeil hangs his head. "When I turned it off, I thought about turning it back on. I could put it on vibrate, silence it, but no. I wanted to disconnect. I wanted to be away from the world entirely. All I wanted was peace. Peace and quiet and a chance to relax. I thought I deserved it, but there's a reason why the vast majority of those employed by HEX Unite are all workaholics. It's a good thing, too, because our work is never done. It's a constant, never-ending battle, and honestly, what's the point?"

“We can’t just give up!” I protest.

“No. We can’t, and we won’t,” Sommeil says firmly. “We’ll keep on fighting, but I can already see the writing on the wall, can’t you?”

“What do you see?”

"We're going to die. This job will one day claim our lives, and yes, that's how a lot of paranormal executioners go out. Not many retire, but that's how we'll die. Not in our sleep. Not surrounded by family. We'll die because one day, evil will conquer us instead of the other way around."

CHAPTER 20

Before I have a chance to even think about what Sommeil just said, he grabs my wrist and uses fairy dust on us. I glance around, not recognizing the apartment complex.

“Where are we?” I ask.

The sandman gives me a grin and wiggles his eyebrows.

That’s when I realize I’ve been here before.

We’re standing in front of Adriana’s room.

My heart starts to pound, and then it beats even faster when I realize the door is ajar.

I glance at Sommeil. He conjures a tiny swirling sand tornado hovering above his palm, and my hand clutches my skull, ready to whip out my chain whip if I need to as I nudge the door wide open with my foot.

My worries are instantly brushed aside as Adriana stands two feet away, faintly smiling. She’s wearing a dark blue blouse and pant set, the pants looking almost like a long skirt. Her hair is twisted into two braids, none free, and it makes her look younger than her years, but her eyes… her eyes look as mesmerizing and striking and unnerving as ever.

“Can you see the future?” I ask eagerly, not even bothering to give Sommeil a chance to discuss whatever it is that led him to bring us here.

She shakes her head. “I can’t even see the present,” she murmurs.

“The door…” I turn toward it. My hopes had been that she knew we would be coming, that she left it ajar specifically for us.

But no. Of course not. The oracles can’t see the future anymore, for whatever reason.

There has to be a reason.

But what?

And for them to not be able to see the present… Is that the case for all oracles? Or just Adriana? Had she been the first oracle to see the future incorrectly? Had her visions been the first to go? If so, maybe the others haven’t been affected yet, but if she is susceptible first, why?

“Irina should be returning soon,” Adriana says. “She went to visit a friend.”

“Is that wise?” I blurt out.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Adriana shifts her gaze over to Sommeil. “What happened?” she asks, her barely visible pupil turning darker than normal. “Do you need me to get—”

“I’m fine, but I was attacked.”

Adriana glances back at me, probably noticing how I’m fine while my partner isn’t.

“I went on vacation,” Sommeil states. “I don’t think Donovan got the memo that he was supposed to have one too.”

“No, I would imagine not. It seems we have much to catch up on.”

“Yes, but you might want to have Irina come home,” I say urgently.

"Why? I don't understand." Adriana doesn't quite seem alarmed yet, but her eyes are open a bit wider than normal.

“I was attacked because I’m a paranormal executioner,” Sommeil says darkly.

“And while you aren’t one,” I add, “you do work for HEX Unite, and public opinion on all of us from HEX Unite right now is not good.”

“I have been doing some reading by that awful Ruben Kilpatrick, but nothing recently.”

“So you don’t know everything then.”

“Hardly,” she mumbles. “If you’ll give me a moment to call my sister…”

She leaves the room, and I shut her apartment door. A part of me wants to lock it, but I don't. We're going to be staying in the small but quaint living room. It's really nice, much nicer than mine, with a matching beige couch and love seat. No recliners anywhere. There's a small TV, no game systems, but that doesn't surprise me on either count. The pictures on the wall are all pictures of her and her sister or friends. There's only one art piece, a watercolor sunset over the ocean. It's beautiful.

“Irina is going to stay at her friend’s house,” Adriana says as she returns.

“Is that…” I trail off, grimacing, and rub the back of my neck. Of course she would know what’s best for her sister. “Sorry. I didn’t—”

"No, you care. That's why you're wondering. Her friend is a boogeyman, and her parents are home. I think she'll be just fine and secure there, don't you?"

Considering we know firsthand how powerful boogeymen can be, yes, she’s in very secure hands.

“Boogeymen from your village?” I ask.

"No. Relatives of one of the families who lived there, though." Adriana grimaces and rubs her arm.

To change the subject, I point to the painting. “This is beautiful.”

“Irina painted it. It came to her in a dream.”

“She has visions in her dreams?” I ask.

“No. She has dreams just like you do.”

Duh. I go to rub the back of my neck, realize I just did that, and smile sheepishly. She still sets my nerves on fire and makes my tongue turn to mush, and my thoughts fly out of my head.

Sommeil coughs. “Maybe we should get caught up on what we’ve all been doing?”

“Good idea. Adriana?”

"Go ahead and start, Sommeil. Are you sure you don't need anything? I have a small magical first aid kit."

The sandman smirks. "I'm fine. Don't you worry. I'll be better in no time at all. These are nothing. But when a pack of angry imps comes at you…"

Adriana looks more and more horrified as Sommeil describes in greater detail what happened to him. The imps ambushed him as he had been sleeping. He hadn’t even known imps had moved into the area, and they had clearly meant to do him harm.

“Maybe even kill me.” Sommeil shakes his head. “I had to get out of there. I tried to put the lot of them to sleep, but they were flying. It’s never easy to use sand dust on beasts with wings, and they were beasts, not beings.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “Did they not act like typical imps?”

He shrugs. “The imps I know are mostly hateful, spiteful creatures. That certainly describes these guys to a tee.”

Hmm. It doesn't sound like they were behaving uncharacteristically. I'm trying to fit things into a square hole, even if they're circles.

“Did you have to kill any?” Adriana asks softly. “No one would judge you if you had.”

“I didn’t. I fled to Donovan’s place before it would come to that, but they really… They wanted me dead. I can’t… I don’t know why I ever thought that being a paranormal executioner would mean my life would potentially be threatened while I was on vacation.”

“What about you, Donovan?” Adriana asks. “What have you been up to?”

I launch into my tale, omitting nothing but the dream. I do also refrain from going into many details about Yandor Greatwolf. I rub the arm he cut off in my nightmare. I don’t want to risk giving either of them nightmares. Even though I sanitize the tale, the two of them are righteously indignant about it all.

“You went after a dwarf you think might be possessed or influenced or something all by yourself?” Adriana asks.

“I tried to call around, but no one answered.” I look at her meaningfully.

“Irina accidentally grabbed my phone when she went over to her friend’s. She’s been there every day. She doesn’t like to be alone, and I don’t blame her. No one does.” Adriana shakes her head. “I’ve been using her phone. We haven’t had a chance to swap back yet. Why she didn’t answer, I don’t know.”

“Maybe she was afraid Donovan would confess his love to you,” Sommeil jokes.

I cough hard, embarrassed, and then decide, why not? No regret’s supposed to be our motto, right?

“I don’t know about love, but I do like you, Adriana. A lot. What do you—”

But I don't have to worry about her hearing Sommeil's ill-timed declaration on my behalf because Adriana's eyes are purely white. She's having a vision, which I guess should make me happy because I've been wanting her to have one, but I'm not. I want her to know my feelings, and she needs to know now before something happens, and it might be too late.

Adriana blinks a few times. “I’m sorry. You said something, Sommeil? I didn’t quite catch it.”

“What did you see?” I ask eagerly, cutting Sommeil off. I’m not sure if the sandman will repeat himself or claim it’s nothing, but that doesn’t matter right now.

Yes, I want her to know how I feel, but matters of life and death are even more important, and any vision she has might be that important.

“Oh, I wasn’t having a vision,” she says with a wave of her hand and a light laugh. “I was just remembering when she first took my phone instead of hers. A friend of hers called, and I was so surprised! It doesn’t help that we sound alike on the phone, and her friend started to talk to me about another friend of theirs. Irina is… She has a lot of friends. She’ll be okay no matter what happens.”

“What do you mean no matter what happens? She’ll head to Magical Hunters Academy next year, and then she’ll…” I trail off.

There might not be a HEX Unite for Irina to work at.

Adriana gives me a rueful smile before turning to the sandman. “Please. You were saying? I didn’t mean to drift off like that.”

“It’s fine. You’re fine.” Sommeil flares his nostrils. “I could use some water, though, to drink.”

“Of course! I’m a terrible hostess. And you guys are still standing. Sit, please. I’ll grab us some water, unless you want something else to drink, Donovan?”

“Water’s fine.”

Sommeil sits on the couch. I deliberate and then opt for the love seat.

The sandman snorts. “You going to tell her?”

“I don’t need you to push me.”

“No?”

“And I don’t need an audience.”

“So when I’m not around. Gotcha. I’ll drink my water and then make my way to the loo. How does that sound?”

“I don’t need you to detail all of that,” I protest, pinching the bridge of my nose.

“No? But you might want to talk to her sooner rather than later.”

“I was just thinking that, but maybe you should do the same. You and Zanatre? Or Simone? Or someone else? Someone you met at the oasis?” I ask.

“I don’t know.”

“About any of them? You should probably decide on that.”

“Why? Why do I need to?”

“Well, I mean, you obviously don’t have to pick either one of them, but they both seem to like you, and—”

“With Simone, you can’t tell. She’s like me like that. I mean, she’s flirted with you some.”

“Really?”

“You couldn’t tell?” He snorts. “I can’t say that I’m surprised that you were oblivious. You are more of a one-girl kind of guy.”

“Deep down, so are you. You’re just overly friendly, that’s all.”

“Maybe, but I don’t… I don’t want to hurt either of them.”

“I get that, but if you talk to them about it, just let them know what you’re thinking, that would have to be better, don’t you think?”

“I’m not leading either of them on,” he says.

“Hmm. When’s the last time you talked to either of them?” I ask. “Or has it been more of an out of sight, out of mind kind of thing?”

He groans and rubs a hand down his face. “I haven’t been able to sleep lately because I can’t get my mind to stop thinking.”

“Even before the imps showed up?”

“Even before they showed up. I don’t like the way the world is right now.”

“Neither do I.”

“So maybe it’s not in my best interest to make a move with either of them.”

I snort. “Yet you’re pushing me…”

“It’s different, mon ami. Trust me. It’s different.”

“How so?”

Sommeil lets out a breath. “Why didn’t it work out for you and that dryad?”

“I’m surprised you aren’t more impressed that I patched things over with Miyako,” I grumble.

“Laurelis. Spill.”

I huff a sigh. “I bought her some chocolates.”

“Chocolates.”

“Yes. I mean, obviously you aren’t going to give a dryad flowers, right? They won’t want that. It’s against nature.”

“So what was the deal with the chocolates?” he asks.

“I guess they were from a specific plant that is endangered. I spent a lot of money on those chocolates too. They’re not the everyday kind you can get in a store. She was seriously offended, and even when I tried to explain, she told me that if I can’t keep track of all things living, that I don’t need to keep track of her.”

“Ouch.”

“Yes. And I get that she’s attached to all things with roots. Plants are her thing, and I get that, but I am not just about life. I’m also about death. Death is natural, yes, but she likes to ignore that part.” My nostrils flare. “Too many people do, and the reason why I messed up with Miyako is because I didn’t do enough research on kitsunes. I asked her to tell me, and she thought I was lazy. I don’t want to risk doing something stupid that Adriana will find me at fault for.”

“So you aren’t going to try at all?”

“Maybe you should just worry about your own love life,” I mumble.

“Whose love life?” Adriana asks as she crosses over to the coffee table. She places three glasses on top of agate coasters.

Sommeil smirks at me as he lifts his water glass as if to toast me.

I smirk back and then turn to Adriana. “Neither of us have much of a love life.”

“All that matters now is life,” she voices, and neither of us can argue with her on that point.

CHAPTER 21

For a long moment, we drink in silence. Adriana looks like she’s deep in thought. She sat next to me on the love seat, but as far to the other side as possible, barely sitting on the edge as if she’s ready to spring up at any moment. Sommeil is shaking his head at me whenever I glance his way, and I just can’t be bothered to do more than reflect on how we should move on from here.

Honestly, I don’t know what to do, where to go, what to say.

“Can you tell me more about Yandor Greatwolf?” Adriana asks, breaking the hushed stillness.

“Why?” I blurt out.

"I just haven't heard of many dwarves being evil," she murmurs. "Yes, on occasion, but rarely. Most of those, the few that they are, end up in Magical Prison."

“Anyone can be evil. Even grim reapers.” I chuckle weakly.

She blinks at me a few times and then picks up her sister’s phone from where it sat on the coffee table.

She’s going to look him up, isn’t she? I hadn’t mentioned the body parts at all. Why is she fixating on him?

“The imps,” I say in a rush. “Maybe we should try to track them, keep an eye on them. If they went after Sommeil, they might go after other executioners.”

“And there’s the dragon shifter you went after,” Sommeil points out.

“Yes, but maybe she should be sent to Magical Prison. Maybe Lucent and Miyako are right about that.”

“And the imps? Should they go to Magical Prison too? There had to have been at least eighteen of them. How many pairs of magic-dampening cuffs do you have?”

“None,” I admit.

“And how many cells do you think they have open and available?”

“I don’t know. Can’t they put several imps in one cell?”

“How should I know?” Sommeil shrugs. “I can’t say I paid attention to any imps at the prison when I was there. Did you?”

“Would I ask if I knew?” I counter.

We fall silent. Adriana’s still reading, which makes me anxious. I do want to go after Yandor Greatwolf. I mean, I know he’s dead, but that’s a lead that can’t be finished. It’s untangled yet, dangling, just like the harpies.

I’m sick of trying to complete the puzzle that is life without all of the pieces. Far too many are missing.

But I won’t ask Adriana to look into the past. I know better than that, but the more I recall the nightmare, the more I think about the horrific nature of what had been reality, the more I’m anxious and uptight.

“Ruben wrote all about Yandor,” Adriana murmurs. “He… He would take…”

I nod. “He cut off body parts or stole organs.”

“Why?”

"I don't know. I honestly don't know. I mean, why bother to take two fingers? Why not just take the entire hand at that point?"

Adriana’s dainty fingers cover her mouth, and I grimace, hating that I planted that picture in her head.

“He’s… You were right to kill him. I know that you’ve been questioning the organization lately, but you were right. Don’t doubt that,” she murmurs.

“Sometimes, the only way to stem back the rising tide of darkness is to drown the source,” Sommeil says grimly.

I swallow the rest of my water, but my throat remains dry. “Yandor… He wasn’t… I really think he might have been influenced by an outside source. There’s no way to trace that now, though, not with him dead. I should’ve… If I showed mercy…”

“If you showed mercy, you would be dead,” Adriana whispers.

“Do you know that for certain?” I counter.

She flinches and stares at her hands in her lap.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, feeling as if that’s the phrase I use with her more than any other. “I just am a bit… I don’t know. My life or his, was that really the way it had to be?”

“You couldn’t risk his killing the ghosts,” Sommeil says.

“Yes, but if I had just convinced them to come with me…”

“Everyone has free will,” Adriana says. “You can’t forget that. Every action has a consequence, and everything Yandor did lead him to the point where you would kill him. Sometimes, death can be a good thing when it brings about safety.”

“What did he do with the body parts, though?” I ask. “And the harpies, had they been the ring leader? Or had it been one of the gargoyle brothers? Are we safe from their machinations since they’re both in prison? Or do they have other underlings who will crawl out of hiding to do their bidding now that the harpies have been killed?”

“I haven’t been able to see anything about the harpies in some time,” Adriana murmurs. “Everything I’ve tried to see about them has been wrong anyhow, so I don’t… I can’t… Instead,” she says, her voice growing stronger now, “I want to try to learn more about Yandor.”

“Don’t,” I tell her.

“Don’t want?” she asks innocently.

“Don’t look into Yandor’s past,” I beg. “Let me.”

She grimaces. “Donovan, you don’t need to protect me. I have seen so many horrible, terrible things. I… I have had nightmares, yes, but anyone would if they had seen what I have seen, but—”

“Why do it, then?” I ask. “Why be an oracle for HEX Unite? Not all oracles work for the organization, right?”

“I do it so that those things I have seen do not come to pass a second time. History has shown that most killers do not stop after a single occurrence. Yes, some kill in the heat of the moment and will never do so again, but that is not the norm. Most killers are… Well, I don’t want to get into a long talk about this. It’s not really the time, but, Donovan, you don’t need to protect me.”

To my relief, she turns to her phone rather than inducing a vision, but then again, I suppose she would need to light some candles first. There have been times when she hasn’t used herbs or teas or however they administer the herbs necessary for the visions from the present. I don’t know if that is because of her skill or if those items merely boost their visions.

There’s still so much I don’t know about her and her power, but at least she doesn’t seem to be like Miyako. Adriana will answer my questions and not feel as if I should already know the answer or should have researched it and not needed to bother her with it.

“I’m curious about his surname,” she murmurs. “Sometimes, a dwarf doesn’t always take on the family name.”

“Almost like a title?” Sommeil asks.

“Yes. Greatwolf does strike me as a title, don’t you think?”

“It does,” I admit.

It doesn’t take me long to find something, and I lean forward on the love seat.

"Listen to this," I say. "Yandor, once Whitestone, has earned himself the rank of Greatwolf. For nearly two years now, a werewolf has plagued our fair town. Several tried to defend our land, but they each either abandoned their quest or else perished. Only Yandor emerged victoriously."

Adriana shudders. “There’s a picture of him holding the werewolf head.”

“Yes,” I muse. “Maybe that’s why he…”

“But that makes sense, to some extent,” Sommeil argues. “Werewolves need to be killed in certain fashions, and that is one way it can be accomplished. You don’t need someone’s ear or thumb.”

“Everything else I’m finding on him from years past seems to make him out to be a good man,” Adriana murmurs.

“Did he have a family?” I ask.

“No wife. His parents died when he was young. His brother is estranged from him. It makes mention that his brother didn’t attend the renaming ceremony.”

“So his brother wouldn’t know what was normal for Yandor or if he had been acting strangely of late.” I grimace and rub my neck.

“It doesn’t seem like there are enough answers to be found through research,” Adriana comments as she places her sister’s phone back onto the coffee table. She stands. “I’ll be back.”

“Hasta la vista, baby,” Sommeil mutters.

I roll my eyes. “Seriously?”

“We need to lighten the mood.”

“Let’s not and say we did.”

“Mon ami, you need to relax. You look like you’re ready to whip your phone through someone’s neck.”

I glance down and realize my hold on my phone is a death grip. With a weak chuckle, I relax my grip, but my knuckles remain white.

“If you’re too uptight, it’ll affect your reflexes and your thoughts, your strategies,” Sommeil warns.

“I know,” I grumble. “I just can’t.”

Adriana returns with white candles. After kneeling down, she places them in a square on the coffee table, careful to adjust them to be just like so. Then, she tosses the phone onto the couch beside Sommeil. With her head bowed, she snaps her fingers, and light appears. I can’t quite call it fire above the candles, but they are lit, and the candles change from white to red.

The oracle lifts her head, eyes impossibly wide, completely white. I suck in a breath, hoping she's all right, wishing I could help her, hoping she doesn't see anything too terrible, wishing she didn't have to do this.

After far too long a time, she blinks and blinks again. The candles are now black as ink, but although they’ve burned for quite some time, no wax is melted, and they haven’t shrunken any.

“It’s murky, muddled,” she says in her soft tone, “but if I saw the glimpses of the past correctly… You’re right, Donovan. He had been influenced by some kind of force, but I can’t tell if it had been by a witch or a demon or a siren. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” I assure her.

“There’s more,” she says. She’s staring at the center of the square, her eyes slightly unfocused. “I saw some kind of a dark building. Inside, there was an even darker room, but I could make out some items within it.”

She doesn’t have to say it.

Body parts.

“I can’t see what he was collecting them for,” she murmurs, “but he most certainly had those body parts for a reason, for some dark, nefarious reason.”

CHAPTER 22

“Well, at least we have a lead,” Sommeil says.

“Hardly.” Adriana rests back on her legs, no longer kneeling upright. “We don’t have a location, no address, no way to find this building, this room. Where does this leave us? Not much better off than we were before.”

“Maybe not yet,” Sommeil says, wagging a finger at her, “but if we can just get a hold of Simone, we’ll be able to locate that room no problem. A simple locator spell should work.”

“Can she do spells?” I ask. “She can’t, right? Can she do a potion at least? There is a potion to find someone. The ghosts and I almost gathered all of the ingredients! We just need…”

“What do we need?” Adriana asks.

I cough to hide a laugh. “Raven’s blood.”

“Why don’t you ask your friend?”

I snort. “Sid is not my friend.”

“You have a raven friend?” Adriana inquires.

“Not at all.” I shake my head. “He actually tried to tag along with the whole Yandor mess. He wanted to be my backup.”

“He sounds like a heroic raven then.” She almost smiles, but I can tell she’s still greatly disturbed by what she’d seen in the vision.

“Not at all. He follows me around because I’m a grim reaper.”

“I don’t understand. Ravens have an affinity for grim reapers?”

“No. They have an affinity for corpses.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh. Oh, I see.”

“Yes, so no. I mean, I can ask if he’ll let me have some blood, but I don’t know if he has enough honor in him to give any.”

“Still, I want Simone in on this,” Sommeil says eagerly. He puts his phone to his ear, but after thirty seconds, he says, “Simone, it’s me. Sommeil. I need you. Your help. We’re working on something major, and we need your help. Please call me back as soon as you can.” He disconnects the call. “No answer.”

“Is that like her?” I ask. I send her a text just in case she’ll see that faster.

“Not really,” he murmurs, “but it shouldn’t take much longer than an hour or so at the most.”

“I’d rather not wait that long. No offense,” Adriana rushes to add. “I know a few other witches who might be able to help us. I’ll just text them…”

In the end, we call or text twenty-two different witches. I have half a mind to text every witch listed in the directory. One name—Mirella—pops out at me, but I don’t know her personally. How many witches will respond to a number they don’t recognize? Doesn’t matter. I start back at the top of the witches at “A” and start to text.

By the time I'm through "F," Adriana murmurs, "Something is wrong."

“What do you mean?” Sommeil asks.

“I mean, Simone should’ve gotten back to us. One of the witches. I’m sure of it. Something is wrong.”

“A gut feeling?” I ask the oracle.

“I don’t know. It’s not a vision, but I just know this to be true. It’s… Let me…”

She rushes out of the room. Sommeil and I exchange a glance. The oracle returns a moment later, carrying a bag. From it, she unfurls a map onto the coffee table. It fits perfectly in the square from the candles. On top of the map, she sprinkles a black powder.

She sits back and waits as if something should happen.

Spoiler alert: nothing does.

“What is this?” I ask.

“It’s a rudimentary locating device. Well, not really a device, but it’s not a spell either. Only certain witches can do spells, but…”

“This should allow you to locate Simone?” Sommeil asks.

Adriana nods.

“But it’s not working.”

She shakes her head.

“Can you expand it to try any witch at all from HEX Unite?” I ask gently.

“It’s not doing anything, Donovan,” she murmurs. “It’s not locating any of the witches from HEX Unite… or any witches at all.”

“What?” Sommeil cries.

“Wait. How does it work? Does it detect their magic?” I ask.

Adriana slowly nods.

“So their magic is… dimmed, maybe.” I don’t want to suggest something worse, even though that’s what I’m fearing.

Something or someone is tampering with the oracles’ magic, and now, it might be happening to the witches too.

Sommeil jumps to his feet. “No, this can’t be right. It’s too basic. No offense, Adriana—”

“None taken.”

“But I can’t believe this is capable of locating every witch when it can’t even detect one. That’s… That’s impossible!”

“It should be, yes, I agree,” she says calmly. “But if we can’t use a witch for a locator spell or potion… Well, maybe we can go to a store and barter for one. Potions already made should hopefully not be affected by… by whatever this is.”

“You know witches who sell potions are looked down on,” Sommeil grumbles.

"We need to look into Yandor," I say. "I agree. He was harvesting body parts for a reason. The harpies… they continued whatever their plan was until they were all killed. We stopped them from contacting the demons, but they went back to try again. It's almost like they were programmed to do that. That was the next step for them in a checklist. Who knows what the last point on their list was. Who knows? Maybe there's someone else out there trying to finish that list since they failed, but we have no leads there. We have one with Yandor if we can just locate that room. For that, we need help."

“Which store has something?” Sommeil grumbles.

I glance at Adriana.

She shrugs and shakes her head, her braids falling forward over her shoulders. “There aren’t any near the Wilds because you’re right. In some parts, it’s looked down upon.”

“That’s all right,” he grumbles. “We have fairy dust, don’t we?”

Adriana breathes out a sigh and nods.

I switch gears from texting witches to locate a witch's store even though I can't help but wonder if the witch proprietor will even be there. Maybe the witches have been kidnapped, hidden away in a cave somewhere. Locked up by dwarves.

No. I’m making a wild leap, and that’s the last thing I can do. We need solid evidence before we make any kind of a move.

“Are you kidding me!” Sommeil growls.

“What is it?” Adriana asks.

“Are the shops all shut down?” I ask.

“Ruben has a new report out. A zombie has been killing the residents of Braddon.” Sommeil curls his fingers into a tight fist.

“Braddon? Isn’t that near NOLA?” I ask.

“New Orleans.” Adriana nods. “You know there will be some witches operating in the shadows in that city.”

“Orcs,” Sommeil says. “That zombie has been plaguing the orcs. He’s killed at least five orcs so far! Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Let’s try to take over the world!”

Sommeil makes a face.

I roll my eyes. “Kill two birds with one stone.”

“Exactly. Adriana—”

“I’ll be fine here,” she murmurs. “Do you want to bring along my magical first aid kit?”

“We can handle one zombie,” Sommeil assures her.

“Especially since the orcs will probably be more than willing to pitch in,” I add.

She bites her lower lip. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t worry,” I say. I can’t help reaching over and patting her shoulder. “I’ve already considered that.”

“Considered what?” Sommeil asks, grabbing his pouch of fairy dust.

“It might be a trap.”

“I don’t care. I’m going.”

“And because you’re going, I’m going,” I say firmly. “I didn’t try to talk you out of it, did I?”

“No. Smart man. He really is intelligent,” Sommeil informs Adriana. “Handsome, too, in a grim kind of way.”

"What—" I start to say, but we're already whisking away, off to the outskirts of Braddon. As soon as we're there, I shove Sommeil. "Why did you say that to her?"

“Would you rather I have said at least you’re intelligent since you’re ugly?” Sommeil asks.

“You’re absolutely terrible, you know that?”

Sommeil’s teasing grin fades away, and his dimple disappears. “Maybe I am,” he mutters. Then he shakes his head as if to clear it. “Let’s go.”

We don't make it more than two steps inside Braddon when a trio of orcs surround us. All of them, even the two females, have tusks. They all have triangular ears and relatively small noses. Their eyes look even larger because of that, their mouths very wide.

The two females have necklaces of fangs or tusks around their necks. The male has a rope around his arms near the shoulder, the elbow, and wrists, each wrapped around tusks as well. They're dressed in animal hides, the male bare-chested. Their skin has a golden hue, and they're all armed heavily.

“What are you two doing here?” the shorter female asks.

“We’re paranormal executioners,” I say.

“We’re here to help with your zombie problem,” Sommeil adds.

The other female, with hair twisted and covered in thread, shakes her head. "We don't need your help."

“No?” I use my scythe to point to their garden. The entire town has sprung up around the garden. The garden comes first, not the town. “Do you want your plants to be watered by blood?”

“We are always looking for more meat to fry,” the male says. He licks his lips, well, all but the parts covered by his tusks.

"You're welcome to try, but we really don't mean you any harm," Sommeil states firmly. He holds up a hand to show off a sand funnel. The threat is plain—he'll put them to sleep if they won't let us pass.

“You aren’t going to take this from us,” the short female hisses.

“They can tag along, Shel,” the other female says.

“But, Mag—”

“Mag is right,” the male says.

“For once, Brag actually has some common sense.” Mag laughs, the sound surprisingly light and airy. She and Shel are both almost as muscular as Brag.

“You won’t slow us down, though,” Shel demands, pointing from me to Sommeil.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Sommeil says, “but if I come across the zombie first, I won’t hesitate to take it out.”

“Don’t you worry,” Mag says. “We’re in a hurry to get this done, and we’ll rush along and hurry and have it all done and settled in no time. Doesn’t matter who does the actual killing.”

The orcs allow us to come with them and join their party. They don’t talk much, but it soon becomes clear that they’re meant to be part of a crew who is guarding the perimeter of the town.

“Is it all right for you to be leaving your post?” I ask as we head to the dark forest to the south of their garden town.

“The zombie has to be lurking about in these parts,” Brag says. “We’ll find him, kill him, and be done with it.”

The sun is high above us, but the forest is so thick with overhead overgrowth that little light filters down to the point that Shel makes a torch out of a tree branch that she just breaks off with her raw strength. It's not a twig of a branch either, about the width of my head.

The scent of the burning wood should help to settle my nerves, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched, and I glance over my shoulder to see a pair of sightless eyes.

The zombie lets out a shriek and grabs my wrist, locking it into place so I can’t use my scythe. His grip is far stronger than it should be, and zombies shouldn’t be this intelligent.

I go to grab for my skull, but the zombie yanks it before I can. He doesn’t know how to use it, but it’s not that hard to whip it to keep the others at bay. His kick to my gut is wholly unexpected, and I stagger back. My grip on the scythe loosens, and just like that, he has two of my weapons.

Not all of them. I yank out my bladed boomerang, but the orcs have descended on the zombie, trying to retrieve my weapons so they can go after him, but as much as I hate it, the zombie is actually swinging the scythe rather well for a newbie.

How in the world is this possible? Yes, not all zombies are brainless, but this is ridiculous!

And it also calls to mind how off Yandor had seemed.

“Sommeil, sand!” I call.

The sandman shakes his head. “I can’t! The orcs!”

I can't use my boomerang either because of the orcs, but they're thrown back one by one, and the zombie seems more and more proficient with the whip as time goes on. It's frightening, actually.

But the space from the orcs gives Sommeil an opening. Sand dances on the air, heading straight for him, but the zombie spins the whips to blow it back, and Sommeil has to conjure it away.

During this, I try to slip around to the zombie’s back, but the moment I launch the bladed boomerang, he knocks it down.

“Capture him!” I shout. “Don’t kill him! We need him alive!”

Brag clangs his tusks. Shel looks like she wants to kill me, but Mag nods and moves in.

The zombie glances from her to me and then uses the scythe on himself to end his life.

That is most definitely not how a zombie would act. Not at all.

CHAPTER 23

Someone glamored as a zombie, maybe? But why a zombie? For what purpose? And if the zombie had been controlled by someone, why not a golem instead? Golems are notorious for being used for various purposes against their will.

But Brag, Shel, and Mag are all exceptionally pleased, and they won't allow us to leave, insisting that we return to Braddon with them to celebrate. We aren't in the mood, but the music is loud and upbeat, the food smells delicious, and orcs are doing something that might possibly pass for dancing.

Sommeil and I only stay for one reason—to have a moment with one of the orcs to inquire about witches.

We finally get a chance when Mag sits next to us. There’s a huge fire burning in the center of the garden in a large hole in the ground. The flames climb so high they can be seen above ground level.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t capture it. Well, actually,” she says, grinning and flashing her tusks, “I’m not sorry he’s dead, but you wanted him alive. Why?”

“We’re trying to figure out what’s behind everything that’s going on.”

“You mean why a zombie would target orcs? I haven’t a tusk of an idea.”

“Are there any witches in Braddon?” Sommeil asks.

She snorts. “No. Why would there be? We’re a proud orc town. Not that we would refuse to let an outsider in, but, ah…”

I quirk an eyebrow.

"You're celebrating with us," she grumbles. "Clearly, we don't eat visitors to Braddon."

“Yes, well, that’s all very well and good, but…” I hesitate.

Sommeil doesn't help any. He's eating a chunk of meat from the bone.

I didn't ask what kind of animal it's from. I just hope it is from an animal.

“You need a witch?” she asks. “You know where to go.”

"NOLA." I glance toward the city's direction, although I can't see it from where I'm sitting. "We'll head there now."

“You haven’t had dessert yet.”

“I’m full.”

“What about you, Sandman? You too full? I would like to see this Reaper have more meat on his bones—”

“I have plenty of muscles,” I protest.

“There’s nothing wrong with a bit of fat,” she remarks.

“So you can fatten him up to eat him? Sounds like this town might have a witch after all.”

Mag laughs. “I don’t have a house made of sweets, if that’s what you’re asking, but we do have a sweet tooth, if I can tempt you to stay. NOLA will be there in the morning, her witches too.”

Actually, we don’t know about that.

I clear my throat.

But before I can say anything, Mag adds, “A lot of men, they worry about how much weight they can lift. Their exercises to build muscles, it’s just for show. If you want real strength, real muscle, you have to lift trees. Bench press cars. Do stuff that is applicable to modern living.”

“You can bench press a car?” Sommeil asks, nearly choking on a bite.

“I’m working up to it. If you chain together three or four motorcycles, that I can do.”

“No way!”

“If you’re willing to hang around after dessert, I’ll demonstrate for you,” she offers.

“As much as we would like to,” I start.

Sommeil nods sadly. “Dr… Yeah, he’s right. The reaper show knows how to kill a mood, doesn’t he?”

Mag laughs. “He’s not so bad, I guess, but if you insist, head to Frenchman Street. You might find who you’re looking for along there.”

In most human cities, I wouldn't be able to get away with my skull chain whip. Honestly, the scythe isn't really allowed to stroll down the streets of NOLA either, but Sommeil heads to the city and buys me a trench coat. It hides the scythe for the most part, although the bladed end will stick out. Nothing can be done about that.

Still, I get far fewer looks than I would've if not for the trench coat, and I appreciate that as we walk along the crowded streets. There's not a lot of cars on the roads, and people just walk everyone, on the street as well as the sidewalk.

It doesn't take us long to locate Frenchman Street. A group of musicians plays at a corner, and honestly, I wish I had no cares in the world so I could stay a while and listen, but that's just not on the agenda for today.

A woman walks by. There’s something about her that makes me look at her twice. When I open my mouth, she grins and sways her hips.

“Would you like your palm read?” she asks.

Before I can answer, she grabs my hand and yanks off my glove. Her fingers brush against my palm, and her eyes close.

“I see—”

“Nothing,” I say flatly, yanking back my glove and covering my hand again.

Her eyes fly open. “If you will only give me a moment longer—”

“You’re a sham.”

Her eyes squint, and she scowls mightily before she stomps off.

She’s not the only fake witch to approach us either. Do humans really fall for their charade? It’s both comical and pathetic.

We continue to stroll along until Sommeil points to a bar. There’s a slight shimmer to it, from magic, and we head inside. Instantly, I can tell that a veil has been lifted. If a human wanders in, they’ll see something else altogether.

What I see is a crowded space with fairy bartenders, trolls, orcs, and all kinds of other beings sitting at tables, booths, and even sitting on the edge of the bar. There are so many here that I doubt there’s a place for us. Many are just standing around, waiting for a seat, and we make our way in to reach about halfway.

"We don't serve your kind here," one of the fairy bartenders says, flying by me to hand a dryad her drink. She has flowers and vines growing out of her arm. A dryad can't go too far from nature, or else she'll die.

“Who, me?” I ask.

The fairy zooms past, grabs more drinks, and delivers them before returning. “Sandmen. They get sand everywhere, and I don’t appreciate it.”

Sommeil grins. “What if I promise to behave?”

The fairy snorts and flips her head back. Her bangs still fall forward to cover her face. The rest of her purple and pink hair is piled on the top of her head in a braided bun. “I’ve heard that promise way too many times. No dice. Out.”

“Let him be,” a man says, approaching us.

The bartender grumbles but flies off.

“A round of…” The man glances at us.

I shrug.

Sommeil chuckles. “Whatever you’re having.”

“A round of Mystic Delights.”

The other bartender gives us the black and blue drinks, and the man motions for us to follow him. A woman with long black hair and bright blue eyes sits there. The man is blond with gray eyes. They share no common features, so they aren't relatives, but I also don't get the impression that they're together.

“Why are two paranormal executioners in our town?” the man asks.

I take a long sip. I’ve never heard of Mystic Delights before, but it’s sweet and smooth. Not too sweet. I like it.

“Why do two witches want to know?” I ask.

Sommeil leans forward, but I kick him under the table. He scowls but sits back. Good. I don't want him to tip our hand. We can't appear desperate.

"It's important to know who is in your city and why," the female says, her voice a bit deeper than I would have expected. It's even deeper than the male's, but his is fairly soft.

Good cop, bad cop, maybe?

“We’re looking into what’s going on with witches and their magic,” I say outright.

Sommeil shakes his head and downs half his drink.

Yes, so maybe I tipped our hand, but I’m done playing games.

“I’m Donovan Darthe, by the way, and this is my partner Sommeil Martin.”

“Seth Krauss,” the male witch says.

“Fortuna Vexx,” she says.

I can’t help but laugh. Sommeil joins in.

Fortuna sets her jaw. “Yes, a stage name, but if you only knew the history that is tied to my father’s… Just call me Fortuna.”

“Fortuna, Seth, any theories? Has your magic been hampered in any way?” I ask.

“I command the wind and fire,” Seth says. “And my magic is… fine.”

“Fine. If you call a spark a fire.” Fortuna rolls her eyes.

“And your magic?” I ask her.

She bites her lower lip. “It’s… hard.”

“Hard to explain your magic?” Sommeil asks.

“No. Magic is dying,” she says flatly.

Seth snorts and shakes his head so many times that I grow dizzy just watching. “That is impossible. Magic is not dying. It’s being affected.”

“By what?” I ask eagerly.

“Natural phenomena can affect magic. We’ve seen that throughout history.”

“Is there some kind of phenomena going on now?” Sommeil asks.

“I don’t know,” Seth admits.

“Yes, maybe there’s a comet or something,” Fortuna says dryly, mocking him.

“I’m not a weather witch,” Seth says. “I’ll admit that.”

“And I don’t read the stars, so there’s no way to know.” She shrugs. “But whatever this is, it’s not natural. There’s something very wrong going on, and if it’s not just affecting those of us in the city…”

“We can’t contact any of the witches in…” Sommeil falls silent.

“In HEX Unite,” Seth continues for him.

We nod.

I stir my straw. “We need to figure out what is happening before witches lose their magic entirely. Seth, this is important. Is your magic weaker than normal?”

Seth won’t meet my gaze, but that non-answer is answer enough.

If magic is dying… First oracles. Then witches. Whose magic will go next? And is there any way to reverse this?

Or will magic one day be completely gone from this world and the threat of war between the paranormal community and the humans be forever a fear from the distant past?

CHAPTER 24

“You obviously came to the city for a reason,” Fortuna says. “Just because there are a lot of witches here?”

"A lot of fakes, too," Sommeil mutters.

"What can you expect when there's a bunch of paranormal beings living in plain sight in a city that has magic within her soil?" Fortuna asks.

“Guess that explains why so many paranormals are here,” I remark.

“I prefer to stay away from humans, actually.” Sommeil makes a face.

I give him a look.

"Don't look at me like that!" He rubs the back of his neck. "France is small enough that there aren't many cities that aren't a mix. It's bound to happen that you might, say, have a bit too much to drink one night and not realize the girl you're talking to isn't a witch, and you ask her if you can see some magic. Just hypothetically speaking, of course."

“Of course,” I repeat with a snort. Seriously? I can so see him do that, and I have to wonder what happened next.

That reminds me. I didn't want to tell him about Laurelis until he told me about his uncle, who used his sandman abilities to get into the head of a mindless zombie.

“You should’ve gone into the head of that zombie,” I mumble.

“What zombie?” Seth asks.

“The one from the orc town,” I say.

“Braddon,” Sommeil adds.

The two witches don’t seem to care too much, but we did handle that threat.

Although another one could rise up in its place.

I don’t know why, but I’m not all that eager to explain to the witches about what happened. Sommeil doesn’t volunteer the information with the witches either, which is saying something. He’s a regular blabbermouth.

I am surprised, though, that he kept that story about the human girl a secret from me. I’m going to have to ask him for details about what happened next.

Later, though. For now, we have to worry about a girl who is a witch.

“We’re very happy to have found real witches,” I say, changing the subject.

“Happy enough to buy our drinks?” Seth asks with a grin.

“Half,” Sommeil says.

Seth shrugs. “Works for me.”

“You want to know what’ll work for me?” I ask. “I know neither of you can help with locating a friend of ours, not through a locator spell at least. Can you direct us to one of the witches who has a shop of real potions? We don’t want to be conned, and we need to find this friend ASAP.”

“Who is this friend?” Fortuna asks.

“A healer,” Sommeil says.

“That all?” she asks with a lift of her arched eyebrows.

I side-eye Sommeil, but he says nothing.

“We’ve worked with her before,” I say, “and we haven’t been able to call her or get in touch with her at all since the whole witch magic thing.”

Seth finishes his drink and waves over the bartender. The fairy ignores me, holding out her hand. The sandman studiously ignores all of this, so I have to scrounge around to find some cash to hand over. It’s not much, but the fairy flies off.

I stand. “Are we ready to go?” I ask.

Fortuna holds up her half-finished drink. “As soon as I’m done.”

Trying my best not to grimace, I sit back down.

"Any chance either of you has predictions?" Sommeil asks. "Premonitions? Visions?"

“No, we can’t do any of that,” Seth says.

“Most of us can’t to begin with,” Fortuna says.

Now, I don’t bother to hold back my grimace. If she keeps talking, we’ll never get out of here.

“Know of any fairies who can?” I ask, shifting to glance at the bartenders.

“Neither of them can,” Seth says. “Besides, I don’t think Petunia cares for either of you.”

“I didn’t do anything!” I protest.

Seth shrugs and nudges his empty glass away from him. “She’s a bit finicky that one. You don’t want to be on her bad side.”

“Why not?” Sommeil asks.

“She’ll make you terrible drinks, and that’s just the tip of the iceberg. If she’s really upset with you… you don’t want to know what’ll happen if you drink whatever concoction she’ll give you.”

“Noted.” I shift uncomfortably in my seat, anxious to get out of here. I’m growing more and more agitated by the second. What if Seth and Fortuna can’t help us? What if they’re purposely stalling? Seth approached me. Why? Does he want something from us? Is this a trap?

I’m paranoid. Or am I? Maybe there’s a reason why I’m so on edge all the time.

No one can be trusted.

Beside me, Sommeil starts to drum his fingers. He’s been shaking his leg this entire time, and his nervous energy is filling the booth. Even Seth is eyeing Fortuna.

Finally, she swallows the last dregs. “We’ll take you to Draughts & Brews.”

“Draughts & Brews. Never heard of it,” Sommeil says.

“Have you been to our fair city before?” Seth asks.

“No.”

“Well then…” Seth gives a wide smile.

“Is it far?” I ask.

“A ten-minute walk.”

“Lead the way.”

The city is really coming alive the later in the day it gets, not that it had ever been slow. There are tourists everywhere, but we leave them all behind, heading deeper into NOLA. I never knew a city could have so many cemeteries. We’re walking past one now, and I’m amazed that the bodies aren’t buried underground.

“Would you prefer to be buried, cremated, or put in a mausoleum?” Fortuna asks.

“I prefer to not think about death,” Sommeil jokes.

“Is that so?” she asks a bit coolly. “I would’ve thought you would want to be spread out on a beach.”

“And be washed out to sea? No thank you.”

“But the sea can then carry you to all parts of the world.”

“I won’t be the sand anymore once I’m dead,” he reminds her. “My soul—”

“Yes, the soul.” Fortuna shakes her head.

“You have one,” I inform her, shocked that she could think otherwise given what I am.

“There are some who think witches are demons,” she murmurs.

“Yes, but—”

“Do demons have souls?”

“Demons have free will,” I say slowly.

“Have you ever had to lead a demon’s soul to Hell?” she asks.

“They already know the way,” I mumble.

“How terrible it must be to lead, say, a sandman to Hell.”

I stiffen, and Sommeil sucks in a breath. Why is she trying to needle us?

Seth is curiously silent, having walked ahead a few paces. He stops in front of a nondescript building and motions toward the door. “Here we are.”

“There’s no sign,” Sommeil remarks.

“This story isn’t for everyone,” Fortuna says. She nods to Seth, and the witch places his hand on the door.

Faint purple, red, and black symbols appear and then disappear too quickly for me to discern what they are. “Draughts & Brews” then flashes for a moment, and the door opens by itself.

“Wait,” Seth says. He glances up and down the street. “This isn’t right.”

“Isn’t it?” Fortuna asks snidely. “Come on. The paranormal executioners don’t have all day, now, do they? They need to locate a witch.”

She sweeps her arm for us to go inside first, but neither Sommeil nor I go in.

The witch smirks at us and grabs our arms. With a strength a woman her size shouldn’t possess, she forces us to walk inside.

Seth trails after us, muttering to himself.

Fortuna releases her hold on us and continues to walk farther into the room.

Surprisingly, it's not a store at all. There aren't any shelves, no potions, no jars, nothing. It's an empty room, almost like a warehouse but without any boxes or crates.

“This isn’t the store,” Seth says. “I think we should—”

Fortuna flicks her hand, and the door shuts behind us.

“I need…” She gives me a strange little grin. “I need…”

Yandor kept repeating that. What exactly had he said?

“A heart, don’t you?” I ask, my own heart beating furiously. “A heart, lungs, knees, feet, right?”

Her grin has turned demonic, or maybe that’s just my fear coloring my vision. She stalks toward me.

I glance at Sommeil. He’s already getting his sand ready.

“We need her alive,” I say firmly.

“Alive?” Seth calls. “There’s nothing… I don’t know what you all are talking about, but there’s no need for—”

“I need what I need, and first of all, I need you to shut your trap, Seth. You’ve always had a habit of talking too much.”

Seth gapes at her. “Fortuna…”

She lifts a finger and twirls it in a circle. The other witch spins around.

So she does have magic. Is her magic being used by whoever it is that is controlling these other paranormal beings? Or is she the kingpin?

“Talk to me about Yandor Greatwolf,” I say, trying to ignore Seth’s grunts. He’s being forced to the ground, but she’s not actually hurting him. He’s just straining to break free from her control.

“I will decide what I talk about, and I don’t need to tell you anything.” Fortuna opens her hand. She never had said what she could do with magic, and a purple glowing sphere appears above her palm.

Arcane magic. I'm sure of it, even though I've never witnessed it in person before.

As much as I don’t want to have to fight her, I throw off my trench coat and roll my head from side to side, stretching out my neck before grabbing my scythe.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” she asks, her tone biting, mocking.

“Are you sure?” Sommeil asks, and he launches his sand at her, but she blows a kiss, and the arcane ball dissolves into a wind gust that scatters his sand everywhere, including back toward us.

While Sommeil recalls the sand to himself, I yank on my skull. I don’t want to fight her, I really don’t, but she’s leaving us no choice.

“Why do you need a heart?” I ask.

“Gloria,” Seth says, his tone a bit weak.

“That is no longer my name!” she roars.

Hmm. Maybe she really is the kingpin because she seems to have more control over herself than Yandor did, or maybe it takes time for the influence to settle in and take over entirely? The only way to find out will be to seize her, to capture her. Above all else, we must capture her.

Seth is almost lying down entirely on the floor, his nose nearly touching the tile. He can't do much of anything at all. If she were to do the same to us as well, we would be the ones supplying body parts for whatever deranged purpose she or her master has.

“Come on, boys,” she taunts Sommeil and me. “Are we going to have a game or not?”

Sommeil holds my sickle. I forgot I gave that to him. He brandishes it with a flourish and tilts his head to the side. He wants me to go around behind her, but she’s watching the both of us shrewdly.

With a flick of my wrist, I send the whip chain toward her, but when she goes to snatch it, I snap it back toward me.

“Come now,” she scoffs. “This is rather boring.” A shudder rifles through her body, and she utters, “I need…”

“A vacation?” I ask, daring to take a step toward her.

I need you to die.” She stares at me with pure hatred in her eyes. “You’ve tried to stop us one too many times now. You both will die, and I will get what I need, and then, all will be right in the world.”

CHAPTER 25

Fortuna throws back her head and laughs, the sound high and maniacal. She's either deranged, or else she really has been taken over by an outside influence.

Without warning, she assaults us with wave after wave of attacks—arcane, water-based, fireballs, even a lightning blast. Whenever we try to get close to her, she uses wind to knock us back or to maneuver our weapons out of the way from harming her.

We can’t get close enough to her to try a chokehold to put her to sleep either.

Worse, she's almost set me on fire twice. My trench coat is already burning to a crisp. The smoke filling the air isn't helping matters any, and I can't see Seth any longer, but I do hear him coughing a fair bit. Sommeil is able to at least use his sand to keep the smoke away from himself, and I'll be fine. If need be, I'll turn into my grim reaper, although I really don't want to use my magic against her to cleave her soul from her body. If this lasts much longer, though, Sommeil will have to blast his sand through a window to ventilate the place. There aren't any smoke alarms in here, which is good and bad.

Good because we don’t want to have anyone come here and investigate.

Bad because there aren’t any sprinklers to put the fire out.

“Come now,” she calls. “Give me what I need. Lay down your weapons. You’ve already lost.”

“Hardly.” I whip my chain into a circle, faster and faster until it’s merely a blur in my vision. I banish the smoke away, clearing my line of sight, and I throw my bladed boomerang at her.

She catches it and whips it right back at me.

No one has ever done that before. Not werewolves, vampires, no one.

She grins. “Oh, yes. I will get what I need from you.”

From somewhere on her, she grabs two daggers. Blue flames lick the blades, and she launches herself at us. Clangs and screeches of metal on metal ring out, and I no longer hear coughing.

“Window,” I cry to Sommeil, but he’s staggering about. The smoke must be getting to him too.

A slice on my bicep has me grunting. While I was distracted trying to look for Sommeil, she nicked my skin. It’s not deep, and the fire doesn’t burn me, but when you’re struck by a magical blade, that’s never a good thing.

Using my scythe to block her attacks isn't easy. The weapon is far too large and cumbersome for that, but she's within reach of the scythe, rendering it useless. I toss the scythe down and parry, jerking backward or to the side to avoid each one of her wide swings. She’s expending a lot of energy. If she kept her swings tighter, closer to her body, she wouldn’t broadcast them so much.

But defense will never end a fight, and I shift my weight from side to side, trying to determine the best way to go after her when she drops one of the daggers, whips a fireball out to the side, and then retrieves the dagger in the blink of an eye.

The fireball smashes to the ground in front of the window. Sommeil’s sand reaches the window a second later, forcing the glass to crack and then break. Shards fall all around, but there’s no relief from the smoke.

Magical fires don’t always produce smoke, but hers do, and it’s frustrating and worrisome. Where is Seth? Has he succumbed to suffocation? Smoke inhalation can prove deadly.

Eyeing Fortuna, I circle around the witch. Her blades give off enough light for me to see her at least. My bladed boomerang is in my hand. Can I risk throwing it? I can see her, and her hands are full, but I don't want to miss and hit Sommeil. The sandman has disappeared from view now that I'm moving around our target.

She whips her daggers at me. Launching the boomerang, I knock one off course, but the other strikes my upper thigh. I gasp, swallowing a curse as I grab the handle, but the blade won’t budge. It’s either stuck or magically affixed to my leg.

I go to take a step, but I can’t lift the wounded leg. I drag it along and fall over something. Seth maybe.

The witch descends on me, lifting another blade high in the air above her head. I bring up my arm to block her from killing me.

Death touch. Necrokinesis.

It’s one of the tenets of a grim reaper’s magic.

It’s the only one I haven’t tried at all yet.

It might be something grim reapers are capable of, but it’s not something I thought I would ever want to use.

Right now, I am so cursing past me because a fireball hits my right shoulder. She's readying to strike me with lightning, but I grab her wrist with both hands and kick up my legs, lifting my hips, and I throw her to the ground up and over my head. I whirl around, one knee on the ground, and I stand only to fall. My leg. I can't put any weight on it, and she grins as she brings up her hand. Lightning crackles from it, blue and purple sparks flying every which way as she cocks back her arm, and then she jerks. Her head falls forward, and then she slips to the ground. Blood oozes from the corner of her lips, and she collapses.

My boomerang is embedded into the back of her neck.

“I… I had no… She would’ve killed…” An ashen Seth stands behind her. He sways on his feet and then starts to fall.

Sommeil, thankfully, is there to catch him, and he drags the witch to the still-shut door. I start to crawl to follow them, pause, and then head back. Collecting the bladed boomerang is easier than I expected. Attaching the scythe to my back is a bit harder. The magical fires on her blades extinguish as her life has expired. I’m not surprised Seth can open the door. Most if not all of the spells she cast should now be undone.

But the wounds remain.

Again, I curse past me. That magical first aid kit of Adriana’s would be so nice right now.

Coughing sounds from outside. Both Sommeil and Seth are hacking away, and I spy that the sandman has an arm around the witch's back. Seth directs us a bit up the street to the real Draughts & Brews. He does a special knock of some kind, his knocks weak and hardly audible, but the door opens.

The witch inside takes one look at the three of us and helps us to what we need. Unfortunately, the effects of the potions aren't nearly what they should be.

Whatever is happening to witches is even affecting their potions too.

Which means a locator potion might not even help us.

“How much?” I ask the witch.

The male eyes us all. “A bit of sand,” he says.

Sommeil shakes his head. “No way.”

“Fine. Then…” He lists a sum that makes my eyes water.

Seth haggles a bit nastily with the witch, and I stay out of it. My lungs are cleared of the smoke, at least, but my mind isn't. It feels all hazy, and I'm more than a little put out. We needed Fortuna alive, but she had been so very powerful. She had been so strong, so capable a fighter not just with magic but with her weapons too.

“Look, I just killed a friend!” Seth snaps. “Do you think we got these wounds because we thought scars would attract girls? No!”

“Which friend?”

“Fortuna.”

“Fortuna Vexx?” The shop owner shudders. “You don’t want her father to find out what you did. I shouldn’t… Get out. It’s fine. You don’t owe me anything, but you did not come here. Do you understand?”

“I don’t even know your name,” I say.

The shop owner blinks. “Seth did introduce us, Dr. Death.”

I wince. “Yeah, well, your face is forgettable.”

He gapes at me and then almost smiles, but he looks absolutely terrified.

Whoever Fortuna’s father is, he must be a powerful witch indeed.

But I’m confused.

“Fortuna took on that name to get away from her father,” I say slowly, “right? How do you know—”

“We’re part of the same coven, and in a coven, there are no secrets,” Seth says wearily. “Only now…”

“I’ll give you three days if I can, but it might not be that long,” the shop owner says.

Seth blanches. “Thank you.”

And he rushes out of there.

“I don’t understand…”

"Witches have honor," the shop owner says. "Be thankful Seth admitted what he had done, or else we might have had to go after you. As it is, I shouldn't have helped you, but… You would be wise to leave the city and never return."

“Fortuna hadn’t been herself. Something happened to her. She wasn’t herself. I’m certain that if you would just have a look at her body—”

“Even if what you say is true, she shouldn’t have been killed. We might have been able to help her.”

“Yeah, well, that had been the plan,” I grumble.

“You can’t punish Seth. She was hellbent on killing on, on taking our body parts!”

“Are their magical spells that require body parts?” Sommeil demands.

The shop owner purses his lips. “I shouldn’t—”

“There are, isn’t there?” I press.

“You need to leave and now,” he insists.

“A zombie had—”

“I don’t care.”

“But what if you’re the next one to be influenced?” I ask. “Or your wife or daughter or—”

“I’m not married.

“Your mother then. A brother. Sister.”

He says nothing, merely points to the door.

We leave, and I eye Sommeil. “Where to?”

“I say we head back to Braddon. We’re welcome there. Have a meal, sleep, and then look at things fresh in the morning.”

I glance back at the shop owner. Although asked about it, he never did give us a locator potion, even if it might not be potent enough to work.

But Sommeil is whistling as he’s walking away. Sure enough, I spy the cork of the vial in his pocket.

Sometimes, having a sandman for a best friend isn’t such a bad thing at all. Sommeil doesn’t need sticky fingers but only sand to make use of a five-fingered discount.

Sommeil’s right. The orcs are pleased that we return, and they use it as an excuse to have another celebration. We dine, feast really, and then we sleep on beds of hay. Not the most comfortable of beds, no, but it’s better than the floor and much better than a bed of bones. Not that I thought orcs did sleep on bones, but, eh, you never know.

Far too early it seems, Sommeil shakes me awake.

“What is it?” I ask. Instantly, I’m on high alert. “Did something happen? Has Simone made contact yet?”

“Another article from your buddy.”

“Ruben Kilpatrick.” I spit out the name like it’s poison. “What’s it about? Do I even want to know?”

“Something very wrong is going on.”

“Yeah, it’s been that way.”

Sommeil shakes his head. “It’s getting worse. There are reports of serial murderers running rampant throughout the entire country. The protests at HEX Unite are growing in numbers every day. Other hunters and slayers have reported being harassed and attacked.”

I grab my phone and start skimming. Most everyone is calling for HEX Unite to be stopped.

“Look, I get that we’re failing because the oracles can’t help us to nab the villains right away, but without us, there will be nothing more than anarchy,” I grumble.

“Yes, but we used to stand for hope. For excellence. We used to unite everyone together, not just the paranormal hunters, slayers, and executioners. Now, we’re just…”

“Seen as hate-filled extremists.”

We stare at each other. Our jobs are going to get that much harder, and our lives are very much still at stake.

CHAPTER 26

Being a sandman and a grim reaper, neither of us know how to use the locator potion. Do we pour it over a map and it directs us where to go, or… Drink it and use fairy dust to appear where she is? No idea.

Which means we need help.

What better place to go than Headquarters?

Only we use the fairy dust to arrive inside. The protestors outside are loud enough to be heard through the thick walls, and let’s just say I won’t repeat what they’re shouting. Didn’t their mothers ever teach them that if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all?

We don’t take two steps before Adriana and Zanatre head our way. Adriana has a lovely tiny smile on her face, but Zanatre looks like she’s ready to kill someone.

Then again, when does the gargoyle not look like that?

“You two need to stay put,” she says in a rush. “You aren’t helping matters.”

“We were trying to find out what’s going on,” I say, glancing at Sommeil. I don’t know what he’ll do about the two ladies, but I’ll give him this out. Besides, I’m not entirely lying, just making a tiny omission that we were also trying to find a way to track down Simone.

“We have a locator potion,” Sommeil says to them. “Do either of you know how to use it?”

“It’s most likely worthless,” Adriana says, “but you don’t need to worry.”

"Don't need to worry?" We've contacted how many witches, and none have gotten back to us!" I say for Sommeil.

“I’m right here.”

The French witch approaches from the corridor to the left. Her short hair kind of hangs together, not looking as polished as normal, and no matter how many times she tries to sweep her bangs over to one side, they won't cooperate. Her face is paler than normal, and there are dark circles beneath her eyes that makeup can't hide. She's beautiful. She'll always be beautiful, but she also looks positively spent.

“Why didn’t you return our calls?” Sommeil demands. “If you were here all along—”

“I wasn’t. Here. Not until… Zanatre found me. She saved me.”

“You did?” I ask, shocked.

“Don’t sound so surprised.” Zanatre crosses her arms. She’s in her human form, but she’s maintained her gargoyle wings, and they flutter about, revealing just how agitated she is. “I know what’s most important. Right now, we need to work together. We have to unite if we’re going to combat whatever it is this is.”

“I still think that we need to be quarantined,” Simone argues, her cheeks far redder than her normal reddish-brown hue. “Oracles and witches have always worked closely together. If this is some kind of sickness that is eating away at our magic, if we stay away, maybe it won’t spread.”

“I doubt that’s the case,” I say.

“Do you have a better idea?” she asks.

“Considering I’ve come in contact with a few people who want to gather body parts and have been acting not at all like they normally would… They might be controlled by a…” I trail off, not wanting to say it, but is there really any point in denying it at this point.

“An overlord.” Madra’s heeled boots clack against the floor as she approaches us. “Come. Let us retire to an office where we can speak at leisure.”

Leisure. I almost snort, but I don’t want to be rude to the Head of HEX Unite, but there’s nothing leisure about any of this. Nothing is relaxing. Nothing is right. Nothing is as it should be.

And maybe nothing will ever be like it had been before.

As much as I want to possibly change and reform if we can figure out how to make things better, but this is not how I wanted to force change.

A kingpin. The chief person in an operation. The head honcho. The boss.

It's a term humans sometimes use to refer to criminals.

But overlords are far worse than kingpins.

They’re not just the organized leaders of some kind of a nefarious plot.

They’re an evil overseer of creatures. They’re bent on chaos and anarchy, and they always leave a trail of bodies in their wake. They’re a master who sends out minions to reap destruction and devastation across the entire world.

Typically, there is only one overlord operating at any one time, and there isn’t always one all the time, considering we devote a lot of resources to taking them out. Our goal is to prevent them from gaining allies and enough powers to obtain that title.

We only call the worst of the worst overlords, and they must have underlings.

Like the harpies.

Or Yandor and Fortuna.

I find it rather unsettling that Madra does not lead us to her office. Why not? Her office could hold all of us inside it much better than the empty office she ushers us inside.

She’s not afraid her office is bugged, is she? I mean, that’s a human thing to do, but then again, I suppose there might be other magical ways to bug a place. On the other side of the blade, the magic required to do that might not be possible, at least not through a witch. A fairy might, or are the fairies next?

I rub my forehead. That’s not something I want to contemplate, but it very well could happen.

The office has a desk but no nameplate. There are files on the desk. Interesting. I didn’t think we made use of any paper files. No tablet. Two filing cabinets are in the corners behind the desk. There’s a desk chair but no others. I glance over my shoulder to see a tall, thin plant in the corner. Even though I inhale deeply, I can’t smell the plant at all. A magical plant? Or maybe the smoke has affected my sense of smell.

“As I’m sure you’re aware, there have been issues with oracles,” Madra states, cutting through the tense silence.

“Wait. If you don’t mind my saying so, can we get back to the overlord talk?” Adriana asks. Her voice isn’t timid. It’s firm and strong, and she has tight fists at her side. She’s furious. “Is an overlord why the oracles can’t see at all? Why we can’t have any visions?”

“Wait. Not the future, not the present… not the past?” I ask.

Adriana lets out a breath. “Not the past either, no. Nothing at all. I see only what my eyes see. The threads of all lives… they’re lost to me.”

“Does it feel severed, would you say?” Madra asks. “Or do you feel more like you’re drifting aloft, and you might be able to reclaim your sight one day?”

“I feel so lost. I can’t describe it any better than that.” Frustration gives Adriana’s tone a darker edge than I’ve ever heard before.

Madra nods. She crosses to stand behind the desk but did not sit. Her fingers drum along the top of the back. “We will get to the overlord. First, though, I wish for you all to be brought up to speed.”

“What about the others?” I blurt out. “The other executioners, slayers, hunters…”

“I’ve been in contact with as many as I can, but…” Madra blows out a breath. “We will circle back to that as well.”

That doesn’t sound good.

Simone stands beside me. She shifts uncomfortably.

“Sit,” Madra demands, holding out the chair for the witch.

“Merci,” Simone murmurs, her accent thick. She stumbles forward, catches herself on the desk, waves off Sommeil’s aid, walks around the table, and sits. Her hand wearily rubs her temple.

“Are you ill?” Adriana asks.

“I do not feel well, no,” Simone murmurs. “I wouldn’t say I am sick, though. It is… How do you say… It is different.”

“It’s the lack of magic, isn’t it?” Adriana whispers.

Simone says nothing, just stares at the oracle. I’ve never seen the witch’s blue eyes not sparkle until now.

Something is very, very wrong.

"The oracles can't see the past, present, or future," Madra states. "We are operating blindly. Honestly, that is how the humans have always operated, so we should be able to rise up and overcome this, but it is tricky. Some think as Simone does, that this is some kind of paranormal sickness, but we haven't been able to locate anything foreign in their bodies. There's no sign of a virus or a bacterium. Nothing at all to back that up. Not everyone knows this, but HEX Unite has an R&D division."

“Research and development,” Sommeil muses.

“What exactly do the scientists research?” Zanatre asks, her tone a bit judgy.

"We try to uncover and develop new potions, new spells… We study the bodies and genomes of the various paranormal beings and creatures. We seek to advance the paranormal community, not just to protect it." Madra removes her spear from her back and taps it on the floor.

She’s nervous. She’s doing a fairly good hiding her anxiety, but she’s just as frightened as the rest of us. Does she feel it? The siren call of her impending doom? Will this be the coup that claims her life?

I can’t sense that her death is almost at hand, but that doesn’t mean it won’t be tomorrow or the day after.

Or maybe this evening.

Her blue and gold armor glints as she steps toward the window. She shuts the blinds and turns to face us once more. "The oracles were the first to feel the effect of magic draining away. Now, the witches."

“Who will be next?” Zanatre asks.

“No one, in an ideal world.”

Sommeil snorts. “The world is so far from ideal it’s not even funny.”

“I know some thought I should not send you all out from Headquarters, and I wished to shut down entirely, but…” Madra eyes us each in turn. “I think there may be a mole. I still do, in fact, but until I have proof… And with the growing attacks against you, I have taken to calling in many.”

“The ones you trust,” Zanatre says slowly.

“Yes.”

“You didn’t call us,” I point out.

“Those called can still use fairy dust to enter,” the head says calmly. She walks back over to the desk, and maybe I’m projecting, but I think she’s trying to be strong for Simone, to give the witch some power and life if she can.

A valkyrie can’t do that.

But there are some who can, some who aren’t witches.

“Those who can’t…” Madra continues, “they are transferred to another part of the Wilds.”

“But they can walk—”

“Headquarters is not visible to them.”

“But what if you’re wrong? They need sanctuary away from those monsters outside!” Sommeil argues.

“Those monsters are terrified, just like us,” Zanatre snaps. “They’re wrong to want us to shut down, but I understand their fear.”

“Have you been attacked?” Sommeil growls at her.

“Aw, did Tough Guy get hurt? Want me to kiss and make it all better?” she gripes.

“You—”

“Sommeil,” I murmur, noticing a new scar on Zanatre’s shoulder.

The sandman follows my gaze and blanches. “Zanatre… a horde of pixies,” he mutters as he points out one of his own fresh scars.

“A bubak,” she mutters back. “I heard a newborn cry, but that wicked beast… He looks like a scarecrow, kind of, but all bones, no legs, but it hops around on its tail of a spine, and… He was disturbing. I never… And his words, his voice… He called me so many terrible things, all because I’ve done my part to keep everyone, including the likes of him, safe. There has been a huge uptick in crime recently, all because we aren’t able to get after the criminals, and honestly, we never should’ve relied on the oracles for everything. It’s never good to have all of your eggs in one basket, and now, we’re screwed. And sending everyone away… Yes, I’m sure you have reason to think we have a mole, but we can’t counter everything that’s happening if we’re spread out everywhere.”

“Most of the people did not go on vacation,” Madra murmurs. “Most continued to work, but it’s too much. There are too many cases where we need witches, oracles, and more.”

“I don’t know what the harpies were after, if Darko the gargoyle really was the kingpin there… If he was an overlord,” I speak up, not wanting Madra to punish Zanatre. The gargoyle is talking to the head as if she’s an equal or even beneath her. As if the head is worthless.

And maybe she is, but right now, we can’t risk falling apart even more. We’re already raveling at the seams.

“But there might be another overlord,” I continue. “Yandor Greatwolf. Fortuna Vexx. Possibly others. I know those two wanted body parts, and I can’t help thinking it’s for a reason.”

“The last thing I saw was a room filled with the body parts from Yandor,” Adriana states. “Eyes, nose, ears, fingers, toes…”

“Toes?” I ask sharply.

She nods.

“Yandor said he needed feet,” I mumble. “I almost thought maybe he was trying to… I don’t know…”

“Build a monster?” Madra asks wryly, lifting her head.

“I don’t know,” I repeat.

“And even if that is why he and the others are doing that, if there are others—” Sommeil starts.

“Seems to me that’s a good bet,” I cut in.

“Then that doesn’t explain why the oracles might have been targeted,” Sommeil adds.

“You think the oracles were attacked magically somehow?” Madra asks sharply.

“And maybe then the witches,” Simone says, lifting her head. She looks even paler now.

“Could it be that there are three overlords?” the head murmurs, walking back over to the window.

“At least one is locked up,” I say weakly.

“But he might not be the overlord, and even if he is, it is possible others are still out there, trying to do his will, only we still don’t know what the purpose of all of that was. We don’t know the purpose of any of this!”

Madra slams her fist onto the desk. It shudders from the force of impact, and a slight crack forms.

“Eat. Rest. Recover. When you are ready to resume discussion, we will speak more and try to formulate a plan,” the valkyrie states.

“A plan to save HEX Unite?” Zanatre asks.

Madra shakes her head. “A plan to save the world through any means necessary.”

She marches out the door, and a dreadful feeling causes my stomach to lurch. She almost makes it sound like saving the world might require HEX Unite to fail, but that can’t be right. The paranormal world needs HEX Unite. Even the humans need HEX Unite.

No matter what happens, HEX Unite cannot fall.

CHAPTER 27

Zanatre offers to bring Simone some food. Maybe the two are friends now.

Sommeil, not to be outdone, assures the witch that he’ll bring the food. Maybe he’s made his choice.

The two leave, and I turn to Simone. “Are you dying?” I ask her.

“Donovan!” Adriana cries out.

“It’s all right,” Simone says with a wry smile. She sounds weak, but every second that passes has her smile widening. “Shouldn’t you know better than I do as far as my life or death?”

Her question puts me at ease.

“I don’t sense it anytime soon, but if you need—”

“Food. The others are getting it. Rest? That may or may not help, but there is nothing you can do for me, Dr. Death.” Her grin is even broader somehow.

“I actually hate being called that.”

“Oh, Sommeil told me, but you are acting like a doctor, no?” she asks.

“I suppose. We’ll try to fix this, whether it’s a sickness or something else.”

“I know. I am not afraid. You do not have to fear for me. I am stronger than I look.”

“If you’re sure…” I hedge toward the door.

She nods, and I motion for Adriana to follow. The oracle murmurs something to Simone before entering the hallway.

I knock on the next door down the hall. When there’s no answer, I open it and peek inside. It’s similar to the first one, and no one is inside, so I usher Adriana inside.

“I know Madra said you can’t see anything at all anymore, but are you willing to try?” I ask in a rush.

“Donovan…”

“See what’s going on. It can’t hurt any, right?” I ask, desperation making me grab her hands and squeeze them.

“If I fail, we haven’t lost anything, right?” she murmurs. “Why not? Past, present, or future?”

"You're most removed from the future, and the past has only just started to slip away, so past."

She nods and reaches into her pockets. Apparently, she carries around candles at all times. These ones are black, the dried wax blood-red.

Adriana arranges them on the floor to form a slanted square. This time, she sits crossed-legged in the center. Her eyes shut, and she tilts her head back. Her single braid and loose strands all reach to touch the tiled floor.

Her body begins to tremble and jerk, as if she’s convulsing. I don’t know if that’s supposed to happen. Her arms wave about, but they don’t come near the flames, which are shooting up higher and higher, almost touching the ceiling.

Then, her arms lower back down to her lap. Her body stops trembling, and her eyes open.

I bite my tongue.

“An island,” she murmurs. “Not… I saw the Golden Gate Bridge, but the island wasn’t Alcatraz.”

“Tsisqua,” I say. “I think I’m pronouncing it right.”

“I’m not sure, but I’m glad you said it and not me.” Adriana laughs softly. “I’m the kind of girl who will mispronounce things because I’ve read them before I heard anyone say them. Say, I’ve always wondered what language that is. Is it Native American?”

“Cherokee, I believe.” I rub my clean-shaven chin. “Well, it would make sense that all of this can be tied to a magical island.”

“The only magical island in the San Francisco Bay,” she murmurs.

“But not the only one in the world.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask her if she’ll want to visit another one with me once all of this is said and done, but I swallow it back.

“You aren’t going without me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of asking you not to,” I assure her.

“Good. I can still fight.”

The door opens, and Simone stands there, leaning against the frame. “I’m coming too.”

I don’t want to tell her no, but…

“How is your magic?” I ask.

“It’s not entirely gone,” she assures us. “Trust me. I know my limitations.”

“You look like…” Adriana glances at me.

“Death,” Simone says. “I know I don’t look as if I’m capable, but I can still fight.”

“Your magic,” I press.

She holds up her hand. A breeze shifts toward me, but then her hair is blown back as if her magic is misfiring.

“It’s a little temperamental,” she admits.

“What’s going on?” Sommeil asks. He’s holding a tray of sandwiches, more than enough for all of us.

I rub the back of my neck. “Let’s go eat at my place,” I suggest.

“Why don’t you want to eat here?” Sommeil asks, confused.

Zanatre huffs a sigh. “If there is a mole…” she starts.

“Thanks for spelling that out loud,” I mumble.

Adriana sprinkles us with fairy dust, and I direct us to my apartment. Sommeil smirks at me as he hands out the sandwiches. As he puts mine in my hand, he whispers, "That's one way to get Adriana over to your place."

“That’s not,” I start to protest but then don’t bother. I clear my throat. “We have a lead on the case with Yandor and the body cutters.”

“Body cutters?” Zanatre wrinkles her nose.

“Well, they aren’t body snatchers,” Sommeil points out.

Simone is inhaling her sandwich. She does look a bit better after that, but I still don’t know if I think it wise for her to tag along.

“Where is it?” Zanatre asks eagerly.

“How do we know you aren’t the mole?” Sommeil asks her.

She blinks a few times. “How do we know you aren’t?” she counters, but she doesn’t sound angry. Her voice is entirely emotionless.

“Guys,” I say, and then I frown. “I know Madra is the one to mention a mole, but who? And why? What would make her think that?”

“Maybe she’s paranoid,” Sommeil suggests. “You know, since all of the heads end up murdered.”

“Why haven’t the oracles been able to save the heads?” Simone asks.

“We can’t change the future we see,” Adriana states. “We only see it.”

“Right, but if you know who is responsible, can’t you stop them?”

“The future seems to have a will of its own,” Adriana says with a shrug. “We can’t change it. I’ve tried. I’ve failed.”

Now that seems like a story for another time.

I clap my hands together twice. “I don’t know if Madra’s paranoid or if she has a reason for her suspicions, but I don’t think we can worry about a mole. We have other things to worry about, and Madra might be wrong. Maybe she is right, but since she might have information that we don’t have… We all trust each other, right? With our lives?”

Zanatre stares Sommeil down. The frostiness between them shocks me. Simone seems like a great witch. She really does, but I think Zanatre and Sommeil might have staying power. Simone is too much like Sommeil. They can’t really affect each other, can’t make each other grow, but Zanatre will challenge Sommeil, and I think he needs that. He’ll need her or someone like her.

But why would he say that about her? Even I trust her.

Her heart is in the right place, even if her methods can be extreme.

She’s made some poor choices in the past, but who hasn’t?

“I trust you with my life and with everyone else here,” I inform Zanatre.

“Good,” she says.

“That’s what friends are for.”

Zanatre grins and lifts a shoulder toward Sommeil. “If you don’t trust me, fine. I’ll—”

“Oh, he trusts you,” Simone calls.

"You aren't going, so it doesn't matter who you trust," Sommeil says.

Simone’s eyes darken. “I wasn’t aware that witches had keepers,” she snaps, her words coming out fast, her accent more pronounced than it normally is. “You do not get a say in what I can and will do. I will come along.”

“I—”

“Sommeil,” I murmur. “You should let her come.”

“But—”

Simone has a javelin out, the tip pointed against Sommeil’s chin. “Magic or no magic, I can still fight, and I will. This overlord who wants the body parts might have nothing to do with whatever is happening to my magic, but I will not be slowed down. I will not be made to be fit into a box and be shoved aside, caged away because you think I cannot handle myself. I am worth more than my magic.”

Sommeil opens his mouth and then shuts it. Probably smart, but an apology might have been a better idea.

Someone pounds on my door.

“Who is that?” Adriana asks with a frown, her brow furrowed. “I hate that I can’t sense anything.”

“I can check,” Zanatre offers. She is the closest to the door, but I shake my head and walk over.

When I see who it is, I open the door. “How did you find me?” I ask.

Seth strolls inside. “Some locator potions work well enough, although I ended up behind the apartment complex and had to ask around for you. Could’ve been worse, though.”

“This is Seth,” I tell everyone. “He’s the witch who…”

“I’m a witch killer,” he mumbles.

“You had no choice,” Sommeil says.

“Oh, you’ll excuse him for his ‘failings,’” Zanatre mumbles.

I quickly introduce everyone, grateful it seems Seth hadn’t overheard the gargoyle.

“What are you all up to?” the witch asks eagerly.

“What do you think we are?” I return.

“I’m hoping you have a lead on the thug responsible for what happened to Fortuna. I’ve known her my entire life. We’ve been friends since we outgrew diapers.”

“Not while in them?” Zanatre asks, softening some.

"Apparently not. My mother said that Fortuna was a hugger, that she would hug everyone but not me. We were raised in a daycare together, so there were a lot of kids around, and she made a point not to hug me."

“What did you do to her?” Zanatre asks.

“Maybe he did nothing at all,” Sommeil says.

“Apparently, I would pull her hair all the time. I might’ve pinched her too. I don’t know. I was one and two and three at the time. We outgrew that, but—”

“Did you ever have a crush on her?” Simone asks.

“No, nothing like that,” Seth says, “but… I never thought…”

“We are trying to go after the overlord who used Fortuna to try to gain him or her body parts,” I inform Seth.

“Excellent.” He rubs his hands together. “I’m coming too.”

Sommeil rubs the back of his neck and then brushes his hair back. “I don’t know. If your coven is after you… And they can trace you to where we’re going…”

“Then we’ll have more witches who can help us,” I say.

“Are you sure they’ll fight with us and not against us?” Adriana murmurs. “I don’t mean any offense.”

“None taken,” Seth says, “but my coven is filled with intelligent, strong witches. If they can realize what we’re after, who we’re after, they’ll fight with us. But… they might not be able to locate me.”

“How can you be so sure?” Zanatre asks.

“I might’ve used up our supply of locator potions to find Donovan and Sommeil,” Seth says sheepishly. “Where are we off to?”

“We’re—”

“Is everyone in agreement that Seth should come?” Adriana asks, cutting me off. “I am for it.”

They all agree, and I hang my head. I tend to try to take charge all the time, but this really is a group effort.

The oracle nods to me, and I try again. “We’re heading to Tsisqua.”

Seth’s eyes light up. “That place itself is said to house magic! Maybe I can recharge my magical batteries there, so to speak.”

“I hope so too.”

"That would be wonderful," Adriana murmurs, but I don't have to be a mind reader to realize she doubts that'll happen.

Honestly, I doubt it, too, but I’m thrilled to have a location. Soon enough, we’ll have a name.

And maybe a dead body.

Of the overlord, not one of my friends.

CHAPTER 28

Tsisqua is a beautiful island with plenty of birds circling around. It almost makes me wish Sid were here.

Wait, what? No way. That raven would get himself killed.

He does want to help, though.

Because he’s a nosy pest.

But ravens can kill, and they can hunt. They aren't just scavengers.

But we’re going up against a paranormal overlord. The raven has no magic at all. Yes, we can talk, but all animals can communicate, so it’s not as if that’s anything special.

There are plenty of trees and greenery despite the rocky foundation of the island. The entire place seems to be alive and thriving, as if the island itself lives and breathes. It’s unlike any place I’ve ever set foot before.

“How can there be magic in a place?” I murmur to Seth.

"Legend has it that there used to be two covens of witches who lived here. They would clash all the time. One of their magical battles resulted in both covens wiping each other out. So much magic had been leaked, plus their magical blood stained the soil so even the plants here are said to have some magic within them."

“Magical plants?”

“Well, some herbs and flowers can be used in potions,” Simone reminds me.

“True,” I say sheepishly.

“But they might be more potent here, so you’re right to think that they’re different,” Simone says.

“Do you feel any different?” Seth murmurs to her.

“No, but we only just arrived.”

“True. That’s a hefty javelin you have there,” he says.

“Thanks. What do you have?” she counters.

I leave the two witches to get acquainted, and Sommeil, who is leading the pack as we start to hike this rocky terrain, halts.

“Do you think they’ll be that obvious?” he asks.

There’s a village over to the right, down below us. There’s a trail to follow, one worn down by many feet rather than manmade, but to the left on a tall boulder of a hill is a shack. Above it is a storm cloud. As in the cloud is literally touching parts of the roof.

“One of these things is not like the others,” I mumble.

“Should we go check it out?” Adriana asks.

“Do you have a bad feeling about this?” I ask her.

“Worse. I have no feeling at all.” She grimaces.

We creep toward the hill. Some of the flowers seem to have eyes on them, and they even turn their faces toward us as we walk past.

This place might be magical, but it’s also unnerving too.

We’re about halfway to the hill when I stop. Zanatre plows into me.

“What is it?” she asks, scouting around, ready to fight.

“I just realize I haven’t seen one animal. Not a squirrel, not a frog, no insects or bugs. Nothing.”

“I’ve noticed the birds haven’t landed at all,” Adriana points out.

“Can regular animals not live here?” I ask the witches.

Seth shrugs. “You would think so, but maybe they can sense the magic of this place even if they don’t recognize it was magic.”

“Hmm.”

We continue onward in silence. Zanatre guides us to the side so we can peek in a window. I’m sure most of us would love to barge inside, but knowledge is power, right?

A woman in a long dress as if from the olden days with long hair stands near a table. Her back is to us, so I can’t tell what is on the table. After a moment, she turns slightly, and I can see her profile. With a start, I realize her face is actually that of a horse skull. It’s a shocking sight, even for me, and I can turn into my skeleton for my grim reaper form.

La cegua. They aren’t a common paranormal being like, say, witches, vampires, and werewolves.

In the corner is a sickly-looking phantom of a girl. An acheri. Their shadows can cause some damage. I can’t tell what she’s doing either, but she’s the only one at the second table in the back of the room.

A trio has to be finfolk. They have gills in their necks, and they seemingly at random will shapeshift into various animals. Finfolk aren't just shapeshifters, not according to rumors. They can have magic, too, like witches. Because of their gills, they can live on the ground or in the water, and they're especially strong with water elemental magic.

There are others, and although the window is cracked open some, we don’t hear them talking.

“Do you think any of them are…” Zanatre starts, but Adriana shakes her head and points.

It takes several minutes for us to see, but it eventually becomes obvious that they are placing body parts onto the table and arranging them to form a creature of some kind. Any extra pieces are brought over to the acheri.

Although it’s a bright sunny day outside, the inside of the shack is dark and dreary, and my stomach churns. These finfolk, the acheri, and la cegua… are they possessed? Where is the overlord? Why isn’t he or she here to oversee this?

Is it possible the overlord knows about us? Knew we were coming?

If the whole point of the body cutting was to form a new creature, a new monster… But why?

I frown. The harpies tried to raise an army for some reason, and now this… whatever this is…

Sommeil abruptly shakes his head, and he starts to walk away. The others follow, but I linger, watching, waiting to ensure that the creatures inside will not come after us.

So far, so good.

But when I glance back at my allies, they’re quietly arming themselves. Why not? A conversation won’t go well with them.

Yet I can't forget the first time Sommeil and I came to the harpy nest. Yes, we thought the harpies were dead, but we feared the murderer was there, so we approached armed only to discover the harpies were very much alive, and they freaked out and attacked us because we showed up armed.

The others are ready, but I hold up a hand for them to stay back, and I walk around to the door and knock. I doubt they’ll be willing to talk, but it’s worth a try, right? Anything for peace.

But peace is just an illusion, isn’t it? That’s what I’m coming to believe.

The door creaks open, and I push it wider. The finfolk, the acheri, and la cegua, as one, lift their heads to stare at me.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

They ignore me and studiously return to their work. They’re sewing the body parts together.

The storm cloud… it’s not raining or storming. It’s waiting.

For the body to be put together?

If they want to try to give this body life…

I march up to them. “Why are you doing this? Who asked you to? For what reason—”

“I need to give my life,” one of the finfolk says.

He comes at me with an axe in one hand and a mace in the other. I use my skull chain whip to capture the wrist of his hand holding the mace and use my scythe to block the axe.

The acheri races over. It’s dark in here, which means seeing her shadow won’t be easy, but just because I can’t see it doesn’t mean she can’t hurt me with it.

“A little help!” I cry.

The door bangs against the wall. I guess I didn’t open it quite wide enough, but my allies are here.

Somehow, there are more creatures in here, a jaguar shifter, a werewolf, and an even dozen of the finfolk. They attack us all with haste, but the la cegua remains working.

“Wound,” I cry out. “Try to knock them unconscious!”

The din of the battle is fierce and wild, and I doubt anyone heard me. The creatures we’re fighting make not a word, not even to gasp when our blades slice their skin.

They’re possessed. There’s no doubt about that, but maybe la cegua isn’t. Maybe she’s the overlord.

But the closer I try to get to her, the more the others push back, and the tide isn’t in our favor. Before my eyes, more possessed magical beings arrive in the room, and we’re going to lose.

We’re all going to die.

"Adriana!" I call out. I'm fighting one of the newcomers, a demon with a wicked, vicious smile and horns that almost punctured my throat when he tried to ram his head at me.

The oracle grunts. She’s holding her own well enough, we all are, but we can’t. Not for much longer, and if more continue to come as backup, we’ll be screwed.

“Try to see something, anything that might help!” I call out.

“Yeah, okay,” she grumbles. “Because I’m not fighting for my life or anything!”

I flick my wrist to have my chain whip wrap around my fist and wrist and slam the skull against the demon’s temple. Dazed, he stumbled back, and I activate my scythe. A streak of blue ribbons along the blade as the magic comes alive. The runes glow as I slice the demon from chest to stomach. His soul leaves his body… or maybe it doesn’t. I can’t quite tell, and I don’t bother to watch, just grateful his body drops to the ground as I race over to Adriana.

Her foes haven’t been told that they necessarily need to attack her, just fight and defend the creature, so they have no issue fighting me, and I kill one of the werewolves, a finfolk, and engage the last, a gorgon. Let me tell you, fighting a creature you can’t look in the eye isn’t the easiest, but having a blade as polished as my scythe helps.

Blood sprays everywhere as I cut off the gorgon’s head, and I rip off a large portion of the finfolk’s shirt to cover the head and throw it out the window.

Adriana is shaking and trembling, but her eyes are open, and tears stream down her face, kissing her lips.

I rush over to her, going down on my knees and sliding toward her. With my left foot, I swing myself around so I’m beside her and instinctively bring up my scythe. It blocks a blade, and I flick my wrist. The chain whip reaches for the finfolk, but sand snakes around and covers his nose and mouth. The finfolk drops to the ground, asleep, no longer a threat, but another finfolk uses his spear to end that one’s life.

Their overlord, whoever he—she—might be, really doesn’t want to have one of her possessed beings set free or potentially used against her.

“Donovan, when did we first meet?” Adriana asks, frenzied, grabbing onto my sweat-covered bicep.

"Formally? At HEX Unite, but I actually saw you a few times at Magical Hunters Academy… Why are you asking?"

“Because I can’t… I don’t remember… I don’t… I remember you from giving you the harpy assignment. I don’t… Nothing before.”

I gape at her.

She stares up at me before tightening her grip on her knife and throwing it. It lodges in the back of a giant lion.

Adriana stares at me as her tears slowly stop. I honestly don’t recognize her.

“I can’t see anything at all,” she says, her voice no longer hysterical.

Her sharp change in attitude leaves me breathless, confused, and worried. Is she being taken like the others?

“My memories of the past are starting to fade,” she says, and I feel a little better because she’s been emotionless like this before, when I screwed up the yeti assignment.

But for her to start to lose her memories, that’s almost worse than losing her magic.

Because memories and the past help to shape a person and mold them into who they are.

Adriana has certain ideas and values, and without them, will she be the oracle I’m coming to adore?

CHAPTER 29

Adriana stands, ignoring my hand to help her up, and she crosses over to the lion. The shifter isn’t dead yet, and she calmly removes her knife. The lion turns on her, and I react without thinking, using my whip to tug around his neck. The lion slams into the wall before I can realize what I’m doing. The shack isn’t the most stable, and this isn’t the first time a being has slammed against the walls, and they’re still shaking. We’re going to bust this place apart.

“No!” Simone shouts.

I rush forward, uncertain where the witch is, but I spy Zanatre. Although the one-room shack is incredibly crowded, she’s in her gargoyle form, her swirling marks glowing as she zooms around.

It's because of Zanatre that I see Simone. A finfolk has her by the throat. His dagger is striking through the air in preparation for a killing blow, but Zanatre swoops down, shoving Simone back.

And in the process, Zanatre is the one to get the killing blow.

She’s a gargoyle. A blow that would kill another won’t affect her, so she’s still alive, but maybe not for much longer because the others are crowding around her, as if they can sense her death is close.

Worse, I can sense it.

Adriana is fighting and handling herself. So long as she doesn’t forget how to fight… Muscle memory will only help her so much.

I cut my way through toward Zanatre. As much as I firmly believe none of these are fighting us because they wish to, that they’re possessed or influenced or whatever, I have to defend myself and my friends, and if that means I can’t always stop myself from killing them… that’s guilt I’ll have to deal with another day.

What’s becoming increasingly harder is ignoring the siren call of my psychopomp duties. What if they become ghosts? I would hope they would rather take down the one who influenced them, but how strong must the being be that they can influence so many at the same time?

I step on a body without meaning to, and my ankle turns, but I manage not to fall. The acheri has been killed, but the others are still fighting, still influenced.

I scramble to my feet and look around. La cegua, where is she?

A head lands at my feet.

Oh, there she is.

I nudge the horse skull aside.

A puffing Sommeil glances over. “I thought for sure…” he grumbles.

But the others are still fighting. I’m wounded. I’m not sure when that happened, and I can taste blood in my mouth. Sommeil’s injured too. All of us are, and Zanatre…

At least there are only five left, and we work together to take them out. Three we manage to try to save, to spare, to knock unconscious, but once the other two realize what we're up to, they kill them and then each other before we can stop them. We're too beaten down and wounded, our reflexes too slowed to stop them.

“Is it over?” Zanatre asks, wheezing.

I survey the carnage. It’s a bloodbath, and my stomach churns. “This…”

A table creaks. Or maybe it’s the walls. I’m not sure how this place is still standing. This shack is not going to handle one more strike. I wouldn’t even want to shut a window or the door.

Adriana gasps. Zanatre's face turns dark, and Simone blanches. Sommeil conjures up a lot of sand, and Seth's grip on his daggers tightens.

Slowly, I turn around to see the new threat.

The creature rises off the table. It’s stitched together, bit by bit, part shifter, vampire, orc, troll, and a host of everything else.

It’s hideous.

Worst of all, it’s using magic somehow.

Its ball of fire is the size of my torso, and I barely have time to duck before it flies above me, right where my head had been.

Sommeil unleashes his sand, but the creature does the unthinkable.

He swallows the sand.

Sommeil staggers and sinks a bit. That sand is a part of him, and clearly, he’s not able to use that sand against the creature from the inside.

Zanatre flies at him, and I race beneath her. Her claws scratch along its face, but it doesn't react at all, and I'm left to wonder if it can feel pain. With the strength of a thousand men, it grabs her wing and flings her against the wall.

I'm right. One good hit, and the shack crumbles all around us. The roof falls down on us, but Zanatre, who must be part-valkyrie, manages to zoom up in time to secure the roof, flinging it aside. I'm not about to argue with her that she should've chucked it at the creature. Honestly, it might've caught the roof and chucked it right back at us.

Jumping onto the table, I leap into the air, swinging my scythe, the blue of my activated blade streaking through the air.

The creature is smart, though, and grabs Simone. The witch had been trying to sneak around behind her, but it draws her close, holding her as a hostage.

“Let me go!” she shrieks, and her head slams against his chest, her hair blowing wildly.

The creature’s head is thrown back, too, his neck exposed, and it’s tempting, so tempting to want to draw my scythe across and slice his neck, but I can’t risk it.

As I deliberate, the others rush forward, attacking the creature. It flings them all off, maneuvering Simone so that she would take the brunt of their attacks instead of it, forcing them to back away. Warily, they stand around me, and we form a semi-circle around it and Simone.

The creature grins and holds Simone up. Her legs dangle, and he reaches toward her face.

Like a shot, Zanatre zooms forward, faster than Sommeil’s sand, faster than I’ve ever seen her go before. She grabs its wrist and claws at the creature’s face.

With a deafening roar, the creature drops Simone. Seth and Sommeil drag her away as the creature turns on Zanatre, whaling on her with its stolen fists and assorted digits.

And then he nearly cracks off one of her wings.

Zanatre slumps in its arms, no longer trying to claw at him. The creature must have some sort of protective spell on it because even her claws won’t cause it to bleed.

Maybe it has no blood.

But it has to have bones, right?

Maybe it has no soul. It can’t possibly, right?

Seth grimaces, gasping, sweating. He’s trying to use his magic, but he has none, or else not enough to make a difference.

Sommeil looks sick to his stomach. He’s on his feet but barely stable.

Adriana looks worn but determined.

Zanatre…

Simone isn’t much better.

It’s up to me.

“Whose creature are you?” I ask. “Who do you serve?”

The creature eyes me and smiles. With tusks of an orc and fangs of a vampire and teeth from who knows how many others, the creature truly is the stuff of nightmares, even more so than any old boogeyman.

“Who do you belong to?” I ask.

The creature grabs the table and whips it at me, but I drop down to the ground and roll. It means leaving my scythe behind, but I already have out my bladed boomerang, and I chuck it just to the right of the creature.

The creature chuckles at my stupidity, and I snap my chain whip to the left, right by its face. The creature winces, jerking to the side slightly, but he doesn’t move enough, and my bladed boomerang comes whistling back. As I advance, I snap the whip closer and closer to its face. Just before it can reach out a long arm to grip my neck, I duck down, slip underneath its arm that’s just coming up, and kick the back of its kneecap. The creature stumbles forward, legs wide apart, an unsteady base for support. My whip circles around its neck, and I pull it tight.

“Tell me,” I growl, squeezing harder. The eyes of the skull from the whip glow the same blue fire as my scythe when activated. “Tell me who you work for.”

The creature lets out a grunt.

“Sommeil!” I scream.

The sandman stumbles over, almost tripping on the broken wall chunks and scattered roof pieces.

“Get into its head! Find out who is controlling it!”

“Don’t do it!” Zanatre cries. “If it’s mindless, you could go mad!”

“It’s clearly not mindless,” I argue. “It’s far too capable a fighter!”

Sommeil hesitates and then nods. His eyes roll back into his head, but the creature races forward, arms outstretched, yanking me along. I can’t keep a hold on the chain, and the whip rushes from my hand. Unimpeded, the creature stumbles and nearly falls on top of Sommeil, but the sandman dissolves into sand just in time.

The creature isn’t so lucky. It grunts, twitches, and then half-rolls over to reveal a magical blade shoved into its chest. Dark black blood oozes from the wound.

Uh. I guess it can be cut. It can bleed.

And it can die.

CHAPTER 30

Solemnly, I retrieve my scythe and place it on my back. No one is speaking, and the hushed silence in the ruined shack is both heavy and oppressive.

It's not easy getting us all together so we can use fairy dust to relocate off this accursed island. It's definitely far from a magical place, and I would be much happier if I would never go to another magical island ever again.

No one says anything as we crawl toward one another. It’s not until Sommeil sprinkles us with fairy dust that I worry Seth will be bounced to another location, but perhaps because the rest of us are allowed admittance, he is, too, because we all end up just inside the front doors.

“My office,” Simone mumbles.

Not knowing where that is, I hang back. Simone has an arm around Seth, and I’m not sure who is holding up who. Zanatre is still her gargoyle, but she looks like she’s ready to fall over. I put an arm around her, and she jerks away from me.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I just thought…”

She shifts to her human self, stumbles, and I have to catch her. Her back is bleeding profusely, and she’s barely conscious.

I go to pick her up, but Sommeil beats me to it. I think he’s almost ready to punch me to be the one to hold her, and he hurries to catch up to the witches.

“Adriana,” I murmur.

She glances at me curiously.

“Are you all right?” I ask.

“I’m fine, Donovan. Why wouldn’t I be?”

I gape at her. “Maybe because of the fight?”

“Oh, that.” She smiles brightly. It’s the first huge smile I’ve seen on her face, and yes, I caused it, but I didn’t think my question warrants it.

“Are you feeling all right?” I press.

"I really am fine. I'm not just saying that. I know you're worried because my… my memories are a bit hazy, but I think I remember you more. You have a crush on me."

I cough. “I what?”

“Don’t you?”

“Well, ah… A crush sounds so immature. I…”

“So you didn’t mean it when you said you like me?” She tilts her head to the side. “Don’t you remember what you said? ‘I do like you, Adriana. A lot.’ At least…” She looks to the left and then the right. “I think that’s what you said.”

I rub the back of my neck. “It’s… Yes. It’s true. I do like you. I just…”

“Now isn’t really the time. I get that. I understand. It’s not.”

“But later?” I ask, trying not to sound overly eager.

She hesitates. “Maybe. I can’t say what the future will hold.” Her eyes darken a bit, her pupils far more visible than normal. “I just don’t know.”

Adriana brushes her braid back, and my nose wrinkles at the fresh scent of blood.

“You’re bleeding!” I exclaim.

I guide her along to hurry up and follow the others. The healers’ wing is a bit nicer than the oracles, a fair amount brighter too. Simone’s office has a desk with a chair behind it and in front of it and shelves on every wall. She is already taking down potions and passing them around. I don’t know if she made them or another witch, but Zanatre is so close to death it’s not funny.

She’s far too close.

I kneel beside the gargoyle, who has slipped out of the chair onto the ground, curling up into a ball. “Zanatre, I…”

“Don’t you dare,” she grumbles.

“You don’t even know—”

“I do know, and the answer is no. Now be quiet. I want to sleep.”

“I don’t think you should,” Sommeil murmurs.

“Like you care.” Her eyes are open, but she’s staring at the desk in front of her. “You don’t care.”

“I…”

“Yeah. See? You can’t even bring yourself to lie to me. Not that I want you to. Lying is terrible, wicked… but then I’m wicked, aren’t I? That’s what you think. You never cared for me.”

“I…”

“You… You don’t have to say anything…” Zanatre’s having a harder time getting words out.

“Simone,” I call.

The witch hurries over. She tries to pour a potion into Zanatre’s mouth, but it mostly dribbles down the sides of her chin.

I rub a hand down my face and begin to pace. “Should I get someone else?”

“You should shut up,” Simone snaps.

I gape at the French witch.

She doesn’t apologize for her outburst. Normally, she would never talk to anyone in such a tone, so I try not to take offense, but I’m not one to sit back and allow others to do everything.

Adriana waves me over.

“Do you want me to check your head?” I ask.

“You aren’t a healer. No. You should go.”

“Go? Go where? Why? I’m not—”

“The body. You should bring the body of that… thing… here so we can… It might be a good idea to look it over, don’t you think?”

“Good idea. I just…”

“Go,” Seth says. “We’ll manage everyone’s injuries.”

“But…” I glance at Zanatre.

“Do you think she’ll die?” Seth murmurs.

“I… I heard… you…” Zanatre groans.

I hesitate. It’s touch or go at this point.

“There’s nothing you can do for her,” Seth says.

“Is there something I can get?” I ask desperately. “A flower from the island that maybe can heal any wound?”

“Zanatre the martyr…” she murmurs. “Can I… have that… tombstone?”

“You would have to die first, and you aren’t dying,” Simone spits out. “Now, stop moving. You’re making the bleeding—”

“That smells like dog—”

“I don’t care what it smells like,” Simone cuts the gargoyle off. “This paste will—”

“I don’t care if it’ll reattach my wing. I don’t—”

“It will.”

“I won’t lose my wing?”

“You will if you won’t let me be!”

Zanatre falls silent.

Hoping for the best, I return to the island. Tsisqua. Somehow, it feels different, now that I’m alone, and it takes me two steps to realize why.

Wildlife. There’s wildlife everywhere. Rabbits, squirrels, insects… The birds are flying from tree to tree.

Something’s changed. Something kept them all away, and it’s as I feared.

The body of that creature is gone.

We should’ve brought it back with us immediately, but Zanatre needed help, and we weren’t thinking clearly, and I honestly don’t know what to think. The overlord hadn’t been here. Does the overlord have the creature? Did he or she come here to retrieve it? Why? Will he or she try to resurrect the creature again? Why create it in the first place?

I do a quick recon of the place and search as much as I can from up high on the hill, but there’s no sign of any paranormal creature, just the mundane wildlife. No sign of where the others came from or where the creature fled.

Not that the creature could’ve fled on its own. I felt the life leave its body. It had been a dead husk.

Someone came to get it.

The overlord might’ve watched the entire fight.

That thought does not bring me comfort in the slightest.

With a heavy heart, I return to Headquarters, just inside the front doors. The protesters are louder than ever before.

“Paranormal executioners are killers!”

“We demand peace!”

“For there to be peace, HEX Unite must burn!”

I flinch, wanting nothing to do with fire, and I rush along to Simone’s office, getting lost twice along the way.

Everyone is leaning against the wall, drinking from porcelain cups. Zanatre is sitting in a chair, her back to me, and I race to her.

“Are you…” I trail off at the nasty scowl she’s giving me.

“If I’m asked one more time how I’m feeling,” she starts.

“I was going to ask if you’re lucid,” I joke.

“Oh. Well, I’m never lucid.” She grins. “Where did you go?”

“We can talk about that later.”

Zanatre stares at her watch-less wrist. “It’s later. Where did you go?”

“Sommeil’s a fool,” I mumble in her ear.

She laughs. “Guess we are friends, huh?”

I can’t help meeting Adriana’s gaze. “Friends. Yes. Um, what were we talking about?”

“Don’t try to change the subject,” she whines. “Where did you go? Don’t make me ask you again.”

“Right.” I blow out a breath.

“The body was gone, wasn’t it?” Adriana asks.

“How did you know?” I ask, hoping against hope it’s because she saw it.

“Why else would you not be spilling the beans?” she asks.

I blink a few times, and Zanatre makes a face at me. That phrasing doesn’t sound like Adriana at all.

“Too many murders!”

“No one’s safe with HEX Unite!”

“For there to be peace, HEX Unite must burn!”

I grimace. “Is the window open?”

“It’s shut,” Sommeil grumbles. “I’ve been debating giving them a chance to sleep so they can think it over, but…”

“You should not do that,” Madra says.

I jerk back and bump into the desk, which scrapes against the floor. The valkyrie stands in Simone's doorway.

“I don’t recall sanctioning a mission,” she says dryly. “Donovan, you’ve seen better days.”

“Oh, here.” Simone shoves a teacup into my hand.

“I’m not a tea drinker.”

“It’s not tea,” Sommeil says.

“When a witch gives you something to drink,” Simone starts.

“You don’t drink it,” I joke.

Sommeil and Seth both laugh, but none of the females do. Adriana does grin, at least. Zanatre is smiling broadly, but Simone is not amused, and neither is the Head of HEX Unite.

“When it’s a witch you trust giving you the cup, you drink it,” Simone says before mumbling something in French. I’ll bet you anything it’s not something I would want to hear in English.

“What happened?” Madra asks.

I let the others fill the valkyrie in, only adding at the end about it being impossible to retrieve the body.

“Well, some of the pieces are coming together, I suppose,” the valkyrie murmurs. “Literally and figuratively. It’s a shame that it won’t matter, though. The puzzle will never be complete.”

“What do you mean?” Simone asks.

The head ignores her and focuses on Seth. “I suppose it doesn’t matter that you’re here. The wards protecting this place will be down at sunset anyhow.”

“What? What?” Sommeil demands.

"You're giving up, aren't you?" Zanatre's nostrils flare. "After everything I've done… we've done… After I almost died how many times for this organization? You're going to just give up now because the going got tough? Are you serious? You aren't a valkyrie. You're a coward with wings and dressed in armor because you can't stand the heat of a battle."

There’s a clap from Adriana. I glance over, expecting her to have a hand over her mouth, for her to be scandalized by Zanatre’s outburst, but no. Her hands are together as if she had meant to applaud but thought against it too late to contain herself entirely.

“You don’t understand,” Madra murmurs. “The murders are now spread worldwide. There is no chance of peace anytime soon, and even worse, there have been riots in the Wilds. It’s not easy for me, but I need to shut down HEX Unite.”

I bite back my tongue because Zanatre actually let the head off nicely.

“You can’t be serious,” Simone says.

“Why should you argue?” Madra asks. “Your magic may never return.”

“And we need to fix that!”

“There’s no way you should step down,” I protest. “The world needs HEX Unite, maybe now more than ever before!”

“Don’t you see?” Madra asks miserably. “I have no choice. HEX Unite… It’s shut down.”

“Not for good, though, right?” Adriana asks desperately. “We can… There has to be a way to fix this!”

“Do you see a way?” the valkyrie questions, her tone hushed, dark. “HEX Unite is shut down permanently. It is no more.”

Donovan, Adriana, Sommeil, and everyone at HEX Unite have a world of a problem on their hands! Be sure to grab the last book, Grim Anarchy, available for preorder now!

The HEX Unite trilogy is part of my A Mayhem of Magic World Story universe which starts with my Bedlam in Bethlehem series. It’s so much fun to keep expanding this world!

Please consider leaving a review if you enjoyed Grim Unrest! I love to read my reviews. Thank you!

Until next book,

~Nicole

OTHER BOOKS BY NICOLE ZOLTACK

Bedlam in Bethlehem series

Cops plus Supernatural Creatures

Magical Hunters Academy trilogy

A school for paranormal teens to train to fight evil creatures

Blood Haven Academy trilogy

A paranormal retelling of Romeo and Juliet

Moonstone Academy trilogy

A half-werewolf, half demon and a cursed werewolf… What can go wrong?

Magical Prison

A fairy tries to free her twin from prison and save the world

Rebel, Supernatural Bounty Hunter trilogy

A human hunts supernaturals

HEX Unite trilogy

A grim reaper, a sandman, and their friends try to save the world

A Girl and Her Hellhounds

The youngest daughter of Lucifer is going to do things her way

Magic Incarnate Series

Magic + Faith + Teens

Once Upon a Darkened Night Series

Twisted Fairy Tales - the villains are now the heroes

The Queenmaker Series

YA Female King Arthur Retelling

Heroes of Falledge trilogy

A superhero struggles to find love and save his town

Age of Dragons Series

A tale of lost magic and dragon riders

The Winged Beast Chronicles

Dragons enslave humans.

In the Eye of the Dragon written as N. M. Zoltack

An epic fantasy saga

Magical Awakening written as Nicole Beyer

Friends attempt to save a friend from a magical sickness

Beyond Boundaries

Can love cross class boundaries?

Standalones

Dark Hunt

Vampires vs witches vs humans

Bloodlust

Epic fantasy with forbidden love

His Soul Purpose

A vampire tries to reclaim his soul

Moonstruck

Gender-bent Cinderella set in NOLA

The Test of Time

Unpredictable time travel

Love Before Honor

Medieval knight. Regency lady. Magical Christmas.

Joy to the World

One lady. Two dukes, one an imposter

Christmas Kisses

Two gentlemen, only one Lady Anna’s mother approves of

Starving for Love

The Little Mermaid with a zombie twist

Guns and Fangs

A vampire huntress turns into that which she hates

Not on Her Watch

A military romance

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Nicole Zoltack is a USA Today bestselling author who loves to write romances. Of course. She did marry her first kiss, after all!

When she’s not writing about knights, superheroes, or witches, she enjoys spending time with her loving husband, three energetic young boys, and precious little girls. She enjoys riding horses (pretending they’re unicorns, of course!) and going to the PA Renaissance Faire dressed in garb. She’ll also read anything she can get her hands on. Her current favorite TV shows are The Witcher and Stranger Things.

Sign up for her newsletter to learn when her next book is released as well as excerpts, cover reveals, and giveaways!

For more information

www.NicoleZoltack.com

Nicole.Zoltack@NicoleZoltack.com

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

First and always, I have to thank my husband. I’m sure it can’t be easy being married to a writer, and I am so appreciative of all the support over the years. I love you, Todd! Thank you to my wonderful children for understanding that Mommy has work she has to do, but she still does and always will love you!

To some of the best writer friends a girl could ever have. You know who you are and I can’t wait until we can retreat again!

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention my wonderful street team. You keep me going, and I’m writing for you and for all of my fans. Thank you for all you do for me!

And finally, I want to acknowledge my readers. You are why I write. As long as you keep reading, I’ll keep writing. So please keep reading, all right?

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Hi, readers! I absolutely hate proofreading errors. My editor, proofreaders, and I try to find them all, but sometimes, a few will slip through. If you find any, please feel free to email at Nicole.Zoltack@gmail.com or message me on FB with the errors. I’ll correct the file as soon as I can get to it!

Oh, and if you’d like, feel free to tell me anything else you like—something about the stories, the characters, if there’s any story you would want me to tell?

Finally, if you would like to join my beta reader team or my ARC team, be sure to mention that too!

I’m off to write the next book!

~Nicole

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Contents

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Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Other Books By Nicole Zoltack

About the Author

Acknowledgments

Author’s Note