Page 58 of All Hallows Masque

I didn’t bother replying. My dad wasn’t cruel. He was the furthest thing from cruelty as possible.

Like she could read the thoughts on my face, Kami sighed. “You don’t have to be cruel yourself to sow it among mortals. It’s a job, and without that cruelty, there would be fewer deathsand the mortal realm would be overrun. Like it is now, lacking misery, madness, and torment. That’s who you meant when you said they’d forget you, isn’t it? I’ve heard those two ranting about them.”

I swallowed and said nothing.

“Do they embody the traits they inflict on mortals? Are they tormentors? Do they give you misery so intense you can’t bear it? Do they drive you mad?”

My lips twitched at that last one, but my next inhale had pain blazing across my body like a shooting star.

“If you tell them where to find your father, they’ll force him back into the role, and my guess is it’ll kill him. It’s never been done before, so they don’t know for certain what’ll happen. The problem is, that’s only whatCrueltywants. Her brother is a puppet master, twisting and moulding the people around him. Including Cruelty. She believes he wants that peace for her, but—”

The door jerked in its frame behind me, and cold erupted through my whole body. It took effort not to shudder as clipped, precise footsteps carried someone inside. I didn’t need to hear his voice to know it was Violence. He’d come back to torture me again.

I looked at the mirror and found Kami had retreated several paces and curled into a ball, her arms around her knees, her face hidden in her dress. I wished more than anything I could curl up and hide, too, but I was tied to a chair in the middle of the room, and as the door closed firmly behind me and Violence strode around the chair, meeting my eyes with an utter lack of feeling, I knew there would be no running from this torture. No hiding.

No surviving.

36

Misery

In hindsight, it was insanity to wrap eight death gods in a collective swarm of shadows and fire them through a pinhole. A tiny fracture had formed when Tor’s questing magic punctured the veil to the mortal world, and it was the only exit we had. Another god and it would have tipped the balance; we were lucky Fear and Hatred had declined our plea for help as usual.

When the shadows forced their way—and forcedus—through the tiny crack into the mortal realm, it felt like I’d been run over by a steam roller, battered by a meat tenderiser, and had a thousand needles forced into my skin, all at once. It was unbearable, but my wife was being tortured so I found a way to bear it. Somewhere in the darkness, Passion grunted in pain and Wrath let out an endless stream of inventive curses. Madness giggled, “That tickles.”

His sheer insanity distracted me long enough for the shadows to shoot across an ocean and a country like a falling star. When the magic dropped us unceremoniously onto a curved stone walkway above a trickling waterfall, I fell to my knees and vomited. I hated being sick, loathed everything from the vile taste to the burning to the feeling of being helpless, but at least I wasn’t the only one vomiting. That killed any embarrassment that might have formed at least.

Gentle hands pulled my ponytail away as I retched again, and stroked broad sweeps of comfort up and down my back. Warmth spilled through my chest, the comfort so profound and deep it spread to all the terrified, brittle parts of me and shored them up with strength.

When bile finally ran out and the retching sensation faded, I leaned back against Death with a groan, my skin clammy. The kiss he placed on my temple like a gift made it bearable. Just about.

When movement came on his other side, and I saw Death’s left hand making comforting passes up and down Tor’s back, a snort escaped me. Tor turned to give me a dark glare, but when my mouth twitched, a laugh burst from him.

“Fuck, we’re useless at shadow travel,” he groaned.

He decided to give Death and I matching heart attacks by leaning over the top of the waterfall to scoop some of the crystal-clear liquid into his palms. I gave him a look that could only be described as murderous, until he held out his cupped palms to me.

“For the gentleman,” he purred, the gravel in his voice a reminder of why we were here, of what our wife was suffering right now. But I gripped the attempt at normalcy with both hands, leaning over to draw the clear water into my mouth. It was such a relief to wash away the taste of vomit that I groaned.

“Tor,” Death snapped in warning, then sighed, “You reckless bastard,” when Tor got his own water and rinsed out his mouth.

“What?” Tor asked with an arched brow. “I have good balance.”

“One fucking slip,” I muttered, picturing him falling over the steep edge and plunging into the pool far, far below. “Where the fuck are we anyway?”

“Uh, not to be a Debbie Downer,” Wrath said loudly enough to get all our attention. She was leaning against the mossy wall at our backs, one leg propped up, the knees of her jeans ragged and holey and a rip slanting across the chest of her black band shirt. Not from the trip; they began life that way, and for some reason Wrath enjoyed looking like an urchin. “But I’ve been here before. Well, notherehere, but I recognise this place.”

“Don’t leave us in suspense, girl,” Neglect muttered, looking utterly unaffected by our vomit-inducing travel. I’d never once seen that woman affected by anything. She stalked closer, a little intimidating despite her size. Or maybe because of it.

“There are two manors on either side of a valley. I’m more familiar with the other, but this is Darkmore Manor.”

“Sounds lovely,” Tor remarked. “I presume it’s owned by Cruelty.”

“Yeah,” Wrath confirmed, narrowing kohl-lined eyes at him. “But you’re missing the fucking point. This whole area was established byFear.There’s magic in the ground, in the trees, probably in that water you slurped down. We need to be careful; our magic will behave differently here. Case in point.” She gestured at—at Passion, who was in his death god form, a floating, seven-foot-tall being of shattered bones and ragged robes. I was ninety percent sure reaper myths had originated from sightings of Passion.

“Ah,” I breathed.

“At least wehavepower here,” Death pointed out, helping me and Tor to our feet, somehow supporting both of us. “Madde, don’t touch that,” he huffed, halting Madness in the act of prodding a frog that sat on a crumbled stone column watching us.

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