Page 79 of Lourdes & the Mafia
And Ramiel and Lorenzo step from the ashes together.
A dark look of rage takes over Ramiel’s face. Lorenzo rushes to Lourdes, helping her stand.
I take a step to do the same, stopping when I remember I cannot touch her.
Stopping when the pain in my abdomen twists through my body.
Fuck.
“To the Underworld,” Ramiel orders, staring at me with what can only be anger and disappointment. “Right now.”
They transport to Castle Black, but I can’t bring myself to follow. I let my magic take me somewhere else.
Into the vast desert of the Cursed Valley. It’s an expanse of sand that stretches for miles. The smell of burning and sulfur fills the air.
Beneath my feet, the sand moves with the life of the creatures that dwell beneath. They sense my presence, recoiling away from me and taking a new route.
I take a step. The agony in my abdomen fuels my frustration, hatred, and anger as I move forward.
The sky above me is black and red, the clouds roiling as a storm begins to brew.
The Cursed Valley is the home of more powerful demons. The ones with an evil nature. The rules of the Underworld keep them confined to this space, forever searching for things they cannot have, for things they can never find, in a place where they can never leave.
I walk for what feels like miles, putting my body through its own form of torture until I come upon what I’m searching for.
An adobe home alone in the middle of the vast desert.
I walk towards it, feeling the dark energy that emanates from it. It burns like fire yet does nothing to me as I step inside the threshold without knocking.
“King Kane,” a gritty voice says. “I knew you would come to me. Eventually.”
“Spell Weaver.”
The Spell Weaver is a creature made up entirely of skinny limbs. Sagging skin presses against disjointed bones with several legs and arms that jut out of a body like a human spider. Its face carries white eyes, no nose, and a mouth with rows of black teeth.
Its home is filled with trinkets, threads, and fabrics. Of stones and cogs and tools.
And dark magic.
Limbs twitch, making a cracking noise with each movement. The creature’s head turns in my direction, smiling with a mouth that opens half of its head.
“There are whispers through the valley that the Kings have found their Queen.” Again, that voice grates down my spine. “A joyous occasion.”
“I am not here because of that.”
“No?” There’s the hint of teasing in that voice.
“You are the master of spells.” I step deeper into the room. “You create Lorenzo’s demonic collection. You know every spell, every curse, and every cure to them.”
More cracking as the Spell Weaver twists its odd body in my direction. It seats itself closer to me and I do not flinch back.
I am a King of the Underworld.
It cannot harm me.
“You want to know why your Queen cannot touch you. Why it brings you pain.”
“So you know.”
