Page 21 of Samhain Savior
“I am not a member of the Order,” I said, shaking my head at his ignorance. “And I’m not refusing to open it out of some twisted act of impudence, either.” Nodding to the item in his hand, I added. “It’s a blood lock. The only one who can open it is the one who sealed it. Or,” I added thoughtfully. “The one who it was sealedfor. This one wasn’t sealed for me.”
Archer frowned again, his forehead creasing in frustration as he ran his fingers over the circle and flame carved at the center of the box, smearing the drop of my blood around as he considered my words.
“Phips,” he whispered, and if I wasn’t mistaken, there was sadness in his tone.
“Tough to get help from a dead man, boss,” Vine said, not unkindly.
Watching them, I realized that these men really did have a bond, the kind of relationship I’d only ever really had with Heidi.
A sharp pang of grief washed over me, so intense it felt like a physical blow. Watching these demons interact, seeing the loyalty and affection beneath their harsh exterior, reminded me of everything I'd lost. Heidi had been my anchor, my protector, my only family. She'd died protecting me, and here I was, captured by the very creatures she'd spent her life running from.
But as I watched Archer's expression soften when he spoke Phips's name, I couldn't help but wonder if everything I'd been taught about demons was entirely true. The pain in his voice was real—I could hear it, feel it somehow. These weren't mindless monsters. They were... complicated.
“Tough,” he agreed, looking at his crew. “But not impossible. Come.” Rebuttoning his cuffs, Archer took his jacket back from Mal before sliding the relic into an inside pocket and turning to me. “Looks like you’ve received a stay of execution, witch. But don’t push your luck.”
With those words, he waved his arm, opening a hole in the middle of nowhere, and I gasped in shock. Before me, the dank tunnel was gone, replaced by a wall of clean white tile. I stared, trying to make sense of what I was seeing, mythoughts tumbling over each other like leaves in the wind, crashing and colliding before darting off again.
“Let’s go.” Archer’s words were sharp as he grasped my arm through my cloak, hauling me toward the hole, my mind too confused to even voice a protest.
Before I could even process what was happening, the world tilted sideways. The sensation was unlike anything I'd ever experienced—like being pulled through thick, cold water while falling through endless darkness. My stomach lurched, and for a terrifying moment, I couldn't tell which way was up.
Time seemed to stretch and compress simultaneously. I caught glimpses of impossible things in the darkness—distant lights that might have been stars or souls, whispered voices in languages I didn't recognize, the feeling of vast spaces and ancient powers watching our passage.
Then, suddenly, we were through, tumbling onto solid ground in a place I didn't recognize. My witchlight was gone, extinguished by whatever force powered Archer's magic, leaving us in comparative darkness. I groaned, trying to regain my bearings while fighting the urge to vomit from the disorienting journey.
Behind me, the strange hole closed with a quiet pop, closing off any access back to the tunnels. Wherever he’d taken me, there was no going back now.
Chapter nine
Archer
The second we were through the shadow gate I released her, watching as she stumbled a few steps, her disorientation clear. Shadow travel was not for the weak, and even as I stared at her, heaving for breath with her hands pressed against her temples, a part of me ached to reach for her. To comfort her while the dizziness passed.
I didn’t understand it.
She was a witch of the Order. I should be ripping her throat out and letting Vine feast on her soul.
Instead, I kept my body turned just enough so that I could see her in my periphery, not wanting her out of my sight.
To keep her from slipping away, I assured myself.
Right. That was believable.
“Where are we?” she asked, her face pale as she stared around the darkened, sterile looking room. The far wall was filled with a row of stainless-steel beds, each one containing a drain at one end. The opposite wall housed over a dozen drawers, their shiny surfaces reflecting the faces of four surly demons and one confused witch back at me.
“The New York County morgue,” I muttered, moving slowly toward the rows of drawers. One by one, I read the names, pausing when I landed on the one I was looking for.
Father William Phips.
Grasping the cold steel handle, I unlatched the door and slid the drawer out, staring down at the pale, lifeless face of my friend with something akin to sadness burning in my chest.
I’d known William for over three centuries, but I hadn’t spoken to him in person for close to fifty years. Not out of any kind of malice, but simply because I’d thought I’d have time.
He was supposed to have been immortal. We were supposed to havetime.
“Is that him?” came a soft whisper from beside me, and I glanced down into the wide eyes of the witch. She crept up next to me, looking both cautious and curious, huddled as she was in her thick cloak, and onceagain, the need to comfort her rose within me. She looked so fragile, so out of place, a thing out of time in this modern medical setting, and every instinct inside me was screaming that she needed my protection.
But standing next to my dead friend, I couldn’t allow myself to feel anything but rage.
