Page 30 of Samhain Savior
In fact, Phips had known the Everwood coven quite well, he and had been devastated when he’d told us the trials had ended their family line.
Looking back at things with this new perspective, I wondered if Phips had truly mourned the coven, or if it had all been an act. Had he helped to hide the last of the Everwood witches, even from theUmbra Fratrum? From me?
These were questions I’d likely never have answers to, and that grated on my nerves.
I was getting very fucking tired of always being in the dark.
“And what else did your Heidi tell you about Father Phips?” I went on, meeting Corson’s eyes over her head. He was scowling, but at me, not her. Ignoring his scrutiny, I moved my gaze back to Delilah.
She sighed, squeezing the pendant in her fist before she replaced it back inside her dress.
“She told me that he was a protector, someone who had worked his entire existence to complete his mission, and that if I was ever in trouble, I was to go to him.”
“Mission? And what mission was that?” It seemed crazy to me, Phips working with witches and having some sort of goal that was unknown to the rest of the Brotherhood. Even if witches and demons had once been allies, they weren’t now. The likelihood of them working together again seemed infinitesimally small. Even if Phips wasn’t a true demon, he’d been a member of our organization, which meant his loyalty should have lain with us.
And yet, hadn’t I just seen for myself? A man I had thought I’d known, a Guardian, had apparently been working for centuries to preserve a bloodline we’d all been told had been exterminated. If the letter didn’t prove that, his tattoo certainly did.
Not to mention very existence of the beguiling little witch standing before me.
Delilah sighed, looking weary. Staring at her, her shoulders rounded and her eyes sunken, I could see that the woman was exhausted, dead on her feet.
But I didn’t waver; she had the answers I needed, so rest would have to wait.
“Protect the Fallen Key.”
“Please,” I scoffed, shaking my head. “Of course that was his mission. That’s what Guardians do. Protect infernal artifacts. They have for centuries.”
“Yes, the Guardians protect the physical pieces of the key, sure. But Phips was doing so much more than that.”
“You’re talking in circles, witch,” I said, my voice low. “And my patience is wearing thin. Either you speak plainly and tell me what you know or I’ll cut out your tongue. You’ll struggle to spew your lies and half truths then, won’t you.”
If I expected her to cower, I was mistaken. If anything, Delilah faced my threats with more determination, her chin lifting and her eyes locked on mine.
Her defiance I expected; she was a stubborn witch, after all.
But what I really didn’t expect was the way my men would move to stand between us.
The shift in the energy of the room was palpable, like a calm before a storm. Vine ceased his rummaging through the refrigerator, stepping away from the kitchen and moving toward Delilah in a way that pissed me off. Corson faced me, his large body squaring up as if to take me on, arms uncrossed and hands loose by his sides, a mountain ready for an avalanche.
Even Mal, who I had assumed was ignoring all of us as he stood on the patio, was suddenly back inside, bringing with him the chill of the autumn air and the weight of judgment in his coal-black eyes.
I clenched my teeth, my body tensing as I once again fought against the change, the thin veneer that kept my demon form at bay feeling as fragile as an eggshell in the face of my men siding with a witch over me.
“Archer,” Corson rumbled, palms raised to show me he was no threat as he eyed my gathering shadows.
But hewasa threat. They all were.
“Speak, witch! The Order of the Broken Veil is hunting the pieces of the Fallen Key. The Everwood line has apparently survived all this time, and Phips was keeping it from us? Samhain approaches. The Veil thins. You must tell me what you know!”
Delilah sighed, bone-deep fatigue etched in every line of her body. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, shoulders slumping like a wilting flower; even the shadow collar at her throat appeared crestfallen, seeming to droop against her skin even as it kept up its loving strokes and touches.
But beneath that exhaustion I could see her steel-like resolve. The determination within her to meet my challenges head on evident in the set of her jaw and stubborn lift of her chin.
“He was protecting mortal access to Hell.”
No one spoke. No one even breathed.
Because what she said was next to fucking impossible.
