The Descent Series, Books 1-3: Death's Hand, The Darkest Gate, and Dark Union (The Descent Series, Volume 1) (37 page)

“Who?” Elise asked. She had a lot of enemies, but none had bothered her since she killed Death’s Hand.

The Night Hag waved a hand. Thom stood and held out a photograph.

She didn’t reach to take it.

“Look. Look!” the overlord said impatiently. “Before I decide to kill you and have done with it! Don’t fear my witch. He’s muzzled and harmless.”

Harmless? She seriously doubted it.

Thom set the picture on the bedside table. Elise picked it up and turned it over. Cold, unfamiliar fear washed over her.

It had been taken at the house of someone rich. She could tell by the fancy windows, the furniture, the drapes. Judging by the odd angle and grainy quality, the subjects probably hadn’t known they were being photographed. But she recognized the men in the picture. They had aged, changed, and grown harder, but there was no mistaking the Southern gentleman and his French bodyguard. The last time she had seen them, Mr. Black’s home had been on fire. She had thought—had
hoped
—they had died after that.

“Fuck,” Elise muttered.

“I’m glad you see the issue.”

“Where was this taken?”

“At a home on the southwest side of town. He was conducting a deal with a woman who has been on my payroll for years. I don’t know what he wants to accomplish, but it can’t be good for anyone.”

Elise’s legs couldn’t seem to support her anymore. She sat down hard in the chair by the bed. But she kept her face blank and her hand steady as she set the photo on the table again.

So the vandalism of her office had been a message, but not from David Nicholas. She should have known he wasn’t subtle enough for that anyway. It had been a kind of greeting from Mr. Black—one calculated to remind her of shared animosity and debts owed.

It took her a moment to realize the Night Hag was talking again.

“Worried Mr. Black will kill that handsome aspis of yours? You should be. From what I’ve learned of your past deals, I’m sure he’s positioning his chess pieces to take your favorite pawn as we speak.”

Elise clenched her fists. She wasn’t a fan of that description. “We’ll take care of ourselves.”

“By hiding again, like you did for so many years? Where’s the fun in that?” She cackled. “Oh yes. I’m familiar with your history. Here is my offer: You may continue to live in the city. I will assign a protective detail to your aspis. And we’ll kill Mr. Black together.”

“James would never go for that. He hates demons.”

“He doesn’t have to know, does he?”

Elise studied the overlord with a frown. “What’s the catch?”

“During the duration of our agreement, you’ll be my employee, and contractually bound to do errands for me—which may include things around Craven’s and my other businesses, as needed—until such a time that Mr. Black is out of the picture and life returns to its usual equilibrium.”

“What kind of errands?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“Can I refuse?”

“Certainly,” said the Night Hag. Left unspoken was the condition of that refusal: the termination of their tenuous, momentary truce.

“I want to think about it.”

The Night Hag waved a dismissive hand. “Fine. Go. Call me when you’re ready to cooperate. But don’t take long—we’ll have to move fast to stop a man like Mr. Black.” She smirked. “Hopefully he hasn’t already killed all your friends, hmm? What a shame that would be.”

She snapped her fingers again. David Nicholas reappeared, and he didn’t look as fleshy and strong as he had earlier. His hair was thinner, his skin was papery, and he had to grab the wall to keep standing.

“You bitch!”

She was surprised to see his insult aimed at the Night Hag instead of her. The overlord wasn’t impressed.

“Take the kopis back to the surface. Give her my direct number. We’ll be seeing each other again soon—very soon.”

Elise stood. “I wouldn’t be sure of that.”

But the Night Hag only smiled in response.

IV

“W
hat are you
doing in here?”

Anthony jumped at the sound of Betty’s voice, tripped on a pair of shoes, and almost fell over. “Betty!”

She grinned broadly at him. His cousin’s hair was pulled into pigtails, which might have made her devilish grin disarming if Anthony hadn’t known her too well for that. “You look awfully guilty,” she said, propping her shoulder against the doorway. She wore a bikini and had a book tucked under her arm like she was ready for the beach. “What did I catch you doing?”

He snatched his shirt off Elise’s dresser and hugged it protectively to his chest. “Nothing.”

“You know, Elise is very private. She would hate to find out you were in here.” Betty gave an exaggerated sigh. “Fortunately, she never has to know… if I don’t tell her. But why would I want to do that?”

“I’m not the only one in her room while she’s out of the house. What are
you
up to? I left the door shut, and there’s no way you saw me come in.”

“Don’t try to change the subject. I could waterboard you.” She jiggled the water bottle.

“I’m doing laundry, so I was picking up clothes I forgot here. Okay? Laundry is perfectly innocent.”

“So there’s nothing seditious going on? Too bad. I’m not up to anything innocent, for the record.” Betty pushed past him. “In case you were worrying about that.”

She set her things on the floor and got on all fours to peek under the bed. He gaped at her. “What…?”

Betty emerged with a shoebox, but she looked disappointed to find nothing but knives in it. She pushed it back under the mattress. “You’ve spent lots of long, sweaty hours in here. Have you seen anything belonging to James?”

“What? What are you doing?”

She flung open Elise’s closet and started digging. Only the professional outfits were hung neatly; all the casual clothes were piled on the floor. Betty dove into the piles first. “I’m looking for magic. Well, okay, I’m looking for spells. James won’t let me see his secret stuff. He says I’m not a powerful enough witch to control that kind of magic.” She huffed as she sat back on her heels. “Of
course
I’m not powerful enough yet! He won’t let me practice!”

Anthony was torn. He didn’t like to think of Elise’s reaction if she found them riffling through her room, but he also didn’t like James, and the idea of defying him was too appealing. “You don’t want anything dangerous, do you?”

Betty’s eyes became wide circles. “Dangerous? Me?”

She might as well have tattooed her forehead with “full of shit.”

“All right,” he said. She squealed.

He opened Elise’s desk drawers. Her files were more organized than her closet, and a quick scan showed him she wasn’t hiding anything there.

“What would it look like?”

“I don’t think James would give her his Book of Shadows, so I’m thinking it would be a collection of loose pages with funny symbols. I know she keeps some for him as backup.”

“Like this?” He pulled a spiral notebook out of Elise’s underwear drawer.

“Ooh!”

He watched over Betty’s shoulder as she flipped through it. It was nonsense to him. “What is it?”

“Paper magic. You know, that thing James does where he performs a ritual, and captures it on a page? He’s got tons of these at his house. He showed it to the coven last month. But he won’t share his secrets.” She ran her hand down a page. “These ones aren’t activated. This isn’t enough. I need instructions or something.”

Anthony edged toward the window and peeked at the street. “Maybe we should put it back. Elise will notice it’s missing, and it wouldn’t be hard to guess who took it.”

She ripped out a few pages and tucked them in her paperback before restoring the notebook to the drawer. Then she plucked something red and stringy out of the dresser. “Hello there, sexy undies. I never would have pegged Elise as the lacy thong type.”

He snatched it out of Betty’s hand.

“I hope you’re not going to get in trouble with the paper magic,” he said, stuffing the underwear back where it belonged.

Her responding grin wasn’t reassuring. But how much damage could she do with a few sheets torn from a notebook?

The doorbell rang.

Anthony jumped and slammed the dresser shut. Betty laughed. “Relax. Elise just walks in, you big dummy.”

Cheeks red, he answered the door.

There was a basket on the step, and no signs of a delivery truck. “You’ve got something, Betty.”

“Who’s it from?”

He poked around the tissue paper. “No idea. I don’t see a card.”

Betty set it on the counter and removed everything. There was a bottle of wine, some cheese, and a jewelry box inside. She opened it.

Inside, a delicate silver crucifix pendant was nestled on a bed of cotton. It was plainer than anything she liked to wear, and too religious. “I don’t think this is from one of my boyfriends. It must be something Elise ordered.”

Anthony dug through the filling, but there was nothing left to find. “Huh. Whatever. I better start my laundry if I want to have something to wear at work.” Betty was already searching the drawers for a bottle opener and didn’t say goodbye. The pages from the notebook stuck out of her paperback.

He headed back to his apartment, feeling pretty certain he had just helped Betty get into a lot of trouble. But then again, what else was new?

B
y the time
Elise got home from visiting the Night Hag, Betty was sunbathing in the front yard of their duplex. She had stretched out on a checkerboard blanket in an obscenely small bikini, waving a fan in one hand and cradling a paperback in the other.

“Take off your shirt and get down here, Elise! I’ve saved you some blanket space. And half of this wine.” She lifted the bottle and jiggled it.

Elise couldn’t find the energy to force a smile. “Maybe later.”

All the blinds were closed inside their duplex to shade it from the harsh afternoon sunlight, but it was still nowhere near as dark as the mines below Craven’s. Her mood was blackest of all.

She stood in the middle of her living room, looking around at all the things that made it home. Betty had hung a print of a scared cat done in the style of Andy Warhol’s Marilyn Monroe portrait, eye shadow and all, over their dining room table. The coffee table was covered in research papers. Empty jugs of protein powder were repurposed as flower pots. And then she tried to imagine leaving it behind and running again.

No. She wouldn’t do it.

There was a basket on the counter she didn’t recognize. Betty had already ransacked it. Elise cracked the blinds for a little extra light, then picked through the remains.

All that was in it was a small wheel of cheese and a jewelry box, although there was enough room for a bottle of wine, too. Must have been from one of Betty’s boyfriends. Elise could watch her sunbathing through the window like they were on a Florida beach, rather than a high-density downtown neighborhood.

She opened the jewelry box. Elise gasped and dropped it in the sink.

That was her necklace. It belonged to her mother, once upon a time. But the chain had snapped during a fight, and she lost it—at Mr. Black’s house.

The wine.

She ran outside.

“Changed your mind?” Betty asked, using the book to shade her face from the harsh summer sunlight.

Elise took the bottle from the grass and sniffed its mouth. It was peppery, rich, and woody, with a smoky odor that wasn’t typical of wine. She wiped a finger along the edge and tasted it.

Grapes took on the flavor of their environment. The air, the soil, and the amount of sun could have subtle effects on an entire year’s harvest. It wasn’t common for a vineyard to produce wine after most of it burned, but that one had, and the grapes had taken on the flavor of a fire.

She checked the year on the label. It was from 1999.

“Kind of a weird taste, huh?” Betty asked. “But I like it. Maybe we can go check out the vineyard later. I know you and James love wine tastings, you great big drunkards.” Elise marched to the curb and dumped the wine in the gutter. “Wait—wait, what are you doing? Stop!”

She smashed the bottle on the street.

Betty ran over, all her bare parts jiggling in the bikini. She ripped off her sunglasses to gape at the wine mixing with runoff from a garden hose two units down.

“Have you gone nuts?”

Elise scanned the street, positioning herself between Betty and the rest of the world. “If you get any other packages, don’t open them.”

“That was perfectly good wine!”

She recognized all the cars. A neighbor washed his truck down the street with the help of his ten year old son. A pair of teenagers sat on the corner looking hot and bored. Everything seemed ordinary enough, but there were too many hiding places. Too many houses with closed curtains, too many bushes and trees.

“Get inside,” Elise said.

The confusion drained from Betty’s face. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“Don’t argue.”

Her roommate’s mouth shut. She grabbed her blanket and fan and carried everything into the duplex.

The wine dribbled into the sewer. Bitter anger rose in Elise’s throat.

The gift of her mother’s necklace could only mean one thing.

This was war.

V

I
f James were
to list “signs of impending apocalypse” from least worrisome to most, he would rank mundane things at the bottom—scrambled eggs, golden retriever puppies, a topiary in the shape of a dinosaur—and move up from there to slightly more worrying indicators. Earthquakes. Locusts. Raining blood. Dead cows.

Finding nine missed calls from Elise might not have been at the top of the list, but it was close. Perhaps directly below “death of all firstborn children in the nation.”

He hadn’t moved the power cord for his phone to Stephanie’s house yet, so when his battery died, he couldn’t recharge it. When he finally plugged it in his car to find a single terse text message from Elise (“Get back to the studio”), his stress levels shot through the roof. She had a way of doing that to him.

Twilight was falling when James arrived. Dry heat hung in the air, barely any cooler than it had been at midday. The pavement caught the heat and radiated it long after the sun disappeared behind the mountains. Leaving the air conditioned confines of his car was almost suffocating.