Page 112 of Last Gift: Supernatural Battle

“I shouldn’t have doubted the power of the Mother’s healing to help me,” I answered.

Corey was on Wild’s other side. “You guys were sending out some serious love during the healing. Everyone could feel it. Big-hug energy, guys.”

He left, linen pants swishing with every step.

“I’m glad Sven left before he heard that,” Wild mused.

Positive Patrick was back. “Must be weird to have known yourself one way, then need to discover who you are all over again.”

Wild kissed my hand. “You and Corey share that, my love.”

“I need to find the time. Believe me, I want to know myself better. My magic, and Ryzika’s relics too.” My demon had only just returned to me, though, so maybe I couldn’t have gotten to know my new self any earlier.

“You’ll get there. Once everyone settles into training and we feel more prepared, you’ll find the time.”

Wild was far more optimistic than I on that front.

The following hours of small talk, food, and drink weren’t as horrible as I’d expected. The coven had taken to the group healing well, and those who’d doubted Varden’s new push appeared convinced after experiencing it for themselves.

The drinking had ramped up, though not to usual levels—everyone was still sorely aware of the threat surrounding us and didn’t want to make themselves vulnerable.

“The sentries just switched?” I asked Wild as a group appeared in the meadow and set about completing their own group healing.

“Yes, and that’s my cue,” he said. “Are you sticking around tonight?”

Part of me wanted to, and part of me wanted to keep my distance and lick my wounds. Wild’s hand in mine had made tonight bearable. “I’m going to head in.”

I watched him walk away, then started my round of goodbyes for the evening. Rooke was waving off a drink from the laughing Sven. Corey was dancing with a magus about twenty years older than him. Interesting.

Huxley was with Spyne across the meadow. They looked miserable. In part because of me. Or mostly. I kept getting between them, and I really hoped Huxley didn’t come to blame me in time.

I walked up the slope and entered the caves. As soon as I descended the few steps at the entrance, the smell of smoke hit me.

Something was burning. I picked up my pace, and soon the smoke was visible where it clung to the roof of the tunnels. Shit. I broke into a run, and a sick feeling settled in my gut as I entered the set of smaller lanes that led to my quarters. Whatever was burning was in my esteemed rooms.

The demon gate was there.

But the alarm hadn’t gone off. Why hadn’t the alarm gone off?

I lifted the sentry pendant to my lips, panting, “Wild, possible fire at the inside demon gate.”

His sentries should already be there. Why hadn’t they raised the alarm? We’d come this far without losing any coven members.

What if I was about to enter a room filled with slaughtered magus? What if they’d been dragged to the demon realm, and we never saw them again?

And as I skidded into the room, I saw that the sentries were in the room. Alive.

“Thank fuck,” I gasped.

Only then did I realize that all of them were staring at the wall, and not the one with the demon gate.

They stared at the walls where my quipu hung. My burning quipu.

No.

The piece was done for; even I could tell that at first glance. Bits of it were falling to the stone floor. Horror drove me to my knees, and the smack of my kneecaps on the hard ground didn’t hurt me through the numbness overtaking every bit of me.

My quipu was burning. My hours and hours and hours of time entering details. All the information we needed to give us an advantage.

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