Page 120 of Gemini Wicked

Anyway.

Zephyr’s crouched over that open book like a feral animal.

Lucius pads across to peer deferentially over his shoulder. Zara grips my hand to draw me with her and pushes up against Zephyr’s other side to look too. The Unseelie slips an absent arm around her little waist that makes me so happy, because those two need to touch more and interact more, until Zara forgives him for ghosting her.

Even V edges his combat boots casually to one side to get a peek at the book that’s getting all this attention.

“Is this an Unseelie spellbook or what?” Zara looks up at Zephyr with her pretty eyes all round. “Cuz I can’t read it.”

“’Tis written in Ancient Fae,” Zephyr says, clearly distracted, one finger gliding over the esoteric-looking glyphs and sigils inscribed in a rusty red ink that’s all faded and flaking. “If you wish to read the Old Tongue, I’ll teach you.”

“Merciful Christ,” Lucius murmurs, sounding deeply intrigued. “Is that volume… a demonology?”

“Yes.” Zephyr leans in to peer at a faded line of text. “Written in mortal blood and bound in mortal skin.”

“Eeeew.” Zara recoils from the thing and from Zephyr with a shiver, and I swallow a quiet sigh of regret. So much for those two kissing and making up. “What the fuck, Your Radiance?”

The whole time we’ve been parked here, Ronin’s been pretending to check out the orrery while Max paces the room like, well, a chained dragon. Now Ronin curses and swings over the brass rail to drop lithely from the viewing platform to the floor. He and Max both converge rapidly at the desk and crowd in close to get a look.

Vasili lowers his combat boots to the floor and leans over to see too.

Zephyr adjusts his eyepatch with a slight grimace like the thing bothers him, which it probably does. I’ve literally never seen him without it, he’s probably self-conscious about the disfigurement. Now he presses the tips of his fingers to the bridge of his narrow nose and squeezes.

“If Ash is not in his accustomed place,” the Dark Fae sighs, “that assuredly means my enemy must have him. I think perhaps ’tis time and more to speak to you of my cousin Mordred. He is the one whose brother’s head I buried in your garden.”

Yikes.

“Is that what you did with it? You buried that head in my garden?” I squeak like a mouse, which isn’t a great sound for me. I clear my throat and dial it down an octave. “Um, no offense, Zephyr, but I hope you didn’t bury it with the veggies. We eat from that garden.”

“What kind of primitive do you take me for?” He lowers his hand and spares me a short exasperated look.

“Don’t answer that,” Ronin mutters to the room in general.

“If you must know,” Zephyr says stiffly, “I interred him under the rose trellis in your domus courtyard, which is more honor than he deserves.”

“Dez’s roses.” Ronin hovers behind him and looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “She’s been whingeing they’re not thriving. They’ll probably grow like bonkers now.”

“I think we’re all getting off topic,” Zara mutters, peering warily over the Dark Fae’s shoulder at the book. “You were talking about your cousin, uh, Mordred, right? Geez, I know you said before that he’s demonic. But I didn’t think you meant that shit, like, literally. I mean, you’re not a demon yourself, right?”

“Of course not. He’s merely a second cousin once removed,” Zephyr says repressively. “Our bond of kinship is not close. But, yes, Mordred is half-Unseelie and half-demon. When he is not making my life hellish here in Avalon or tormenting those foolish mortals in your realm who dare to summon him, he resides in the demonical plane. Wherever he resides, if I wish to compel him to speak with me, then I too must summon him.”

Whoa.

Actual, old-fashioned demon-summoning.

I didn’t even know demons were a real thing.

Under normal circumstances, the Dark Fae King isn’t exactly forthcoming. He’s actually kinda taciturn. But when he isn’t all clammed up, he’s really worth listening to.

For example, there’s so much information packed in that last reveal he just uncovered I don’t even know where to start digging.

“Are you really going to summon Mordred from the demonical plane like Beelzebub?” I venture, peering at the book. “Is that even safe? I mean, even with chanting and candles and a pentagram, like that one right here in this book, for protection?”

Everyone pushes in closer to see what I’m pointing at.

We’re all staring down in varying degrees of horror and fascination at the page blazoned with an inverted pentagram (apparently drawn in human blood on a skin page, which is really awful all on its own) when a sudden breeze from the open stained-glass door behind the desk brushes my skin.

At the exact same moment, a fresh whiff of ocean air and citrus hits my nose.

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