Page 25 of What Is Dark Within Me

“I told you. Nicolas has a flair for drama, but in truth, the name is apt. This is a place for outcasts, for outsiders. You’re safe here.”

She could be lying, Aleja told herself, shoving a chunk of bread into her mouth. It wasperfect. Crusty on the outside and wonderfully soft on the inside, with a generous amount of butter. She nearly moaned. Aleja hadn’t eaten anything besides one of Garm’s hard-boiled eggs since… whenever that had been.

“How did I get here?” she asked, aware her mouth was full and not particularly caring.

“Nic brought you. You were pretty battered when he carried you in.”

“And who are you? To him, I mean. Why are you here?” Aleja said. She remembered the horrible sickness that spread through her when she and Nicolas were separated. He must be close, or she would feel it now.

Bonnie pressed her index finger against her full upper lip, as if she was trying to determine the best way to answer. “Considering your family history, I figured you would have guessed by now. I’m one of the Dark Saints. Bounty, specifically.”

Aleja tried to swallow before she was ready, and the piece of roast in her mouth nearly choked her. The Dark Saints. The Knowing One’s wicked servants. Personifications of humankind’s most awful and vicious traits.

“Bounty?” Aleja whispered, because she felt too dumbfounded to say anything else. She certainly hadn’t expected the beautiful, full-figured woman picking at another potato to confess she was one of the Otherlanders magicians were warned against calling. But it was almost impossible to fear Bonnie when she smeared a dollop of brie onto a slice of bread and shoved it in Aleja’s direction.

“You must try this cheese. It’s so good. Nic brings it back from France whenever he visits. And yes, Bounty, but we don’t call each other by our titles—we’re a weird little family, but not that weird.” She scrunched her nose. “If you want to be technical, not to mentionrude, about it, there are those in your realm who would think me an aspect of Gluttony.”

“Like the deadly sin?”

“Say those words around here and you’ll get some side-eye glances, friend. There is nothing sinful about enjoying food, nor the pleasure of sharing a meal with others.”

Garm burst back into the room at these words, as if he’d been waiting for the moment Aleja might be most inclined to offer a bit of the roast. He raised his head as much as he could, sniffing wildly at the tablecloth, before he said, “Oh good. You’re feeling better. Nic has something to show you. He says you should come downstairs when you’re done eating. Is that theFrenchbrie, Bonnie?”

Bonnie smeared another large dollop onto a piece of bread and tossed it in the air for Garm to catch. “Good boy,” she purred. “Why don’t I take you for a walk? Our friend has business with the boss. Finish eating first. Nic can wait. His office isn’t far. Just go down the stairs and find the door with the stained-glass window.”

Bonnie paused, biting her lip. “I wanted to let you know that it’s good to have you here.”

Aleja stood up, intending to plead with Bonnie to say more, but she was already rushing out the door with Garm playfully snapping at her heels. Aleja listened to their footsteps fade and realized this house—or mansion, castle, whatever the hell it was—didn’t creak. There was no sound of water rushing through pipes or a rickety fan clicking at intervals.

Instead, there was a low hum, something she could feel more than hear. Her family’s power had diminished by the time a young Paola brought a Ouija board to her room and insisted they try a seance, but Aleja recognized the thrum of magic. The books told her it was as good as electricity in some realms—pervasive and unseen, but upon which the entire world relied.

The thought of having to see Nicolas again made her pause as she reached the doorway and examined the opulent hall. Sure, he might have saved her twice now, but it was difficult to feel gratitude for someone who’d murdered your family.

“All right, no problem,” she told herself. “Just going to take a little stroll through the Knowing One’s torture palace.”

Maybe I’ll finally get to see a sex dungeon, after all, she thought.

The plush carpet tickled the soles of her feet and she realized she’d forgotten to put her shoes back on. She spotted a set of stairs a few yards away, but slowed to examine the paintings lining the walls. Most were scenes from mythology. A Greek god reaching for a woman whose arms were turning into branches. A centaur at the head of a hunting party.

The paintings were unfamiliar, but there was something about the brushstrokes, the careful lighting of each figure and face, that made her flip through the enormous art history textbook in her mind.

What caught her eye most was an image of Persephone plucking a pomegranate from a tree, her hand stained with a red juice resembling blood. Aleja’s breath caught in her throat. So fine was the brushwork, so delicate the lines of Persephone’s hand and the curve of her cheek. The goddess wore a complicated expression; something that stood at the center of hope, hunger, and uncertainty. At this point in the story, she did not yet know she was condemning herself to half a life in the underworld.

The second door down the hall had a stained glass inset window, just as Bonnie had described. Aleja recognized the meaning of the simple, five-petaled rose it depicted. ‘Sub rosa’. Beneath the rose. A signal that whatever was said behind this door was understood to be a secret.

“See? That art history degree was worth it,” she murmured, listening for voices before she knocked.

The door swung open and a man she didn’t recognize appeared in the frame. She stumbled back at the sight of his chest, then forced her eyes to move up until she found a face towering over hers. Staring into his eyes was like looking down a long, pitch-black hall. Like Nicolas, his face was unnaturally beautiful with a pale diagonal scar cutting across his rich, dark skin. She barely registered his leather armor, but the two axes jutting over his shoulder were harder to miss.

“Sorry,” he muttered, gaze darting to the side after the moment of eye contact. “The wards muffle sound. I didn’t realize you were standing there.”

“Um,” Aleja said and stopped there.

“Sorry. Again. I’ll be going. It’s good to meet you,” he stammered. He took a small step forward, as if Aleja was a wild bird that might be scared off at the slightest movement.

“Wait. Good to meet me?” she called, but he was already halfway down the hall, moving at a trot. She wished she’d asked Garm to stay. He might like to breathe in her face, beg for food, andbe a hellhound, but at least he was predictable.

“Alejandra? Come in and close the door behind you.”

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