Page 31 of What Is Dark Within Me

Aleja hadn’t expected so detailed an answer. She shifted her weight, uncomfortable with the intensity of Nicolas’s gaze. “And what about the next war?”

“More complicated,” he said. “The First is reasonable, but she has been somewhat absent these past centuries. In the vacuum of power, a new leader emerged among them. And that leader decided she didn’t want to share resources with us anymore.”

“Resources?” she asked.

“What do you think Otherlanders eat? What do we breathe? How do we live so long that we may as well be immortal?”

She’d read plenty of books about Otherlanders in her family’s library, but even the most scholarly texts placed a lot of weight on the ineffable nature of magic. Aleja shrugged.

“I make my bargains because the power of a magical transaction generates energy. That energy keeps the Hiding Place from collapsing. Every time a human lights a candle for one of the Dark Saints, they arefeedingthem. In return, the Dark Saints grant blessings and I fulfill wishes. Even this sword,” Nicolas said, gesturing to the weapon on his back, “was forged for the Knowing One by the first human to master enchantments under his tutelage. It’s a symbiotic relationship, just as it has been from the first time the Second invited witches to his sabbath and taught them how to manipulate the world to their will.

“And the Astraelis?” she asked.

“Have a very different philosophy than we do,” he said, expression darkening. “I’ll explain more later. Come on, let’s find out what these bones are hiding.”

The doors opened with a rumble. Aleja wanted a last look at the carvings, to see if she could find some hidden signature, some hint of the artist, but Nicolas was already ushering her through. Something else to add to the ever-expanding list of grievances she held against him. A list that had recently, and without notice, been partially erased and started anew.

Fool. Don’t let your guard down, said the voice.

This was like no throne room she’d seen in her books. It was circular, for one thing—something that didn’t seem possible considering the angular, nonsensical arrangement of the hallways. It was also a surprisingly sparse area, when every other room she’d seen was as filled with art as it could be, with barely a hint of burgundy wallpaper peeking through.

“This chamber isn’t used much,” Nicolas said, waving away dust disturbed by their footfall. Motes danced in a spear of light coming from the round window overhead. The ceiling reminded her of the Pantheon—the ancient temple-turned-cathedral in Rome that Aleja always told herself she’d one day watch the dawn in.

Light reflected off a large pentagram inlaid into the floor in red marble. The stone was so brilliantly colored, it looked as if it could burn through the soles of her still-bare feet. Candelabras on the surrounding pillars roared to life with a pop as the flames burned through the dust on their wicks. If shadows reacted to his presence in the human world, here, it seemed as if they were his subjects, eager to either please or cower from him. Aleja couldn’t tell which.

The thrones were obscured while the brilliant light was focused at the room’s center, but she could see their backs were shaped like bat wings with wicked claws at each tip.

“There are two,” she noted. “Do you have a queen or something?”

His eyes flashed as he turned to her, and she nearly stepped back. At first, she thought it was anger on his face, but as the candlelight shifted, she realized he looked… stricken. Yikes, Aleja thought. Seems like a touchy subject.

“We can speak of it another time. Here, take this.” He reached into his inner pocket and emerged with the Unholy Relic in its gold and glass container.

“Go on, take it,” he said again when she didn’t move. “It’s simple magic for an Otherlander. I’ll walk you through it.”

“Why can’t you do it? You have more experience,” she muttered. Even when she’d practiced with Paola and Violet, Aleja had been a perfectly competent witch and nothing more.

“You have half my power plus the power granted to you by the bargain.”

Think about it, said her voice.

“Wait. So, am I technically more powerful than you right now?”

“Yes. By an ounce, so don’t look so pleased with yourself.”

He said it so easily, so casually, that Aleja’s brain almost glossed over the answer. That was impossible. She had flunked her way out of college—for an art history major, she’d like to point out. And lately, she had only defined herself in relation to Violet. Even the armchair detectives who scoured through every detail of Violet’s life had deemed Aleja so unimportant she rarely got emails from them anymore.

“Listen,” Nicolas said. “These aren’t mere bones. We call them Remnants. There will be traces of magic embedded in any remaining biological matter. If we can access them, we’ll be able to see where they’ve been, much like a scrying mirror that can look into the past.”

“Hold on. Is something alive in there?”

“Partially, but you’ll be fine. I’ll be watching the entire time,” Nicolas said. Her gaze snapped to his, but not because the words had been harsh. It was the opposite. He spoke nearly as gently as Aleja’s grandmother had as she’d wound their fingers together, the smell of flowers and old-fashioned perfume filling the air.

That wasn’t right. She didn’t want his kindness. Because he was using her just as she was using him.

Good. Don’t forget that.

She took the relic, remembering what Catalina had said about Violet’s dreams. Violet was somewhere cold and dark and alone, and Aleja held the means to find her, right here in her palm. “Okay,” she breathed. “Tell me what to do.”

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