Page 36 of Chaos Carnival

“I know.” I glanced up at the moon peeking through the clouds. “The ritual needs moonlight. We have to hope these clouds roll off.” I squeezed his hand, my determination rising. “Let's get you stable. Then we can figure out how to deal with Baphomet and Lilith—and save Addie.”

“The old theater district.” Maverick pushed off the wall. “Stone mentioned a safehouse in the ruins. Warded.”

“Can you make it that far?”

“Watch me.” He flashed that infuriating grin, though sweat beaded on his forehead. “Unless you're offering to carry me?”

“In your dreams, feathers.”

“Every night, witch.”

I rolled my eyes, but kept my arm around him as we moved through the creeping night. The weight of the book pressed to my side, a constant reminder of what waited ahead.

“Wait.” Maverick jerked to a stop, nearly pulling us both down. “Fuck. The safehouse.”

“What about it?”

“Cross and Zara mentioned they're all compromised.” His jaw clenched.

Heat rushed to my face. “And you're just remembering this now? When we're halfway there?”

“Sorry, the lethal poison coursing through my body must be affecting my memory.” He slumped into me. “What's your excuse?”

I shoved him, gentler than I wanted to. “This isn't funny. We need somewhere private, warded, and moonlit in“—I checked my phone—“ninety minutes.”

“We could break into Notre Dame.” His hand slid lower on my hip. “Always wanted to defile a holy place.”

“Focus, you ass.” But I didn't move his hand. “Besides, it's crawling with tourists, even at night.”

“Hotel?”

“Too exposed. And the wards would take too long to set up.” The book quivered against my ribs, an impatient reminder. “What about the catacombs?”

“No moonlight.” His fingers traced patterns on my skin through my shirt. “Though I like where your head's at. Dark, private...”

“You're impossible.” I leaned closer, steadying him as he swayed. “And dying, in case you forgot.”

“Trust me, I haven't.” His breath ghosted my neck. “But if these are my last hours, I'm spending them appreciating the view.”

“They won't be your last hours if you help me think.” I pulled back enough to meet his eyes, trying to ignore how the poison had spread further. “There has to be somewhere in this city we can use.”

“Somewhere the hunters won't look.” His expression darkened. “Somewhere they wouldn't expect a seraph to go.”

I caught his meaning. “No. Absolutely not.”

“The Demon's Rest,” Maverick wheezed over my shoulder. “It’s on consecrated ground. Off Rue Saint-Jacques.”

“A demon motel? On consecrated ground?” My skin crawled at the thought. “That's—“

“Genius, actually.” He straightened, though his legs still shook. “Hunters would never check there. Holy ground masks seraphim energy, demon wards keep out everything else.”

I shifted his weight, trying to ignore how cold his skin felt. “And the fact that it's an abomination doesn't bother you?”

“Says the witch carrying a cursed book.” His fingers tightened on my hip. “Besides, demons make excellent innkeepers. Very accommodating.”

“If you're trying to make me feel better, you're failing.” But I was already steering us in that direction. The poison had reached his jaw now, dark veins creeping toward his temple.

As we turned down a narrow street, a clash of energies rolled over us, like oil and water, holy and unholy, refusing to mix. An old Gothic church rose before us, its stone walls blackened with age. Neon signs flickered in the windows where stained glass should have been.

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