Page 48 of Witch Queen

Fear brought a sour taste to his mouth. It was happening more often now. He waited for the fire scorching his soul to abate, sweat dripping off his chin and splashing onto the warm stone with faint hisses.

Dammit all to Hell!

He couldn’t understand why Rose Blake’s soul fragment had gained a life of its own, nor how she was able to hurt him so.

Barquiel clenched his jaw, silently raging at his recent misfortunes and the malediction that was cast upon him when he was driven out of Heaven. One that meant he could not easily cast aside the body he had taken over.

He had to find Ran Soyun. Before what was left of Rose Blake won the battle being fought inside him.

Barquiel straightened and pressed a hand against the rock face to steady himself before heading slowly into the gloom.

* * *

Mae’s stomachchurned as she watched Armaros inspect the skeleton key she’d handed to him. A rabble of voices rose around them.

They were in a dining hall that took up half the basement of the castle. Brimstone and Vannog poked their heads into the extensive kitchen next to it, picking and choosing their menu for the night. The demons tending to the dozens of roasting pits and the multitude of bubbling vats didn’t seem to mind their presence, some even making shy suggestions.

“Hmm.” Armaros rubbed his chin, squinting at the indentations Hellreaver had made on the shank and the bit. “I see why this thing didn’t work.” He placed the key on the table. “Fixing it is pretty straightforward. But it was Azazel who imbued it with the necessary magic to make it do what it’s supposed to do.” The demon gave Mae a shrewd look. “Seeing as you’re his daughter, I hope you will be able to do the same.”

Mae’s pulse quickened. She held his gaze. “And Hellreaver?” She unhooked the pentagram pendant from around her neck and laid it carefully on the table. “Can he be fixed?”

An expectant silence fell around the table. Armaros picked up the cracked pieces she had fused together using her and Brimstone’s magic. The demon was quiet for some time, his brow furrowed while he ran his fingers expertly over the metal.

He raised his eyes to meet Mae’s. “It might be easier to forge you a new one.”

Mae’s throat tightened. “It wouldn’t be the same. It,” she stopped and swallowed convulsively, “—hewouldn’t be Hellreaver.”

Nikolai placed a hand atop her trembling fist.

“Can you fix the weapon or not, Armaros?” Astarte asked in an exasperated voice.

“Of course I can,” Armaros grunted. “I will need her magic to repair him though.”

A giddy feeling swept over Mae. “Oh.”

She blinked back tears and slumped in her chair. Brimstone shifted into his smaller form, returned to her side with a whimper, and leapt onto her lap.

Nikolai scowled at Armaros while Mae hugged the fox to her chest. “Why didn’t you say that in the first place?”

“I was testing her resolve.”

Alicia sighed. “She traveled to the Underworld to try and get him fixed. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with her resolve, you boor.”

“Azazel begged me to make this weapon for months,” Armaros protested. “I can’t just cave in to his daughter’s demand in a day.”

“We don’t have months, or even weeks,” Nikolai snapped. “My father may soon come into possession of the first Sorcerer King’s soul. If that happens, the world of magic will be screwed.”

Mae touched his arm lightly.

Armaros furrowed his brow. “Why should I care what happens to the world of magic?”

“Because we need that magic when we fight Satanael,” Astarte said. “Never mind what will happen to your precious city and all the others who have benefited from Azazel’s grace if he falls into a depression again.”

“Has the alcohol you’ve been guzzling finally addled your brain?” Alicia asked Armaros sourly.

Armaros glowered at the Reaper queen. “I don’t want to hear that from the woman who’s drunk half my wine cellar.”

They’d just started bickering when an enormous casserole slammed heavily on the table between them, making them jump and spilling the juices of the fragrant meat and vegetables sizzling inside it.

---