Page 54 of Witch Queen

“—every time we recall that war,” Ilmon said between gritted teeth, “we remember?—”

“—that asshole’s smug face,” Astarte finished with an almighty scowl. “At least Uriel and the others had the decency to look remorseful.”

“That bastard just smiled.” Ilmon’s pupils flared scarlet. “Just thinking about him makes me want to punch a wall.”

The ground trembled at the demonic energy that blasted from the Incubus king. Vlad tried to calm his father.

“How about we change the subject?” Mae said hastily when Armaros twisted around and glowered at them.

Vannog stirred in his sleep.

CHAPTERNINETEEN

They spentthe night listening to Astarte and Ilmon’s tales of their adventures in the strange new realm they’d found themselves in, all those millennia past. Of how two distinct factions soon formed in the Underworld. The first led by Satanael, the one who had guided them to their downfall, and the second headed initially by Azazel and now by Astarte.

Shock reverberated through Mae when the Goddess revealed that the first hellbeasts who ever walked the Underworld were once divine creatures and humans beloved by the angels who fell from Heaven and were cast into Hell with them.

She couldn’t help but glance at Brimstone and wonder if he too had been a divine beast in his past life. The fox stayed quiet, his eyes closed and his tail brushing softly against her arm.

Ilmon described how the fiends and monsters born in the Underworld, those who had never experienced life in Heaven, turned into brutal savages who only knew how to pillage and kill. And why the Leaders of the Grigori and the fallen angels they led decided to educate and take under their wing as many of these demons as they could.

“Every living thing needs a purpose,” the Incubus king had said quietly. “We decided ours was to attempt to create a civilization down here. Somewhere those who had fallen victim to our dark fate could build a life for themselves and the new families they created, finding purpose until the time of our final Judgment.”

Mae’s heart pounded listening to Astarte and Ilmon share stories of the epic battles that had been fought in the Underworld without mankind’s knowledge. Of otherworldly disasters that had nearly wiped out the human race on many an occasion. Of wars that would have led to the End of Days so many feared had Azazel and the Leaders of the Grigori not managed to foil them.

It was Uriel’s descendants, the Immortals, who had helped mitigate the impact of those catastrophes on Earth. They too had been unaware until recently of the divine hand that had often guided their actions.

Surprise jolted Mae when Astarte revealed how she came to meet the son of the archangel who had commanded the divine army that had banished her and the Grigori to Hell.

“I knew you were enemies but I hadn’t realized he was trying to stop you from opening a gate to Hell.”

The Goddess made a face. “Yes, well, I’m not exactly proud of that aspect of my history.” Her expression turned distant as she gazed at the mist swirling above the distant peaks and forests emerging from the gloom. “Artemus and his friends chose to show me mercy after the contract I made with one of Satanael’s henchmen ended and my purpose for standing in their path was as good as gone. I returned to Hell mistress of my own fate once more and sought out Armaros, Ilmon, and the rest to tell them all I had learned while I lived in the shadows of Satanael’s council. When one of my spies told me the fallen angel who sired Artemus’s twin brother Drake was scheming to drag him to the Underworld, I waited for him to fall to Hell and rescued him before his father could get his hands on him.”

“So, that’s how Artemus ended up coming here?” Mae mumbled.

“Yes.”

Bright spots blinked into life high above as the glowworms roaming the roof and walls of the giant cavern awoke, casting the pale light of what stood for dawn in Hell across the valley. The castle was stirring when Armaros’s hammer finally fell silent.

“It is done.”

Mae’s chest tightened, her unblinking gaze swinging to the anvil he loomed over.

Armaros wiped sweat from his brow and stared proudly at what he had spent the night making. A puzzled expression danced in the demon’s eyes. “I must admit, he came together faster than I thought he would.”

Mae climbed to her feet and rushed over with Brimstone, Nikolai following. The pentagram pendant lay still on the dark block, metal dull and unmoving.

“Hell?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Her heart twisted when the weapon failed to respond.

Brimstone whimpered in her arms. Na Ri’s anxiety throbbed through her soul.

They couldn’t feel anything from the pendant. Not a spark of demonic energy or even a hint of the thousand fiends who inhabited it.

“Don’t lose hope yet,” Armaros grunted at Mae’s distraught expression. “He still needs some finishing touches.”

Mae tried not to appear dejected. Nikolai put a comforting hand around her shoulders and led her away. She forced herself to have breakfast with him and the others, her stomach in knots as she stole glances at the forge where Armaros ground, filed, and polished the pendant.

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