Page 53 of Terror at the Gates

Those who commune with spirits commune with demons.The archbishop preached on it often, always wanting to be very clear about what made the Elohai different from witches. Mainly, it was blood. Elohai were gifted magic from God, while witches learned magic by studying craft created by demonic forces.

I’d always wanted to know who these demonic forces were. Where had they sourced the knowledge that allowed everyday people to harness magic if not from God?

I’d never asked those questions though. By that time, I had decided the consequences of questioning the church weren’t worth the punishment.

Zahariev chuckled. I guessed he was amused by my interest in the occult. I blushed, both embarrassed and disappointed that he’d been joking. I crossed my arms over my chest, suddenly cold.

“Your old man give you the talk?” he asked.

“The talk?”

“Who’s your friend, who’s not,” he said. As he spoke, smoke poured from his mouth.

My eyes widened a little. “How did you know?”

His smile didn’t waver. “It’s a rite of passage,” he said. “Ten bucks says I’m not on his list.”

I hesitated, and his smile widened. He didn’t need an answer from me.

I rubbed my arms. “It’s stupid,” I said. “I don’t want fake friends.”

“Then don’t make them,” he said.

I have to, I wanted to say. It wasn’t a suggestion; it was an order. But I stopped myself. “You said you had the same talk? Was I on your father’s list?”

Zahariev dropped his cigarette, grinding it into the earth with his foot. He took a few steps toward me. At the time, holding his gaze as he approached had been the bravest thing I’d ever done.

“Yeah,” he said. “You were on a list.Untouchable.”

***

I’d taken Zahariev’s advice.

I didn’t make fake friends, which was why I had none at all until I came to Nineveh, the only place in the whole of Eden where anyone wasreal.

I replied to Gabriel, Esther, and Coco, letting them know I was okay, before heading into the kitchen. I filled a glass with water and downed it before filling it again and taking it into the bathroom where I popped a handful of pain meds into my mouth and turned on the faucet. When the water was hot, I showered.

I thought I would feel better, and I did physically, but Icouldn’t shake the awareness of that fucking blade. I could feel its presence even stashed away in the top of my bedside drawer. Its magic reached for me, curling around my body like the cold, clammy body of a snake. It made me feel stretched thin, like if I didn’t take hold of it, I would never be whole again. It was a trick. For whatever reason, it wanted me back in that desert.

I had to get rid of it, and I was going to put it in a place where no one would ever find it.

Freshly showered, I got dressed in dark jeans, a black tank, and my favorite leather jacket, which hid the gun I kept clipped at my waist. I went into Coco’s room and searched through her closet until I found what I was looking for: a small backpack she used to carry. I wrapped the dagger in the same shirt I’d used to pick it up last night and put it in the bag. As I shouldered it, it felt heavier than I expected.

I realized it sounded a little absurd, but I thought it knew my intentions. I was further convinced as I headed out into the night, pausing on the top step. For the briefest moment, a sense of dread overwhelmed me. The night felt…off, but then it was Sunday, and Nineveh always felt different on Sunday. The crits were gone, having returned to their respective districts, leaving behind a quiet stillness.

It unnerved me, and I almost turned around, but that was what the blade wanted. Its weight had the opposite effect it intended, reminding me I had a greater task ahead. Getting rid of this blade was more important, more pressing than the unfavorable feeling of the night’s energy, so I sucked it up and headed down Sinners’ Row, which was alight with flashing neon, beckoning in colorful hues of pink, purple, and blue. Few would answer the call tonight and even fewer tomorrow.

Still, Coco worked.

If the girls weren’t dancing for customers, they were dancing for Hassenaah.

I might have known what that was like if I hadn’t hit my fucking head, and I might not have hit my head if it hadn’t been for this fucking blade.

I tightened my hold on the straps of the backpack. It wasn’t unusual to be robbed on these streets. The locals typically targeted crits, but I wasn’t about to let my guard down.

That’s when you become prey, got it?I heard Zahariev’s voice in my head, felt his fist in my hair. That was how he’d driven the point home the last time I’d been mugged.

It was probably the hottest thing that had ever happened between us, but I had also understood the warning. From then on, I’d been much more aware of my surroundings and how I carried my belongings. I hadn’t been robbed since, and I wouldn’t be tonight, especially when I was on my way to rid myself of this fucking blade.

---