Page 38 of Forgotten Monsters
“The mists reveal the true nature of people. Always.” Rose shrugs off her long trench coat and offers it to Mallory. The demon wraps the black jacket around her frame. “Funny how both of you forgot to mention we had a demon in our midst…”
Blood heats my face and ears, but Barron only shrugs in response.
Shadows create a black, living force around him that absorbs all light, and he sticks out like a sore thumb in the white, silvery space. “Someone’s already here.”
Without warning, vines sprout from the ground and twist around our ankles and legs. I let out a high-pitched scream.
“Fuck, it’s a trap,” Mallory yelps, wrestling the sentient roots at her feet.
Thunder rumbles in my palms, but the stream of power only excites them, and the ones I manage to snap off are quickly replaced by sturdier ones. They snake up to my midriff, immobilizing me.
“Don’t fight them. It’ll only make it worse,” Rose says.
Lightning sparks off my skin and blackens a few twigs.
A longer, nasty-looking ivy slithers in my direction. The grope-y plant crawls along the skin of my arms, encircles my wrists, and binds them behind my back.
A slender, familiar silhouette stalks through the mist, and my heart pulses in my throat. A long white mane flows around the newcomer’s face.
Now, I know what it feels like to look at the face of your mistakes. Sweat gathers at my temples, and my stomach churns. A heated wave of nausea threatens to floor me.
The only thing that sets this woman apart from Miss Eillis is her gaze. It’s sharper, and full of secrets. Other than that, she’s an exact copy of the woman I murdered. Her long, layered green gown is impervious to the silver water at our feet, and a long matching scarf covers her shoulders.
Deveraux wiggles in her restraints. “Thea.”
“Rose…” The breathless name reverberates through the air, the surprise on the woman’s face bordering on anguish. “You shouldn’t have come.”
“I had to.”
The plants around Deveraux’s ankles retreat, and she trembles as Thea pulls her into a bone-crushing hug. Despite her somber greeting, this clone of Elsbeth Eillis looks awfully happy to see her, and they linger in the embrace for a long, long time.
My throat itches.
Mallory plays with her fingers.
Beth’s doppelgänger observes us over Deveraux’s shoulder. “I’m Amalthea. I guard the gates to Nether Realms, a place as sacred as my people. As long as you are on my lands, you will surrender your powers. Do you agree?”
We all nod.
The woman stomps one foot on the ground. Tiny fireflies of magic glide along my arms and pool in my wrists. The warm, orange light forms shackles on my wrists, and the familiar itch of a binding spell scratches my spine.
Amalthea squints at Mallory. “You were cursed.”
Barron steps off the surface of the fluid mirror and onto white sand. “Can you do something about it?”
The graceful, eerie unicorn clutches the long skirt of her dress and motions us along. “Come. My house is close by. We can talk there.”
She guides us to a small cottage right on the beach. A string of white columns stretch along the covered porch. Mist hugs the garbled roof where a bronze rooster weathervane totters from side to side, the house literally covered in clouds, and I wonder if it’s really there, or merely a dream.
A man slams open the door. “Peanut?”
My heart swells. “Dad!”
My father wrenches me in his bone-crushing embrace on Amalthea’s porch. “Is it really you? Or is the magic of this place strong enough to turn ghosts into flesh.”
His old-fashioned ensemble makes him look like a period-piece hero, his usual black jacket and red cape nowhere to be found. He also shaved his gray beard off, the polished look taking years off his face—or is it the magic of this place?
“It’s really her,” Thea confirms.
