Page 95 of Lore of the Wicked Wood
Cold fingers gripped the back of her neck and she froze, panic rushing over her in crashing waves. Dark magic prodded at her mind, seeking entry. It assaulted her, pinning her in place, and her head snapped backward. Screams and pleas for mercy echoed in her ears, the sound of a thousand lost souls.She winced, squeezing her eyes shut, as a whimper escaped her and the pungent scent of ash and brimstone overwhelmed her senses.
“You mistake me,milazk.”Jarek kept his hand planted firmly in place, refusing to release her. He applied more pressure, until his fingers were bruising, forcing her to look up into his face where she finally saw the truth of his power. His eyes burned with the flames of an inferno and his flesh thinned to reveal the monster lurking beneath the disguise. A vile and wicked demon summoner. His evil grin sharpened and Everinne’s knees almost gave out from under her. “I am not asking.”
The chilling grip of Jarek’s fingers remained firmly clamped around the back of Everinne’s neck as he guided her out of the dressing room and into the dimly lit, shimmering halls beneath the Mystic Obscura. Instead of returning to the menagerie, however, it seemed as though he was taking her to another lower level altogether.
Gradually, the smooth corridor gave way to a damp tunnel of crumbling brick. The gleaming lights of bronze sconces were replaced with makeshift torches fastened to the walls, the flames of faerie fire burning a violent red. They descended a winding stairwell of uneven stone, each step taking her further into a convoluted maze of underground passages. The air was cool yet thick, like walking through a dense layer of fog in the Deszvila Forest, coating her skin like the touch of death.
Her magic pulsed through her veins, harbored yet restless, as though it was waiting for something. It was the first time in years Everinne could sense the monstrous power inside her awakenwithout being subjected to the turmoil of her emotions. For once she was calm, if not slightly unnerved, and though her deadly magic stirred to life, it did not riot or seek to escape her control. The darkness she possessed seemed to prowl, like it was on the hunt, and her fingers tingled in response. She coiled her hands into fists, taking in her increasingly daunting surroundings, and whispered words of pleading tranquility through her mind in an effort to quell the rising angst.
“Where is this afterparty, exactly?” she asked, her harsh whisper echoing off the cavernous walls surrounding them.
Jarek barely spared her a glance. “It’s in the Marzena.”
Everinne dug her heels into the stone and drew up short. “What?”
His answering chuckle did little to alleviate her growing dread. He looked over at her then, and the slashes of red firelight illuminated the sharp planes of his face, making him appear possessed. His sadistic smile reminded her of a story she’d heard as a child, about a bloodthirsty demon who used his charm to lure heedless maidens into the wicked woods of Prava, where he tempted them with promises of everlasting beauty and immortality if they swore to give their virtue to him. Some were willing, some were not, but he took them either way, claiming the young females as his own. It was said that during whatever carnal act he forced upon them, he sank his fangs into their breast and drained them of their blood. Once his spend was inside the maidens, their skin turned a charred crimson, their hair fell in stringy clumps, and they were doomed to wander the forest for an eternity as nothing more than the husk of a lost soul.
Zolvost, the Demon of Lust, is what everyone called him, and his creations weredeszlings.
The first time Everinne ever heard that story, she vowed to never give herself to a demon, no matter what promises they made.
Jarek applied more pressure to her neck, his nails biting against her soft flesh, urging her forward. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid?”
“I’m not afraid,” Everinne scoffed, forging her spine into steel. At least not of the Marzena. “I’m just wary.”
Because she knew if she ventured into the Marzena with him, she might not ever be found.
Zoryana had been there before a handful of times with her mother, Rozalie, and the accounts she’d given Everinne were both intriguing and frightening. The Marzena was filled with shops of the cryptic, a place where one could sell secrets in exchange for goods or wares both mystical and diabolic in nature. It was a market for the unfamiliar, the bizarre, and eccentric—not once had Everinne imagined it would also house taverns and parlors, but that was exactly what she discovered.
Doors were built into the side of archaic brick walls, some of them carved with runes or words in other languages Everinne couldn’t read or decipher. Panes of glass were crushed between cave openings and held in place with bronze bars. They were grimy and decorated with cobwebs, making it almost impossible to see what lay beyond the murky windows. Dozens of people loitered in the dank tunnels—witches, fae, and vampires alike—most of them smoking stigs, sipping drinks, and speaking in hushed tones. She felt their eyes latch onto her as she passed, appraising her like she was ripe for the picking, and despite her better judgment, she inched closer to Jarek’s side.
“Never been down here before, have you?” Jarek murmured, pausing in front of a nondescript door engraved with whorls and jagged runes.
“I can’t say I’ve ever had the need, it’s like a whole other…” Everinne’s voice trailed off as Jarek knocked on the door and the design of the runes glowed an ethereal blue color.
“World?” he suggested and pulled the door wide. “You could say that.”
His hand released her neck and moved to the small of her back, ushering her into a cramped alcove where wraith-like arms sifted in the shadows, reaching from the dank, arching walls to grab her. Phantom fingertips skimmed her hips and abdomen, the frozen tendrils curling around her throat and tangling in her hair. She smacked at them, panic building and bubbling inside her as the icy ribbons of death grabbed at her thighs.
“Keep walking.” Jarek nudged her toward a hollow exit where a glow of amber light flickered, as though it might sputter out at any moment. “If you stop moving, they’ll steal your soul.”
She snorted, her lip curling. “What, like you?”
“I don’t steal souls, Ever.” He snared her wrist and dragged her into the golden wash of amber light. “I sell them.”
Her mouth fell open in horror as he dragged her further into a room where the crush of bodies was overwhelming. Stagnant air tainted with the stench of mildew, sweat, and cheap alcohol assaulted her, caused her head to spin and her pulse to pound. There was music, but it was a low, dull thumping kind of sound, and could barely be heard over the cacophony of voices resonating up into the vaulted ceiling. A rickety bar was shoved against the far corner, made from uneven hardwood planks and a slab of black marble. Lanterns of cold iron swung overhead from rusty chains, and the lethal metallic odor sent a tremor of awareness skittering down her spine.
Not safe.The words blared in the back of her mind.
This place was not safe.
She needed to leave. Immediately.
But Jarek’s grip on her wrist was like a clamp of cold iron. Powerful and deadly.
Everywhere she looked, she was met with more of the same—people dressed in varying shades of black—some wore long dresses, others were in skin-tight pants and tops that barely covered their breasts. The males were in pants, many of them without shirts, their muscled bodies glinting with the sheen of sweat. They moved and swayed in tandem, shouting over one another as they lost themselves to the hypnotic beat of music she couldn’t quite hear.
“Drink up.” Jarek shoved a glass into her hands, and she frowned at the gold-colored substance.
