Page 184 of Cherish

He needs medical attention. We all need medical attention, but that’s not really an option right now. Not when we have to figure out how to get out of this prison all over again.

On the plus side, the cell door is wide open, so we’re not entirelyprisoners. But we’re not on the bottom level where we can just walk right out, either. At least not if the rules of this hellhole still apply, and I’m pretty sure that they do. Charon doesn’t strike me as the type to like change, and neither does the Crone, who built this nightmare.

This whole damn paranormal world seems to have trouble with change. Not to mention a million different rules for a million different things that no one actually wants to tell you about. At the moment, I’m pretty pissed at the Bloodletter for her very abbreviated instructions about the whole Bittersweet Tree thing. I’m not saying shehadto tell us the dew didn’t come from the billion giant beehives, but a mention of the bees would have been nice. Or at least the bear. Something, anything to prepare us for what we just went through.

But nope.

Not even the Curator volunteered useful information—justCelestials are not to be trifled with.Understatement of the fucking millennium.

She blithely sent us on our way with an artsy vial and hoped we survived. Or maybe she didn’t. Who knows with gods?

All I know is that if someone who doesn’t have a clue what she’s doing comes to little old demigod me and asks for help with a problem, I’m going to make it my mission to be as clear as possible. No obscure hints, no long-winded half stories that leave out the most important parts, no wave and “good luck” before I send her on her naive fucking way. Just straightforward answers that help them do what needs to be done. And, at the veryleast, I’m going to mention a billion Celestial bees and a goddamn Celestialbear.

I take a deep breath. My grandmother and Iwillbe having words later.

But for now, I’m just glad we’re okay. We survivedandwe got the Celestial Dew. Everything is going to be okay now. Mekhi is going to be okay.

Flint coughs, then groans immediately because the pain is too bad. And I just sit here, next to Hudson, trying to figure out what to do. How to get my friends and myself medical attention.

I know paranormals heal fast, especially vampires and shifters, but I’m not sure they’ll heal fast enough. Not with the kind of injuries they have. And even if they are able to heal themselves, it doesn’t help the rest of us.

So what the hell do I do?

Just wait here until some of us are feeling well enough to fight our way past Charon’s little gauntlet? But if we do that, we risk getting slotted into the Chamber, and no one here can handle that right now. Not to mention the fact that Mekhi’s time has dwindled from days into what I hope is hours and not minutes.

“We need to get out of here,” Hudson tells me, like he’s reading my mind.

“I know,” I answer. “I just don’t have a clue how to make that happen. We can’t even walk.”

He nods, then lowers his head back to the floor, like holding it up is taking too much effort. And I get more freaked out than ever. If Flint and Hudson are too weak to so much as sit up, how the hell am I going to get the rest of our friends up and out of here before something terrible happens?

But before I can so much as getmyselfup, much less my friends, a tinny, rhythmic clinking comes from the passageway that runs in front of the cells on this floor, as if someone is clinking a key against the metal bars.

It’s an ominous sound—one that has the hair on the back of my neck standing up. Even before I realize that it’s not a key that’s clinking but a ring. A ring that is currently on the finger of none other than the Crone.

101

I Have a Crone

to Pick with You

Fear slices through me as she walks into the cell like she owns the place—which, technically, I guess she does. Normally, I’m more than willing to go head-to-head with the Crone, but right now I’m not in any shape to match wits with her. None of us are.

Still, I struggle to my feet. If I’m going to have to deal with this woman, I’m going to do it standing up. Anything else seems like admitting defeat before even entering the battlefield.

It doesn’t help my nerves that the tattoo on my forearm has suddenly blazed to life. I’ve been dreading this moment, but I have to say, it never occurred to me that it would happen in the middle of a damn prison after everyone I love has been beaten all to hell beside me. Then again, she always has been one to press her advantage.

“Well, Grace, I never thought I’d see you back here,” she says as she looks around Remy’s cell at all of my friends spread out on the ground. “Though I do feel like a hospital might be more in order than a prison cell.”

Jaxon tries to sit up to face her and ends up collapsing with a pained groan, the back of his arm draped over his eyes.

“Actually, so do I,” I answer. “We’re planning on heading straight over there as soon as we can.”

“A little late for that, isn’t it? You’re—”

Macy whimpers as she tries to move, an anguished cry that echoes off the cell’s metal walls.

The Crone curls her lip as she turns to her. “Do you really need to do that here?”

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