Page 86 of Blood

I tighten my grip around my bow almost imperceptibly as I struggle to modulate my breathing. This plan hinges on me keeping a level head during this very important gathering.

We’re meeting the monster council at an abandoned warehouse a few miles away from Hell’s most famous doorway—Hell, Michigan. According to Violet, she was no longer able to visit the council at the Field Museum.

“I was banned for inappropriate...comments,” she confessed, wincing. “And maybe even a little bit of propositioning. Just a little, itty-bitty bit.”

After Violet texted the White Stag, he agreed to assemble the council at one of their secondary locations, which just so happens to be within walking distance of Hell’s portal.

Now, we stand in front of the doorway of the huge, corrugated-iron warehouse as I attempt to fight in vain against the rage fogging my mind. The moon has just come out from behind a cloud, and it lights up the night sky brilliantly. It illuminates the warehouse and the hideous face of the monster who serves as the receptionist.

I’m dimly aware of Violet batting her lashes and asking if she can visit the council. I’m also aware of the receptionist snapping, “No visitors allowed today. Come back tomorrow,” and Barret happily saying, “Kay,” before turning away. Violet grabs the waistband of his sweatpants to stop him from going too far.

I know all of that is happening, but it’s as if I’m watching it from the other side of a soundproof box. Can’t anyone hear the scream that’s leaving my lips?

I feel adrift—a dandelion seed in the wind, unsure of when or where I’ll fall next.

How does anyone deal with this pain?

Is there a cure for the gaping wound where my heart once was?

Darkness encroaches the edges of my vision, and I feel myself drifting into the blissful abyss of my rage. How easy it would be to rip off this monster’s head with my bare hands and hack off his limbs with a rusty chainsaw...

Violet places a hand on my arm, and the rage recedes.

I take a deep breath.

I’m walking inside the warehouse before my brain can catch up. I seem to be moving on autopilot, my brain nothing but a pile of mush.

One step.

Two steps.

Three steps.

A needle drives itself into my heart as I force myself to hold on to my rage, force myself to push it back so it won’t impede our mission. I’m a selfish bastard, even I can admit that, but nothing’s more important to me than Violet and Barret. I’ll never do anything to hurt either of them.

So, I keep my anger to myself as I move to stand in the center of the room, directly in front of the monsters who may or may not have destroyed my life.

According to Violet, the two monsters I don’t know are named Spidey and Pan. The middle one is the White Stag. And the last two are, obviously, Frankenstein and Dorian Gray. I’ve seen Frankenstein around more than once during the Roaring, and Dorian Gray is the spitting image of his son, though both are significantly less handsome than me.

“Violet.” The White Stag’s baritone voice echoes all around us. It seems to bounce off the walls and nestle itself in the hollow of my bones. “Thank you for coming today.”

Violet dips her head respectfully. “Thank you as well. I’ve come to discuss the upcoming battle with you all.”

“Foolish child.” Spidey’s white lips curl into a snarl, and a furry tarantula crawls out of her open mouth and settles on her cheek. “You have no proof that anything is even amiss. You can’t expect us to—”

“Cal?” Violet says simply, cutting Spidey off in mid-rant. She turns toward me with an eyebrow raised, and reality abruptly reasserts itself.

I take a deep breath to control the rage pounding through me and then remove an arrow from the case on my back.

“He has a weapon!” Pan bellows, jumping to his feet.

He may be fast, but I’m faster.

Before any of the monsters can even think to attack, I shoot my arrows at them, one after another, hitting them all squarely in the shoulder. As Violet said, we can’t kill them. Not yet. Not until we know the truth about their allegiance.

So, we did the second-best thing—tipped my arrows with a modified version of the truth potion Frankie created.

Spidey gasps and clutches a hand to her shoulder, where black blood oozes from the wound. There almost appears to be shapes withering in the strange goo, like spiders trapped inside of tar.

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