The Wicked In Me

Maxim ushered them into an office not far away from the parlor. Wynter glanced around the room. It was clean, masculine, and spacious. A little soulless, though, since it lacked any personal touches. The wood-paneled walls matched the hardwood flooring and sturdy office desk. Filing cabinets lined the wall. Above them were shelves on which folders and books were neatly stacked side by side.

Maxim took the chair behind the desk. “I don’t need background information, but I do need your forenames. Surnames aren’t required.”

Xavier cleared his throat. “It is good to meet you,” he said in a thick French accent. “I am Andre.”

Wynter sighed. “No, you’re not. Nor are you French.”

He only chuckled, the weirdo.

“You’ll have to excuse Xavier; he means nothing by it,” Hattie said to Maxim, hunching her shoulders and shuffling forward, playing the frail card hard. Of course, Maxim fell for it and was quick to help her into a seat, unaware that she ogled his ass and blew it a kiss when he turned away. “I’m Hattie,” she added. “By the way, I found out what anil—”

“Okay, so this here is Delilah,” Wynter quickly cut in. “And over there is Anabel. I’m Wynter.”

Back in his seat, Maxim scribbled down the names. “You have a choice to make. You can live on the surface of the town, or you can live in the underground city among the Ancients.”

Wynter frowned. “People don’t have to, like, earn their way down there somehow?”

“No, that’s not how it works. Where you’ll reside is simply a matter of preference.”

Huh. Well, how about that. “What’s it like down there?”

His brow smoothed out, and a hint of warmth entered his eyes. “Like nothing you’ll have ever seen before. It’s no more peaceful than it is up here, though.”

Maybe not, but being below ground would be extra security. If anyone from Aeon came looking for some sign of Wynter, they’d never get down there to check. The rest of the crew must have had the same thought, because they all voted for living in the subterranean city.

“To be clear, there are no apartment buildings down there,” said Maxim. “There are only houses, and no one has a house to themselves. There are dwellings with enough rooms to accommodate you all, however. Most were extended so that covens and packs etc. could stick together.”

“Good, we’d want to share a place anyway,” said Delilah. “We’d all especially want to live with Wynter. Being away from our Priestess makes us uncomfortable.”

Wynter shot her a hard look. “Woman, I swear if you don’t stop this shit I will cut you.”

Grinning, Delilah totally ignored that and slapped one of her damn business cards on the desk. “The Bloodrose Coven at your service,” she told Maxim.

For fuck’s sake.

His brow creased, he thanked her and placed the card in a drawer. “Now …” He opened a thick-ass file that seemed to hold records of some sort. “If I remember rightly, there are two houses in the city vacant that are large enough to accommodate five people,” he said, leafing through the pages before landing on a particular one. “Yes, there are, in fact, two. The problem is … they’re both vacant for a reason.”

Wynter folded her arms. “Which is?”

“Mostly, it’s about their location.” Bracing his elbows on the desk, he interlinked his fingers. “Like calls to like, so vampires gravitate toward vampires, mages gravitate toward mages, etc., etc. Nests and conclaves and so on have formed. It’s only natural. Some species prefer to congregate in the same area. Several courts of fey, for instance, can share territory with no issue. But other species, such as lycans or were-beasts, do not do so well with living very close to other packs. They don’t wish to share their turf with their own kind.”

Understanding how territorial those particular species were, Wynter nodded.

“The first empty residence is actually in a very peaceful neighborhood. The problem? You would be the only people in it who are not fey. And while fey can live among each other peacefully, they tend to drive out other types of preternatural using just about any means necessary.

“As for the other residence … that house plus both the front and back yards are the only slices of territory that separates two packs of lycans. Every other home on that particular street is occupied by them. And these two packs argue frequently. There’s usually no physical fighting, merely bickering. But it can get loud and tedious, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

Delilah frowned. “Neither house sounds like a winner. But, personally, I’d rather deal with childish lycans than the damn fey.”

Hattie hummed in agreement. “Fey are tricksters right down to the bone.”

“They’ll pull all kinds of shit in their efforts to drive us out,” said Xavier.

Wynter looked at Anabel, who was doodling circles on her inner elbow with her fingertip. “What about you, Anabel? Fey, or lycans?”

“I’ll go with lycans,” she replied. “Statistically speaking, they’re less likely to kill us.”

Barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Wynter turned back to Maxim. “We’ll go with the latter option, then.”

“I’m not surprised,” he said. “Few like to live among the fey unless they are fey themselves. Now, nobody is required to pay rent or bills, but they are required to buy their own food and possessions. To adequately support your coven, I would say that at least two of you will need to work.”

Hattie let out a self-depreciating laugh. “I don’t think my frail old bones could take another day of work.”

Wynter snorted. There wasn’t a damn thing wrong with Hattie’s bones or any other part of her. The woman would probably outlive them all. But Maxim, totally sucked in by Hattie’s act, gave her a gentle smile and assured her that her coven would no doubt support her decision.

Delilah looked at Wynter and rolled her eyes.

“There are various job openings in both the town and the city,” said Maxim. “If any of you struggle to find employment, however, let me know and I’ll see what I can do. Sometimes shop owners are willing to let people purchase something in trade, but most prefer cash.”

Wynter twisted her mouth. “I don’t suppose you have a blacksmith’s shop, do you?”

He blinked. “We have several, actually. There’s a smithy who could use an extra set of hands, but he probably wouldn’t hire you because he likes to be able to moan that he and his assistant are overworked. They call him Grouch for a reason.”

“I could at least ask him, right?” said Wynter. “If he says no, he says no.”

“There’s no harm in it. I’ll point out where the shop is when we’re beneath the town. Don’t be surprised or take it personally if Grouch turns you away.”

Pausing, Maxim tapped his fingers on the desk. “Now for the rules you’ll live by as long as you reside in Devil’s Cradle. It’s not a long, complicated list. Most of it is pure common sense. No stealing, no assault, no breaking and entering, no stepping into the home of an Ancient unless you’re invited. People are allowed to challenge other residents to duels, but there will be no fights to the death unless it has been first cleared by the Ancient by whom they were marked. Except for in instances of self-defense, murder is the one thing that is not tolerated unless approval has been granted. Is that understood?”

Each of them nodded.

“Excellent. I’m sure you have general questions. I can answer them while I escort you to your new home. First, are there any bags or other possessions that you need to retrieve from your car?”

“Yes,” replied Wynter. “What do I do with the car?”

He pushed to his feet. “I will drive it to the vehicle storage warehouse for you later. In case you’re wondering where that is, it’s the warehouse closest to the river. You can access it any time.” He crossed to the filing cabinet and, after a quick rummage through it, pulled out several sets of keys. “For your new home,” he explained as he gave them each a set. “Now for your bags …”

After they’d grabbed their luggage from the trunk, Wynter handed him her car keys so he could later drive it to the storage unit. They then followed him back into the manor, through the long halls, and over to a door near the office. He opened said door, revealing a large elevator. It had glass walls, but all you could presently see out of them was the elevator shaft.

They all stepped inside, and Maxim hit the down button.

As the elevator smoothly descended, she found herself wondering if the entrance to the underworld at Aeon was similar. No one ever spoke of it with those who hadn’t been ‘chosen’ to live beneath the town. The Aeons acted like there was something sacred about the simple downward journey from the surface. Wynter had never particularly understood it.

She blinked as they descended out of the shaft. Glancing out of the glass wall of the still-moving elevator, she felt her mouth drop open as she took in the view. Holy shit. The place was huge. So much bigger than she’d expected. It seemed to go on for miles, in fact.

It was nothing like the surface. No, this place was very much a modernized medieval city. There were timber-framed houses with wattle walls, cottages with thatched rooves, whimsical rustic dwellings, and enchanting towers. Some homes seemed to have been built into hills—you could just make out the windows and doors. Many had a real fairy-tale feel.

She could also see a number of small castles scattered around the city that were spaced well apart. More, beautiful canals interweaved through the city, Venice-style. Beyond all the buildings and the well-kept park were forests, rivers, mounds, and caverns.

“Well, fuck me,” breathed Hattie, making Xavier snicker.

“The artificial moonlight is created by the Ancients’ power, as you’ve probably guessed,” said Maxim as Wynter glanced up at the cavernous ceiling and the aqua-blue stalactites that hung from it. “During the daytime, it’s artificial sunlight.”

Delilah looked at him. “Are the Ancients really weakened by sunlight? It’s a theory floating around.”

“There are many theories about the Ancients,” Maxim replied carefully. “Few are accurate.”

Finally, the elevator came to a stop inside a stone tower. There was no ping. The doors merely glided open. They all stepped out and headed for the exit in front of them.

“There’s little technology here,” Maxim went on. “No internet or Wi-Fi. No cell phones or computers.”

Outside, Wynter chuckled as a cool wind ruffled her hair. “Artificial breezes, huh?”

“Yes,” replied Maxim. “There’s even snow at Christmas. The sunlight gives off warmth. On some days, the temperature is reasonably high. On other days, it’s cooler. But it’s never too hot or too cold. You’ll hear sound effects at times. Birds chirping. Owls hooting. Even thunder, though a storm never follows. You’re wondering how all that is possible. The short answer? Power.”

God, this was so cool.

They walked along cobbled paths, bypassing residents, most of whom moved with purpose as they carried things back and forth. Some were hanging greeneries on the front of their homes.

“The place is busier than usual because everyone’s getting ready for the festivities,” said Maxim.

“What festivities?” asked Hattie.

“Ancients can enter a coma-like Rest for centuries at a time, if they so please,” said Maxim. “One recently woke from a long one. Ishtar. It’s tradition for the waking of an Ancient to be honored by the other Ancients. Each will throw some sort of celebration for her at some point in the next month. The first will take place in two evenings’ time. All residents will be invited.”

“Are any other Ancients currently Resting?” asked Xavier.

Maxim dipped his chin as he replied, “One. Inanna. She’s Ishtar’s sister.”

They fell silent as they turned a corner. Again, people were striding purposefully around. Most gave Wynter and her crew the side-eye. She didn’t react. She was too busy taking everything in. It was honestly like walking through a fairy-tale book. She internally squealed in delight on seeing an actual gingerbread house.

“I noticed there are no cars down here,” said Hattie. “I’m guessing people walk or use the canal boats.”

His eyes on the crowd outside a tavern up ahead, Maxim nodded. “Some also go by horseback, but the horses are used more for recreational activities than for travel.”

Admiring the stained-glass windows of a house that had the look of a cute little country hideout, Wynter asked, “Where do the Ancients live?”

“Each has their own small Keep,” replied Maxim.

Delilah frowned. “Keep? You’re talking about the small castles that are spread around the city?”

“Yes.” Maxim paused as bursts of riotous laughter came out of the tavern’s open windows. “The Ancients don’t live alone. Their own personal hirelings reside with them.”

Hattie looked up at Maxim. “Do you live at Cain’s Keep, then?”

“Yes. I’m one of his aides. He has several.” Maxim gave each of them a pointed look. “As I said before, you must never attempt to walk into a Keep unless you’re invited. The baileys outside them, however, are open to everyone.”

“Okay,” said Delilah. “So, we’ve met Cain. What are the other Ancients like?”

Maxim hesitated. “Azazel is like Cain in some ways—hard, commanding, a predator in every respect. He is not quite as serious, though. Azazel smirks often, as if he knows something you don’t … but if you look close enough, you will see that he’s not as entertained as he is removed.

“I’ve never met Inanna—she went to sleep three hundred years ago. I’ve heard she is as beautiful as Ishtar, who does not seem to be the most tolerant of people from what I have so far observed. Lilith is equally beautiful and surprisingly not vain about it.

“Dantalion—who, as with Azazel, mythology mistakenly claims is a demon—is more solitary than the other Ancients and seems to prefer his own company.

“Last but not least is Seth, Cain’s younger brother. He is softer than the others. Smiles and laughs more.”

Pausing, Maxim pointed to a castle not so far away. “That’s Cain’s Keep.” He told them a little about it but quickly rounded up the conversation when he stopped outside a charming cottage that boasted angular lattice windows, a thatched roof, a heavy wooden door, and looked like some kind of magical retreat. “Here’s your new home.”

Wynter felt a smile build inside her. Oh, this would do her just nicely. It was gorgeous.

“If Grouch does grant you a position, Wynter, you won’t be far from your place of work,” said Maxim. “His blacksmith’s shop is located in Cain’s bailey.”

So the cottage was both fantastical and conveniently located. Fabulous.

Once they’d headed up the path, Wynter used her new key to unlock the front door. It scraped the floor as she pushed it open. Walking inside the living area, she found herself charmed all over again. Curved walls. Wooden beams. Arched, brick fireplace. Columns that were in fact tree trunks. After everyone placed their luggage on the floor near the front door, they began exploring.

Delilah oohed and aahed in the living area while Hattie shuffled into the country-style kitchen to check it out. Xavier and Anabel raced upstairs, wanting first dibs on the bedrooms.

Maxim assured Wynter he’d return her car keys to her soon, wished her a goodnight, and then left.

Delilah turned to her, beaming. “How amazing is this place? Can you believe we live here? I mean, I would have been good with any home—I’m tired of sleeping in our car or motels. But … we actually live here.”

Hattie padded back into the living room, the frail-old-woman act firmly gone. “That kitchen is mine, girls. Let it be known that I will cut a bitch up if anyone uses that room without cleaning up after themselves.”

Delilah snickered, saluting her. “We hear you, Gangster Granny.”

Hattie sniffed. “Now someone needs to get the tins of soup out of my bag before my stomach eats itself.”

After they’d eaten a light dinner, they wandered around the cottage, exploring every nook and cranny. The place was a lot bigger than it looked from the outside, mostly due to the extension at the rear of the property. Hattie claimed the downstairs bedroom, saying her ‘bad back’ couldn’t handle the stairs. Anabel called dibs on the attic, so the three main bedrooms were left to Wynter, Delilah, and Xavier.

Wynter’s room overlooked the cozy backyard. Like the other bedrooms, it was pretty basic, but it was also bright and clean. A simple lamp sat on the nightstand that was the same cherrywood as the drawers and triple wardrobe. Bare shelves lined the cream walls. Bulky square pillows were perched on the upholstered corner chair. The double bed had a simple white coverlet and pillow cases, and it called her name big time.

There was also an adjoined bathroom, but as there were no towels she’d have to skip the shower. She was way too tired to unpack, so Wynter only pulled three things from her duffel before plonking it on the floor—a tank top, a pair of shorts, and the sword that was tucked comfortably in its sheath. Once in her pjs, she carefully placed the sword in the closet … which was roundabout the time Delilah came into the room with a burning bundle of herbs.

“I won’t be able to sleep until the entire cottage has been cleansed,” said Delilah, gently waving smoke into the air. “I want all the negative energy gone.”

Wynter said nothing as the woman did her thing. She knew that Delilah would cleanse every room, every corner, every cupboard, every closet door. “I’d offer to bless the thresholds of the house, but I’m guessing you beat me to it.”

“You guessed right. Hattie swept away all the cobwebs, dust, and leaves. I tell ya, that woman has more brooms than she does clothes.” A few minutes later, Delilah announced that she was done, adding, “Sweet dreams, Priestess.”

Wynter sighed. “Is there no way at all to make you stop?”

“None whatsoever.” Delilah shot her a bright smile and breezed out of the room.

Wynter simply shook her head. Though her crew drove her nuts at times, she couldn’t imagine not having them in her life. It was crazy to think that if she hadn’t been caught by a specific group of bounty hunters, she probably would never have met her crew.

Wynter switched off the light and then slid under the thick coverlet, her mind going back to the day the aforementioned hunters had nabbed her …

*

Wynter slowly began to wake as a breeze lightly whispered over her face. It was cool. Refreshing. Otherworldly. And laced with a healthy dose of you need to wake up.

Frowning weakly at the throbbing ache in her temples, Wynter licked her dry mouth. God, she felt sick as a dog. Not to mention super groggy.

And hot. Really hot.

Her monster, on the other hand, was furious.

Furious?

She forced her heavy eyelids open and found herself staring at a caged lightbulb that hung from a plain ceiling. She shifted her arms and—

Ow. Her right elbow jabbed something hard. A cement wall, she realized. One on which names, dates, and profanities had been carved.

Springs creaked as she pushed up from the thin, saggy mattress on which she’d been sprawled. Wynter felt her sensitive stomach pitch. She was gonna hurl at some point for sure.

As she took in the rest of her surroundings, her worries of vomiting took a back seat. She was in a small, cramped, dimly lit space bordered by iron bars. Aside from the bed, the only piece of furniture was the dingy metal toilet on the other side of the cell.

Yeah. A cell. She was in a goddamn cell.

And as she looked beyond it, she realized there was a whole row of them—most were empty, but not all. It wasn’t an official prison, though. It seemed more like someone had converted some sort of basement into a jail. Which would explain the lack of windows.

Since the last thing she remembered was being pursued by bounty hunters armed with tranquilizer guns, it didn’t take a genius to work out that they’d managed to snatch her. The tranqs were no doubt responsible for her headache and nausea.

An otherworldly breeze angrily swooshed around the cell but didn’t unlock the door for her. That could only mean that there was a system in place—magickal or otherwise—that would trip an alarm in the event of an escape. The deity wouldn’t trigger an alarm that would have hunters bearing down on Wynter until she’d shaken off the grogginess.

Weirdly, her connection to her magick felt weak. It was hard to verbalize, but it was sort of like when your arm went numb and you couldn’t properly move it. She suspected that she’d be able to call on her magick, but not use it fast or efficiently. Which could be due to the drugs or some kind of spell, she wasn’t sure.

Her monster shoved at her, wanting control; wanting the blood of its captors. Yeah, me too. While the deity calmed it with a mere brush of air, Wynter silently assured the entity that she’d let it have its way when the right moment came along.

She pushed off the bed. Her belly rolled so viciously she balked. Ugh.

“The drug they use is a son of a bitch, right?”

Wynter tracked the unfamiliar male voice to the cell on her left. Although the lighting was crap, she made out a good-looking guy with an unkempt mop of brown hair crouched on the hard floor. “You could say that,” she said. It didn’t help that the scents of rust, iron, sweat, and must hung in the air. Or that said air was hot, stale, and stifling.

He gestured at himself with his thumb. “The name’s Clay.”

For some reason, she wasn’t so sure she believed him. “If you say so. Is that blood you’re using?” she asked, realizing he was drawing symbols on the floor. Satanic symbols.

He held up a palm that sported a wicked slice. “Don’t worry, it’s my own.”

“You’re attempting to call on a demon?”

“Asmodeus hasn’t let me down yet.”

She didn’t know what concerned her more. That he seemed so breezy at the idea of calling on a hell-bound demon to possess him, or that he’d clearly done it before. But all she said was, “All right.”

Looking into the cell on her right, Wynter saw a beautiful Latina sitting on the bed lotus style, her eyes closed, her palms exposed.

“That’s Delilah,” ‘Clay’ told her. “She sometimes goes into meditative states to talk to her dead ancestor. She’s apparently gonna ask Annis for advice.”

“Annis?”

He smiled. “As in the Black Annis, yeah.”

Wynter only blinked. Annis had earned her ominous title through her extensive use of blood magick and the many dark deeds she’d committed. Wynter therefore couldn’t imagine why anyone would ask the dead witch for advice of any kind, but whatever.

Hoping to walk off the effects of the drug, Wynter did a few slow laps of her cell, examining every inch of it. Runes were etched into each iron bar. Magick-nulling ruins, she realized. More were etched into the wall and cement floor. Which meant that a captive could blast the cell with magick all they wanted—it would do no damage.

“You won’t be here much longer,” said ‘Clay.’ “I heard some mutterings earlier about how they’re taking you to Aeon once their money’s wired through.”

“They won’t be taking me anywhere. Dead people can’t do anything.” She expected him to let out a skeptical snort, but he instead eyed her with interest.

“My name’s actually Xavier,” he said.

“Wynter,” she offered, planting her butt on the bed, beginning to feel somewhat better now that—

There was a loud plop further along the row of cells.

Someone gagged. “Jesus, Anabel, how in God’s name can your shit smell that bad?” complained a female voice hoarse with age.

“I’ve been eating tasteless goop for days,” a younger female voice defended. “What else is it gonna smell like?”

Knowing the stench would soon make its way to her, Wynter inwardly groaned.

A hoarse huff. “When you’re not dropping bombs in that toilet you’re crying or talking to yourself,” groused the old woman. “I’m trying to grieve over here.”

Another plop and then … “Well if you’d died on death row in a past life, you wouldn’t be coping well with being locked up either. And if you miss your husband so much then maybe you shouldn’t have killed him. No, don’t say you didn’t, Hattie. I heard the bounty hunters talking about it.”

“You’re no more innocent than I am, girl. I heard you went on a killing spree.”

“That wasn’t me. Well … it was. But it wasn’t. My body is responsible. As is a particular part of my soul. But I am totally innocent.”

Okay, that made not one bit of sense to Wynter.

Hinges creaked somewhere up ahead as a door swung open, and a wide beam of light sliced through the ‘jail.’

Silence instantly fell. Wynter went very still, her system going on high alert, her monster slinking even closer to her skin.

More creaks sounded as heavy footfalls descended a small set of stairs. Then more footfalls. And more.

“Christ, it reeks in here,” a male griped.

Before long, heavy footsteps echoed along the stone walkway. Then three burly figures dressed all in black came into view. Wynter recognized them from earlier.

They halted on reaching her cell. The one who was armed with a tranquilizer gun smirked at her and let his gun clang along the iron bars.

The tallest of the trio pointed at her. “You. Up. Time to leave.”

“I’d rather not use another dart on you, but I will if you try anything,” the armed hunter warned. “It’s up to you how this goes.”

She slowly slipped off the bed and crossed to the door, her monster coiled to lunge.

The third hunter pressed the pad of his thumb against the lock. There was a loud buzz and then a horrible grating sound as the mechanical cell door slid open. He then clapped once and said, “Let’s get moving, the people of Aeon don’t like to be kept waiting and …” He frowned. “I think you’ve got something in your eye. Both eyes. It’s … what the hell?”

Wynter felt her mouth curl. “This is probably gonna hurt a lot.”

*

Her world had then gone black as her monster took over. When it had retreated, she’d found herself standing in the walkway with the remains of the bounty hunters lying at her feet. The deity had been swirling around her, Her otherworldly laugh bouncing off the walls and ringing with power.

More, Wynter had been covered in blood and gore, which was the norm for when she shifted back to her own form. Her monster tended to make a mess of itself in its bid to maim and eat its prey, and the shifting process was so abrupt and forceful that its ‘mess’ would blast outward, only to ricochet back onto Wynter’s body.

As such, if asked, she would have said that the other captives would be terrified of her.

And she would have been wrong.

All four had been plastered against the door of their cell, their eyes wide, their mouths open, but they’d been more fascinated than anything else—even a naturally nervous Anabel.

It was after Wynter had busted open each cell to free them that Delilah shocked the hell out of her by declaring they should all go on the run together. The others had nodded, eager. That was when Wynter began to realize that none of them were entirely sane …

*

Knocking bits of bone and brain matter from her tee to the floor, Wynter took in each smiling face. “You can’t be serious.”

“My ancestor told me I’d live if I followed you,” Delilah told her. “I plan on living. Ergo …”

Hattie began plucking gory clumps from Wynter’s hair. “I think it’s a good idea for us to band together. We’ll be harder to track that way.”

“And there’s safety in numbers,” added Xavier.

Anabel nodded. “I like safety. I like that my chances of survival will significantly increase if I’m part of a group that not only includes you but a deity.”

“You guys all know what I am, right?” Wynter asked them. “You saw what just happened? You know I have people on my ass?”

Xavier waved that way. “We all have people on our asses. That’s why it makes sense for us to combine forces. You’re uber powerful, sure, but you still got caught. It’ ll be good for you to have us watching your back.”

*

They’d been doing that for her ever since.

Wynter did the same for them. Although, honestly, she hadn’t needed to save them from bounty hunters anywhere near as many times as she’d needed to save them from themselves. All things considered, though, she probably should have seen that coming.