Chasity stood still amid the chaos, head raised. Illuminated by the moon above, a slithering green mist began to spiral over the village. She shut her eyes and visions flashed before her: Lilith sleeping. Peter on the windowsill, staring outside, as a shadow appeared over her. Lilith jumping, eyes shut. Almost convulsing.
Thunder overhead.
Chasity opened her eyes again and watched as the faintest strand of mist wafted into the streets, passing her face. A Brauge scampered around a corner, slipping on its long talons before running straight into the green mist. The creature stopped dead in its tracks, stunned, choking, then slumped to the ground.
Chasity approached it cautiously, expecting the creature to rise and resume its attack. Nearing it, she saw blank eyes and darkening limbs, and it exploded suddenly into a pile of ash and dirt. She smiled as the mist continued on, moving through the streets.
It was familiar. Smelling of cinnamon and palo santo. It was her. Lilith was dreaming.
Erebus would have blisters tomorrow; they’d been fighting for hours and it didn’t seem as though they were putting a dent in the Brauge army. His shoulders were heavy, legs almost limp, chest burning. Even in raven form, he hardly had energy to fly.
He swung his scythe through the necks of a group of Brauge.
The headless creatures spasmed, scuttling away before falling over dead.
Mason’s and Mortem’s armies were wreaking their own havoc within the village—tackling Brauge like football players, tearing into them like starved dogs. Amid the smoke and rubble, Erebus spotted all manner of beings awash in dirt and blood, each wielding weapons: Women with the bodies of snakes swinging kusarigamalike blades on chains. Winged creatures of stone wielding great hammers, lashing out with a force strong enough to shatter Brauge.
“Erebus!” someone yelled.
Swinging around, Erebus saw Chasity covered in just as much grime as he was. She ran toward him, pointing to the sky.
“Look!” she yelled.
Erebus followed her gaze to what looked like an almighty storm cloud—a great spiral of mist circling above the village. It filled the narrow street around him, dropping three Brauge to the ground. They clawed at their necks like they couldn’t breathe.
“What is it?” Erebus asked as creatures were reduced to dust and the mist moved on, bending around the corner to the next lane.
“It’s Lilith,” Chasity said. “Come on, let’s follow it.”
Something was wrong. Something was terribly, horribly wrong.
Maybe it was the searing pain in Bellum’s head. Or the great, twisting cloud above him, killing his army. Or the fact that the Banshee was walking down the side of Mount Monstrum. He watched as the mist continued to sweep through the town, striking down every soldier in its path.
“Petram!” he shouted, and the frail witch appeared at his side.
He threw up his hands in anger. “What is this?”
Petram shrank away. “Someone’s interfering with the plan.”
“Really? You think I didn’t notice that? If you wish to keep your head, witch, I suggest you fix this quickly.”
“B-but I c-can’t—it’s someone outside of this realm. Some kind of astral attack. I can’t get to them from here.”
“What?”
“Bellum, we cannot fix this.” She gestured to the sky. “This is something else.”
“Get your sister,” Bellum shrieked. “We’re leaving.”
“But—”
“Either we leave and regroup or we stay here and die—take your pick.”
The mist spread quickly, dropping Brauge by the dozens—thousands of the creatures had been turned to dust until only three remained, huddled in a home in the main square, past the debris of Jack’s statue.
The Council had gathered there. Slowly, the rest followed.
Mortem stepped forward, his leather armor in tatters. “Erebus,” he said, “come with me.”
Mortem led Erebus to the farthest house, where, hiding inside, they found the remaining Brauge soldiers. The last of an army of thousands.
Erebus peered at them through the window. “What are they doing?”
“They know it’s over.” Mortem opened the door and they stepped inside. The creatures raised their heads—nothing more.
Mortem pulled out two simple knives. He handed one to Erebus.
The creatures did nothing as Mortem stepped forward. Erebus followed. They took death willingly.
Erebus returned to the square as dawn broke on the horizon.
He looked out over the crowd, spotting Ira. She seemed to be staring straight through him.
Erebus turned.
Nyx—the Banshee—was standing at the edge of the village.
Petram had cast herself invisible as she moved through the crowd, searching for Luto. Ahead of her, people were whispering about something she couldn’t see. She was shaking. She couldn’t get enough air into her lungs.
They’d been defeated. They needed to get out.
She stood on her toes, trying to see over the crowd. At the very front of the group stood Mortem and the Wraith, both staring at something out of Petram’s view.
“Pssst!”
She could only make out a speck of white—
“Pssssst!”
The witch searched wildly before locking eyes with her sister on the other side of the crowd. Petram beckoned to her urgently.
Luto shook her head.
No, I need a few more minutes, she said, her voice in Petram’s head. Ossa failed. I will not.
And before Petram could do anything more, Luto disappeared in a puff of black smoke.
“What is she doing out here?” Erebus whispered to Mortem.
The Necromancer ignored him. He turned to the crowd and yelled, “Reapers, evacuate immediately!”
The crowd devolved into chaos as every Reaper ran for safety.
Ira took Damien and Greta away.
“You, too, Erebus,” Mortem said, facing him.
Erebus looked at him incredulously. “Absolutely not.”
“Erebus,” Mortem warned, watching as the Banshee approached, scepter in hand, “you’re the Wraith, you stand out like a beacon to her. I know what she’s capable of. You don’t. She will kill you.”
“Mortem, I am n—” Erebus stopped abruptly. “Who is that?”
Mortem turned. He spotted the frail, blond woman behind the Banshee—the gleam of a dagger in her hand. Luto—one of the Blind Witches. She raised her knife.
“Nyx!” Mortem screamed.
Instantly, the Banshee loosened her grip on the scepter, letting it swing in her hands. She spun and, in the blink of the eye, took Luto’s head from her body.
The crowd gasped. Some screamed.
Mortem and Erebus rushed forward. The Banshee turned, shaking. Her skin flashed, eyes going from red to orange. Nyx shook her head as if to rid herself of the other. She screamed and clutched the sides of her head.
“Nyx?” Erebus said, keeping his distance as Mortem approached.
Her eyes opened—crimson, though her skin was once more her own. She shoved Mortem aside, launching him into the side of a building, and stormed toward Erebus.
Ira screamed at him to move.
Nyx raised her staff, blades to his chest. Erebus raised his hands.
“Nyx . . .”
Mortem got to his feet. Nyx blinked. Slowly, her eyes went from the glorious red of the Banshee to the orange of her normal self.
Erebus looked at her blade, resting at his sternum. “Nyx?”
She looked at him, and her eyes widened in fear. She dropped the weapon. As she backed away her eyes darted across the square—to the crowd watching her. She had no idea where she was or why Erebus was covered in blood.
“Erebus . . .” she said, voice cracking, “what’s happening?”