having a good time with Alastair’s memories, then I was screwed. I had more memories than most, even most immortals, and a lot of them were bad. Not to be overly dramatic, but killing people for centuries wasn’t exactly a walk in the park, neither was being persecuted for what I was, or being kicked out by my parents. My life hadn’t exactly been super cheerful until I met these guys.
Even then, there were things I’d do differently.
I wouldn’t be so grumpy with Ellis, knowing that he was just scared of what my freedom meant for the rest of the world and what my presence meant for their dynamic. I wouldn’t have been so cool toward Alastair either. The mage had a warm heart but was too polite to show it.
The structure loomed up before us, spiking out of the fog in an off-putting manner. Dread pooled low in my stomach, making me wish I’d had more to eat that day, while anxiety about what I would find within made my heart race in my chest.
“Where is it inside?” I asked.
Alastair had grown progressively quieter as we approached, and I couldn’t tell if it was because of the demon, or whatever it was that was talking to him, or because he was just scared, which was totally understandable. Having a strange voice—or worse, voices—talking to you would be enough to make me flip out for sure, especially if I was the only one that could hear them. It was that fact that made me wonder why I was going into the tent to begin with.
As we came close enough for me to see the detailed pattern painted on the trim about the tent’s entrance, Alastair grabbed my arm, halting me in my tracks, and said, “Don’t go in. Don’t look at it. I don’t want to see you suffer, Mae. Please.”
“I can’t let you stay like this, and I don’t know how else to fix it without seeing the magic that caused it.” With that, I turned and pushed forward through the heavy flap of fabric that covered the entrance. It was time to see what this monster was all about.
26
Alastair
When Mae disappeared behind the fabric of the tent terror, washed over me, making a cold sweat break out all over my skin and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. She was going in there to face down a monster for me. Me, a mage, the very type of being that trapped her in the mirror realm for centuries. The woman had some big brass balls and an even bigger heart.
Which was how I found myself following her a second later.
Mae looked over her shoulder, and surprise registered in her beautiful blue eyes when she saw me. Her gaze didn’t linger on me for long though, as it snapped back to the grotesque feature in the center of the tent. It was all this tent was about, there was nothing else to it, just this large display.
“‘Here lies the true head of Edward Mordrake. Pray he doesn’t choose to take you to hell,’” Mae said, reading the metal plaque that was nailed to a display just below the head itself. “Cheery,” she added a second later while she looked over every inch of the thing.
As she edged around the table and finally saw the second half of the head, the part that was still alive, I heard the sounds begin again.
So many regrets, so much shame, such a strong mind to break. The voices whispered their words, and at first, I thought I was the only one that could hear them still, but I was wrong.
“Is that so?” she asked.
“You hear them?” I wondered aloud, needing to be sure I wasn’t alone.
She nodded.
So many deaths on your conscience, both by your hand and from not being able to step in when you were most needed. How do you live with yourself, witch? Although, if you’re friends with someone who would maim and disfigure their own family, we shouldn’t be surprised.
My stomach dropped.
Mae looked over at me, questions dancing in her eyes, but they never left her lips. With one look, she told me everything I needed to know. She told me that she trusted me and didn’t believe this thing.
The problem was that the demon head—or whatever it was—was right.
I had done those things.
At some point, I’d have to tell Mae about it, otherwise I’d feel like I was living a lie for the rest