Page 106 of First Ritual

North.

I knew the creatures who held that territory.

Vampires to the West. Luthers to the East. Magus to the South.

Demons to the North.

My creature had a name.

A demon had made its home within me.

26

The wetness coating my cheeks only touched my awareness when fingers gently wiped the tears away. I opened heavy, swollen eyelids to look at Wild in the darkness.

“What happened?” I asked to delay his inevitable question—why are you crying in your sleep?

He frowned. “I came to check on you after the meeting last night. You’d passed out inside the door doing your knot art.”

Propping myself up, I squinted at the door where my quipu lay. I lowered back down. “You moved me here? Thanks.”

“The guys said you seemed out of sorts.”

“Yeah. Tired.” I’m harboring a demon.

Wild brushed my hair behind my ear before running his fingers down my rust streak that would be full length after a night’s sleep. “Is it chaos, Tempest?”

Chaos. I did feel heavy. Unmotivated. Chaos was partially to blame, though in comparison to previous journeys, this was nothing. I could tell the difference between those experiences and my hopelessness after the revelations of last night. “Yes,” I lied.

Wild nodded. “You said it usually lasts a few weeks. Is there something I can do to help?”

“Just space, please.”

He drew his hand back and picked up an object off the blanket. “Can I ask what this knot is for?”

I stared at the enormous and bloodied quipu braid in his grip. The work of last night. My demon braid. Well, the braid included past journeys and what I’d figured out about the creature entering me during the attack on my family and only making herself known when I ventured too far into my divination affinity. Her residence. I was reasonably sure that she had been the one to borrow from death—my hair—to cause the white color.

One mystery solved and one hundred gained. “Just art.”

“Art you bled for,” he replied.

I rested back down.

He lifted my hand where it lay on the blanket. “Blood still coats your fingers.”

“Yes.”

Wild sucked in a sharp breath. “Give me more than a few words, Tempest. Talk to me.”

Anger churned in me, misplaced but thick and ugly. “Why should I speak to you?” I sat up and gasped, clutching the area beneath my ribs. I stared down at the area. “Ouch.”

“What is it?” Wild urged.

I lifted the flannel pajama shirt, and we stared at the symbol marring the skin under my ribs.

Sighing, I dropped the shirt and got out of bed.

“Another rune,” he said in a neutral tone.