Page 96 of Of Flame and Fury
The bear falls apart on top of me like broken pieces of coal.
“The Mate is dead!” another witch shouts.
“Kill them,” awerehowls. “Kill them all!”
What’s left of the bear falls away from me as I rise. I catch sight of Braeden, lifting a massive and writhing Nyte. This creature is like a giant insect, its armor dense but no match against the brutality the oldwereinflicts. He beats the Nyte against the trunk of a fallen oak, killing it in a show of strength and rage.
Celia kissed Emme on the cheek as she fell asleep in her arms. She was a good mama even then, long before she dreamed of having a child of her own.
“Fuck,” I spit out, choking on billowing smoke as I step through. As much as I need to focus, I sob as I break into a run.
The Catholic schoolgirls speed ahead of me and toward the burning manor. Liz swings an ax, decapitating a rogue vampire before chopping off his legs. Agnes tackles another, her librarian glasses flying off her face as she punctures her nails through his chest.
Maria holds down a vampire with gargoyle wings as Edith beats him to death with her fists. Blood sprays across her face. She does not stop, beating the pile of ash the vampire becomes.
“Celia,” she screams with her strikes. “You took our Celia.”
I want to comfort her. But I don’t have comfort to give. What courses through my veins isn’t benevolence. Benevolence wouldn’t surge my power to destroy like this.
We thought Johnny was in the house. As I stand in front of the collapsing structure, it becomes clear he was only part of it through the way he toyed with us and turned the magic against us.
My power turns me toward the right and in the direction of where he’s hiding. My feet squish against the blood-soaked grass as I run across the west lawn.
A witch holds up her staff, leading a band of vampires. “For the Mate!” she screams. She fires a spell that turns a Nyte inside out. “For her child!”
I gulp down air, laboring to maintain my momentum and speed. These supernaturals never knew Celia. Not like us. But maybe they believed in what she had to offer and in the child who would save us all.
I let them fight for her and allow her death to fuel their savagery. I let them take every bit of her, they thought they knew, so they may triumph.
The Celia we knew, the fighter and the spirited woman, her love, graciousness, and unrelenting loyalty belongsto us; her sisters, her family, her love.
My pace slows. The thirst to kill can only do so much. I’m only human, after all.
I laugh without humor at my ridiculousness. No human can do what I’ll do to Johnny. It’ll be slow. It’ll hurt. He’ll beg for mercy, and it won’t matter.
As my steps dwindle to a stroll and my lungs rush to get their fill, I ponder how thin my lightning needs to be to skin Fate alive. Should I start at his feet and work my way up? No. It should be his face. His fans lived and died for those beautiful features.
Protocol demands Aric gets to make the kill as Celia’s mate. Except if Celia is dead, Aric is too. That wolf won’t walk this earth without her.
Next in the vengeance line comes her family. That’s me. I knew her first and loved her the longest. This kill belongs to me.
I don’t realize my senses are leading me to the stables until I reach the doors.
My chest heaves in and out as I stand in front of them, the pent-up fury roasting my insides and demanding to be let free.
I should blow the doors off this bitch and burn the whole thing down in one strike. Instead, I ingest the magic from the environment,Johnny’s magic, and part the doors with an extra dose of newfound power.
The aroma of freshly stained wood wanders through the stable. Alternating shades of red and gold pavers line the ground and lead to open and meticulously kept stalls. Beautifully oiled saddles hang on hooks near the entrance beneath rows of black riding helmets. Above, a few sets of boots rest, their polished exterior reflecting the overhead lights. Thoroughbred stallions are meant to occupy this space. It doesn’t appear they ever found their way here. Now, they never will.
It only takes a few steps to find the first painting. It comes into view as my magic breaks through the veil concealing the deceptively empty building. The image is of the fire monster that barreled its way through the chimney. It’s neat and very detailed, the colors bleeding deep into the heavyweight paper where it was conceptualized.
Dark crimson dots stain the corner and creature’s chest. Johnny must have spilled some of his lifeline when he sought to bring the Nyte to life.
The layers of the veil snap apart as I advance. There’s the painting of the leech who killed Genevieve’s cherished guards, lying close to the Tweedledum character and the Nyte with mouths that covered his skin.
Bridette lied. Fate and his newest monsters didn’t storm Genevieve’s stronghold in a magnificent show of force. Johnny simply snuck in, clutching his pre-created visions and supplies. It was easier to go unnoticed this way. As soon as he was settled, all he had to do was bleed and set his Nytes loose. That’s why there were so many. He likely spent months visualizing and designing them.
Jesus. There are enough paintings to cover most of the path. Some, I remember our allies fighting. Others I don’t remember at all. I wonder how many lives they cost, but I can’t wonder for long.