Page 61 of Fear the Fall
Hell Froze Over
The next morning,I’m strolling the far end of Bourbon Street. On this side of town, every vice a sinner has can be sated. Sex permeates the air even at this time of day. Behind any of these walls, I’d likely find myself in the middle of an orgy, complete with drugs and alcohol flowing like a waterfall—never ending.
My mind is numb as I focus on the task at hand, using all the energy I have left to smash out the human emotions that are trying to break through. I’m done feeling.
I look at the peeling numbers above the shops as I pass, but in the end, there’s no need. The place I’m looking for stands out from every other building. The Solheim Coven doesn’t have to go for inconspicuous. While every other building on either side of this block is dilapidated, the home of one of the most highly respected voodoo priestesses in the South is well kept, with a fresh coat of paint. However, only magical beings can see it. The home has been shaded so that to everyone else, it looks like every other building—well on its way to collapsing.
The blood-red front door stands out starkly against the bright white on every other surface. A black wrought-iron fence surrounds the home, likely to keep the drunken partygoers who stray too far from the heavily lit part of Bourbon Street off its pristine lawn.
Magic swirls in the air, so thick I can taste it. It coats every surface, leaving a shimmering gleam that only a magical being can see. This signals that the woman I came to see is here: Madame Solheim, the oldest sister of the Solheim Coven. I knock briskly four times before turning the knob and allowing myself in. I know the drill; I’ve been here before, but never in the daytime.
The foyer of the house is quiet, and there’s not a person in sight. I walk toward the back, make a right down the long narrow hallway, and pass through the curtain of beads hanging in the doorway to the heart of the place. The coven sits in a circle, holding hands and chanting, while sage burns in the center.
I don’t dare interrupt whatever they are doing. It would be considered a slight against the coven, and I’m not here to incur their wrath. I need their help, and I’ll only get it by being patient.
Several minutes go by with the same chant being crooned. My arms are crossed over my chest and I have to try extra hard to not roll my eyes.
“Still wearing that chip firmly on your shoulder, angel?”
When had the chanting stopped?
I clear my throat, but she silences me with a raised hand.
“Leave us,” she says to her sisters, and they stand, exiting the room without a single glance in my direction.
Madame Solheim stands and makes her way to me. “There’s evil in the air. We’re trying to purify as much as we can,” she explains the act that I just witnessed.
“You know why I’m here,” I say, with a bit of reverence for her gift. I should’ve come straight here before tracking down Almada. I would’ve saved myself time.
“Nah. Almada had your answers.” My eyes narrow in on the mind reader.
This woman goes against everything I was taught. She embodies the very essence of heretics. What she practices goes against God’s law and will be punishable by eternal damnation.
She sighs. “Still holding on to those archaic beliefs?”
“No, I was merely reflecting on a time where I would’ve only stepped foot in here to end your life and send you to Hell,” I admit.
Madame Solheim appreciates frank discussion, and today is no different. She smiles, nodding her head. “Sometimes falling isn’t a bad thing, Tori. You have the ability to see different views for what they are... simply different. We can all live peacefully.”
“You believe that?”
“Someday, but not today,” she confesses. “Something wicked this way comes.”
“He’s already here.”
She shakes her head, holding up one finger. “Not him.”
“Who’s more wicked than the devil himself?”
I ask the question more for confirmation. After what I witnessed last night, I know exactly who’s after the throne of Hell.
“Something that wishes to harness the powers of Hell to unleash it onto the world. Something that wishes to defyhim.”
“So, it is a coup,” I say aloud.
“Mmm,” she murmurs. “But you already knew that.”
“Who is it? I might’ve faced him, but I never heard his name.”