Chaos Theory: The Created Angel Chronicles, #5

Prologue

~ Max ~

They say that Death rides a pale horse. They are wrong. The first time I saw Death, I was fifteen, an inexperienced boy, even though I was called a man. I thought I was hallucinating. She rode a horse whose skin burned like living coal with a single horn in the middle of its forehead and a flaming mane that matched its rider’s.

She stood with our enemies proud, tall, and breathtaking. Her wings of white and flaming orange stood out against the dark grey storm clouds that blew in from the coast. Her hair burned, crackled, and floated like flames. Her armour was mostly leather with metal accents. Skulls with glowing white eye sockets and a variety of bones were tacked onto her armour like medals.

I pointed my axe toward her, and when my Da, our chief saw her, he trembled and shit himself. When her tri-horned head turned to me and her milky white eyes bore into my soul, I knew that Death had come. She wasn’t on our side, like the elders of the pack foresaw. They were wrong, again, and this time it would cost us our lives.

The battle that followed was intense and lasted mere moments. The army of Fœmoræ were stronger, faster, and more experienced. I was mortally wounded and left for dead. When I thought I would die, Death stood over me as my eyes closed for what I thought was the final time.

When they opened, I was no longer in pain. I tried to sit up but there were heavy chains around my chest. I inspected them, but they were wrapped around the bed, or table I was lying on. The chains rattled as I pulled against them, and a calming presence washed over me, but I fought it. I would not let my enemies manipulate me.

"I apologize for the chains, So’ta¹, but we were unsure what your mental state would be upon waking in an unfamiliar environment after being mortally wounded," a male voice said from somewhere above my head. I tilted my head back enough to see him silhouetted in a doorway. He was what others would call tall, but not even tall enough that he needed to duck as he stepped into the room. His face was young, but his eyes held the haunted shadow of things seen and endured that he would never repeat.

Where am I? I asked, pulling at my arms to no avail.

The Fortress of Light, he answered, coming to the side of the table so I did not need to strain my neck. His icy blue eyes roamed my body, stopping to assess my scars as his words sunk in. The Fortress of Light was the home of Lucifer, Fallen Angel of Light, and his army. How had I gotten here?

How did I get here? I asked, remembering the Angel standing over me. Why am I not dead?

"We can only speculate. You were left on the highest flat turret by one of the Angeles. Whoever it was left no sign of who they were, or who you are, he said, putting his hands on the chains. If you agree to do no harm, I will remove them."

I will do no harm to those who do no harm to me, I replied. He dipped his head and slid his hand under the table. 

Fair enough. There was a metallic thunk, and the chains fell off. I slowly sat up, looking at my bare chest and the new scar over my ribs. I traced it with my finger, and it ached. It was clean and mostly healed, but still tender to the touch.

I am surprised you survived, he commented, and I turned my eyes to him. My name is Findibar—

‘The Healer,’ I mouthed, but did not voice, and he nodded.

That is correct. What is your name? He asked, handing me a stack of fresh clothes. I looked from them to him then to the leather pants I still wore.

"Maolanaithe," I said. His eyebrows rose at the corners before his eyes widened.

A Warrior of the Far North. Maker, I thought your accent sounded familiar. How did you get this far from the battlefield? he asked, setting a hand to his chin. My mind drifted to the Angel of Death. Was she on their side?

Do you know any Angels of Death? I asked. His back stiffened, and he dropped his hands, clenching them in his robe. His eyes flashed red for a moment, before returning to their calm blue, and he cleared his throat.

None personally. However, Lucifer does, he said then paused to stare at my eyes. Did you see one?

Yes, I said, leaving it there. I saw no reason to say more to this demon. He blinked at me a few times and his eyes brightened with curiosity. I hated curious strangers.

Are you human? he asked. I stared at him blankly. If the rumours of Lucifer’s cohorts were true, he should have known what I was. Maybe the rumours were wrong and he wasn’t an Angel. Findibar maintained eye contact, and continued, Angels do not normally appear in their true form to humans, but if you are sure—

She rode an onyx horse, had hair of living flame, and her eyes were the white of death— I described, shuddering involuntarily as I remembered them boring into my soul. He swayed on his feet and dropped to the table beside me. I could have killed him, but I swore that I would do no harm, so I watched him.

You saw Death herself, he said, still staring at a spot across the room. She only fights, or kills, on the Maker’s orders. He must have told her to spare you—

Why me? I asked, and he shrugged.

We may never know, but one thing is for sure, you are not human, he said. I stared at him, hating that I had confirmed it. Another presence drifted toward us from the hall. It loomed in the doorway, and its glowing red eyes watched Findibar for a moment before they turned to me.

If Death spared you, you have a greater purpose in the grand scheme of the Maker. If she brought you here, there is a reason, he said, stepping into the room. His dark hair complimented his tanned, olive-toned skin, and accentuated his crimson red eyes. The hair on my neck rose as his powers brushed mine. I hated that most other immortal entities thought that was a polite greeting. It always seemed too personal to me. You are not human, but I have never crossed paths with your kind either. I would wager your mother was a Banshee, or one of the Moirai—

My mother left me with my father when I was barely weaned, and he refused to speak of her, I said. He dipped his head, but did not press me.

The fates are fickle women. But you are half fate. Atropos will know which of her kin you were born of.

Chapter One

(7,607 years later, Thursday, Eleven a.m., Paris France)

~ Chaos ~

I’ve gone by many names over the years, and many have been lost to time itself, but one stands above them all.

Chaos, it’s after eleven! Are you going to get up before I head to the office? My adopted daughter, Kotys called from her room, or maybe she projected it from downstairs in the kitchen. She had the preternatural ability to throw her voice, or Project it wherever and to whomever she chose. I kept her from projecting to my room directly by drawing wards on the door and window casing after the last time she woke me by whispering in my ear. She’d been in the kitchen making breakfast, and I’d metaphysically decked her. She hurt for days after, and I felt guilty, but you don’t wake a sleeping Angel of Death.

No, I yawned and pulled the covers up. Need more sleep. Had a long night, I mumbled into the covers, knowing she’d hear me. Her power slid along my wards, brushing me metaphysically, and I gently pushed back against them.

"Don’t forget that you’re on the door tonight, and I need you to cover the ‘Witching Hour’ stint, she said. I sent her the telepathic image of my eyes rolling, and she humphed. Don’t roll your eyes at me. I don’t always know when you’re available. Especially when you’ve been binging a new video game for Missy. Plus, you’ve been stewing because Auntie Discord and Auntie Havoc haven’t contacted you since last month and you think they’ve gone to fight without inviting you again. You tend to lose track and forget things when you’re stewing."

I sat up and stretched both arms over my head, tuning her out. She’d run out of steam soon, and I’d heard this rant before. Instead, my thoughts drifted to my triumvirate. She was only partially right about why I was stewing, but I wouldn’t tell her that.

Discord left here over a month ago with a quick comment about needing to check on our third, Havoc. I had gotten exactly one text from Havoc after that. I opened my phone, and her messages were on the screen. I’d fallen asleep while thinking about messaging her. Tired me was much more susceptible to loneliness than awake me. Awake me didn’t want to bother her, or Discord, but a month was an awfully long time to go without communicating when there was talk of war.

I read her message again: ~ I’m safe. I’m sorry for taking her away. I don’t know where she is now. I’ll tell you more when I can. ~ I pushed some of my natural red, four-tone ombre curls from my face, and tried to decide if I should text, sleep, or start my day when I heard Kotys still ranting in the kitchen. I looked at the time in the top corner of my phone and internally groaned. It was 11:15, and she had a lunch date in town at noon. If she didn’t leave now, she’d be late. She didn’t have time for this long of a riot act.

"Go to the office, or you’ll be late for your lunch date, I reminded her. She stopped talking, probably to check the time, and cursed. I slid to the side of the bed and continued, I’ve never missed, or even been late for my shift. I’ll cover the ‘Witching Hour’ stint and put on a good show. Don’t worry."

"You’re right. I’m just nervous. I’ll see you later. Je t'aime²!" she called before her presence drifted farther away into the four-car garage. I flopped back onto my bed and stared at the night sky that I’d painted on the ceiling as I overthought what she said. Nervous... What did she have to be nervous about? I let the thought go. She’d tell me if she needed help.

Just like Discord and Havoc did when they were in New Orleans a month ago? the voice of my doubt pointed out. I killed that thought by reminding myself that they hadn’t needed my help. They had Mayhem and Anarchy, and a host of others, to help them. Me being there would’ve been overkill, but my entire being ached to fight again. It’s what I was made for, Death and Chaos. I shoved that thought into the do not contemplate box again.

I focused on the painting that was a perfect replica of the night sky as I’d seen it on my first night on Earth. It was so different from seeing Earth hung in space from my true home, Valhalla. I don’t mean the Nordic Valhalla, but the Angelic word for the Maker’s home, or Heaven as mortals called it.

I sighed and sat up. My first home was out of reach forever, even if I still heard the Maker’s voice, and He pardoned me for unknowingly working with the Triumvirate of Evil so many eons ago. I was stuck here taking care of Kotys, and helping her as her mother bound me to do. 

Zamina, the little tramp of Demokæ³, a Fallen Angel for lack of a better term, was the last being to speak my Angelic name and bind me to a task. My chest burned with something near holy wrath, but I shoved that down too. Zamina hadn’t meant any harm in her careless use of my name during Kotys’s birth. That was six-thousand years ago, and what was done can’t be undone when you speak an Angels true name. At least, not that I knew.

I forgave Zamina when I held her daughter, Kotys Bendis in my arms. The ginger Born Angel became my purpose, my drive, and my adopted daughter. But deep inside, I longed for more, for freedom to do as I chose for once in my life, and to war against the Underworld, the preternatural crime syndicate, with reckless abandon.

I was an Angel of Death, Destruction, Justice, and Music. I was created to stay on the outside of life, and to destroy on the Maker’s orders. It had been eons since I had a true fight and used my full power. It was before Zamina stripped me of a choice. Back when the Bitchtress bound my powers and declawed me, in a sense.

I forgave Zamina, though I never forgot what she did, and I wiped my name from her mind, but I hadn’t forgiven the other Bitchtress, and she hadn’t asked for it. Zamina had invoked my protection of Kotys, and the inability to tell the baby’s father while she was in labour. She added that if something happened to make her unable to care for her as a mother should, I would raise her daughter, and something had. She’d reverted back to her male form, and was therefore unable to care for Kotys as a mother. The first time, that crazy Witch did it maliciously and it was part of a bigger picture that caused—

The thought was interrupted by the song Chaos by Ravenscode that played softly from my phone, pulling me from the memories of that betrayal. I groaned as I sat up and grabbed the rectangular Angelic brand smart phone. Unknown flashed across the screen. One look at the date, and I knew it was Zamina.

Think of the Devil, I muttered as I thought about not answering. She always called on the thirty-first of every third month to check in before she visited. At least she visited. Other, lesser Demokæ pawned their children off and never looked back. If only we’d been so lucky. I set the phone to my ear just before it would’ve flipped to voicemail.  

Yes, Zam, we’re ready for you, I said, laying back down. There was a longer pause than normal as I combed my fingers through my unruly, loose curls pushing them away from my face. When the pause dragged on, my eyebrows furrowed. Zamina—

Are you sure? I sensed a change in the wind earlier today, her alto voice said so quiet that I almost didn’t hear it. It reminded me of Kotys’s anxiety. What was with the Bendis women today?

Call Koty and ask her. I’ve been busy with my part time job this week, which left her to her own devices, and we both know how that can backfire, I said, and she sighed.

Yes, Kotys was a fully grown Born Angel with two thriving businesses and was powerful enough to send any evil that came for her packing, but she also had a knack for attracting unsavoury characters. It would be fine if she just sent them on their way with a slap on the wrist, but she had her father’s power of Prosokinesis. It allowed her to see the reason for their bad behaviour, and she had too much of a conscience to leave them to their own devices if she could help it. Her often-misguided heart led her to act like a mortal child who found a stray on the way home from school, but instead of animals these were preternaturals such as Unicorns, Succubi, Sirens, and in one case, a Dragon. They are much higher on the danger scale than your average alley cat and are likely to kill you as soon as listen to you. That’s where I came in. Zamina cleared her throat, and I tuned back in.

She’s old enough, competent enough, and financially secure enough to deal with the consequences of her actions, Zamina said but her voice held a tinge of worry. Has she left the house yet?

She’s currently on her way to her office. Give her half an hour— I yawned as I spied the time again. It’d been about that since she left. Damn, five hours sleep wasn’t enough for guard duty and a stint on the stage at the Kandy Shop. I needed more, but I doubted Zamina would let it go.

I still don’t get why you live so far away from town. You could get a nice loft in the city and… My anger flared again, and she trailed off with a hiss of air as she sucked in a breath.

And live surrounded by people who would hand us over to our enemies without even knowing what the Hell they were doing? I paused for thirty seconds to calm my rage and refocus before I added, "There is no way in Valkarah⁴ and Vale⁵ that I would subject our daughter to that heartache again. She stays at the dorm half the week anyway. Isn’t that enough of a risk?"

Fine, fine. I don’t want to argue about this again, she gave in all too easily. I rolled my eyes and scoffed at such an easy victory. I wanted to stay angry at her.

This would be the part where I remind you that you brought it up, but I’m going to be nice and skip that, I said, laying back down as my eyes grew heavy. Get to your excuse for not visiting, or call Koty and tell her. I only have four more hours to myself before door duty, and I need to get more sleep to recoup from last night—

You didn’t have a stint last night, she interrupted, and I sat up again. Could I call this exercise and mark that off my list of things to do later? Yes, Yes I would. 

And you would know that how? I snapped back when my brain engaged. I waited for five minutes, but she said nothing. I couldn’t even hear any background noise. Zamina—

The ambiance returned though farther away, and I waited for her to speak.

I was there. That wasn’t normal. She always called before coming to Paris. Why change her routine? Was it something to do with the Underworld or the Rumour that the Angeles were gathering for war?

Why call then? Did you talk with Koty already? I asked.

Yes, we’re supposed to meet for lunch, and she’s not here yet. She seemed jittery and agitated last night. Is it time for her cycle? she asked, and, for a split second, I envied that Zamina didn’t have the cycles of a human female like I did. Though, she would argue that she had it worse.

No. That was last week. She’s just nervous about the Triumvirate due to the recent news, I said without thinking. It wasn’t like me. Then again, not having my eight hours sleep, or rest from people, was enough to disengage any filter I had.

Have they really replaced Raphael? She asked going monotone with a tinge of fear. Raphael was a Demokæ and known leader of the Underworld. That is until he was killed back in August. I was still upset about not being invited to that fight. Had it really only been five weeks? Then I realized why Zamina asked me that. She thought I was in league with the Underworld, or at least had ties to them.

"How, in Valkarah, would I know that?" I asked, letting the tiredness and anger at the assumption metaphysically slap her. A pin of guilt pricked my conscience, but I brushed it off without a thought. I needed sleep, not her fucking judgemental questions.

"I-I think he may be involved," she whispered in the same quiet voice that she started the conversation with. Who was she with that she didn’t want to hear?

"He who?" I asked. My intuition said that it was the same he, who betrayed me thousands of years ago by telling that witch my Angelic name, but I didn’t want to assume anything. Not where that Nev’ca Akram⁶ was concerned.

"I’m not going to say his name. He still has the power to hear it," she whispered again. The smell of rotting flesh pierced my nostrils, and I’d just taken the garbage out yesterday. I was smelling her fear over the phone.

Where are you that you have to whisper? I asked. The phone dropped, and her voice sounded a bit muffled.

No, tell her we’ll meet her there, she said before putting the phone back to her ear. "I’m just afraid for you, Li Kita⁷. That’s all."

Pull the other leg, Zalmoxis, I said, using her male counterparts’ name. The smell disappeared and she growled, Do not growl at me, Changeling. You’d do well to remember who of us still has their full power.

She paused, fabric rubbed against the phone, and then silverware clinked as it dropped to a plate.

Excuse me a moment, Max. I need to take this outside, she said, and a deep, throaty voice grunted an affirmative. The sound piqued my curiosity and made things low in my body tighten, but there wasn’t time to fantasize about who Zamina was having lunch with.

"Chaos, please, I’m not in danger from him, or anyone in the Inner Circle, she said covertly just in case someone, possibly her lunch date, was still listening, but you are. Midas’ Love is in play."

I stared out the bay window near my bed with my eyes wide to keep the burning tears from falling as a panic attack tried to pull me under. I would not cry over that witch again. I would not let her play me anymore. She’d done enough damage, but the memories of the torture she inflicted on me called to me from the far reaches of my mind where I had locked them away.

"Chaos… Li Kita…" Zamina called. Her voice rising in pitch as I fought to push the memories back into the box where they belonged. I saw flashes of the dungeon she’d kept me in, and my shoulders ached at the memory of her shredding my wings.

That’s it. I’m coming to the house, she said and even that didn’t register until she spoke to her date. Max, go to the office and apologize to Koty for me. Tell her—

No! Don’t tell Kotys. She doesn’t need to worry about me, I shouted as I jumped up. My legs shook, and I staggered to the window that overlooked the forest as my airways constricted. I knelt on the padded bench seat, fumbling with the window crank as the walls closed in around me.

You haven’t told her? Zamina’s question echoed as if from the top of a deep well. I clumsily twirled the handle crank and gasped as fresh air rushed in. The walls weren’t closing in, the room didn’t smell of the decaying corpses of my allies, and I wasn’t locked in a sarcophagus. I could breathe. I took three deep breaths, then three more before I could think of a response.

No. Can’t. Too much, I managed to say between breaths. Her presence manifested outside my bedroom door and the call ended. I let the phone drop from my shaking hand and set it to the window casing. The phone hit the mattress as the wind blew across the tear streaks on my cheeks.

"Li Kita, Chaos... there were three quick, quiet knocks but they might as well have been the pounding of a gavel condemning me to the guillotine. Esca’kita, est, anak mi’ rah⁸."

I set my head to the wood casing of the window and lifted my other hand to unlock the door with my telekinesis, but it shook too much and all I managed to do was knock a pair of my headphones from the antlers of the Fœmoræ skull above my TV. I cursed, swallowed the lump in my throat, and slammed my fist into the pillow beside me.

"Tiska⁹," I said loud enough for her to hear, but my voice still cracked. The door unlocked from the outside as I turned around and sat staring at the sliding doors of my closet on the opposite side of my room. I pulled my knees to my chest as her tan, freckled face poked inside.

When I looked into her vivid green eyes, her pathokinesis wrapped around me, and my panic eased. The memories were sucked back into their box, and more tears slid down my cheeks. Her aura was painted with guilt, and her face twisted with sadness because she’d sent me back to that place.

"Shh, Esca’troikas¹⁰. You’re safe. You’re at home," she softly called. She tentatively stepped toward me with one arm extended. I watched the sway of her hips in the skirt suit that was the same gemlike green as her eyes. I let my eyes slide up her short, svelte curves to her ample breasts to rest on her long face and the features that Kotys inherited. Long thin nose, high cheekbones, thin yet sexy lips, and large caring eyes.

"That’s it, Kita. Et’shta vee¹¹," she restated in Demoki this time. When her hand was in reach, I grabbed it and pulled her the last step to the bench. I dropped my legs to either side of her and buried my head in her breasts to hide the shame of my fear. The past shouldn’t affect me like this, not after so long. I was safe. I could defend myself. I didn’t have to fear that witch anymore. I’d been making progress until I saw the damn newspaper yesterday and the rumour that The Triumvirate of Evil was meeting here. Now I knew for sure, and I didn’t have my Triumvirate to back me up. I didn’t even know where they were, and I didn’t want to bother them.

Zamina set one hand to the back of my head and combed her fingers through the ombre red waves of my thigh length hair which was faintly glowing as my power tried to fight through the fear. I cried into her chest, letting all the negative chemicals that had built up in my body flow out while I listened to her heartbeat.

I was safe. I was in my warded home where they couldn’t reach me. The Akram, and the Witch were far from here. They would never have me again. I would never have to— I shut that thought down and shuddered. Zamina slid her hand down the back of my shirt giving me skin contact. Her soothing, healing powers slid into my chest hugging me like her arms were. That finally pushed the attack back enough that I could let go, but I didn’t.

We stayed like that, my face to her chest, and her body pressed to mine for long minutes. She finger-combed my hair and hummed one of the Heavenly melodies we’d learned around the Maker’s throne. It calmed me, until I was nearly asleep.

"Kita, are you able to move to the bed? You’ll be more comfortable there," she said, her voice soothing and singsong letting me know that she hadn’t gotten enough sleep last night either. Instead of answering her, I tightened my arms around her and stood. I stepped to my bed, knelt on it, and laid her down. I laid beside her and set my head on her stomach.

Sweet dreams, Chaos, she said, before resuming the song and her combing. I drifted off in seconds.

Chapter Two

Angels don’t sleep. We don’t need it, but our mortal vessels do need to rest. While our vessel rests, our spirit roams the realms. Being the Angel of Death, more often than not mine roamed Valnôke, the Nether realm. Today, it didn’t. With Zamina beside me, I was kept from the nightmarish land. Lashdanôke¹² was a forbidden ruin after the Aknobas ka eh Charka¹³ chased a corrupted Angel of Light around it, and I only visited Asgard when I wanted to fight alongside the undead warriors and my fellow Angel of Death, Odin. That left me with fewer possible realms, since my vessel rested in Vale.

I floated in peaceful darkness for so long that I thought maybe I’d overslept. I uncurled, ready to wake, but was slammed down by an unseen force. I gasped for air and choked on a mixture of water and bile that rose from my lungs and stomach. What hellish nightmare had I found myself in this time?

"The nightmare has only just begun, Angeles of Death," a deep voice purred from the darkness. My chest tightened as I recognised it. I hadn’t dreamed of him since Leighla was taken, and he never threatened me. What was going on with my brain? 

This is my dream! I won’t let you taint his memory! I shouted at the darkness. A wave of power washed over me that wasn’t his and wasn’t familiar. "Nev’ca Valkarah¹⁴!"

I stood and jumped over the mess determined not to let this nightmare keep me. I whirled around to stare at Vretil Angelic, the corrupted Angel of Light I mentioned before, who was once my friend until the Witch turned him into an enemy. His tan skin was unmarred, and his raven black hair, that fell to his hips, dripped with water. He’d been dead for three months now. Why would I dream of him again? Who was tainting his memories?

Your mate invited me, Vretil said, and my resolve died. I was in the past. What brought me back to the time I’d been naïvely innocent? Why was I reliving my mistakes?

"Do not shut me out, Esca’kita. You will not enjoy it half as much if you resist," he said, reaching for me, but his voice was twisted. That wasn’t what he’d said back then. Someone was indeed messing with my memories.

The doors behind him burst open, and pulled me from the moment of self-awareness. A silver-haired Angel, my soulmate who betrayed me so many eons ago, burst in. The sight of him in his flowing robes with his long hair braided back so that I could see his blue eyes and strong features stole my breath. Pain ripped through my chest as the old wounds on my heart reopened.

No! You will not touch her. Not with your mind, your hands, or your power. You are a guest in this fortress, and you will act as such. Should you harm her, I will have you flogged and cast out, he threatened Vretil. My body went to him, but I didn’t go with it. I stood there, watching in third person as she embraced him, and he pulled her in, moving her behind him shielding her with his body.

"Your wish is my command, Kitran.¹⁵ She nearly drowned, I was only saving her," Vretil replied, and I shivered. Vretil saved me from drowning. Nightmare, my horse, bucked as Vretil alighted on the battlements. I was riding bareback, so I had nothing to grab on to as his mane was pure flame. I careened over the stone wall and into the moat three stories below.

I was too shocked to react. I should have pulled out my wings, but Nightmare never bucked. When my feet touched the slimy bottom of the stagnant moat, I tried to swim up, but Vretil wrapped his arm around my waist and hauled me up. I gasped and took in a lung full of water.

Time froze as I focused on my love’s silvery blue eyes that danced with flames as he stood his ground against my alleged Rescuer. I found out decades later, from the Witch’s own lips, that it was a staged event. She landed right after Vretil and used her pathokinesis to spook Nightmare, so that he could save me and win our trust.

At the thought, the scene changed. I stood in my bedroom in that fortress. My past self was asleep on the bed, unaware that anything was amiss, but a female form stood over her, weaving a spell as she slept.

I leapt over the bed at the Fœmoræ I nicknamed Goldilocks and caught her around the waist. I rode her to the stone floor and pinned her beneath me. She stared up at me, her golden eyes thrown wide with shock and fear. The Maker’s Holy Fire burned in my chest and my hair lifted from my back, floating as if it were living flame. It glowed, illuminating the scene around me.

You will not lay your filthy hands on her, Aurelia. You will leave this room and never return to it, I growled at her, using her Angelic name like I hadn’t done since I escaped her six thousand, nine hundred, and six years ago. Her pupils dilated as the command sunk home, and I realized just how tainted she was, even back then. My form on the bed stirred, and my hair dimmed.

When she was asleep again, I looked down at Aurelia, the Witch, Midas’ Love, the Bitchtress, Goldilocks… She stared at me wide eyed and panicked. She looked from me to the bed and back, unsure that she wasn’t dreaming.

How can you be here and there? she asked. I grinned down at her. I had the upper hand. I leaned in close enough to smell the daffodil, honey, and cream of her skin. The smell, that once sent me into a panic attack, now empowered me.

"Do not underestimate me, Akramatha¹⁶. If you hurt me and mine, I will see you killed. I don’t care how much he loves you. You will stay away from him, or I will cut you from navel, I said, resting my index finger on the dimple at the top of her pierced belly button, to ribcage. I drew a line up her bare stomach to the bottom of her ribs. Then I will use your guts for garters and dance on your bones," I threatened, and her pupils shrunk to slits. She growled, and I extended my black iron talon over my fingernail until it bit into her skin.

Before I could draw blood, the doors to my room flew open, and both Vretil and the Akram came to her rescue. Their combined kinetic energy knocked me back. I fell from Este’ConNôke¹⁷ back to Grætonôke¹⁸.

⁂

Something hard slammed into me. The air rushed from my lungs as my eyes flew opened. The galaxy swirled above me for a moment as I reoriented myself to the present. Zamina peeked over the edge of the bed, watching me cautiously. She leaned forward, no longer in her green skirt suit. She wore a pair of black yoga pants and cropped green sweater.

I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. You were on top of me, and I didn’t realize you were having a night terror, she apologized. I grimaced at the