AI The Fae-forged blade bit into the bark, releasing a spray of luminescent purple sap that hissed against the iron-rich soil.
Aurora dragged her shoulder-length black hair out of her eyes and hauled herself through the tear in the air. The boundary of the Fae Grove stretched like hot glass before snapping shut behind her, cutting off the muted rumble of London traffic.
"You cut the threshold raggedly, child," Isolde said.
The half-Fae drifted across the carpet of white moss, her silver hair trailing behind her waist like a banner in a breeze that did not exist. Pale lavender eyes scanned the ancient oak standing stones that marked the clearing.
"The cut sufficed," Rory said. She sheath the leaf-shaped dagger into her coat, shivering as the blade's unnatural cold seeped through the leather. "Where's the shadow?"
"Behind you. Always behind."
Nyx detached themselves from the trunk of a weeping willow whose leaves wept actual crimson nectar. Their humanoid silhouette shifted, black smog solidifying into a six-foot-two frame. Faintly glowing violet eyes flickered where a face ought to be.
"The air here tastes of spoiled honey and old lies," Nyx whispered. The sound rattled like dry leaves scraping across cobblestones. "The Veil thin. Too thin."
"That's why we're here," Rory said. She reached beneath her collar, her fingers brushing the thumb-sized Heartstone Pendant. The deep crimson gemstone throbbed against her skin, a steady, warm pulse that matched her heart rate. "Isolde said the rift was leaking."
" Leaking is a mortal word," Isolde said, pausing beside a cluster of orchids that opened and closed like breathing lungs. "The bleeding has begun. Listen."
Rory stilled. The silence of the Grove differed from the quiet of her London flat above Silas' bar. It was an active silence , heavy with unseen pulse points. A low, resonant hum vibrated up through the soles of her boots. It tasted of copper and crushed spices, an impossibly rich aroma that coated the back of her throat.
"Gluttony," Rory muttered. "Belphegor's realm."
"The third gate of Dymas," Nyx whispered, drifting closer to a stone archway smothered in iridescent ivy. "I remember the warm amber skies. The endless kitchens. The screaming."
"Keep your nostalgia to yourself," Rory snapped, stepping around a cluster of crystal toadstools that chimed like crystal glasses at a dinner party.
They moved deeper into the pocket dimension, where the laws of Earth dissolved. Above them, no sun shone, yet a strange, golden dusk illuminated leaves shaped like silver coins. The path sank into a gorge lined with basalt pillars. Water flowed upward along the rock faces, defying gravity in silent, rippling ribbons.
Rory touched the pendant. The crimson stone burned hotter now, pushing against her collarbone.
"It's close," she said.
"Close is a spatial illusion," Isolde remarked, stepping over a stream of liquid starlight without leaving a footprint in the mud. "The distance between Hel and this grove is merely an unsaid thought."
"Can you speak plainly just once?" Rory rubbed her temples. "Just one sentence without a metaphor?"
"Truth is a raw onion," Isolde replied, her lavender eyes wide and unblinking. "To peel it is to weep."
"I asked for that."
The gorge opened into a vast underground amphitheatre carved from petrified wood. At the centre sat a sunken pool, but instead of water, it held a swirling vortex of warm amber smoke. The sky of Dymas reflected in the mist, showing glimpses of grand, terraced vineyards and spiralling towers built from polished bone and gilded brass.
The heat radiating from the rift hit Rory like an open furnace door. The air smelled of roasting meats, dark wine, and rich, heavy soil, an overwhelming sensory assault that made her stomach rumble despite her rising dread.
"A tear in the fabric," Nyx observed, their shadow form fraying at the edges as the sulfurous draft hit them. "The Wardens are blind to this one."
"They aren't looking in the right places," Rory said. She stepped toward the pool's edge, her boot dislodging a pebble that fell into the amber smoke and dissolved instantly with a soft *hiss *. "How long before this opens wide enough for something to crawl through?"
"It has already crawled," Isolde said.
Rory froze, her hand flying to the hilt of the moonsilver dagger. "What?"
"Look at the roots, Rory."
Around the perimeter of the pool, the pale, translucent roots of the ancient oaks were turning black, absorbing the amber fog like ink soaked up by paper. Where the rot touched the wood, thick, bulbous fruit sprouted instantly, bursting with sickly sweet syrup that dripped into the earth.
"A parasite rift," Nyx rasped, stepping between Rory and the pit. "Dymas feeds. It eats the Ley lines of Earth to swell its own harvests."
"We seal it," Rory said. "Isolde, the binding chant."
"The chant requires a blood toll," Isolde said, her expression serene, untouched by the growing heat . "Fae blood. Or human."
"I'm not bleeding for a hole in the ground," Rory said.
"Then the hole will bleed for you," a voice boomed from the amber fog.
The liquid smoke surged upward. A massive, four-legged shape hauled itself over the lip of the pool. It resembled a boar, but its hide was forged from cracked terracotta, glowing with inner magma, and its tusk was a single, twisted column of obsidian.
"Bound soul," Nyx whispered, slipping into the shadows of the rock wall. "A hunter from Belphegor's pack."
The beast snorted, a plume of scalding steam spraying from its nostrils and blackening the grass near Rory's feet. Its small, yellow eyes locked onto the crimson Heartstone hanging around her neck.
"Give," the beast grunted, its voice like grinding millstones. "The Prince... wants his trinket."
Rory drew the Fae blade. The cold metal hissed as it met the hot, humid air of the grove, a faint blue light gleaming along its leaf-shaped edge.
"Tell the Prince to buy his own jewelry," she said.
The beast charged , its heavy hoofs shattering the petrified wood floor. The ground shook, throwing Isolde off balance as the creature closed the distance in a heartbeat, its obsidian tusk aimed straight for Rory's chest.
Rory dived left, the heat of the beast's flank scorching the sleeve of her denim jacket. She rolled, coming up on one knee, and lashed out with the blade. Moonsilver bit into terracotta, carving a deep groove that spilled golden, liquid fire instead of blood.
The creature bellowed, turning with terrifying speed for a beast its size. Its tail, a thick iron chain ending in a spiked ball, whipped through the air.
Rory raised her arm to guard, but the blow never landed.
Nyx erupted from the creature's own shadow, dark tendrils wrapping around the iron chain and binding it to the stone floor. The beast squealed, thrashing wildly, but the shadow held firm, dragging its hindquarters toward the floorboards.
"Now, Carter!" Nyx hissed, their voice strained, violet eyes flaring like dying stars. "I cannot hold a hell-forged thing for long!"
"Isolde! The blood!" Rory yelled, darting forward.
Isolde didn't hesitate. She dragged her own palm across the edge of her silver hair, slicing the skin. Pale, iridescent blood welled up, glittering like mercury. She struck the nearest standing stone with her wet palm.
"By the wind that cuts and the earth that binds," Isolde chanted, her voice suddenly echoing with a double resonance that rattled the teeth in Rory's skull, "shut the jaw, close the mind!"
The roots of the oak tree writhed like striking serpents, shooting across the stone floor toward the beast.
Rory leaped onto the creature's back, plunging the Fae blade deep into the joint between its neck and shoulder. The cold metal met the fiery heart of the beast, and a blinding flash of white light illuminated the cavernous grove.
The creature shrieked, a sound like tearing metal, as the moonsilver ice shattered its terracotta skin. It disintegrated into a rain of hot ash and glowing coals that scattered across the wet moss.
Rory landed hard on her side, knocking the wind from her lungs. She scrambled up, her chest heaving, the Heartstone pendant burning like a live coal against her sternum.
"Is it closed?" she gasped, looking back at the pool.
The amber smoke was gone , replaced by clear, still water reflecting the silver leaves above. But the peace lasted only a second.
A sharp *crack * echoed through the chamber, like a whip snapping in a small room.
The water in the pool didn't boil; it turned pitch black. From the center of the dark mirror, a single, pale hand reached out, its long, manicured nails gripping the edge of the stone basin. A ring, set with a crest Rory recognized all too well, glittered in the dim light.
"Rory," a smooth, cultured voice drifted up from the black water, entirely unbothered by the seal. "You really should stop running from Cardiff."
Rory's grip tightened on the hilt of her blade until her knuckles turned white . "Evan."