“Really? I’m sure I didn’t.” Druantia turned and smiled sweetly at her. “Tea?”
“Um, sure. Thanks.”
“So, tell me what happened and how I can help.” Druantia gestured to the chair that Cam had sat in for his tattoo.
Ana sat. She looked around the room, which was still fairly empty with the exception of the bookshelves. They’d been here just yesterday, so full of hope. And now everything she’d feared had happened.
Ana shook away the miserable thought and told Druantia about the gods while the other woman made tea at a little counter in the corner. The ding and click of the electric kettle made Ana’s mouth water for something warm after being in the frigid wind.
“Here you go.” Druantia handed over the steaming mug and Ana took it gratefully. She smiled at Druantia and sipped.
“Thanks.” She sipped again, luxuriating in the warmth that spread through her as she dredged up the energy to finish her tale
. Her status as a demigod was making her hungrier and more susceptible to cold than she’d ever been as a god. “Cam took my place in Otherworld. He’s trapped there now.”
“Oh, what a shame.”
Ana blinked, certain that Druantia’s voice had changed. And was she smiling?
“And what do you want from me?” Druantia asked. Yes, her voice did sound strange.
Ana blinked again and rubbed her ears. A buzzing bee was trapped in her head. “I need to get to Otherworld.” She tried to keep talking, to tell Druantia that she had to find a way to save Cam, but her tongue had become so leaden.
“You—the tea—” Her hand relaxed on the glass, and it fell to the ground. The shatter of ceramic on stone floor echoed in her ears.
“Aye. The tea. You gods always think you’re cleverer than we mortals. Why you’re so arrogant, I have no idea. You’ve no reason to be.” Druantia tsked and leaned back in her small chair, a smug cat’s smile stretching across her face.
Ana’s mind scrambled to understand, to make sense of the woman sitting across from her and all that had happened.
“You—you sent Cernowain to us.” She wished the damn bee in her head would die. “Not… his spies.”
“Of course. Idiot gods always need my help. And it suited my purpose to have Camulos found and punished for desertion.” Hatred thickened her voice.
“But you… helped him Fall. With tattoo… and potion.” Speaking was becoming harder.
“Of course, you imbecile. I’d do anything to see that arrogant bastard lowered from his godly status. Had I been able to kill him, I would’ve. But he’s too damned strong, and I never knew where he went once he fell from godhood. I couldn’t believe my luck when you walked into my shop. Of course I set the gods on you. I’d have done it right away if I could have, but I didn’t want to alert Camulos. He’s still strong enough to kill me.” Bitterness and fear flashed across her face. “So I gave him the damn tattoo. And I added a tracking spell I’d recently devised. It was only a matter of time before Cernowain found you.”
“But…” Ana’s voice trailed off as fog clouded her mind.
“I’ve been waiting ages for this. And now I’ve got plans for you.” Druantia reached out. Her hands were cold and strong, biting into Ana’s flesh.
With what felt like a herculean effort, Ana heaved herself off the chair and onto the floor and the broken mug. Druantia crashed on top her, and Ana felt the bite of glass into her arm. They grappled, but no matter how Ana struggled, the dark and deep of her mind dragged her under until she could hear nothing but the buzzing in her head.
Something brushed over her arm, light and quick. The tickling woke Ana. She jerked upright from the hard floor, breath sawing in and out of her lungs, and her eyes popped open wide.
Darkness. All she could see was darkness. Air whistled through her throat as she tried to get it together. Blind.
She blinked frantically, shaking her head. No, she wasn’t blind, she realized as her eyes adjusted to the gloom. A tiny window high on the wall let in just enough light through heavy streaks of grime.
A streak of pain pierced her skull. She rubbed her aching head, then winced when the cuts on her arm burned. She poked at the slices in her flesh that peeked out from the holes in her shirt. From the mug, she remembered. And her fight with Druantia.
Blood was dried on the fabric. What the hell? She was a demigod. If the blood was dried, enough time had passed that her wound should have at least started to heal.
Yet it was still gaping and ugly, slowly trickling blood. She prodded the lump on her head. Had she gotten that when she’d been thrown into this dark room? Demigods didn’t heal that much slower than regular gods.
She looked up, more concerned with where she was trapped than with her wound. What the fuck? Druantia had drugged her. And thrown her in a cupboard or a butler’s pantry, from the look of the shelves. The sound of rustling and chattering drew her attention to the corner.
Rats. One must have crawled across her arm. But it wasn’t tiny rat feet that bothered her. No, this shit was far worse.