My lungs stall. We aren’t just fucked.
We’re fuckingdoomed.
TRAITOROUS
Poppy
Istare at the demonic skull in my text thread with Brontë, head pounding and mind reeling as he drives me home.
“Is that what I think it is?” His knuckles bleach on the shifter and steering wheel. He’s been tense since we left Indigo, and his discomfort is beginning to chafe my suspicion. Noting my slitted stare, he adds, “I’ve heard of cults branding their members, but it’s different seeing it with my own eyes.”
I catalogue his careful wording for later dissection. He didn’t say heneversaw something like this before. But my brain is still splitting in two, my critical thinking skills suffering alongside it.
“This is the mark of a cult named Leviathan,” I divulge. “If my family is the crown of this city, Leviathan is the church. Grandpapa Lucian told me stories about them when I was little. Their origins go as far back as our own. They are an organized operation spearheaded by nine individual Masters that specialize in their own respective subdivisions composed of Magi and Acolytes. The Volkovs were once members of Leviathan’s assassin guild, but they disaffiliated with the cult once they had enough power to wage war with us. I’m surprised Leviathan took them back. I’m even more worried about why.”
“Do you know who the Masters are?”
“No one does. Finding them is an impossible feat anyway. They’re a true shadow organization that doesn’t exist anywhere. No recording,no camera, and no book will have any documentation on them. The only reason I know is because of my papa and grandpapa, who were told the same by their forefathers. Leviathan was once close friends with the Morgensterns. Since then, though, the connections have faded.”
“Until now.”
“Right.” I peel off my sweaty jacket and lean my aching head back, lifting my cell and dialing Papa. “Now would be the part where you pray for me,monsieur.”
My father answers, listening to my report with growing agitation. When I’m finished, he hisses black curses. Glass shatters in the background, taking an axe to my bleeding brain. I hear Mama’s curt tone before the phone is passed to her.
“Where is the last Volkov boy, Poppy?”
“I don’t know, Mama. No one has seen or heard from him. I’ll keep trying—”
“No.” A single syllable, yet it’s sharp as a scythe. “You will nottryanything. You will do as commanded. Find Nikolai. Bring him to us. You cannot fail.”
“Hai,Mama. I—” The line goes silent, and I gape at the screen. “She hung up on me.”
Shame pushes me deeper into the seat as white noise swarms my skull. I attempt to swallow several times, but it feels like I’ve traded places with my targets. Like I’m the one gagged and destined to die.
The first tear balances on my lashes. It may as well be my soul tiptoeing the edge of a knife. I’m breathing like I just sprinted a marathon, fingers forming talons in my hair.
You cannot fail.
Brontë says something I don’t hear as I dial another number. My heart clamors to the beat of my wrath as I bounce my leg and rake my nails over my scalp.
“Pick up, you fucking coward.” When I’m unsurprisingly pushed to voicemail, I inhale the calming scent of bourbon and cherry smoke. “Nikolai Volkov, if you ever gave a damn about me, call me back…please.”
I send texts to what’s left of my cyber team, the sticky grit of Kai’s blood on my fingers smearing over the screen. Anxiety rises alongside bile in my throat as the fear of failure burns in my bones like corroding acid.
Brontë is still talking, but all I hear is:You cannot fail.
My gaze floats down to the dragon tattoo on my arm. Its stare traps me like a spiderweb.
“You cannot fail,” it coos.
My lips numb, and my mind goes dark. Dark as a locked room.
The world around me fades in and out. Until I can only see that dragon and its jaws opening wider and wider to devour my black soul—
“Poppy.” I glance up to see Brontë watching me from the driver’s seat as he parks us outside Beelzebub’s. The sight genuinely shocks me. I didn’t even feel the time pass. “What’s wrong?”
Kuso.This cannot be happening. Not now, when I need my mind to remain sharp and focused. Panic attacks haven’t haunted me in years, since I started self-medicating with my vape.