Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 125179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Most patrons were in fancy dress, and many had had their faces painted. Most had also plied themselves with alcohol. They stood around in groups, danced on the manmade dancefloor, tackled iconic Halloween songs on the karaoke—most of which were from the 70s and 80s—or even played bowling with pumpkins at the other side of the warehouse.
The building normally stored vehicles—all of which were now parked in driveways or at curbs around the town that was smack bam in the middle of no man’s land. Woods, lakes, and mountains bordered the town. Varying types of houses were situated around it. Stores, bars, and restaurants could be found at the pretty plaza. Beyond those were warehouses, utility structures, and pastureland.
The town was vastly different from the medieval city below them, where many residents lived, including the Ancients—seven beings who’d founded Devil’s Cradle. Beings who could also grant people all sorts of things in exchange for their soul. Not weird at all.
The badlands landscape surrounding the town was wild and untamed with the hills, spires, and crooks. So very different from the lushly forested town of Aeon—a place she’d once lived before the immortal beings that ruled it unfairly decided to end her life . . . at which point she’d cursed the land with a wasting disease before fleeing.
It could be said that she was somewhat unforgiving.
Wynter took another sip of her warm cider. “Gotta say, as special events go, this is way better than that midnight 5k fancy dress run we did last night.”
“I agree,” said Hattie, reaching beneath her veil to adjust her fading red hair. “That race was brutal. My feet are still killing me.”
Wynter frowned at the elderly woman. “I don’t see why they would be. You didn’t run, you flew in your crow form. And you only completed half the race.”
“I got lost.”
Delilah snickered. “What happened to your avian navigation skills?”
Hattie shot the Latina a scowl. “I turn into a crow, not a homing pigeon.”
Wynter chuckled. The old woman hadn’t gotten lost during the race at all. Nope. She’d headed home so she could finish her book, and they all knew it.
Dancing on the spot, Delilah said, “Damn, I love Halloween.”
So did Wynter. And, as it happened, so did most of Devil’s Cradle—something she’d learned when a schedule of events was posted through the letterbox of their cottage in the underground city. The residents didn’t wait for the 31st of October to come crawling around; no, they began their celebrations on the first day of the month. All kinds of weird and wonderful events took place during the run-up.
Well, preternatural beings tended to like Halloween. It was a day for monsters, after all. And Devil’s Cradle was full of various species of preternatural, which was why it was also known as “the home of monsters”. Not a comforting nickname, no, but it didn’t stop people regularly coming here to seek the Ancients’ permission to stay.
Wynter and her coven—all of whom had a price on their head—had done that very thing. It wasn’t at all unusual for Ancients to give refuge to fugitives and outcasts. The seven immortals were outcasts themselves. They were banished from Aeon many moons ago after another breed of immortal they resided among had slaughtered their kind and dumped the only survivors here.
The price for sanctuary at Devil’s Cradle was steep. Residents had to sell partial rights to their soul to one of the Ancients, who would then brand them and provide them with shelter and protection.
Wynter wore such a brand on her palm—a “C” surrounding a triangle that had a snake slinking through it. The “C” stood for Cain, an Ancient who not so long ago marked her a second time when he claimed her as his consort. The seal looked as if it had been stamped on her inner wrist with a hot iron, so there was nothing subtle about it.
As of late, Cain no longer owned only partial rights to her soul. She’d sold all rights to him in exchange for immortality so that she could live a full life with him. It also meant that her soul was now once more anchored to this realm.
She had lost said anchor when she’d died as a child. If a deity hadn’t back then turned her into a revenant—a sort-of-undead witch that hosted a monster and was essentially an instrument of vengeance—Wynter’s soul would still be in the netherworld. Otherwise known as purgatory for preternatural beings.
“Apparently, there’s a crazy build up to Halloween every year,” said Xavier. “Some residents considered skipping it this time round, since things aren’t exactly great between the Ancients and the Aeons right now. War could be declared on us at any moment. But the majority of the townspeople figured that that was all the more reason to take the time to celebrate everyday stuff.”