Loved (House of Night Other World #1)(16)

It was all part of being a Prophetess of Nyx.

Finally, they came to the stony ridge that looked down on the pool and grotto where Aurox’s sacrifice had entombed Nyx.

Everything appeared deceptively normal.

The wall had been finished in the middle of the summer. Made of the same rock as the ridge and the grotto, it looked more like a natural formation than a barricade to keep out stupid humans who thought leaving tokens and lighting candles around the sealed cave was a good idea.

Good idea?

Just the thought of anyone worshipping Neferet made Aphrodite sick.

If Neferet ever managed to escape, those same humans—the ones who considered it romantic and tragic what had happened to the “Goddess of Tulsa,” which is what a cult following on the Internet had dubbed Neferet—those worshippers would be the first to be eaten by the Tsi Sgili and her tendrils of Darkness. Morons and idiots, the lot of them.

So, with the help of the House of Night, a wall had been built around the grotto. It began at one end of the rocky ridge, grew to a height of ten feet, and formed a sinuous half-moon shape, which curved back toward the ridge, attaching beside the stone stairway.

The landscape architect had added a pergola topping it, and covered it with fast-growing, tenacious wisteria. Now, even in the winter, the vines, interspersed with thick cedar planks, almost completely obscured the view of the sealed grotto. In another year or so, it would be impossible to glimpse the tomb that rested silently beneath it.

Aphrodite looked around for the iron bench she remembered, and went to it. She sat and then gazed up at her confused friends.

“First, the roses. The OP at the garden believe someone ripped off their normal rose bushes and traded them for super weird, twisted roses that are in full bloom right now. In the middle of winter. Um, and the thief did all of that this afternoon at roughly the same time Z was being warned by Kalona that something bad was in the works. But no one saw a thing.”

“Wait, they think someone ripped off a bunch of rose bushes? This afternoon? Why would anyone do that?” Z asked.

“Anyone didn’t. If the OP actually thought about it they’d realize that it’s impossible for someone to dig up hundreds of rose bushes, in daylight, and replace them with crazy roses—all without being seen. But they’re distracted because of the color of the blooms—a color that is genetically impossible for a rose to produce.”

“What color? It was hard to tell from a distance,” Z said.

“Black. Each bloom was completely black.”

“Magick. Someone has to be using magick,” Stark said. “But why?”

“Sadly, I think I know why. The roses aren’t just black. They’re slick and cold. I touched one. It was like you’d imagine touching a snake would be—except snakes aren’t cold and wet and disgusting.”

“I don’t like where this is heading,” Z said, looking as pale as Aphrodite felt.

“I hear you, and that’s not the worst of it. The bushes themselves are awful. Their stalks are all misshapen so that they curl and bend toward the ground, looking exactly like dark, thorn-filled tendrils.”

“Oh, Goddess,” Zoey gasped. “Neferet’s children! The tendrils of Darkness.”

“Did you get a sense of sentience from them?” Darius asked quickly. “Did you see or feel them move at all?”

“No. But you saw how long I stayed.” She searched for and then met Zoey’s gaze, speaking formally. “High Priestess, I believe Kalona was right to warn you.”

“That is bad,” Stark said.

“It is, but as Nyx’s prophetess reminds us, this time we have been forewarned,” Darius said. Then his eyes narrowed on Aphrodite. “My beauty? You look ill.”

“I’m not sick.” With a trembling hand, Aphrodite wiped at the sweat beading her brow, automatically flinching from the pain spearing through her temples. “I’ll be okay. Just get me back to the House of Night as soon as possible. Call a black car Lyft. I can’t bear to think about riding in another Prius or Corolla. It’s just barbaric. And keep in mind that I don’t think it’s a problem to mix Xanax and wine.” Two months, she told herself. In two months it would have been a year since my last vision. Nyx, I don’t mean to complain, but sometimes—most of the time—visions suck ass and—

Aphrodite collapsed, covering her pain-seared eyes with her hands and pressing her palms into them, trying to keep them from exploding as the vision took her and pulled her under, submerging her in dark currents of semiconsciousness.

Then Aphrodite was no longer in her pain-wracked body. There was a terrible ripping sound, like a giant had torn a house-sized piece of cloth apart. She opened her eyes and was immediately overwhelmed with feelings of terror, despair, and loss.

And all around her, blood bubbled from an enormous tear in the ground, and with the geyser of blood figures emerged—swimming up—hooking hands with long, clawlike fingers into the earth and pulling themselves out of what looked like a bloody pit in the ground.

The feet of the body she inhabited began to stumble back.

Focus! She ordered herself. You’re not part of what’s happening. You’re just an observer.

She blinked, trying to clear her eyes of the tears cascading down her face. She knew her shoulders shook with sobs, and she was making a strange keening sound.