Dysella stormed back into Maeve’s Place, still bleeding from her arm wound. Chloey had followed her the entire way back through the woods. And where Dysella had done her best to clear an easy path for Tonya on the walk to that vampire farmhouse, the half-breed angel purposefully walked through thorny bushes and past low branches so Chloey would pick up more scrapes and cuts following her back.

  But the magician chased her persistently. It annoyed Dysella to no end, but the ends of her lips quirked upward briefly each time Chloey hissed, “Ow! Fucking thorns.”

  Dysella’s HP: 69/112 [Nice.]

  Chloey’s HP: 30/31

  The last thing Dysella said to Chloey before entering Maeve’s Place was, “I have sweated my ass off hiking through the woods, been bitten and clawed at by vampires, and lied to by an annoying human who thought deception was the best way to earn my aid. If I were you, I’d hike down to Bravehaven and find a fucking room for the night. If I catch you in that tavern, the violence I’ll unleash on you will make what I did to those vamps look like child’s play.”

  Choley just stood there blinking in the dark.

  Inside, the thunderstorm around Dysella diminished a little bit because this was her home, and she instinctively felt more at ease here than anywhere else. She took a deep breath and forced her shoulders to relax. However pissed she was, the half-breed angel knew it was better to keep that rage aimed at the magician, rather than risk Maeve becoming a casualty.

  The retired faerie godmother sat reading at a smaller table by the fireplace. A blue, smokeless flame crackled in the fireplace, casting cool air through the tavern instead of heat.

  When Maeve’s green eyes glanced up at Dysella, she flinched and said, “Shit, girl! You’re bleeding on my floor.”

  Stopping and looking down at the trail of red blood, Dysella sighed.

  “I’ll. . . clean that up later,” she mumbled.

  Maeve climbed out of her chair. She had giant’s blood in her, and the seven feet of height she carried with each step came naturally. Part giant. Part elf. All godmother.

  “What happened?” the fae asked, walking behind the counter and returning with a first aid kit.

  Dysella sat down at the bar, careful to keep her gold-flecked blood off the smooth mahogany surface.

  “Tonya led me into a trap,” Dysella growled.

  The fae opened the red metal box and pulled out gauze.

  “And you didn’t think to heal yourself on the way back? What’s that phrase from your holy book? ‘Physician, heal thyself’?” Maeve asked.

  She didn’t bother sanitizing the wound. While vampire bites contained a mild venom that, with repeated feedings, left human victims sickly and weak, Dysella’s angelic blood granted her a baseline immortality.

  Ability: Angelspawn Immortality

  Description: Descendants of angels are granted minor immortality, stopping their aging at 33, and preventing their bodies from becoming sick or ill due to diseases, biological anomalies, venom, or viruses.

  “First off, not my holy book. I didn’t choose for my parents to be major parts of a violent world religion. Second. . . the trap was a vamp nest.”

  Dysella’s voice quieted at the end of her sentence. She looked down, picturing their faces again.

  Maeve’s fingers stopped bandaging the wound for a moment.

  “Oh,” was all she said.

  She and Sam were the only two people in the world who knew about the events of December 3, 2020, and why that date fucked Dysella up so much that she was still carrying the wound 30 years later.

  “And I can’t heal myself because I. . . snapped and went into a blind rage upon seeing the vamps. I used my demon blood. So, no angelic healing for at least 12 hours,” Dysella mumbled, looking at her bandaged arm. “See?”

  She hovered her fingers over the tightly-wrapped wound and attempted to summon holy magic to close the fang marks. Her fingers twitched and struggled. Magical constipation ensued. The use of demonic abilities had locked her out of most angelic techniques she’d freely used in the past.

  Ability: Angelic Restoration

  Description: Channeling holy magic, angels and angelspawn can heal wounds ranging from minor to severe. (This technique restores 10-15 HP).

  Attempted Ability Use Status: Failed due to lingering demonic corruption detected in the bloodstream.

  Closing her sword hand, Dysella frowned.

  “And that’s why we keep first aid kits in the tavern,” Maeve said. “Magic is helpful when you can use it, but sometimes you have to do things the slow way. The mortal way.”

  The half-breed angel scoffed.

  “I find that ironic, coming from you, Miss ‘I Remember When The Romans First Visited Us In éire.’”

  Maeve squeezed Dysella’s arm a little.

  “Owowowow,” she hissed.

  The fae grinned, sweetly. A grin she’d wore so many times in front of ungrateful parents when delivering a blessing to their baby.

  “Yeah? Suddenly remember that with the demon blood gone you feel pain normally again?” she mocked.

  Dysella said nothing until Maeve finished bandaging her arm.

  When she finished, those green eyes wandered up to Dysella’s. The pair just stared at each other for a moment.

  “My arms are getting itchy. Why don’t you come downstairs with me, and we’ll talk?”

  The half-breed angel raised an eyebrow.

  “Not until you tell me why you failed to warn me about her illusion. You’re a fae. Glamor’s been your bread and butter since. . . a really long time ago,” Dysella said.

  “Ouch. That’s twice now you’ve called me old. But yes, I saw through her amulet’s illusion easily enough. You don’t out-illusion the fae. Even demons respect our tricks enough to admit superiority in that division. But I didn’t fail to warn you. I simply chose not to.”

  Dysella opened her mouth to speak again, but Maeve held up a hand.

  “I figured if someone wanted your help badly enough that they’d be a literal child for a day, their needs must be pretty urgent.”

  Shaking her head, Dysella walked behind the bar and grabbed a bottle of devilpiss from the icebox.

  Enchanted Item: Icebox

  Description: An antique wooden box with two doors. The right door opens to reveal a large block of ice. Runes carved into the right door prevent the ice from ever melting. The left door opens to reveal four wire racks with bottles of devilpiss, ale, meade, and small fruits for drink garnishments.

  Popping off the metal cap with her sword hand, the angel took a drink of booze so bitter, it’d make a normal human vomit within two sips. But this bitterness, too, was her heritage as a half-breed demon.

  With a swipe of Dysella’s hand, Mollie flew back up to her mounted hooks on the wall and rested.

  “Do you ever miss your sword of pure fire?” Maeve asked, opening a green door behind the bar that led to a staircase.

  Dysella strolled toward the steps and said, “The sword you gifted me is perfect, love.”

  She stretched a little to kiss her girlfriend on the lips, finding Maeve tasting of cinnamon and honey, as always. Maeve smirked at this answer. And she watched her girlfriend’s ass highlighted by the occasional hanging wall lantern as the fae followed Dysella into the basement of the hidden tavern.

  They emerged into a stone shooting range, of sorts. One half of the range consisted of hanging paper targets for Dysella to shoot her pistol at. The other half consisted of target faces painted in reds, oranges, and yellows more appropriate for archery. Each target face stood on three legs, creating a tripod.

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  Two firing lines had been set up and divided into different shooting booths for Dysella and Maeve to practice in.

  The back wall of the basement shooting range consisted of a tan locker where Dysella kept her gun cleaning kit and spare ammunition and a wall mount where an ornate wooden recurve bow hung, waiting for her owner. The wood was painted with rays of sunlight and roses of different colors. A leather quiver of feathered arrows hung under the bow.

  As the pair stepped deeper into the shooting range, troughs of yellow faeriefire lit along the walls of the room, illuminating the entire space.

  Maeve strung her bow and swung the quiver over her back, stepping up to her shooting booth.

  Somewhere between the bar floor the basement, her outfit had changed to grey trousers, brown boots, black suspenders, and a white button-down shirt.

  Dysella pulled out a folding chair and card table from beside her locker. Next she pulled out a box of ammunition and a rolled black microfiber cloth from the locker. Closing the rattling metal door, Dysella took a seat and summoned the Mark IV to her hand.

  Technique: Angel-pocket

  Dysella’s Health: 74/112

  Ejecting the empty cartridge, Dysella began to slowly reload it with regular .22 bullets, having used all her wood-tipped ammo on this last “good deed.”

  The half-breed angel felt wildfae magic stir as Maeve’s eyes glowed. She positioned her bow, nocked the arrow, and took aim at the first target. The arrow tip began to glow with white light.

  Equipment: One enchanted 72-inch recurve bow

  Name: Bridget

  Material: Heartwood from the Faewilds

  Damage: 15 from the arrow and 5 more whatever magical effects Maeve has selected.

  Abilities: When the arrow is nocked, Maeve’s natural vision acts as a scope where she can track and account for movement from her targets up to 300 feet away. Arrows may be enchanted for different outcomes.

  Maeve fired true, and the arrow found its first target, surrounding it in a dome of soft pale light. A basic enchantment meant to be used in dark areas. The light spell from the arrow would likely last several minutes.

  Dysella looked up from reloading her cartridge to admire the straining sleeves on Maeve’s shirt. The soft cotton fabric pulled tight against the fae’s biceps when she nocked a second arrow. She held that pose, not to aim at the second target, but because the archer knew her girlfriend was watching closely. Maeve smiled and let the second arrow fly. It struck a farther target with a small FWIP sound.

  “Enjoying the show?” she asked, turning back to Dysella.

  “Always,” she said. “You know that it’s a good show when I stop fucking with my gun to pay attention.”

  The fae turned and leaned back against the wall of her shooting booth.

  “Arms stopped itching already, have they?” Dysella asked, raising an eyebrow and grinning. But Maeve had stopped smiling. She stared at the wood-paneled ceiling of the basement and thought before speaking.

  “Just can’t waste a rare moment when you’re actually paying attention to me,” Maeve said.

  Dysella cocked her head to the side. She’d stopped smiling as well. To hide this, the half-breed angel took a drink of her devilpiss.

  System Warning To The Reader: Please do not mix alcohol (otherworldly or otherwise) and firearms. Gun safety is an important issue, and far too many accidents happen each year because firearm owners don’t properly respect their tools or follow safety guidelines.

  “So, why’d she do it?” Maeve asked, emerald orbs finding their way back to Dysella’s gaze, perfectly timed as she lowered the bottle.

  “You mean, why did the woman who strolled into your tavern lure me into a vamp nest? Actually, let’s address that before I answer your question. Your enchantment’s second rule prevents people from entering with malevolent intent. Lying and luring are malevolent, are they not?”

  Maeve sighed.

  “We’ve discussed this before. Humans are complicated creatures. It’s downright impossible for fae to create foolproof magical rules they won’t find some way to bend or slip through. The second rule of my enchantment on this place primarily deals with people who seek to enter and physically harm another being on the premises.

  “Because she didn’t try to come in here and shank you with a knife, the lady was able to stroll on in and lure you away.”

  Dysella frowned.

  “To harm me,” the angel said, finishing her devilpiss.

  The fae continued to stare her down.

  “What’d she want, Dice?”

  Reloading her firearm and then placing it back into her palm, the half-breed angel willed it away, and it vanished.

  Technique: Angel-pocket

  Dysella’s health: 75/112

  Current Status: Partially inebriated

  “She says there’s a Hell Baron that needs to be robbed in a month.”

  Maeve frowned.

  “What would drive a mortal to take such a risk. Dealing with an ordinary demon is enough to drive most humans into insanity. But a Hell Baron? That makes no sense.”

  Scratching her head and standing up, the half-breed angel walked her bottle over to a trash bin and dropped it inside.

  “She said the Hell Baron is her ex-husband, and he has their daughter in Hell. She wants to steal their daughter back,” Dysella said, leaning against the locker.

  Maeve dropped her arms and scratched her tight curly hair. Her boot squeaked against the floor as she twisted one of the heels in thought.

  “She wanted to know if you were the real deal,” Maeve mumbled.

  “Yeah! And I got fucking fanged for it,” Dysella hissed.

  Hanging up Bridget, the fae turned to her girlfriend and held out her arms. Dysella shook her head but found her feet heading in that direction without thinking. Burying her nose in Bridget’s chest, Dysella scoffed. But she didn’t say anything.

  “I’m sorry it was vampires,” Maeve whispered, stroking Dysella’s hair. “I know you have a history with the bloodsuckers. But she didn’t know that. The human is. . . what? In her 20s? You remember what it was like being that age once, right? Young and stupid?”

  With a second scoff, Dysella offered a muffled, “Oh, I remember. Now I’m just older and stupid.”

  Maeve kept rubbing her girlfriend’s head, eliciting a quiet hum from the half-breed angel, who appeared slightly passified.

  “You have your moments, Dice. But you and I both know you do things the hard way more than you have to.”

  When Dysella didn’t respond to that, Maeve continued.

  “Let me guess, you told her to fuck off becuase you’d already done your good deed for the month.”

  Dysella chucked at that. It was a bitter laugh. Her mind was still thinking about the vamp nest. Not today’s. The one she’d left her team behind in 30 years ago.

  But even still, Maeve knew her girlfriend well.

  “Maybe you should do it,” Maeve mumbled.

  Pulling away from her girlfriend just enough to look up into her face, Dysella scowled. It was a vicious look.

  “You’re not serious,” she hissed.

  Maeve cupped Dysella’s cheeks and pressed her forehead down upon the half-breed angel’s head.

  “Listen to me. She fucked up. You get to get angry at her for that. Truly, darling. You do. But think about how monumentally she fucked up.”

  “Oh, believe me, I am,” Dysella growled.

  Maeve’s eyes bored into her girlfriend’s.

  “Now think about what horrible thing must have driven her to commit such a terrible error in judgement. You want to stop at being pissed, and I’m asking you to push your brain a little further down the path. Your heart can stay mad, but your mind? Carry it a little further.”

  Dysella looked to the left. She took a deep breath and huffed. Maeve gently pushed her girlfriend’s face back to her own.

  “Her daughter is likely still human. Demonic traits don’t appear in human/demon hybrids until their teen years. And she’s trapped in Hell. As a human. Think of what that’d do to a mortal,” Maeve said. Her tone was quiet and patient. She knew exactly how to tell Dysella what the half-breed angel didn’t want to hear.

  When the warrior failed to respond, Maeve risked pushing her a little further.

  “When was the last time you channeled your divinity, Dysella?”

  The angel bit her tongue before answering.

  “Seven months. I was defending an elderly couple on the road to New Haven.”

  Maeve just nodded.

  “It’s. . . getting more difficult,” Dysella said, hanging her head low.

  “Maybe it’s just getting too easy to hate yourself, darling. I know you miss it. My sword’s good, but your fingers have been itching for the hilt of that blade of pure fire. Your shoulders have been aching for the weight angelic armor. . . among other things. I truly think you’re at your happiest when you can manage to find your nobler self.”

  Pressing her forehead against Maeve’s bosom, Dysella sighed. She clenched her fists and fought for words.

  “You sound like my father,” the half-breed angel finallyy said. “Who, coincidentally, has my old sword and armor.”

  “The same father who said they’d give those things back to you if you’d just show up and ask them?” Maeve said.

  The fae took to rubbing the back of Dysella’s neck, coaxing a different kind of sigh from her girlfriend.

  “I can’t be what they want me to be, Mae. You know that. The angels are all virtue without the humanity that gives it meaning. Worthiness aside, I don’t just want to be a slave to their wishes,” Dysella said.

  Her tone was as bitter as the drink she’d finished.

  Maeve leaned down and kissed the top of Dysella’s head.

  “Darling, have you considered that by sending this mother away without help, you’re nothing more than a slave to your mom’s wishes? What would Lady Darkmoore have urged you to say earlier today?”

  The half-breed angel shut her eyes tight, trying not to hear the demon’s signature velvet chuckle. Her mindgames were far worse than Dysella’s father.

  But as much as Dysella hated to admit it, Maeve was right. If she helped Chloey, she was doing what her father wanted. And by turning the desperate magician away, Dysella only continued to do what her mother wanted.

  “Maybe in the end, we’re all just slaves to our family’s wishes,” Dysella whispered.

  But Maeve heard even this. Her pointed ears twitched, and she kissed the top of Dysella’s head again.

  “Oh, my sweet angel. Who cares if helping this woman rescue her daughter is what your father would want? Maybe once in a while your objectives line up. That doesn’t make you a slave to their wishes. It’s not like you’ve signed up to join the banner of the Lion Chorus.”

  Dysella sighed for what felt like the 50th time.

  “So. . . you want me to look deep and find my nobler self?”

  “I want you to be happy, Dice. I’ve seen you with those curved horns, giving into a feral rage. I’ve seen you bathed in radiant light, fighting to protect the innocent travelers of Nameless. I think you’re happier during the latter,” she said.

  Looking up into Maeve’s face, Dysella frowned. She pulled back and crossed her arms, tapping her right foot. And with a deep breath, the half-breed angel huffed. She shook head head a few times in furious thought.

  “Fine. I guess I’m going into town tomorrow to find her. But I’m not happy about it,” Dysella grumbled.

  Maeve rolled her eyes.

  “You know, if it helps you, think of it like this. How many Hell Barons are left after the Duel? Five? Chances are the one we’re robbing is a close ally of Lady Darkmoore, and you’d be embarrassing your mother by pulling such a stunt.”

  Dysella froze for a second as her eyes widened. And then a wicked grin slowly spread across her face. She rubbed her hands together and cackled evily.

  “Oh yes. I’m definitely committing to this now. I can’t turn down an opportunity to piss off Mother Dearest.”