The silence filled the office with enough tension to choke those who needed air to breathe. Luckily, Bezel did not.

  Unfortunately, the Fauns did. They shivered in their seats, so furiously that the papers held in their hands crinkled and ripped. At least the pages didn't matter anymore anyway. Not since Bezel had picked them apart for information.

  Lightning hummed in the air. Enough to burn away skin or stop a heart, but Bezel remained indifferent. As he always did. And Mayvalt became the first to crack, as she always was. The legs of the couch ground against the flooring of his office as she rocketed upwards.

  He was nearly shocked that her antlers didn't embed in the ceiling. The papers she'd once closely cradled in her pockets fell to the floor, as forgotten as dust scattered around the black leather of her boots.

  "Boss!" Mayvalt snapped. She was angry with him. He didn't know why. It seemed there was a lot he didn't know these days.

  Bezel perched himself on the surface of his cluttered desk and cocked his head, absorbing with his glittering yellow eyes, the world as it unfolded around him. Mayvalt's heartbeat thumped in the hollow of her throat. Pink rose to her cheeks so that they began to match her frizzy hair.

  He looked into the furious coffee brown eyes, and he found no tears. So, he did not apologize. After all, what should he have been sorry for? Luvelt was the one who had lied. They had chipped away at Bezel's precious and eternal boredom.

  Worse, they'd filled his day with problems. Ones that Bezel would have gladly ignored, but that Mayvalt would not have. There were too many flies buzzing in his ears until he ached to tear them off and hear nothing again.

  When complaining silently to himself did not work, he resorted to sorting through each insistent insect and gnawing gnat, detangling the jumbled twine carefully in his mind. To do so, he'd have to start at the beginning again.

  His Fauns were missing.

  It was likely his fault, but that was still uncertain. Bezel often found himself the culprit to any imaginary slight one could conjure. If it had rained in Miami, they'd have found a way to blame him for that, too.

  His Fauns were missing, but more importantly, so was Savalt. She didn't matter more than the others, Mayvalt said, but he didn't quite believe her. Something about her was strange. Her apartment had been destroyed in violent fashion. They'd recovered her horn and her papers.

  And according to Luvelt's slip, something had happened to her that had not happened to the others. He was missing Fauns by at least two methods. Luvelt had only come to help Savalt. So, they didn't know anything and also blindly agreed that Savalt was special--like Mayvalt had, or they had no reason to worry for the other Faun.

  Increasingly these days, it seemed that everyone but Bezel was tuned into a joke that he couldn't understand.

  If he could just get Luvelt to crack.

  "Boss, Luvelt came all this way to help us!" Mayvalt snapped. "They're risking favor with the rangale to find Savalt. Why would they lie?"

  Bezel rubbed at his jaw. It was a reasonable question. He himself didn't have an answer yet, but that non-feeling feeling was beginning to become familiar to him. "I don't know why people lie."

  "Boss!" Mayvalt bleated. She stopped her boot, crumpling Savalt's papers beneath her leather heels.

  "Why did you come here, Luvelt?" Bezel asked. He fixed the trembling Faun beneath his glimmering cat eyes. When he stared blankly at others, it often broke them. They'd speak to fill his silence or rush off to do his bidding. No one liked being caught in his attention.

  "T-to help, sir," the Faun whimpered.

  "Help who?" Bezel asked. There was one more pesky bug echoing in his eardrums. No, it was reverberating in more than his skull. It sang in hushed whispers along the low-streets, offering the beckoning promise of greed.

  "Savalt, sir!" Luvelt puffed their chest and lifted their chin defiantly.

  Bezel laughed, low and mocking, to force across the obvious irony of Luvelt's statement. The Faun grew pale, and then a little green, and lowered their eyes.

  "Why'd you come here at all? You clearly know more than us, and you feel quite content to leave us in the dark. How has any of this helped Savalt? You have accomplished nothing but wasting my time." Bezel noted cooly.

  Luvelt shook their head and pressed their eyes tightly shut. "No, that's not true! If I thought the rangales secrets would help Savalt, I would have said so--but their gripe with the Third Prince is an entirely separate issue! I truly did come to help, but I didn't know about the research papers until now."

  "If you have such an issue with me, why come at all?" Bezel sighed.

  "You. . . you. . . I-" Luvelt sighed in return and set their face in their palms. "You were kinder than everyone said you could be. You saved me from Wenroth and offered me a place to go. You recalled my horns when I myself had gladly forgotten. Perhaps, for a moment, I did think you could be different. . . but how could that be true when you don't even care to remember what you did to us now?"

  Bezel sunk his teeth into his tongue to avoid spitting forth something reckless. He was immediately inclined to agree that he did not care--but he didn't predict that method getting him very far in his investigation. If all the Faun blamed him for this mess, then Luvelt was going to be his only chance to pry.

  And he was, as much as he could be, incredibly interesting in those whispers.

  So, he should simply tuck his head down and beg for their forgiveness. Right, that would have been the best course of action. If he dared to do anything else, Mayvalt might push him out the window so he could visit the Hudson. He knew that, even if he could feel no inclination to be forgiven.

  It was cold, calculated, and dull. His words would be meaningless. His apology would only be the latest lie. Luvelt had already betrayed loyalty to the rangale by coming this far, and all Bezel had done to earn that much was remembering something as silly as a pair of horns. If he just twisted a couple of strings, he could crack the little Faun as easily as dried clay in his hands.

  Apologize when they begin to cry, boss. You probably messed up again.

  "Well, then." Bezel said.

  Luvelt stiffened, and Mayvalt tensed, and the electricity crackling in the air intensified.

  He folded his arms over his chest and hung his head, shaking it so that his neatly styled hair tumbled down over his yellow eyes. "You're upset. Those things elude me sometimes, so you'll have to give me some room to catch on. It's true--I really don't know why. I must have done something to you, but I really can't imagine what it might have been."

  "Boss," Mayvalt breathed.

  "These days," Bezel said, "it grows increasingly difficult to pick apart right from wrong. If I didn't have Mayvalt by my side or the google tab of New York laws bookmarked, I'd really be hopeless. So, I'll admit. I very likely did trample on you, Luvelt, but I'll never feel sorry."

  Luvelt's eyes widened, and the papers in their hands tore beneath the edges of their fingernails. Mayvalt turned pale and sunk her face into her shaking palms.

  "I can never offer you the apology you're seeking, and I will never feel the remorse or guilt I deserve." Bezel did not turn his gaze away from their wide brown eyes. "But I keep my promises, Luvelt. I always have. My words mean so very little now. It's all I can do. If I was not at least honest, then I would be nothing at all. I would simply give up and fade away."

  Mayvalt snapped upright, her eyes wide and unblinking. "B-boss, you can't," she whimpered pitifully. Cowering as she did, Bezel was reminded of the night they'd met. When she was small, and when he meant the things he said. Those days were far behind them.

  "You're offering me a promise?" Luvelt asked.

  "A deal," Bezel countered, "but you can call it whatever you like."

  Luvelt paused in their trembling to raise their eyebrows and tilt their head. "What deal?"

  "Help us find Savalt." Bezel said, "and I will fix whatever it is you blame me for."

  Luvelt shook their head, "I already told you; I came to help Savalt."

  "Luvelt, you have to tell us the truth. The whole truth. That could be the only way to help Savalt." Mayvalt said gently. "We need to know everything."

  Luvelt scowled down at their shoes. "I'm meant to tell you everything? And for what? What the Prince promises seems uncertain. How can you fix something you don't know of?"

  "If I did it, I can undo it." Bezel reasoned. Which may have not been true, but it was all he had to bargain with.

  Luvelt paused. Their shoulders sagged beneath their cloak, and their wide brown eyes sought out Mayvalt. "Can he keep his promise?"

  "I will make him." Mayvalt swore.

  Luvelt sighed, placing their face in the cradle of their hands. "There isn't much I would bet on the word of the Phrionnsa, but I know you'd do anything to help Savalt. You were special to her. She spoke of you when it was just us. I know that you kept it hidden, so no one could think less of her for associating with the Phrionnsa--but even still, how much she spoke of you, I hoped you felt the same."

  Mayvalt blinked. She fell silent, and her body began to sag. Her shaking legs crumbled beneath her, and she fell backward into Bezel's couch. "Of course I do."

  "Then, on that promise, I'll make a deal." Luvelt said. "I'll tell you everything."

  Bezel nodded, Mayvalt curled in on herself, and Luvelt began to speak.

  "I don't have to tell you where this all began. We all remember the years long bloodbath. The first Demon-Born war." Luvelt wrung their hands as they spoke.

  It did not escape Bezel's attention that Luvelt had classified the war into a number, nor that their manner of speaking implied that there would be another to follow. He hoped he was wrong so that he could return to his complacent boredom.

  "We Faun were slaughtered to near extinction. We were lucky to have escaped that fate, but not all Avernians were. The Heimrian armies eradicated thousands of species. Why? I suppose because the angels told them to. I never quite understood why the angels suddenly turned on us. We had never been allies, no, but we had never been their enemy either. Can you tell me, sir? Why did the angels send us to our permanent deaths?" Luvelt asked.

  Bezel considered Luvelt's question carefully. The moonlight pale scars hidden beneath his fine silk suit almost began to sting. He was glad not to feel, so he could never relive the pain of all those battles. Being betrayed by his brethren had shattered him. Being cursed had haphazardly glued it all back together. It was at least one thing he could be grateful for.

  "If you want to recount it since the beginning, Luvelt, it began far before that war." Bezel sighed almost reflexively. He didn't see how actions taken long before Heimrians even had two legs could still plague him to this day. Why did the past always return? Well, because he was always seeking it. "I suppose it began very simply. A tale as old as time, really. There was a king and a long line of successors. There was fear, anger, jealousy, and paranoia. Above all, there was greed. Then there was fighting and losing. Isn't that the way it's always gone?"

  Bezel's tongue hardened into plaster, trapping his words in the hollow and empty cage of his ribs. How could any of this matter? Everyone knew the story of the First War. He didn't care to recap his long and complicated family history--he only needed to know what had happened to Savalt.

  "So, that's why your Demon-Born war began, Luvelt. It was fear, jealousy, and paranoia. It was greed, and it wasn't fair. Avernians were caught in the crossfire of a simple birthright dispute. Those so-called angels chose to fight because they began to worry that their brothers and sisters would return to claim the throne they were chased from." Bezel recounted.

  "So," Luvelt scoffed, "Avernus suffered--Heimr suffered--because the mighty Elysium was. . . worried?"

  "Yes." Bezel shrugged.

  "Then what soothes them now?" Luvelt asked.

  Bezel tipped his head, "What can comfort Elysium? I suppose only the guarantee of power."

  "Does such a thing exist as absolute control?" Luvelt scoffed, shaking their head, "no, there isn't. Elysium will never be content. They will always feel fear. They will always be one nightmare away from finishing us off."

  "That war ended, Luvelt." Bezel said firmly. "An agreement was reached--and the Ely barricaded themselves behind the Trammel. It's over."

  "It's not over!" Luvelt snapped. "Heimrian bone-snatchers still do their biddings even all these centuries later. They've relentlessly hunted us for eons!"

  Bezel sighed, dragging his hands through his oil-dark hair. "Who's been filling your head with all this nonsense? Was it coming from those whispers? Were they telling Savalt this, too? And the other missing Faun?"

  Luvelt snarled, pulling their pink lips over their teeth. "It doesn't matter what he said! It only matters that he means it--it's already begun."

  "He? He who, Luvelt?" Mayvalt sucked in a breath and leaned forward. Luvelt grew quiet. They glanced down at their hands and whimpered. "What's beginning?"

  Mayvalt could coax all she wanted, Luvelt had clearly reached a breaking point. They would only risk losing their leads if they pressed too hard now. Bezel blew a breath from his nose and tilted his head towards the ceiling.

  "Luvelt," he began, "may I ask you a new question?"

  The Faun stared at him with wide and unblinking coffee-ground eyes. They nodded nervously, so Bezel spoke. "How many concerns should I--and by I, I mean Mayvalt--have right now? I'm missing several Faun, but you're only interested in helping Savalt. Is that just because her case seems the most dire? We never found another bloody apartment. Or, should I resume searching for all of them?"

  Luvelt shifted in the seat. "You. . . you'd waste your time to worry about the others."

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  "Are they alright?" Bezel asked, "or too far gone?"

  "I suspect that they all left willingly." Luvelt mumbled. "Except Savalt."

  "Birds scattering before the approaching hurricane." Bezel admired their dedication to self-assurance. "So, something is coming then."

  "Sir," Luvelt laughed. It was a horrible wheezing sound, as stomach churning as the wail of a squeaky toy. One that'd been punctured through by too-sharp teeth. "It's already here."

  Bezel ran his fingertips over the bridge of his nose. He pressed into his skin as if warding off a headache. "Luvelt, that's impossible. I don't know what you've heard--but that's all it was. A whisper. It's all it can be, for as long as the Trammel remains."

  Luvelt blinked as if stunned, so Bezel pushed forward. "The Trammel blocks power. The higher the energy, the stronger the wall. It's one massive finger trap. The harder you struggle, the tighter it becomes. Whatever is scaring you, it'd never be able to cross."

  "Never?" Luvelt echoed. "And what if it already has?"

  "You mean the whispers? It's only a trick. Those thoughts were just a stray string of consciousness, split from the body to slip through the Trammel. It's just a fleeting emotion, and it will fade with some time." Bezel assured. It didn't escape his understanding that those thoughts could fester into possession if dwelled on too long, but he didn't think it would help his case to mention.

  "What if. . . there was a tear?" Luvelt asked.

  "There are," Bezel shrugged, "I myself maintain seven rifts. You know this already, Luvelt. My portals are just pockets, only strong enough to allow through Fauns."

  "And runaway wolves." Mayvalt added unhelpfully.

  Bezel sighed, "fine, those as well, but nothing more could make it through. Not even I could walk through my own gate. You have nothing to be afraid of."

  Luvelt shifted in their seat, looking pale and sickly. "Why not?"

  Bezel crossed his arms across his chest and exhaled. "Alright, if you need assurances so greatly. It's not possible. Manipulating the Trammel takes power--your power. The gate becomes an extension of your own body. It's your shadow--always weaker than you. To pass through a gate, you must be weaker than the wall. A gate held by you can never be stronger than you. A finger trap, remember?"

  "So, if someone stronger than you made the gate, you could use it?" Luvelt asked.

  "Well, theoretically?" Bezel shrugged. "Sure--but there aren't many stronger than me."

  "No need to show off, boss," Mayvalt muttered.

  "I'm simply stating the facts of the case, Mayvalt dear." Bezel said.

  "Sir," Luvelt whimpered, "if your gates can only allow Fauns, then how strong must you be to allow Beasts passage?"

  Bezel paused. "What?"

  "What if. . . a gate had appeared. . . and Beasts could pass through it?" Luvelt repeated slowly.

  "There are only two Princes I know of who could do something like that--and one has been missing since the Demon-Born war. I really don't think it's something worth fretting over." Bezel rubbed his eyes and sighed. "The First Prince placed a Trammel over the pit, Luvelt. To allow them out--and into Heimr--well, that's power that no one has anymore."

  "Sir," Luvelt whispered.

  "It's not possible." Bezel repeated. "Let me ask you a question, Luvelt. Do you know what would happen to a fish if you took it out of the water?"

  "It would die, sir," Luvelt said softly.

  "It would dry out." Bezel agreed. "If you could try helplessly to save it, only by wetting it's cracking scales with a few of your tears, would you? Would it be enough?"

  "I don't know." Luvelt muttered nervously.

  "May I ask you another question?" Bezel tilted his head, and Luvelt slowly nodded. "Do you know how to kill an angel?"

  Luvelt turned pale. They wrapped their arms tightly around their chest and sputtered from behind quivering lips, "No, I don't."

  Mayvalt stood from her seat and cast Bezel a dubious glare. "Boss, be careful. You're speaking recklessly."

  He ignored her in favor of chasing this amusing conversation to its end. "You only need to stop crying and watch as that fish--that angel withers and becomes something weaker--a demon. Keep watching, and eventually, it will perish. Exhausted of its last bit of magic."

  "A fish can never survive without the water it was born to. You could only prolong the inevitable by giving them a bowl. That's all those Princes are now. Pathetic little guppies inside glass cups. Cut from their homeland and lifeblood, all they can pray to do is cling to the thin magic of Avernus and hope it's just enough to keep their gills wet."

  Bezel leaned back on the heels of his hands and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling. Of course, that wasn't the only way to kill an angel--but he thought he'd keep the rest to himself for now.

  "Sir, you speak as if you're something else." Luvelt said quietly. "Are you not also in a cage of your own making?"

  Bezel laughed. "You got me. I suppose it's easier to talk of others' failures. Yes, I, too, am a foolish little fish. Only, my fingers slipped, and I shattered my bowl. I suppose in my own metaphor, I'd be flopping around in the broken glass."

  Luvelt swallowed hard and lowered their eyes. "Then, you mean to tell me that it's impossible. It's impossible for a Prince to still retain enough magic to open a Trammel gate strong enough to pierce the heart of the Deireadh?"

  "Yes." Bezel said. He paused and placed his chin in his palm. "Or, well,"

  Mayvalt tilted her head, "boss?"

  "Technically speaking--survival is about determination. There is no exact measurement to holding power. If the will is there, the soul burns brighter. I guess, with enough want, the power could hold." He said.

  "If the soul wanted revenge--how strong would it be then?" Luvelt asked.

  Bezel huffed from his nose. "It would have to be quite the desire for revenge."

  "Wouldn't it be if they sought blood payment for the war?" Luvelt asked.

  Mayvalt licked her lips, fidgeting in her place. "Something that wanton isn't just desire, boss, it's well, it's greed. Strong greed. Malicious greed. It could only be-"

  "It doesn't matter." Bezel interrupted. "My older brother might have a wicked tongue and a foul temper, but he is still a Prince of Hell. He couldn't pose any real threat himself. There'd be no way for him to cross a gate of his own making. All he could do is-"

  "Send an army in his place?" Mayvalt interrupted. Luvelt whimpered.

  Bezel paused. He had a dull sensation in the back of his mind. Gears shifting in pace and locking into a new position. "Luvelt," he whispered, "the Faun have been fleeing--from me. Haven't they? I thought it was strange, but I never cared much to ask. All these flies buzzing in my ears have gone suddenly quiet, but I was only attuned to the new silence."

  "They. . . are only trying to determine what side the Third Prince would fall on. It wouldn't be your first time turning your back on us, s-sir." Luvelt said softly. He had to strain to hear it.

  "Then, this gate you spoke of-"

  "Yes, sir," Luvelt nodded, "it already exists."

  "Then-"

  "It already began," Luvelt confirmed, "there is a gate between Heimr and Deireadh--and it's been spewing forth Beasts for some time now."

  Bezel sat in silence. Mayvalt turned sugar pale and sunk her hands into her curled pink mane. Her fingers wrapped tightly around the velvet base of her antlers. "Why would the Faun not warn us?"

  "It was believed. . . well, that the Prince had done it." Luvelt glanced away. "The gate opened around the same time that the Third Prince tried to open his eighth gate. The Third Prince reported on his failure to do so, but then the Beasts began appearing. And later. . . the whispers. We assumed that he was turning his back again."

  "You had assumed?" Bezel asked. "The opinion of the Faun have changed?"

  Luvelt turned pink and shook their head. "No, my apologies. They still think you a traitor--but since coming here, you've managed to change my mind, sir. Not necessarily in your attitude, but certainly in your shock."

  "Well, at least there's that." Bezel sighed.

  "Wait--what does any of this have to do with Savalt?" Mayvalt interrupted. "I can't help but feel that we've derailed."

  "This derailment seems rather pressing, Mayvalt," Bezel pointed. She glared at him, so he fell silent.

  "It is connected." Luvelt said. "The whispers began shortly after the arrival of the Beasts. The promises, and the lures, they always came at a price."

  "Which was?" Mayvalt leaned forward.

  "W-we had to pass a message. . . to the Third Prince." Luvelt mumbled.

  "What message?" Bezel asked.

  Luvelt shrugged, "I don't know. I never took the deal. If Savalt did--if whatever happened to her can be linked to those intrusive whispers--then I think this riddle was the message meant for the Prince."

  "Cat's kill?" Bezel repeated slowly. "What does it even mean?"

  Luvelt wrung their hands and swallowed hard. "Catskill, sir. It's a location. The gate opened nearby, and that seems to be where all the Beasts are collecting."

  "So, what?" Bezel scoffed. "I'm supposed to go camping?"

  "It won't be that easy, sir," Luvelt shook their head.

  "Who said camping was easy?" Bezel scoffed.

  "The Progeny are already aware of the gate. They've been swarming the area, killing the Beasts and leaving the carcasses across the entire park." Luvelt explained.

  Mayvalt frowned. "Wait--leaving the bodies? Is it really the Progeny?"

  "That is strange, Mayvalt, but it's still less strange than dead Beasts turning up, and it having nothing to do with them." Bezel remarked coldly.

  "Sir, there's something else you should know." Luvelt warned.

  "There's more?" Mayvalt groaned. She ran her hands down her face, wincing to herself.

  "The Faun were the first to blame you, but the Progeny have you pinned as their suspect, too." Luvelt answered.

  "Of course they do," Bezel muttered, "just as they blame me for winter being cold and rain being wet. If the Cardinal stubbed his toe--they'd call for my head on a stick. It's always been that way. I'm an appealing target. I stayed in their homeland after the war, and that never quite settled with them."

  "You don't seem concerned." Luvelt noted dryly.

  "Is that a joke? Of course I'm not--even if I could be, I have no reason to fear them. They've shivered in their cold war for centuries. If they had the means to do something to me--they'd already have done it." Bezel absentmindedly ran his fingers down the fabric of his suit jacket.

  Over the layers of his clothes, he traced a shell-pink scar that ran down the length of his chest. He could still recall the agony as the long sword had torn through his skin. The way it'd ripped into his muscles and nearly shattered his bones.

  But he'd survived. The wound had healed. And he'd become someone who could never feel that sort of pain again.

  Mayvalt was staring at him, with a look of plainly stated disgust. Bezel squeezed his hands into fists and let them drop into his lap. He knew it sickened her to watch him treat the scar as a long-lost lover--but to him, it was. The wound and the flawed flesh that had grown to fix it had been a gift from his first love on the very night they'd met.

  "You said fish dry out." Luvelt pointed.

  "I also said it was a matter of determination--and there's still something I want." Bezel countered. He longed for, dreamed for, ached for it as equally as he felt nothing, wanted nothing, chased nothing. He sought it because he always had, and always would, even when he had no desire for anything.

  It was the reprieve from his curse. His missing heart piece.

  "Boss," Mayvalt warned lowly, "you might think yourself untouchable--sap, you could be if the conditions remain favorable to you, but things alway have a way of going completely to, well y'know, to hell, whenever you're around and untouchable is not the same as unkillable."

  "Forgive me for seeming unbothered, dear." Bezel shrugged cooly. "I just think the odds are in my favor, is all. There's nothing wrong with enjoying a little playing field advantage." He said, but he knew that she was right.

  Bezel wasn't immortal. He was only eternal. He could be killed if his weakness were played out--even if he only had three. A weakness was a weakness. That much was undeniable, but even with three gaping holes in his armour, he was still much better off than any mortal in the Progeny.

  Besides fading away due to his own surrender; there remained only two things that could be turned against him.

  His curse. He needed the lost key to feel. It was the only thing holding his determination, fueling his lifesource. It would have been preferable to keep the key by his side--and he would have if he knew where to look. So, that was off the table for now, but if Bezel couldn't even find them, then the Progeny stood no chance of tracking them down either.

  Then, there was the matter of angel interference. During the days of the Demon-Born war, they'd fought through Heimrian hands with weapons doused in enough magic to break Prince bones. Vestiges, the Heimrians had taken to calling them.

  Bezel's fingers twitched to soothe over his old scar.

  On that topic, he was quite familiar already. A Vestige had already come close to killing him once. Bezel shook his head. It wasn't likely to ever happen again. Angels weren't in the business of meddling in Heimrian affairs, especially those tainted by Avernus involvement.

  So, their involvement now was unlikely. And there could be no Vestiages remaining from the Demon-Born war. Angel favor was fleeting. It could be withdrawn. It could expire naturally on its own, but even under the most favorable conditions; a Vestige could only be wielded by the one the angel had chosen.

  With mortal death, all Vestiges had disappeared.

  This matter remained between Bezel, the Beasts of Deireadh, and the Progeny. Well, those parties plus whoever had made the rift, and whatever unlucky civilians manage to get caught in the crossfire.

  Right, Bezel thought, there was still the question of who. If the gate was strong enough to patch Heimr directly to Deireadh, it could only be someone stronger than Bezel. He'd managed to hold onto a chunk of his magic--even in the wastelands of Heimr--but opening a rift that large wasn't something he could do.

  Bezel frowned down into his palm. Only two of his fallen siblings could have managed. The First and Second Princes. No, not the first. He'd been missing in action since the closure of the Demon-Born war. So, the Second Prince? The king of greed, the harbinger of avarice, the mongrel of war--Bezel's older brother.

  Maybe that was for the best. If he'd opened a rift, he was too strong to use it for himself. He could send as many Beasts as he liked--it would never scratch Bezel.

  "What about us?"

  Bezel was pulled suddenly from his train of thought. He glanced up at Luvelt, meeting their widened eyes and pale face. "What?"

  "I said 'what about us?', you and the Phrionnsa keep speaking of your invincibility--but what about us? We Faun have skin no thicker than fog. The Progeny have made our own bones into blades to hunt us. Our home has been invaded by those merciless whispers. Eden is the only safe place we have left--and it only remains that way because of the cold war. The Progeny seethe silently and watch without acting because the Prince has never given them enough cause. If the rift is not solved--they will act. They will cut what they can reach, and that will be us. Those beneath your heels, sir."

  "Ah," Bezel said flatly, "I see."

  "Boss, Luvelt is right." Mayvalt added. "And we still need to find Savalt. I know you have a lot to worry about now, but she's still missing and likely injured."

  "I don't." Bezel shrugged. "I don't have anything to worry about."

  "Sir!" Luvelt protested. "You swore to protect us here!"

  "A promise made beneath the threat of eternal-nothingness. I remember very well, Luvelt. Don't remind me--or I might become bitter with you." He muttered.

  Luvelt narrowed their eyes down into a glare. "You did your part in earning your punishment. The Princes of Hell have always been the noose at our Avernian necks--would you really risk repeating the past?"

  "I thought you might pity them." Bezel admitted, "After all, you Faun know well what it is to leave home for something strange and new. They had nowhere else to go."

  "And yet, here you stand." Luvelt noted.

  "I must admit, that might have been a mistake. I hopped into a puddle too far from my river, and now I can't get back." Bezel forced a smile over his pearl-white teeth. "Now, don't get too upset with me, Luvelt. A deal is a deal. Mayvalt, tell Anvelt to ready the car."

  "Where are we going, boss?" She asked.

  Bezel sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Camping."

  Luvelt huffed a breathless laugh through their nose and set their face in their shaking palms. "Thank you, sir. Thank you."

  "Don't thank me yet." Bezel warned. "I'm only going to hear a message."

  Mayvalt hesitated at the door. "Boss, tensions are high now. We can't let Luvelt go back to the low-streets."

  Luvelt whimpered. "It's okay, I wore my hood on the way in."

  "And no one glimpsed your face? Or caught your scent? Unlikely." Bezel noted. He could have turned Luvelt into smoke and let them walk freely home--but where was home now? A broken apartment with Wenroth? No, that was no good. "I have a plan and a guest room. Mayvalt, you'll take Luvelt to my home. We can meet later and head for the Catskill."

  "Your place, sir?" Luvelt squeaked.

  "I don't use it." Bezel shrugged. He hadn't visited for more than changing his suit in months. "So far, it's only been a waste of ridiculously high rent. You can stay there until this matter is resolved. The rangale is not likely to forgive you for speaking."

  "T-thank you." Luvelt nodded.

  "The plan is to just hide Luvelt?" Mayvalt frowned.

  "No, that's the backup plan." Bezel said. "First, we're going to give the crowd downstairs a new culprit."

  "Boss?" Mayvalt wondered aloud.

  "Luvelt, exit my office as if you're concerned for your identity. Halfway across the club floor, stumble. Let your hood come down, and let everyone see your face." Bezel instructed.

  "Boss!" Mayvalt gasped. "How is that going to help?"

  "No one is going to see Luvelt. They're going to see a target of my choosing." Bezel assured. He crossed his office, standing before Luvelt. "Do you remember when I consealed your horns?"

  They nodded and then turned pink.

  "Do I have your permission?" Bezel asked. "I'll have to do that again. This blessing is going to be temporary, I won't need it to last long. I can keep our contact minimal."

  Luvelt flushed with color muted by their sudden paleness and nodded. "Okay, sir."

  Mayvalt winced and covered their eyes with shaking fingertips. Bezel shut his own eyes and tilted his head back, letting his mind fall into deeper contemplation. He reached inward towards his non-beating heart. He could almost sense the tingle of power in the dead organ.

  Bezel pulled, and it came undone. A small thread of electricity began to trickle down into the lines spilling from his heart. His arteries filled with the power, and it began to flush through the full length of his insides.

  Bezel's skin began to flood with heat as, for the first time in years, blood began moving around the inside of his body. It would have been easier to stab himself and let Luvelt consume that power choked blood--but the uncontrolled magic inside would have melted them into ash.

  He had to wither it down first or dull the contact they had with it. There was one sure way of doing that. It had earned Princes quite the reputation and given them the moniker to go along with it.

  Mayvalt whispered it now, flushing pink in the cheeks as she did so. "Silver-tongued devil."

  Bezel opened his eyes and rolled his tongue behind his teeth. The inside of his mouth tinged and stung with barely leashed power. "Luvelt, your hand please, dear."

  The trembling Faun lifted their palm, and Bezel captured it with his own. He brought their knuckles to his lips and pressed a small kiss to the skin there. Luvelt gasped as Bezel's magic licked down the length of their arm.

  Branching out from his source of contact, Luvelt's silver pale skin began to roughen as his illusion took hold.

  They pulled away, and Bezel swallowed the rest of his unused power. It fell back down his throat, retreating into the hollow husk of his heart.

  His skin grew cold, and then pale, and then lifeless once more. He rolled his shoulders and attuned himself to the feeling of his well being one drop smaller.

  Mayvalt gasped and flung her hands up over her mouth. "B-boss!"

  He shrugged. He'd figured she would have a problem with the appearance he'd chosen for Luvelt, so he hadn't mentioned his previous intentions. "It'll be fine. The rangale might swear at him in the streets, but Fauns would never harm another Faun. He'll simply face the ridicule he deserves."

  "Really?" Mayvalt scoffed. "You could have warned us."

  "W-what? What is it? How do I look?" Luvelt asked.

  "Like a useless jerk." Mayvalt huffed. She moved forward, pulling the hood up over Wenroth's scowling face. "Now, don't look in a mirror. I'll stay with you until the blessing fades. Boss, I'll meet you at the Catskills."

  "Great, you won't want to miss it." Bezel said. "This family reunion is going to be one for the history books."