Medea stood amongst the enemy ranks, her red kimono standing out like blood in the snow. “I’m afraid,” she said, “that Melanie is right. You’re too late.” She raised her right hand. Two Empousa broke away from the circle and came straight toward me. One of them, still not fully shifted to a Raven, looked a lot like Mason the Bouncer.
I set Mel back on the ground and stood, ready to fight and kill those fuckers—magic or not. I went for Mason, the one to my right, skipping to the side and stomping him in the knee, hoping to incapacitate him. Before I reached him, though, he shifted to a full Raven and my strike did about as much damage as kicking a hundred-year-old tree trunk. The Empousa to my left wrapped its bony arms around my body and restrained me with strength beyond a normal human. It hissed. Drool spilled onto my head, plastering my hair to my face. I writhed and bit at it and kicked like a pissed mule, but the Empousa didn’t budge.
Mason went for Mel—now an eight-foot tall monster reaching down for a defenseless, little girl.
I screamed and struggled, but to no avail. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Xander engaged with the Anemoi and a few Empousa that had decided to fight. He held his own, for now—but one man against a team of monsters wouldn’t bode well for him.
Medea sauntered up to Mason and Mel, as if she had not a single worry in the fucking world. She grabbed my daughter and placed a jagged dagger with a black stone molded into the hilt to her throat.
I couldn’t help but wail and thrash in my captor’s grip. “Fuck you!” I screamed. “She’s just a kid. What are you doing?”
Medea showed her teeth with a predatory smile. “Joseph, if you want your daughter to live, I need you to calm down and listen to every single word I say to you. Understood?”
I labored for breath. My vision went out of focus for a second, and all the shadows scattered around the room seemed to deepen. “Anything,” I said after a second.
“I’m glad that you’re choosing to be cooperative. It will make this entire affair a lot easier for everyone involved.” Medea clicked her tongue and the Anemoi halted in their attacks on Xander. He still stood surrounded by the spirits and some Empousa, but they no longer pushed him toward death. Medea stared at me with narrowed eyes. “You see, we all might walk out of here alive if you continue to behave.”
“Just tell me what the fuck you want.”
“Release him,” she said, and the Empousa released me from its vice grip.
I had a moment where I thought I felt that my magic had returned, and I meant to use it on Medea, but I restrained, knowing that any threat toward her would result in Mel’s expedient death.
“You see that table behind you?” Medea asked.
I looked back. Against the nearest wall was table about three-feet high and a foot wide, adorned in Nephilim sigils and lit by a melting candle at each corner. A golden chalice stood at the center of it. Beside the chalice was another dagger and a pile of coins.
“What about it?” I asked, returning my attention to Medea and Mel. My daughter had her eyes closed, and her dark hair dangled over her face. Still, the candlelight that lit the room illuminated tears running down her soft cheeks.
“Go to it,” Medea instructed. “Use the dagger to draw blood and fill the chalice.”
I cocked my head. “What’re you talking about?”
To answer my question, Medea pressed her blade tighter against Mel’s throat, depressing the skin. “Be a good boy and don’t question Mommy.”
I had never experienced such helpless rage in my life. The last thing I wanted to do was listen to that crazy bitch holding a dagger to my daughter’s throat. But I didn’t have any other choice. I swallowed my pride and staggered to the table—half drunk on adrenaline and fear.
“Joey,” Xander interjected from the crowd of Anemoi and Empousa, “don’t.” His voice was rigid and commanding—the one he used when he spoke the confidence of his pact behind him. Had Gabriel spoken to and advised him on this situation?
Fuck it, I thought, not giving a shit if even an archangel stood in my way. I was saving Mel no matter what.
I picked up the dagger and, without hesitation, dragged it across my left forearm. Blood immediately streamed from the wound and spilled down my arm. I held it over the chalice and squeezed, filling the cup. I don’t know how long it took, but it felt like an eternity. And not once did I take my eyes off Medea. With my glare, I swore to every god in existence that I would kill her—and I made sure she understood that silent promise.
“Wow,” she said, “you didn’t even ask for an explanation. You just blindly offered your blood to save your daughter?”
“It’s full,” I said, removing my shirt and tying it around my wrist to slow the bleeding.
“No,” Medea said, “not it. The Holy Chalice that Christ drank from during the last supper. It is made from heavenly gold—the same material they say lines the streets in paradise. By filling it with your blood, it has drawn out your celestial power.”
I blinked, having no idea what the raving lunatic meant. Maybe Xander had some inclination, but he stood across the room and I’m not sure he had caught much of what Medea said. “Just tell me what to do, then give me back my daughter.”
“You see those silver coins?” Medea asked. “Pour your awakened blood from the Holy Chalice over them.”
“Joey!” Xander screamed. He must have heard something—or at least felt something from Gabriel—because his voice worked on the edges of hysteria.
I whipped
