Erador placed the napkin covered jar at arm’s length and laid on his stomach, fingers pressed into the rug. Hesitating, he ripped off the black napkin. White light shot out, stinging his eyes. The beetle lurker rammed into the glass.

  He shivered. It’s a bug. An aggressive, thirsty for his shadow bug, but nonetheless, a bug. As if he had to remind himself after trying to control it fifteen times. Erador glared at the lurker beetle that stretched tall. He focused his energy. As it changed to the shape of Slen, Erador’s concentration diminished and his heart rate heightened.

  He was too late. Every single time. He threw the napkin onto the jar and rolled onto his back, wiping his hands down his face. It sounded simple; use your element to control the lurker, but he couldn’t do it. It was like trying to breathe when being choked. Cade made it seem easy. He still couldn’t figure out why Slen picked that form. It seemed like a monster from a child’s nightmare, but he wasn’t afraid of those anymore.

  Erador put the jar under his bed when his hand brushed the pamphlet from New Akthelia. The black front had an illustration of a crescent silver and copper moon partially covered by a crystal from the sky. Inside the left moon was an eye, a whip in the right moon, and wings in the crystal. He cursed, realizing why Loma always told him the moons were watching. These were the gods of death, the two moons he saw everyday. Where was Absolution’s crystal?

  He opened the pamphlet. It mentioned the Coven of Rebirth’s beliefs on the three gods. In the center, a masked woman in white robes was surround by light. She was the divine being; the place witches wanted to reach. Unlike here, his father was the most important god. The rest of the pamphlet told how the coven contributed to society, how they could teach anyone to be a witch whether human or harian, and the benefits of joining their coven. It was another form of indoctrinating people like his father’s cult, and it made him more frustrated that it challenged his views of what his life could be if he left.

  Erador tossed the pamphlet back under the bed and went through Shade. He unclipped the curtain and opened the black-painted window. A warm breeze brushed his skin and convinced him to leave his stuffy room. He set his hands on the railing wrapped with ivy, watching the sun that met the treetops.

  With one last exhale, his anxiety settled. Shouts and laughter echoed through the garden. Erador took the steps down from the balcony and into the garden. The leaf covered path led him to a crossroad. He scanned left and right, but it was silent.

  A ball of fire whooshed over the hedge and landed by his foot. He dodged behind a bush. The dry leaves on the ground combusted and Erador stomped out the flames. He pried apart the branches. Dethil leaned against a statue with a burning stick in his hand. His tongue caressed his bottom lip as he kept his eyes trained down the path.

  “What are you doing?” Erador said, fiercely. “You’re going to burn down the garden.”

  Dethil smirked. “This place could use a new start.” He tore his eyes from the path. “Help me sneak up on Jerus.”

  “I’m not playing your games.”

  Erador moved around the hedges. Left behind was a black charred spot on the statue. He cursed. A streak moved down the path. Erador ran toward it when an arm wrapped around his neck, tightening his airway.

  “Got ya... Dammit,” Jerus said, raspy in his ear. He let Erador go. “Where’s Deth?”

  “I don’t know,” Erador said, irritated. He rubbed his throat, long after the tight feeling passed.

  Jerus scanned the area. “He’s hiding good.”

  Tattoos marked Jerus’s arms, running underneath his sleeves. His sunflower was surrounded by foliage like Dethil’s, but in the coyote’s place was a scorpion. He was tan compared to Dethil who didn't spend as much time in the sun.

  Dethil jumped out of a bush and swiped at Jerus. He grabbed Dethil’s arm and flung him over his shoulder. He landed with a thud and groaned from the ground.

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  “You fucker.” The air was sucked out of Dethil’s voice.

  Jerus laughed and pulled Dethil up. His wrinkles stretched as he smiled. “Did Dethil put you up to this?”

  “No...” Erador scratched his neck. “I came here because I need help spying on Yuni.”

  Jerus crossed his arms. “Why would you do that?”

  Erador ignored his raised brow that was more critical than questioning. “I was trying to see if she does anything suspicious.”

  “Maybe she won’t.”

  Erador cocked his head, irritation building in him. “Do you not see what’s going on here? The Raven is free and it happened right after Yuni came.”

  Jerus shrugged and leaned against a pillar. “I don’t think she did it.”

  “Then who did?”

  “Could’ve been anyone,” Jerus said, walking past him. “Preferably someone who... wants Judgment dead.”

  “Yuni could,” Erador snapped. “She could be a distraction so the Raven can swoop in and take my father out.”

  Erador raised questioning eyebrows at Dethil.

  He lowered his head and dragged his foot across the leaves. “We don’t see her as a threat.”

  Erador scoffed. Part of him wanted to smack Dethil, but when his gaze met Jerus, he wanted to hit him. He had a devious twinkle in his gray eyes. The tattoos Dethil had were possibly influenced from his father.

  “What shit are you feeding him?” Erador said through his teeth.

  Jerus licked his lip and moved away from the statue. “He came to that conclusion on his own.”

  “Sure,” Erador said, sarcastically. “You pressure him, control him, deceive him.”

  “Wait a fucking minute,” Dethil said, pushing Erador’s chest. “I’m not fucking mindless. I choose to do what I want.”

  “Like earlier,” Jerus said, hooking his arm around Dethil’s shoulder. “He decided to play this game.”

  Erador shook his head and leaned toward him. “What if she’s the Raven. Did you think of that?”

  “Sescina said she’s reliable,” Jerus said. “We’ve been waiting for Judgment to get better for two decades.”

  Erador wished they could’ve seen Emera, then they’d have a reason to worry and think Yuni was involved. They wouldn’t believe him, if he told them. They wouldn’t believe Eli’s death might’ve been staged. His fingers curled into fists. A bitter taste crept up his throat as he stared at Dethil.

  “I don't need help from someone who isn't capable of making their own choices,” Erador spat.

  “See, Deth,” Jerus said, patting his son's back. “He doesn't think highly of you.”

  Dethil frowned, looking away. Jerus gripped Dethil's shoulder like claws that controlled him. A tattoo of an anchor was on his ring finger and it reminded Erador of what Eli said, how he needed to break his anchor from his father’s ship. Dethil had the attachment, not Erador. Jerus would twist anything to make Erador out to be the villain.

  In the distance, the gate creaked open and Gillian slipped out of the garden.