Chapter Twenty Eight

The gaping hole in the hill looks to me more like an inky black gullet than a wolf's den – light does not seem to reach far into the tunnel, as if the shadows saturate the air. My skin crawls at the lack of greenery in the desolate clearing, as if the wolf's presence had warded off any shrubs or weeds. Only Scruffy seems unaffected by the baleful aura draping the clearing like a heavy tarp.

In fact, the cheerful wolf seems mildly excited to be at the home of his girlfriend. He grins broadly at everyone assembled, licking enthusiastically at the faces of anyone that dares draw close. Seeing him so positive shouldn't be as much of a balm to my nerves as it is – after all, he doesn't truly comprehend the danger of the situation, being safe from both the crazy man-eating she-wolf lying in wait in the bowels of her crypt and the demonic deal-maker awaiting my call at the center of the maze.

At the thought of both threats, I swallow and turn my gaze to Hugo as he helps Ogden over a fallen log blocking the path. As if he could feel my eyes probing his, Hugo turns to me.

"Are you sure about this?" I question again, my voice quavering slightly. "Can't at least Scruffy come with me halfway?"

Hugo's eyebrows shoot up. "Getting cold feet? Don't worry, we've got a plan. You need to hear it again?"

I hesitate, then briskly nod. "Wouldn't hurt. Start from the beginning, please. I don't want to forget anything once I'm in there."

"You really don't," Hugo agrees, nodding his head solemnly. "Okay, so, here's how it works. First off, you're going to need to get past Jane. Shouldn't be that difficult to find her, because, more likely than not, she'll come to you. Already knows we're here, probably. Isn't that reassuring!"

"Very," I mumble dryly.

"So, once Jane finds you, she's going to probably question and quiz and experiment with you using her evolved wolf brain telepathy. Unlike someone else in this clearing – ahem, you – she's a very powerful telepath, with an impressive mental capacity. Insane counts for something, right? But her insanity also makes her very touchy, very dangerous. She'll interrogate you, try to figure out why you're snooping around her den, try to chase you off. You've just got to make sure she thinks you're worthy to be navigating her labyrinth of skulls. If the capricious bitch doesn't deem you worthy of her crypt, she'll eat you, but that hardly ever happens."

"How should I prove my worth, again?" I ask, verifying the information one final time before it's put to the test.

"Um, like, act tough and stuff. Be very certain about what you want to do – you want to call upon Lucius to help your sister. Stay adamant with beliefs and moral. She'll probably try to warp your words and make it seem like you were talking about something else entirely, or provoke you in all sorts of manners. If you cooperate with all her questions and answer every one of them but remain firm, she'll let you pass, and slink out through this entrance to skulk while you do your business with Lucius. She doesn't do well with the demon, for some reason."

"Right." I release a long, slow, measured sigh through my nose, attempting to release the tension knotting my stomach alongside it. "Okay. Okay. And assuming I do get past Jane, what then?"

"Well." Hugo grins at me with a maniacal gleam in his eyes. "You'll start off without my influence, of course, but as soon as Jane slinks from that hole" – he points towards the mouth of her den – "I'll contact you. If I contact you beforehand, she'll get pissed about outside interference and fly into a rage, which wouldn't be fun. As she struts out, I'll use my awesome mental powers to contact you." He gazes at me pensively, a critical gleam coating the coppery opalescence in his eyes. "We have practiced enough, haven't we? I mean, I think it's been more than enough time for you to grow used to telepathic messages in your brain, but you're really a slow learner."

"I've got it down." That, at least, I am confident upon. "Not even a headache, from you or Ogden."

"Not from Ogden anymore?" Delight spreads Hugo's face into a broad grin. "Good job, Penryn! I applaud you! So, phew, we won't be worrying about that, at least. Well, not that it was all that probable we would – from the day we set off, we were training you best we could, and now – what, a week later? – you can finally handle stuff! Once I see Jane, I'll get in your head and guide you through the labyrinth."

"Yeah." I nod, well-educated about this stage of his plan. "You're used to finding your way because you always get pulled in there by Scruffy, so you'll be all good with the surroundings and be able to guide me to the center of the den. I've got that part of the plan."

"Good, good!" Hugo pats Scruffy on the cheek, looping fingers through the wolf's breast collar. "Yeah, Scruffy's always dragging me into Jane's den for some reason or another. Silly little boy…" Scruffy's tongue gingerly slurps up the side of Hugo's face, his eyes glowing affectionately. Hugo breaks off with a laugh, cuddling his wolf's head between two hands and pressing their foreheads together. "Stop that!"

I smile at the pair of them. I'm mildly certain I know the rest of the plan – besides, if I lose my memory suddenly, Hugo can always reeducate me again at that point. As I reach the main chamber, I need to light up a torch in all four corners of the room. On the floor, the shadows of the satanic symbol needed to bind Lucius should still remain from past callers, I just need to refresh it with my bottled lamb's blood, which clanks awkwardly against my hip as I walk. Ogden will come into my mind and help me from thereon out.

Comforted by a refresh in the plan, I reach down and squeeze Paige's shoulder, smiling gently down at her. "When we get into the maze, stay right beside me, okay? Hold my hand, and don't leave my side. It's dark in there, and, if you leave me alone, I'll get really scared."

Paige beams at me, gripping my leg in a little hug.

"Ah, Penryn?" Hugo lifts an iPhone, vibrating and lit up in his hand. "It's Bryon and/or Pigeon-Bat, you wanna pick it up?"

"Yeah." I lift my hands, preparing to catch the phone. "Toss it here, will ya?"

Hugo swings it underhandedly towards me, and I catch it easily. Stomach squirming and throat tight, I tap the screen and put the phone at my ear.

"Hello?" My heart squeezes.

"Penryn?" Bryon's voice is surprised on the other end of the phone, as if I hadn't been the person he'd expected to pick up the line. "Shouldn't you be inside Jane's den by now?"

"We were a bit pokey," I admit, not spilling the details of how I trudged my feet to this austere location. "But we're here now, right in front of her lair. It's kind of creepy, isn't it?"

"How are you feeling, Penryn?" Bryon questions, his voice soft, tender. "Are you alright?"

My hesitation is met with patience as I awkwardly glance around at my companions, then stray a little further from them all, unwilling to be heard. Lowering my voice, I ask, "Is Raffe around?"

"No." The warmth in his voice has not ebbed off, despite the long pause on my end nor the topic I'd brought up. "He's off for one last examination with Makiel without his friendly temper control, aka me. Why?"

Casting one last glance around the clearing and lowering my voice into a taut, raspy whisper, I murmur in strained tones, "I'm scared, Bryon. Really scared."

I feel as if I could drown in his warm voice, the way it swaddles me in comfort, even through the crappy cell phone quality. "Of course you are. I wish I could be there." I hear him sigh heavily. "Penryn, it's okay to be scared. Heck, I'm scared as hell, and I'm not even there with you. Fear in correct dosages isn't something necessarily horrible, though – but don't let yourself succumb to it."

"I'm trying." I breathe in, inhale stuttering with fear. "But it's hard. Really hard. I wish there was some other way I could do this."

"I know," Bryon murmurs, his voice quiet. "I do, too. I do. But I know that you can do this. It's the reason I can keep my own fear under tabs. Trust me." A sliver of harshness enters his voice. "I wouldn't let you do anything I didn't think you couldn't handle. And there's not a lot you can't handle; one of those rare things isn't a wimpy demon with daddy issues."

I smile weakly. "Thanks, Bryon. But does he have daddy issues?"

"He's the son of Lucifer. That guy can't be king of warm and fuzzy. Penryn, there's not that much of a reason to be worried. If you can't get a good deal, you don't have to make one. Paige… we can figure something out, can't we?"

"I just have to remember not to look him in the eyes, and I'll be good," I sigh, not wholly pleased with that. "And he'll be trying to get me to look at him, won't he? He's a trickster."

"Well, yes. But you know not to look him in the eye, and he can only do so much to convince you. I believe in you." Affection shines through his words. "You'll get out of this, don't worry. Failure isn't even a possibility, you understand? You've got this."

"I've got this." I breathe out, closing my eyes, focusing on the words and calming the rapid beating of my heart. "Alright, okay. Thanks, Bryon. Hugo didn't mention I could just walk out of it."

"Well, Hugo… he and I think very differently." Bryon chuckles lightly, a cheerful laugh that brightens my spirits considerably. "I'd better let you go – Belle is starting to get anxious. She really has taken to Raphael, and Raphael to her, though he won't admit it. Stubborn angel, that one… Good luck, Penryn. You won't need it, though."

I blush and smile. "Bye, Bryon. Talk to you later…?"

"Count on it," Bryon promises, already sounding distracted, as if he's focusing on the task at hand. "Goodbye, Penryn."

"Bye."

I slip the phone back into my pocket instead of giving it to Hugo. Somehow, the artifact of modern technology amongst all the demonic voodoo is comforting, and I doubt he'll notice it's missing until I've disappeared down the tunnel.

Hugo sidles up, smiling crookedly, his coppery eyes glazed in mischief and his grinning face glazed in a layer of Scruffy's slobber. "What words of wisdom did Bryon grant?"

"Said I could do it. Said he believed in me. Stuff like that."

"Well." Hugo tilts his head to one side. "You can do it, and he does believe in you, so, as far as I can tell, he wasn't lying. If that hullaballoo is cleared up, let's do a last minute gear check, shall we? I'll announce an article of adventure you should have somewhere on your person, and you will say check if you do, and if you don't, you will improvise. Ready? Go! Flashlight."

I check my coat pocket. "Check."

"Matches for lighting up torches."

"Check."

"Pooky Bear in case Jane gets too violent."

"Check."

"The jacket that I totally can't see right now."

I roll my eyes. "Check."

"Lamb's blood."

"Check."

"Sticky note with the incantation on it."

"Check."

"Paige."

"Paige?" I call out, meeting her gaze and smiling, beckoning her over. "Come here, baby. We're about to go down into the scary place, and I need you to take care of me."

Obediently, she waddles over, entwining her clammy fingers through mine.

"Right. So." Hugo crosses his arms over his chest, cocking his head back, smirking at me with almost a bittersweet emotion. I drink in the sight of him like this – sly and poised, his gangly limbs folded together, the metallic bits in his hair gleaming with the light leaking through the grey cloud cover, and the black tattoo inked at his nape peeking from the rim of his aviator's jacket.

"So what?" I question, meeting his bright coppery eyes.

"Well, you're going." Hugo tilts his head, studying me from slits of his eyes, his lips quirking. "And we're bidding our farewells. So I might as well tell you that I think you're a great girl, Penryn, and that it's been an honor walking beside you for a few miles. Honestly, I will always remember those short, brief, uncomfortable miles we walked together. Sincerely. Truly."

"Shut up," I groan, rolling my eyes at his melodramatic air. "Hey, don't get yourself killed out here, alright? And I'll see you again."

Hugo beams delightedly. "Look at that! A little chit chat with uncle'll make anything better, won't it?" His arms splay apart, a clear invitation for an embrace. "Give me a hug, will ya?"

The laughter this promotes loosens the tight knot of stress in my chest. I wrap my arms around him and squeeze, breathing in the cinnamon scent clinging to his clothes. "You are just like Scruffy, you know that?"

"Oh, now, don't go that far," Hugo chides playfully, tugging a strand of my hair. "True, we have some alike qualities, but I do not go slobbering all over your face."

"Could've fooled me," I grunt as his grip tightens even further. "Watch the ribs, you."

"Sorry." Hugo releases me, taking a step back, already grinning again. "Hey, watch your ass in those tunnels, okay? Don't let down your guard."

"Okay. Don't worry about me." I turn to where Ogden watches with a kindly smile. "Can I get a hug from you, too?"

Awkwardly, Ogden slings one arm over my shoulder and grips me against him with a firm, solid embrace. He smells smoky, singed, but not wholly unpleasant. He grunts something I assume is a good luck before retracting. The old man smiles gently at me, his face softly lined and his shoulders slack. His dark brown eyes twinkle as brightly as ever.

"I'll see you, too, Ogden," I promise. "And maybe then you'll teach me how to carve like you do, eh?"

He glances down to one of the numerous pockets, assumedly the one carrying his whittling knife, and smiles an agreement.

"And you, Scruffy." I turn to the grinning wolf. "You don't have any idea what's going on, do you? Look at you." I laugh to myself, reaching out to fondle the fluffy fur by his ears. "Love ya, buddy."

Scruffy leans forward and snuffs at my hair, wet nose huffing away. He evidently finds something immensely interesting at my hairline, sniffing up and down the ridge without pause. After finding the source of whatever scent he detected in the first place, he puffs out thoughtfully, and then laps at my forehead in consolation.

"Uh, thanks, man." I pat his nose. "So, see you soon."

I back away from the wolf, keeping my palm extended towards him to ward off his tongue. Scruffy seems distressed by my retreat, only held back by Hugo pressing him back.

"Good luck, Penryn," he grunts as Scruffy whines and rears up behind him. "This is as good a chance as ever to get in there."

I nod, tightening my grip around Paige's hand. "Any last sage words?"

"Those spare batteries aren't just there for kicks. Demons don't like technology, and Lucius is no different. He'll try to bust your flashlight. You can lengthen its life by popping in extras."

"Got it." I turn my back on the group, gently pulling Paige behind me, approaching the darkness of the tunnel reluctantly. I swallow, throat going dry. "Alright, well, don't die from boredom."

Sucking in my breath, I take the first step into the darkness of the mad wolf's den. Paige, quivering slightly, follows immediately. I grapple for my flashlight and flick it on before continuing deeper into the mass of shadows awaiting to suck me into their embrace – the single beam of light, though powerful, does little to assist me on lighting up anywhere but where I point its face.

"Bye, guys!" I call, waving over my shoulder. Hugo flicks his hand in a mocking salute, Ogden waves erratically, and Hugo wags his tail at even crazier speeds.

Initially, there are no skulls paving the tunnels, nor any bones to be seen – it isn't nearly as terrible to carefully plod down that first length of darkness as it is later on. But it still is eerie – I hear noises, noises that sound as if they were issued from a human mouth, not a lupine one. Moans and wails echo off the walls, through the labyrinth, distant and soft as a sigh; other spectral noises that I can't quite place sound randomly, noises like a gong's tone, the heavy grate of what could be a body being dragged over the ground, and the sound of a couple of puppies yipping softly at the edge of my hearing but then suddenly cutting off with a sound like bodies crunching against stone.

Paige doesn't assist my jumpiness in any way – she huddles close against my leg, hissing at things I can't see and shying away from the areas the flashlight beam doesn't touch.

I lose track of distance pretty soon, and, after a while, I come to a split in the shafts, and at last run into the bones.

Paige clutches my leg, aghast.

In the middle of the two paths, at the corner they form, is a mural of bones. At the very center is a skull, much broader and thicker than I've ever seen one to be, the forehead crowned with a few peeling feathers. Surrounding the grinning head is a ray of femurs like a sun's beams, and then one of rib bones, and then a ring of what I assume is wing bones. A bed of crumpled feathers lies beneath the sculpture.

I stare at the horrifying artwork, wondering exactly how many souls had been sacrificed for this sickening warning. True, they're probably all angelic souls, judging by the thickness of the bones, but it's still awful to see the proof of a creature displaying the dead remains of another as artwork.

"Which way should we go, sweetie?" I whisper, trying to pull my attention away from the sockets of the angel's skull. "I guess it doesn't really matter. Jane's supposed to come to us."

I shiver, not gaining much comfort from that thought.

Making a rapid decision, I furl my hand tighter around hers, and head down the left tunnel.

After only a few feet, my flashlight beam catches on the white gleam of bones. My heart gives another jump as another wail echoes distantly, but I keep marching, knowing that if ghosts were a thing to worry about, Hugo would've told me.

Skulls line from floor to ceiling, with an occasional neck-bone jammed inside the eye sockets. The yellow flashlight's beam dances through their eye sockets and the shadows waltz in their brain cavities. Feathers of individual colors still stick to the foreheads of many, dusty remnants of each angel's soul, their being, the creatures they were before they became stray skulls stacked on top of each other, almost like nametags to categorize each one of them. Their teeth grin savagely at me – some are missing jaws. Others have teeth missing from their grins, more still have toothless mouths. As I walk, my foot accidentally kicks a spare jaw, sending it rattling over the stone. It spirals lazily, hitting a skull as it calms.

The sound of the jaw across the stone echoes through the corridor, captured in the hollow skulls and whispered from ear to ear. My skin crawls as I follow its trail over the stone, stomach lurching at the rotting teeth it had left behind.

A soft hissing causes me to jump out of my skin. It rattles through the skulls and slithers through the tunnel. Paige is the one hissing, I realize. I turn to her to see a finger held to her lips, still hissing low in her throat.

Quiet, she seems to warn.

"Sorry," I mouth at her, and we continue walking through the den.

The eyes of the skulls seem to follow me as I pass, the shadows cast by the flashlight bringing every dead angel to life, each grinning malevolently, as if they blaze the way into a trap. It makes me wonder how many of their brethren these skulls had witnessed being dragged down through the chambers, how many angels the dead had seen plodding down the gullet of the white beast that'd trapped them all, never to return. I shiver as the tunnel stretches onward.

How had she collected so many skulls? I find myself pondering upon that as I wander aimlessly, making mindless choices at intersections, steering Paige away from gruesome statues and murals fashioned from bones. True, according to Hugo, the killing of angels had gone on for centuries by the hand of Jane – but how many angels could there be if she could continue slaying in such abundant numbers? How had they not noticed such a loss of people? Had they thought that the missing ones had Fallen? Or do angels die easier than Raffe had hinted at?

A stray thought hits me – could we run into Raffe's angel friend, the one Jane had slain, somewhere in this labyrinth? He must be here somewhere, still stinking of decaying flesh, on display like a trophy. These skulls surrounding us seem old, layered in dust, the bedraggled tiaras of feathers spiraling to the ground, but surely elsewhere, fresh bones are being stacked, their own flesh forming the glue used to mantle the crowns of plumage.

I halt, squinting at something ahead of us. Training the beam of the flashlight straight ahead, I squint, trying to be sure that I'd seen it in the first place. But the alarming whiteness in the sea of black had vanished, making me wonder if I had ever seen it in the first place.

"Paige?" I glance down at her. "Stay close."

She nods, clutching my leg as the dragging sound echoes from behind us again.

I creep forward, hand lightly gripping the hilt of Pooky Bear, worried that I might find something unsavory in these tunnels. True, Hugo said that Jane keeps her halls clean, but if I have been wandering so long without running into the mad wolf, maybe other creatures had found their way into these dark tunnels. It's a perfect lair, forged with the bones of those reigning at the top of the food chain.

At the end of the tunnel, a commodious chamber awaits, the first of the likes I'd stumbled across. On each wall of the square-shaped room is a tunnel, and crowning each tunnel is an arch of mummified wings – feathers still cling to the bones, flaky skin sheathing the joints and hiding the dry sinew. Blood stains the ground and dissected organs litter the stone – beneath all that gore, however, are symbols and runes, carved crudely into the earth, as if someone had taken a dagger – or claw – and scratched it into the stone. Wind chimes of finger bones rattle above, suspended by pieces of twine from the ceiling. On crudely built shelves are angel parts floating in uncapped jars of foul yellow fluid, and pinned to the walls are angel skeletons and carcasses. One angel has stakes through his palms and another through his abdomen, the cruel barbs on the stone poles that emerge from the wall pin him in place – at first, I believe he's as dead as the other specimen, but as he sees me, he coughs and spits blood.

Pained eyes peel apart, then squint at the flashlight's glare. The angel's nearly severed wings twitch and then spasm, flailing on his back. Bite marks are visible all over his torso, the puncture wounds of long fangs speckling over his shoulders and chest. I clap a hand over my mouth. Jane hadn't been just collecting angels, she's been – doing whatever she's doing to this angel.

How could a wolf do all this? Without thumbs? Before I can dam the flood of morbid imagination, I envision a wolf ramming the angel's limp body onto spikes jutting from the wall, her forehead braced against his stomach as she shoves him through the brutal center stake.

I shouldn't feel pity as the angel lolls his head around, dangling from the wall like a rag doll, covered in scars, but as it meets my gaze with agonized brown eyes, I see only Paige – Paige, trapped in a gruesome lab like something from her worst nightmares, watching monsters dissect and stitch up her fellows while she was helpless – does this angel, trapped against the wall, feel helpless? Could he be scared? What about the angels he has in his battalions? Are they missing him? Wondering where he could be? Could the angel be thinking about them even now, at the mercy of one so corrupted by madness?

Before I can move to free him from his pegs or put him out of his misery, the angel's attention is drawn elsewhere. Head snapping up, he focuses on another tunnel, brown eyes blinking the blood from their lashes. Almost instantly, he begins to strain against his restricting spikes, fear sending quivers through his body. His wings thrash and flap, showing me that one of them is connected to his body by only a tendon.

I slink back into the dark recesses of the way I'd come, fearing what the angel so obviously finds terror in. Paige begins to quake like a leaf caught in a great wind as a white shape emerges from the darkness of the tunnel the angel stares down, as silent as the shadows from which she comes.

I, too, begin to shake.

Jane slaughters the angel the way I may swat at a fly – her fangs fly to his jugular, despite the wings slamming against her chest, warding her off, and she rips outward. His throat flies across the room and hits one of the mummified wings, falling to the floor with a wet thump. The angel goes limp against his pegs. And, without another glance towards her victim, Jane fixes her amethyst gaze on me.

Why do you seek my madness?

Beneath her thick coat of fur, muscles stir – this predator, her appearance, so clean-cut and pristine, is absolutely beautiful, in the most terrible of ways. And that fascinates me, the way a bird is frozen in a snake's gaze. As I do not answer, though, Jane's lips prick in the beginning of a snarl.

Who are you?

After waiting several more seconds for an answer, Jane sits down without a fuss, regardless of my terror or Paige's growling. A neat, fluffy white tail wraps around her bloodied paws, effectively shielding them from view. Her purple eyes are astonishingly bright against her albino fur, as is the splash of crimson at her lips. Even with the beam of the flashlight trained on her, I doubt that her crisp white fur would be hard to spot.

"Penryn Young," I stammer. "I've come –"

Yes, yes, I know who you are. Jane sounds almost impatient. But who are you?

I stare at the gorgeous snowy white wolf without an ounce of understanding, Pooky Bear still gripped tightly in my clammy hands.

The wolf sighs, a rumbling noise that echoes eerily through the torture room. Her purple eyes slide shut and her inky black lips prick. English is the most terrible language. I know who you are – Penryn Young, that is your name, who you are. But who is Penryn Young, that is what muddles me.

"I'm still not sure I understand," I say slowly, not willing to answer a question I don't fully comprehend in fear of answering incorrectly.

Jane rises from her haunches, the smooth flow of sinew and muscle spooking me. She stalks towards me, purple eyes burning. My knees knock, but I don't back down, instead meeting her in the corner of the room with a slow, rigid stride. Paige whimpers in protest.

Growling softly, Jane begins to circle me in slow, methodically shrinking loops, one purple eye focused on mine. Who are you, Penryn Young? You are not like your uncle, you are not like your father, you are not like your mother, you are not like your grandmother, nor are you like your grandfather. Who are you?

"Are you sure I'm not like Paige?" I mutter sarcastically, gritting my teeth.

I have already listed your sister.

I don't remember her having said that, but arguing further with the mad as she circles me would not be a clever idea. "Why am I not like any of them, then? People say Thea and I are pretty similar."

Thea is ruthless and unkind. Only those that share her blood can feel any amount of her fondness. She will stop at nothing to kill those that challenge anyone she loves. And she does not love easily. Jane pauses for a moment, the fur at her withers bristling. You are not like Thea. You are not so ruthless. My actions with this angelic bastard have proved this.

I flick the flashlight beam over her to the face of the angel, how it remains, frozen in agony for all eternity. "You're going to slice him up, aren't you? Like you did all the others. His head'll be mounted on your wall."

If he's lucky. And, you see, darling, your compassion for one such as him proves that you are not like Thea. Heaven forbid I make the jump that you resemble your grandfather. So much rage in the face of his enemies, and yet such a gentle creature… boisterous, of course, and not the sharpest tool in the shed, but loyal to a fault, and the most stubborn man to have ever walked this Earth.

"What if I don't resemble any of my family members?" I challenge, keeping Paige firmly planted behind me as Jane grows slightly closer. "What if I'm original? What then?"

Nonsense. Everyone resembles a family member more strongly than the rest, but you do not resemble your grandmother, your grandfather, or your uncle. No, there is not a soul alive that would mistake you for Bryon.

Though I'm not sure how much I appreciate her vicious tone as she points out the difference between my noble uncle and I, I keep a level head about it. "Well, of course no one's like Bryon. The guy's a living legend."

More than that. There is almost grudging respect dragging at the emotion in her words. He is a good man, a man with a golden heart – but around that golden heart sleeps a monster. The fact that something so foul resides inside him, and the fact that he resents it more than anyone is enough to tell that he is different from any other like him. He could choose power, he could rise above the rest and be the greatest dictator this world has ever known. But instead, he chooses to inspire, to influence. He never requires an audience, yet he finds one, all the same. No, you are nothing like your uncle.

"Thank you," I mutter, shooting daggers at the wolf. "So, have your observations showed you who I am yet?"

You do not have the burden of your mother's undiluted madness. You are not like your father, either, though you two carry many same characteristics. A hidden familial connection, many issues with your parental guardian, unkind and malicious with those that hurt you, determined. And yet you do not have the same desire to be left by yourself. You seek companionship and you despise being by yourself. This was evident many times over your trek this direction.

"How do you know anything about that?" I wonder. She might as well have been milk, flowing through the shadows – she moves just as fluidly, a ghostly streak of white in the darkness.

Is this not obvious? I have been aware of your coming here ever since you set out. That foolish mongrel does not know how to keep his trap shut.

A sharp flair of anger burns in my gut. "Are you talking about Scruffy?"

The wolf pauses, her mane of lush white fur ruffling around her face. Her one purple eye blazes in the blackness, and her black lips pull over her jaws in a maddened grin, as broad as each of the skulls' grimaces and with gums as red as freshly spilt blood. Thick white fangs curl over her lower jaw.

As it so happens, I am talking about the wolf you two-legged creatures refer to as 'Scruffy'. His true name is, unfortunately, too complex for your minds to handle, and his greatness too massive for you to see him as anything more than a pup. And despite all that greatness, he cannot keep a secret to save his life. Of course – the wolf's voice takes on an amused tone – the idiot would do anything for his master, so if he knew he was betraying the Hugo one, he would've thought twice.

"Don't call him an idiot!" My fist clenches around the hilt of Raffe's sword. "He worships you, you know that?"

I do, as a matter of fact. And I him. But only a fool chooses a madwoman to bear his pups, and a fool that wolf is.

"Wait." My anger is muffled by blunt confusion. "You bore his pups? Scruffy has pups?"

Jane growls softly, but it sounds regretful, maybe even guilty. Her neat ears press against her skull, and her lips fall back over her teeth. Almost as if refusing to meet my gaze, she turns her head away, holding it low and shamefully.

"Scruffy has pups?" I repeat. As she continues to ignore me, head turned away from mine, I harden myself, distrust taking the place of fear, imagining her instead as my mother. "Answer the question."

And, at the sound of my voice, broiling with hints of fury, streaked with suspicion and wariness, painted with the steely colors of disapproval and brushed over with hints of superiority, Jane's temper begins to heat, reminding me that she is in no way like my mom.

She lifts her head and growls furiously at me, the purple eyes an inferno of rage. Instead of mere murmurs, licking the back of my mind with their crazed power, her words roll over my thoughts like tidal waves, tenacious and inescapable.

Who are you, Penryn Young to act as if I follow your command? A rabid snarl echoes through the den, rebounding off the high ceilings and stone walls. And here, of all places! In my domain! You come here and you seek to bring forth my enemies! You act as if you know my beloved better than I! You plunder my secrets and you insult my maze of bones!

"I insult your maze of bones because you made a maze from dead angels." I grind my teeth. "I hate God's messengers as much as the next girl, but you're just creepy, and your maze is even creepier."

Jane doesn't bellow anymore – my stomach lurches at a sudden air gripping the room, and my hands grow sweaty on the hilts of sword and flashlight. Jane halts in her restless pacing at the sound of my defiance, slowly wheeling around to meet my gaze with both of her vivid purple eyes. A raw madness burns there, narrowing her pupils to miniscule pinpoints – if she hadn't been looming directly in front of me, separated by mere feet, I wouldn't have been able to see the black specks drowning in a sea of violet. Slowly, very slowly, her wrathful snarl lifts into a crazy grin.

And then the wolf disappears in a flash of white.

Desperately, I attempt to follow her with the flashlight's beam, but I can't catch sight of her – she might as well have vanished.

Instead of a mental bellow rattling my thoughts with each word, her voice is fleeting and insubstantial, like a gust of wind tickling the corners of my subconscious.

Oh, little girl, you have meddled with the wrong monster. You, of all the people in the world, acting as if you are any better!

Anger roasts in the pit of my stomach, its blaze overpowering the grip of fear. "I am better!" I shout at her, not fearing the ivory flash of her fangs. "I don't torture people! I don't leave them just stuck to walls! I don't do whatever you do in this room."

Warmth breath pools at the back of my throat and Paige scrambles away from its direction, but when I whirl around with a flashlight beam in hand, there's nothing to be seen.

Stupid creature! Can you not see that you and the angels are on opposite sides of this war, that they themselves are not people at all? They did the same to your sister. They did the same to dozens others. Why do you think me a monster when I do this in the name of things right instead of the name of things gruesome?

"Because he was hanging there!" I bark, clutching Paige tight. "He was like some sort of sick medical dummy on the wall! He had thoughts! He was a living creature! He realized he was going to die in this thick sea of blood and just become one of many! It doesn't matter if it was for good reasons or if it was to get your revenge, it was torture, cold-blooded torture! Don't you see that? Don't you see the horror they all witnessed? Nobody should have to go through that!"

You're right! You're completely and utterly right! A bodiless snarl sounds from somewhere in the room, echoed by the stone. Nobody should go through with such agony! That is why it puzzles me you defend the cowardly swine! They took your sister from you, they sliced her up, they made her sit in agony without any method to kill the pain! Do you not see that this is for the children? For all those that have fallen prey to the bastards from above?

"As if!" I cry. "As if this started then! This slaughtering has been happening for centuries, not for justice, but for your own sadistic pleasures! You're just as bad as them with your wannabe laboratory!"

Do not tell me you are so naïve as to think that they haven't been slaughtering for centuries as well. Cold scorn poisons Jane's mind. They have laid waste to villages with their hellfire, they have slaughtered thousands! Here I sit in my lonesome home and I avenge each child that fell without a lullaby to send them off to sleep! Mad triumph blazes through my mind, so potent I cannot tell what thoughts are mine anymore. I am a murderer of murderers! I give them their justice! There is nothing sadistic about it, and the flavor of their blood in my mouth is the only pleasure I receive! You have no argument! No reason to defend the angels! Perhaps your infatuation with Wrath has turned you into an angel yourself!

"First of all, most of that makes no sense." I seriously consider taking out Pooky Bear, but, upon remembering Hugo's words of wisdom to leave her be, I cross out the idea. "Second of all – well, yeah, a lot of the angels have screwed up, and they've screwed up bad. But it doesn't give you a right to go around murdering murderers. Sure, a lot of them are evil, really, really evil, but that doesn't mean they all are. If you go around murdering each one of them, you'd never know that."

Correct me if I'm wrong, but is that a teaching of Bryon? Abruptly, her rage falls away to icy inquisition. She appears at the mouth of one of the tunnels, her ears brushing the crusty feathers of the wings above her. Have you learned something from being in his company? And I thought you came here without a lick of mercy for the dark and dangerous.

It dawns on me that perhaps Jane had not been acting under the influences of insanity as she'd paced about, as she'd provoked my anger and kindled my fear. Perhaps she'd been utterly sane and merely testing me, a test I can't help but wonder if I failed. Or maybe, maybe she's just a mad, mad wolf with more mood swings than actual emotions.

As if she'd picked up on my confusion, Jane woofs with something that could be a chuckle. Dear, you were prodding a bear with a needle. Everyone has monsters within, I am simply brave enough to use mine for the good of all. It was a slight nuisance, your words, but nothing more. I am most interested, though, in what could be a sliver of mercy. She cocks her head, raptured.

"I've got mercy. A lot more than you." With difficulty, I curb my anger, remembering Hugo's words to not stoke the wolf. Truthfully, the knowledge that I had not even irritated her is irking when she aggravates me so, but it is most likely for the better.

You do have mercy. But not much more than I, so do not wield the powers of the gods. Jane returns to her sinuous pacing, keeping that one eye on me. Somehow, it's even more eerie than before. How you perplex me. Why do you seek this madness, Penryn Young? Why would one ever seek what plagues me?

I frown. "Wait… plagues you? Are you saying that you looked into Lucius's eyes? Is that the reason why... you're..."

I am saying I am what many call insane because of the devil people so commonly call to my den. I am not saying more than that. But why would you even take this risk, Penryn Young? As best I can tell, you have lived with your mother your whole life, and she has been insane since before then. I am at peace with the demons inside me, but you have shown much disgust towards my manner of thought and action. Why would you ever risk being remotely like her? Like me?

"I'd do anything for Paige." Lifting my chin, I look the puzzled mad wolf in the eye. "Even brave my mom's demon for her."

Jane seems positively amused by that, her ears going slack. Came prepared for a demon, did you? I hope you're prepared. Things don't work quite like above where the sun's light never reaches.

"You're right." Vehemently, I glare at her. "I came in here ready to face a demon. One demon. It turns out there are two monsters slinking about in this hellhole."

Jane's mental cackle might not have been so creepy had she given any indication of the laughter on her lupine face – instead, as she wheezes for breath before launching into another peal, her face does not so much as twitch, her lips do not prick. The hallowing cackle still echoing in my skull, she rises without another word, turns her tail, and slips into the darkness of the tunnel from which she'd emerged in the first place.

Oh, Penryn, you are a puzzle to me. I know your name, dearie, but I do not know who you are. I do, however, know the person you will become. I do not know why you seek madness so determinedly nor why you brashly choose to irritate the monsters haunting your sleep, but I do know that you shall not reemerge this deathtrap unchanged, dear child. You have my permission. God help you, God help us all.

From the jaws of one monster... into the jaws of the next.

To all those of interest, on a whim I decided that could help me paint out the gruesome manner of Jane and her living quarters, I made a one-shot. I hoped it'd help me truly capture the madness needed to really set Jane in motion. Did it work, or does she seem superficial?

POLL: Everyone seemed pretty convinced that Penryn could handle Lucius... except for Jane, the only one with any real, gory, first-hand experience about what happens when things go wrong. Coincidentally, she's also too terrified of the demon to even remain in her crypt while the demon is somewhere in its tunnels. It's not really much of a poll, I'll admit. Just something I'd like you to think about.

Ciao,

~wolfluvermh