by Shona Husk
Mason picked up on his thoughts and tried to calm them. “That’s not going to happen. The coven has your back. We take care of our own, we have to. We’ve all been in the wrong place at the wrong time; it’s the nature of our work.”
Noah nodded. He knew that, but it didn’t make him feel any better. “I can’t help but thinking maybe there isn’t a magical cure. People bring it on themselves and then weep at the consequences. They didn’t mean for so-and-so to die.” They’d just thought about it and wished it and let it consume them. Sometimes literally. A demon-possessed person was not a pleasant thing.
“You’ll never find a cure for negative thoughts or the deeper cracks that let a demon grow. All you need is a way to stop the manifested demon from killing.”
Noah rubbed his hand over his face. He needed a shower and something to eat before he looked at the not-a-case. “I know, but they are like guided missiles: once on target they can’t be stopped.” He shook his head. “I don’t know. I just don’t know anymore.”
“She won’t release you from your vow.”
Noah shook his head. “Maybe She should be a little more helpful.” As an injured and grief-stricken twenty-year-old, he’d made a rash promise to the Morrigu that he’d find a way to stop demons. He never wanted anyone to suffer the way Louise had. She’d been his girlfriend, one in a long line, and he had no intention of settling down. It was his fault she was dead. The demon had come because of him. The guilt had bored into him and burrowed deep. Making the vow had been a way to stop it and save himself. However, keeping that vow was soul destroying.
He’d seen so much death and violence, things most people would never see, and there was nothing he could do. Rachel flickered in his mind, another demon target. How long did she have?
He pushed away from the door. “I’m done. I’m going home.”
“Have you thought about my offer?”
Noah paused. “I haven’t had a chance.” Which wasn’t entirely true; he’d thought about it on the way to Canada and the way back. He had a master’s in accounting; taking over the coven finances made sense and would take a weight off Mason so he could focus on training the teenagers who would eventually join the coven. It could also be a way to get Noah to use less magic. Maybe his own coven no longer trusted him and thought he was a hazard.
Mason watched him for a moment longer. “You might be the youngest here, but you’ve seen more than the others. It wounds you and you can’t cover it up with mindless sex.”
He didn’t want a girlfriend in case she got ripped up again, but he still needed sex. And while he was busy, he could forget for just a little while all the shit going on around him. “Sure feels like I can at the time.” Then about five minutes later he wasn’t sure who was more used or empty. He brushed past Mason toward the lift.
Mason put his hand on Noah’s arm. Noah was tempted to throw it off but something stopped him. He half turned. “What?”
“A warning before you find your own demon.”
Ice slid through Noah’s veins instead of blood. Had the Morrigu spoken to Mason or had Mason noticed a change? “What did you see?”
“You’re gathering shadows and scars. Watch yourself. If you can’t save yourself, you can’t save anyone.” Mason released him. “If you need a hand, let me know.”
“I’ll need Oskar to do some digging tomorrow.” Oskar was very thorough when it came to research.
Mason gave a single nod. “I’ll let him know.”
Noah stabbed the lift button and stared at the doors, waiting for them to open. Mason was right. He’d been slack in cleansing any remains of the darkness that demons were made of. He’d taken the other covens’ disappointment to heart and was wearing his desperation to find a solution like a badge of honor. He was the perfect cracked vessel, and no doubt any demon he manifested would be a real monster because he had magic in his blood. No wonder other witches thought he was one step away from being consumed by darkness.
In the lift, he closed his eyes for the three floors and tried to picture himself shedding the darkness—like shrugging off layers of clothing. He could never quite remove the last one. The one closest to his skin and made of dark red leather. That was in memory of Louise. His heart trembled. Five years. He knew holding onto it attracted more to cling, but he couldn’t take it off. He’d seen her die, let it happen. He was a witch. He should have seen it coming, he should have done something. The guilt was a familiar feeling, even though it no longer burned the way it once had.
The lift bounced to a stop and he opened his eyes. He felt lighter, but not clean. He’d have to do a proper ritual shower. The last thing he wanted to do was light candles and incense when he was alone…not that he did that for any of his transient lovers, either. The resentment that witchcraft was now his life had built up around him. This wasn’t how his life was supposed to be. He was meant to be on the diamond, earning big bucks and living it up. Being a witch was supposed to be something he did on the side. Lip service to the old tradition where the youngest son had to swear to the Morrigu. His father had written it off as superstitious nonsense and refused to take up the service. He’d expected Noah to be similarly agnostic.
That hadn’t worked out so well.
Instead of playing baseball and making millions, he was in a small flat in the coven-owned building, chasing after demons that he couldn’t kill. Wasting his life on a pointless quest that had been made out of desperation to a goddess his father had ignored.
“Fuck the lot of you.” He pulled candles out of the bathroom cupboard and went to light them with a thought. It took two tries. He frowned, usually igniting things was easy, but he brushed the concern aside and bundled it up as a long day and a new case. He was distracted, that was all. He lit a stick of frankincense—a good all-purpose cleanser—and stood in the middle of the bathroom, glowering. His reflection flickered in the candlelight.
He stripped off his clothing and turned on the shower. He should let the anger go, he should let Louise go. But it was so hard when he lived with the result every day. He started pulling the tape off his elbow, ignoring the tug of pain on his skin. When he trained, he had to strap it. Even now it wasn’t right. He’d strengthened the muscles, did all the exercises, but no one had wanted him on the field, and not just because of the injury. Instead of being a sure thing, he was a risk. His elbow ached like a bitch in winter and was full of metal. The surgeon had promised that it would never be right, that he was lucky he was young and fit.
What had been a red scar was now an eight-inch, pink, shiny line along his elbow. If Noah ran his fingers through his hair, he’d find the scar left from being knocked out and given a hairline fracture. His shoulder still had a plate in it. At twenty-five, he had more injuries than a player on their last legs.
He adjusted the temperature so it was just this side of too hot and scrubbed. The thing was, even though he hadn’t done a ritual wash in a while, his mind automatically settled when surrounded by candles and incense. It was familiar and comforting and, as he washed, the anger started to soften. It would be back, he knew that. For the moment, though, he let it go. This was the hand he’d been dealt and he had to make the best of it. He was doing a good thing. He was trying to save lives, which was far more noble than whacking a ball around a field. He hung his head and let the water drum on his shoulders.
As another wave of anger rolled over him, he let it break and wash away.
He needed to rebuild and look at the positives. At what he had instead of what had been taken away.
It took a moment to find one. He had people who gave a damn. Mason was worried about him.
Two more to find… He closed his eyes. There had to be three good things in his life.
He had hot water. Lame, but true.
He was the crazy witch amassing demon lore. He had a reputation. He almost smiled. Not the one he’d dreamed of, but people still knew who he was. Well, people who moved in witches’ circles did.
Noah drew
in a deep breath and lifted his head. He did feel better. He ran his hand over the runes inked on his bicep. Protection, victory and prosperity. One out of three was better than nothing. He still hoped for victory, he wouldn’t get out of bed in the morning if he didn’t think it was possible. He couldn’t stop people from manifesting demons, but he could find a way to dissolve them. Every magic had a weakness. He just hadn’t found the demons’ yet.
Maybe Rachel’s case would offer a new clue. He was really hoping there was nothing demonic about her case, but no human could rip the arms off another. Why the lawyer, why not Rachel straight away? He frowned. There was definitely something funky going on. More than what she’d told him. He shut off the shower and dried, grudgingly admitting that he did feel better and that he would have to take more care unless he wanted to carry a demon around.
He snuffed the candles out with a pinch and walked through the dark flat, ambient light from the street gave him enough to see by. He looked at his laptop but then turned away. What was the point in scouring his database when he had nothing to look for? He wanted a sleep free of demons and medieval monks’ writings. He just wanted to sleep, peacefully. It had been weeks since he could say that he’d woken up refreshed and without thoughts of death and demons filling his mind.
Maybe tonight he’d find peace. For dinner, he microwaved something he’d frozen awhile ago. As he waited, he pulled out a sheet of blank paper and picked up a pen with his left hand instead of his right. Then he thought of Rachel, closed his eyes and dropped into a light trance. It wasn’t a spell, as such, just another way to look beyond the usual human senses and tap into what was around him. Sometimes his subconscious came up with something he missed in an interview, other times all he got was shaky scribble that meant nothing.
At the edges of his hearing the microwave whirred. The pen warmed in his fingers and his hand moved, but he didn’t open his eyes to see what he was drawing, he just relaxed and held the image of Rachel in his mind. It wasn’t hard. She was pretty. Dark honey hair and grey-blue eyes. Under all those winter clothes she had curves, and no one would call her petit. She was a few inches shorter than him. Bet she was all leg. He knew he was smiling now and it was stupid to smile, she was married and she had a problem that had brought her to the Ravens. Not good. Not screwable.
Maybe he should take a break and try and keep it in his pants. He’d never been good at abstinence. At college he’d never even had to try, he’d always had a girlfriend. He winced as thoughts of Louise resurfaced, then brought his mind back to Rachel. His hand jerked a few more times then stopped.
The microwave beeped and he opened his eyes. Dismembered hands and feet littered the center of the paper; he already knew how the lawyer had been killed. A crouching figure—that or a monkey, he’d never been good at art. And an astronaut. He turned the paper and wondered why the astronaut was laying an egg. What was his mind trying to tell him? He turned the paper again and tried to understand what he’d drawn.
Football. His subconscious put the astronaut and egg together. How did football relate to Rachel’s case?
Interestingly, the crouching person, which he assumed was Rachel, and the football player were separated by the body parts. He spun the page again, waiting for more inspiration to strike. Did Rachel’s husband play football? Was that why she was reluctant to reveal her last name or where she was from?
He shuddered at the idea of a demon-fueled quarterback, but knew in his gut he was on the right track. Which meant that people who got between them got torn up. That was exactly where he’d be placing himself if he took this case.
He pulled his meal out of the microwave, grabbed a beer and sat at the table with the picture in front of him. He made a couple of notes on the side of the paper so that he wouldn’t forget his first impressions and then put it aside, but not out of mind. He took a long swallow of the beer. It was cold and crisp in his mouth, but it would just be one tonight. He’d allowed himself to wallow after the last demon failure, had the hangover as the reward, and was now getting on with it. How was he going to progress tomorrow if she showed up?
First he wanted to confirm what her husband did—almost ex-husband, as she wanted a divorce. Had she told him the truth about her reasons or had there been a third party involved, like the lawyer?
He looked at the arms and legs scattered over the middle of the page and hoped he didn’t end up like the last person to come between Rachel and her husband.
Chapter 3
Rachel hadn’t slept well at all. Despite being in a room with three other women—well, they were little more than teens—all she could think about was Cory getting closer. Closing in like a hunter on a deer. If she stood still he’d find her, and if she ran he’d give chase. Either way, the result was the same. If she couldn’t lose herself in New York, where could she hide?
When they’d started dating, even when they’d married, he hadn’t been like as possessive. After the injury, something had snapped. He needed help. God knew she’d tried. Should she have tried harder? Instead of filing for divorce, should they have gone to counseling? But when she looked in his eyes she didn’t see the man she’d fallen in love with. She saw the monster he’d become and it made her shiver.
She shoved her hands into her coat pockets and wished spring would hurry up and get here. While she pretended she liked sightseeing, in truth it wasn’t much fun by herself. Plus she didn’t have that much cash to splash around. It was just a question of which would happen first: Cory finding her or the money running out.
She stopped walking. People moved past her on the street, an endless tide of bodies going somewhere, doing something, and she had nowhere to be. Her life was out of reach. Damn it, she wanted it back. Rachel drew in a breath. Instead of worrying, she needed to ring her parents and find out if Cory was still in town. What were the odds that he’d follow her to New York? She could’ve gone anywhere.
Rachel sat on a bench and dialed her parents’ number. Her mother should be home; however, she didn’t expect any sympathy. This was just to make sure that her parents were fine and that Cory was still in Liberty, and to feel that, for a few minutes, she wasn’t alone in the world.
A person could be lost forever in a city this size. So many strangers. She wasn’t used to feeling like no one. In Liberty, she’d known someone everywhere she went and they knew her…because of Cory.
The phone was picked up on the third ring. “Hello?”
Rachel stopped holding her breath; at least he hadn’t gone after her parents. “Mom, it’s Rachel.”
“You’re alive! You’ve had us all so worried. Please tell me you’re going to stop this silliness and come home.”
“I’m staying with a college friend.” And her father would be threatening to wash her mouth out for that lie if he knew. “I’m not going to move back in with Cory.”
There were several heartbeats of silence before her mother replied. “He loves you. He was going crazy with worry when you left town. I think you are making a mistake. You promised for better or for worse and you’re leaving him when he needs you.”
And what about what she needed? Their whole marriage had been about Cory, no one else had realized what he was like, hell even she’d been able to excuse his controlling behavior. The recent fits of rage, though, were different. He was different, and it was more than the injury. She shivered, remembering the look in his eyes and the cold smile.
“He’s not as nice as you think he is, Mom. He has anger issues.” But Rachel knew it would fall on deaf ears.
“Then don’t provoke him.”
Rachel clamped her teeth together. Her mother was still stuck in the era where women should love and obey while the husband did whatever he wanted and blamed his wife for his failings as a human being. “I deserve to be happy and not living in fear. Do you want me to be happy?”
“Of course I do, but you were so happy with Cory.”
Yeah, she had been. She’d been the envy of all her friends, the w
ife of a rising star. They had plenty of money and were never short on social engagements. It had been fun, but gradually he’d started to suggest she dress differently—nothing obvious at first, just a little less flashy so he was the center of attention—but even that she was rationalized away as she’d enjoyed the trappings of his success.
“Not all marriages last forever… Is he still in town?” She hoped she sounded casual, even though her heart was hammering at what felt like a thousand beats a minute.
“No, he left yesterday, said he was worried about you and that he was hoping to talk to you. He wants you back.” Her mother sounded happy about that, but it sent chills down Rachel’s spine. Cory was looking for her and she was sure he wouldn’t take no for an answer. And if she went back, he’d make sure she never left again.
“Not going to happen, Mom.”
“Rachel—”
“No. Look, I have to go. I’ll call you soon. Take care.” He’d managed to con her parents into thinking he was the perfect son-in-law.
“You, too. Please hear him out.”
She didn’t want to get close enough to hear him speaking. “Love you.” She hung up and sat there frozen for a moment. Cory was looking for her. She tried to think of anything that could give away her location but came up blank. She’d set up a separate account and had only used that while in New York. Before that she’d drawn cash from their joint account…but not while she was here. She was over reacting. How could he possibly find her here, one among millions?
She couldn’t just hide, though. She had to get the divorce papers reissued; she had to find a way to live again. A crow flapped around the rubbish bin looking for scraps. Raven, crow, carrion birds. She shuddered. Why would a business name themselves after a raven? Wouldn’t eagle be better?
