by Shona Husk
“I don’t know. Black magic isn’t exact science. I don’t know who he was working with, what spells he was doing or what promises he made. That he was damaged enough to let a demon take hold adds another level of complication.” He pressed his lips together and the edge was back, as if he was more dangerous than anyone she’d ever known. “Black magic leaves a taint, sticky, that lingers on everything it touches.”
“Am I tainted?”
“Did you help him?”
“I don’t think so.” She’d remember if she’d been helping Cory out with magic. There’d be stuff like wands and candles and robes and chants. Wouldn’t there?
“Okay, so not intentionally, which is good.” He smiled as if encouraging a child to eat Brussels sprouts.
She leaned back in her chair. Somehow she’d gotten her wish and was now in a world where people believed magic was real and her demon-infested husband was going to kill her. Was this better than not being believed and thinking she was crazy? She wasn’t sure. But Noah was warming to the subject, as if this is what he’d been waiting for all along. “You knew when I came in that magic was involved.”
He met her gaze. His blue eyes cool and level without the slightest trace of humor. “Yes.”
Chapter 6
Noah waited for Rachel to digest that little morsel. For the first time in days he felt as though he was getting somewhere—he wasn’t sure where, yet, but everything she told him were little clues that would line up. Had Cory’s obsession to play again manifested and turned dangerous or had he done something darker and invited the demon in? He’d love the chance to talk to Cory and find out.
Rachel nodded her head slowly, her gaze remaining on him as if she expected him to do something magical like vanish or pull a rabbit out of his desk. “You can do magic?”
Tricky question. Lying was usually the best option, as people didn’t like it when they realized magic was real and that others could wield it with deadly force if required, but since she’d been honest with him he didn’t want to tarnish the new-found trust. “I can defend against the darker stuff.”
“Like demons.”
Two words that were a kick to the nuts. She didn’t know how low that blow went. To her it was an innocent question. “No, not like demons. Demons are glorified thought forms, not magic.”
“What is the difference?”
How did he explain that in a few sentences to someone with no magical training? “Spell and prayers are tiny pieces of channeled magic. They come direct from the god or goddess. Obviously it takes a whole lot of concentration to get an effect, which is why most people pray and get no result. They don’t put in the effort.” He was losing her, he could see it in the slight lift of her eyebrow and the way her lips were starting to turn at one corner. “Demons come from a person. Spend enough time thinking bad things, wishing death, jealousy, rage and so on, and it gets a life of its own.”
He was almost expecting her to get up and leave. Some did, as they didn’t like the answers he gave them. That was okay, he couldn’t help those who didn’t want to be helped. He looked at her sketch and tried not to picture her torn apart. But once a demon had a method of killing they stuck with it.
At least it wasn’t a face-eater. That still gave him nightmares. The black, wizened, ugly thing with claws picking at skin, its green eyes glowing like traffic signals. He’d thrown everything he could at it, both as a witch and a man, and it had tossed him aside like a used soft drink can. His elbow now contained more metal than a can. As he lay awake in the dark, small hours of morning, he wondered whether he could’ve stopped it if he’d been a better witch, but he’d no success against any demon since. And he was one hell of a witch now.
“So how do you fight someone’s imaginary friend?”
He wished he knew. It was damn hard to unravel someone else’s manifestation, and this case was complicated by the black magic—not that magic could be black. In all likelihood Cory hadn’t even set out to use magic with ill intent. The average person didn’t, but when they didn’t get what they wanted—because making magic work took training, and buying spells was not a short cut—desperation took over and something shifted in them. Cracks formed, negativity took over and, if left, a demon could form. But what made the demon and the host kill? If he knew the answer to that…
He frowned. Rachel was staring at him. He stared back, trying to see if he could spot a clue around her or a mark on her soul, but there was nothing that caught his eye. Just the typical turbulence around her of stress and fear and now confusion. He wasn’t what she’d expected.
Why was the demon after her?
“What?” She tilted her head. “You’re doing that weird look again.”
He blinked. “I was thinking. Why is it after you? Why isn’t it just riding him?”
“He wants to kill me.”
“But why? No offense, but a man his size doesn’t need a demon to kill you.” Cory could inflict plenty of damage on his own.
“He got sick of me asking him to stop whatever he was doing?”
Noah shook his head. “He could have let you walk away.”
She was silent for a moment. “I don’t know. I don’t know who he is anymore.” Her gaze flicked away, but there was nothing in the room to hold her attention. Another reason he liked the blank walls. People couldn’t avoid looking at him, which made it harder to lie. “Can you help me or not?”
What did he say? Gee, I’m sorry, but if you have a demon on your tail you aren’t going to see the end of the month. Or maybe he could lie, say sure, take her money, watch her die and write it up same as always. He leaned back and ran his hand over his hair. Whatever he did, the outcome would be the same. Death.
“The good news is we know what we’re up against. Cory, his performance-enhancing magic and a demon that likes to tear people apart.” He paused, not sure how to phrase the next bit. He never usually had to tell someone that a demon was after them and they were going to die.
Rachel jumped into the gap. “And the bad news?”
“Why do you think there is bad news?”
“Because you started with good news.”
He opened up the laptop and typed in the password. He selected his demon database and typed a different password to open it. He spoke without looking at her. He couldn’t. “The bad news is that once demons have a target, they rarely miss.” The only time the demon failed was if the host was killed. It had happened once, deliberately, in San Diego. A coven member had been the target and they had neutralized the threat by killing the host. It was one thing to try and stop a demon, but another to willfully kill. However, since different covens drew their power from different gods, he couldn’t really argue.
She laughed, not a nervous giggle but more of a halfhearted, hoping-he-was-joking laugh. “Is that a polite way of saying you can’t help me?”
“The demon your husband manifested is known for intimidation and violence.” He turned the computer around so she could see the database and all the entries for standard horn demons.
Her gaze danced over the screen. “What is that?”
“I’ve been gathering everything I can find about demons for the last four years and compiling them into one source in the hopes of finding a way to stop them.”
“Kill them, before they kill.”
He nodded. He wanted a way to remove the demon without killing the host, but maybe that was something that couldn’t happen. In which case, he needed to go back a step and find out what made a demon turn into a single-minded killer. Cory was key.
“And it can be done, right?”
Tearing the demon free wasn’t possible unless the host was willing to let it go. Killing the person who’d manifested it worked, but try explaining that to the police. Plus, killing someone who didn’t know what they’d done didn’t sit well with him. He knew other covens weren’t so squeamish, but he was willing to bet none of them had ever been held by the cops on suspicion of murder. None of them had had to sit
through a trial before being cleared.
She looked at him. “They can’t be stopped.”
“They can, they have weaknesses. All magic does. I just haven’t been able to find it.”
“So you can’t actually help me then. Cory and his pet demon are going to hunt me down and tear me apart.” Her voice hardened.
“Ninety-nine percent of the people I try to help die. The one percent has to be worth it.” And maybe if he said that a few more times he might believe it. They would have died anyway; it wasn’t his fault or failure. His imaginary scoreboard refused to go away.
What would happen if he let one manifest on him so he could experiment with ways of killing it? How strong would it get? How fast would it go from being a shadow to being an entity on its own, a dark twin of the manifester, joined and yet separate, feeding its darkness back into the person? What would push it into the person so they became one and the same?
Taking on a demon that could change from being solid to shadow in the blink of an eye was impossible. Guns and swords did nothing, nor did holy water. Binding spells didn’t hold the human, only the demon. It was like trying to cup water in your hands and run one hundred yards. Yet he refused to believe that there was nothing that could be done.
“I know how this all sounds, but you’ve seen the demon. You know your husband has changed. I can try and help you, but I can’t give you any guarantees. You could, of course, keep your money, go to Vegas or the Caribbean and wait for him to catch up. Or you can tell me I’m a crackpot who should be reported. The choice is yours.” He smiled, knowing that even if she walked out he was still following this one through. He wanted to meet Cory and learn more about demons before they killed. If this was his last demon case, he’d get the answers he wanted, one way or another.
Noah had a lovely smile. It wasn’t a salesman’s smile, intended on luring her into parting with cash she didn’t have, just a simple smile. He’d told her everything he could and it was up to her what happened next. And she had no idea what to say or what she wanted to do. He’d just told her she didn’t have long to live as casually as if he’d asked about the weather.
She looked at him, but he gave nothing away. “Why do you know so much about demons and magic?”
“I saw one years ago and became interested in stopping them.”
“And the magic? Most people don’t believe in magic, and yet you said you knew magic was involved the moment I walked through the door.”
This time he started to look uncomfortable. He blinked slowly, long dark eyelashes against his skin for a moment. This was the part he was going to stumble over. It was no longer about her or demons, but about him.
“I’m a witch.”
Of course he was. “You mean wizard?” Guys were wizards.
“No, I get my power from my goddess. I’m a witch.”
She frowned, still not sure. “Wiccan?” New age, sky-clad rituals and stuff. She hadn’t realized they knew about demons. It hadn’t crossed her mind to go to her local new age shop for help.
“Witch.”
It was her turn to blink slowly and lean back carefully in her seat. “There’s obviously a difference I’m not grasping.”
“I’m sworn to serve a goddess; my power is channeled directly through Her. It is less about ritual and more about living by Her rules and honoring Her with every breath. I have no wand or staff, no pentacle, and I don’t need a coven or ritual to draw up power.” His voice had a resonance that hadn’t been there before. That something she’d felt around him, when she’d first walked into this place. The feeling of safety and power. It was akin to walking into a church and feeling the old echoes of prayers.
“You’re all witches.” That’s why the older guy had been expecting someone, he’d been expecting her. He’d picked Noah to help because he was researching demons. A shiver scuttled down her back.
One of his eyebrows quirked up. “Yes. We are the New York Coven of the Raven.”
Uncommon Raven Agency.
“Why a raven? Aren’t they scavengers?”
His lips curved into that lovely smile that lit his eyes. “The raven is sacred to the Morrigu. She is the Celtic Goddess of battle, death and fertility. A warrior goddess who reaps the worthy after an honorable death.”
She sounded like a peach. Almost as bad as demons. “Isn’t there a more friendly goddess?”
“She picks, not the other way around. Most witches are chosen by their god. Some people are chosen and never realize. Not everyone has magic in their blood.” He tilted his head slightly. “But you must have some, as you saw the demon.”
“I happened to be looking in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“But you didn’t laugh it off, you knew what you’d seen and it chilled you. You added up all the bits and knew it was more than drugs or an affair, and even after people told you to forget it you came here.”
She shrugged. “Not that it matters. If you’re right about demons never failing, I’m kind of screwed anyway.”
That’s what she didn’t get about him. Noah could’ve lied to her about everything. Witches, demons and how much he could help. Instead he’d given it to her straight and the news wasn’t that great. It didn’t make sense. He didn’t make sense. He looked so…she pushed the word attractive out of the way…normal. No warts, no black cats. Then she remembered the scars on his chest and elbow and the tattoos. The bird over his heart was a raven. The symbols on his bicep were probably magical. And the one on his hip? She had no idea, but she wouldn’t mind a closer look. If they’d met under better circumstances…she would have been happily married and not running for her life.
Her gaze drifted over his hands. No rings, no jewelry of any kind except something around his neck.
“I can try. Hell, I might get lucky.”
Heat crept up her neck even though she knew that wasn’t the kind of getting lucky he was talking about. She tried to will it away but the burn blossomed on her cheeks.
“I meant with the demon…er, not like that.”
“I know.” And yet her cheeks were still burning. Could he read minds? Did he know what she was thinking? She shouldn’t have started thinking about his tattoos. “Right. Um.” She stood up. “Thank you for your time, again, and your honesty. I need to think.”
If she believed in Cory’s demon, she had to believe in witches. She had to believe in Noah. It was all a little too much right now. She just wanted a coffee and to pretend that it would all go away if she hid under the nearest rock. He’d admitted that he could try and she might still die. A one percent chance. She had no idea what to do: live it up or fight?
He walked around the desk. “You may not have long to think. He’s here and closing in.”
She nodded. “Either way I should make a bucket list.” She didn’t feel like she was dying. It wasn’t as though she was sick and had been given days or months. It was as if she’d suddenly been stamped with an expiry date. “Can I come back tomorrow? I realize I’m probably wasting your time when you could be doing other things.” What else did he do here?
He placed his hand on her arm. “It’s okay. I’ll make time for you. I want to solve this.”
While his blue eyes burned hot, his voice was all about business, the case and not her, as if he was putting up a wall around himself. He had to be around the same age as her, and yet, he was harder and more guarded. What had happened to him?
Demons had happened. She knew that as if he’d spoken the words, but she wasn’t sure if she was brave enough to ask what he’d seen and what he’d done to survive.
Chapter 7
Rachel was sharing a room in the hostel with one other person—who was soundly sleeping with the occasional snore. That wasn’t what was keeping her awake. Somehow her life had become so derailed she was sleeping in a bargain hostel and hoping she wouldn’t get bitten by bedbugs while praying her husband wouldn’t find her. Every time her leg itched she imagined one of the insects nibbling at her. She cur
led her fingers into a fist to avoid scratching.
Over the last week she’d stopped wondering if she could’ve done things differently. While asking for the divorce had pushed Cory to the edge, he would’ve gotten there anyway. She could almost track the escalations. At the time, she’d made an excuse for each one, forgiven him and done what he’d asked. Quit her job, spent more time at home. Stopped asking questions.
She should’ve asked more. Then she could’ve told Noah exactly what was going on. But he was right. While she knew something was fundamentally wrong, she hadn’t wanted to name it, because naming it was both laughable and scary. Had she lost her grip on reality, or was reality just different to what she’d thought it was?
Noah seemed sane. Yet he’d called himself a witch.
She pulled out her smart phone and searched the internet for witches, but all the references were either about witch hunts in the Middle Ages, the Salem Witch Trials or modern-day Wicca. What was his Goddess called? Morgan, meringue, Morrigu? The Morrigu. She followed a link.
As a raven, the Morrigu was a herald of death, hovering around battles and favoring warriors, but She was also represented as a cow and tied to the land, wealth and fertility. The Celts really liked their multi-faceted goddesses. Rachel read a little more about modern interpretations but then skipped back to the history. The Morrigu had turned the tides of battles and had bands of young warriors sworn to Her service. Now that was interesting… Rachel clicked on the highlighted link and scanned the next webpage. To win the battle that had started as a land dispute, a group of Lords had promised their youngest sons to Her service, but She’d been cunning and had taken the youngest son of the youngest son for all time. There was a mention of raven gangs popping up from time to time, but nothing else and no mention of witchcraft.
So that made Noah the youngest child. What was his last name? She was sure she’d been told, but there was nothing on the business card and she couldn’t remember. Damn. She let the screen turn off but kept it in her hand as she closed her eyes and tried to sleep again.
