by Shona Husk
Sex was a powerful magic on its own, but using anger to make fire was very different to using something else. Rage was raw and all consuming. It had consumed him until there was nothing left but the empty vow to keep going. He spun the lighter in his mind, raven and the sun flicking past. Light and dark.
He wanted to win this time. To save Rachel and help her finish her damn list. Drinks in the Icehotel and the promise of celebration sex—he hadn’t had that in years, not since his last game. Hope and lust flared in his chest. The lighter became heavier for a moment but he couldn’t hold onto it. He was too tired for this. Maybe tomorrow, if they dodged the demon for long enough, he’d work it out. He let go of the trance and let himself fall into darkness and sleep.
He knew as soon as he opened the door something wasn’t right. His ex-girlfriend, Tahlia, was on the doorstep. She’d been ringing him every few hours, day and night. It had started off as pleading for him to come back to her, then she’d turned nasty. The last few had been threatening.
“She’s here now, isn’t she? The little whore.” Tahlia tried to push past, but Noah held his ground. She tilted her chin, her once-pretty face now distorted with hate, then she shoved him out of the way with a strength she shouldn’t have had. He was sure there was something else with her, a presence.
“What’s going on, Noah?” Louise came out of the bedroom in one of his crimson Sooners t-shirts.
They’d been together for two weeks. Yeah, he’d dropped Tahlia for Louise, but Tahlia had been getting clingy. She’d tried to stop him from hanging out after games, and she’d turn up after training all pouty that he wasn’t spending enough time with her. He didn’t have enough time for anything. He had classes and training and games. And he still had to put time into the whole witchcraft thing. Not that he spent a lot of time on that. Give the games to the goddess. Meditate a bit. He was like a non-practicing Catholic paying lip service to tradition.
Come summer he’d be out of college and going professional, and neither girl would be following. Louise had a few more years of medicine to do and he was not doing the long distance thing—not that she knew that.
The two girls looked at each other. Tahlia’s face contorted in anger. “Noah is mine. You stole him. I’m going to tear your face off and kill you, bitch.”
Then something happened. Her shadow thickened and swallowed her. She’d gotten taller and her fingers had lengthened into six-inch claws. Her face had become ugly and wizened. He’d known what it was then.
Demon.
As the creature that had been Tahlia lunged for Louise, he’d thrown spells at it, but all he knew were basic protection spells. He tried to bind it in a circle but failed. The Tahlia-demon pulled on Louise’s hair, dragging out a bloody clump. He punched and kicked the Tahlia-demon and it dug its claws into his ribs. His lungs were on fire.
Its bright green eyes stared into him. It was like looking into a pit of all-consuming jealousy. There was nothing he could do to stop her. She was here to kill Louise and get him back, but in the process she’d taken the demon into her. The human body wasn’t made to hold demons or gods; possession killed the host eventually.
“It will kill you, too.” The words barely formed on his lips.
Louise was screaming, clutching her head. She should be running. Why wasn’t she running? Then he realized she was on the phone. What would the cops say when they found a demon? What would they find?
The demon howled and threw him into the wall. Plaster exploded around him like snow and pain lanced up his arm. The sound of fracturing bone resonated in his skull. His vision darkened as he tried to get up. Louise had stopped screaming. The demon was holding up a piece of skin in victory, then it turned to him and started eating it.
“No.” It was more thought than spoken.
The demon laughed. Rage poured through him, burned his veins and stole his breath. Then there was a snap and hiss of fire. The demon vanished and Tahlia was burning. Sirens, and then darkness that swallowed the pain.
Noah sat up, his heart pounding, hands ready for a fight. His elbow was aching as if it had hit the wall again, and the taste of smoke was on his tongue. He didn’t know if he’d made the fire or if it had simply been Tahlia burning up after being possessed and the demon achieving its goal. He’d thought about it a lot. He’d had plenty of time to think. Fire had come easily to him after that, but he’d been angry at everyone. Mostly because everyone had pointed to him as the killer. What was he going to say, no it was a demon—that would’ve been a one way ticket to a psych ward. He wasn’t crazy; he was a witch who knew what existed in the shadows.
He’d been walking in those shadows ever since.
He wanted sunlight and something other than demons in his life. He glanced over at the lump in the bed that was Rachel. One leg was sticking out from under the blankets. He swallowed and looked away. At least she wouldn’t get her face ripped off—the cops had shown him the photos and he’d thrown up on their nice clean floor. They’d still thought it was him despite his injuries. There was no one else at the scene to blame.
With a grunt, he got out of bed and padded into the bathroom. He hated that nightmare, hadn’t had it for at least six months. Why tonight? He wasn’t dealing with a face-eater. Cory had a horned thug at his disposal. He rolled his shoulder and felt the glue tug, then skulled a glass of water and hoped he’d be able to get back to sleep without seeing the face-eater’s lurid green eyes watching him from the dark. The string around his wrist was cool, so Cory and his demon weren’t close. They were safe for the moment. He needed to sleep or he wouldn’t be functioning on full speed tomorrow. He’d have to ring the coven and let them know what was going on. He probably should have rung them tonight but he really hadn’t felt up to it. He didn’t ring every day when away, they weren’t his parents. He rang his parents less.
He should ring them in case it all went bad and he got his arms ripped off by Cory’s one-eyed demon. He tried not to think about the demon, it wasn’t conducive to sleep, but the thick shadow with one green eye refused to be put aside. He shook his head. They were two totally different demons. Tahlia’s words echoed in his mind, along with Cory’s.
Noah is mine. I’m going to tear your face off and kill you, bitch.
Rachel is mine. Till death do us part.
Then why did they sound the same, as if they had the same orders? No, demons were classified by appearance. They had been for centuries. There were face-eaters, horns, and giant, toothy, worm things…and yet…the answer was there, just out of reach. Sleep moved further out of reach and he knew he wouldn’t be able to chase it down until he’d worked out whatever his subconscious was trying to tell him. He needed his database.
He turned on his bedside light and pulled out his laptop. He had the database open when Rachel lifted her head and looked at him. “You are insane; it’s two a.m.”
“I had a nightmare.”
“I’m not surprised; you were stabbed by a demon.”
Noah shook his head. “Cory is a possessive, jealous type who may have killed before?”
“Yeah?” She sat up, pulling the blankets with her as if they could protect her.
“The demon had one green eye?” He was typing everything he knew so far into a new entry. He was going to solve this or die trying—that was the promise he’d made to the Morrigu—but solving it was so close. He could feel the answer like a building storm on the horizon. The pressure was dropping, clouds were gathering, he just needed… He had no idea what he needed to grab it, but he would. Could centuries of data be wrong? No, not wrong, just sorted wrong, as people—monks and witches and observers—noted the after effects, not the cause.
Plenty of medical conditions caused headaches—the result was the same but the cause wasn’t. Intent was everything in magic. The same spell could be labeled black or white depending on perspective and use. True black magic channeled the darker gods that required blood and other sacrifices. Death magic required death. Manifesting a de
mon was a symptom of the disease… What was the disease, the intent?
Not all horned demons killed. Some intimidated. Possessed a man with a fury that let him win battles. Performance enhancing.
Not all face-eaters ate faces. Some stole babies or money.
Hounds made people suffer, some tore the victims apart and others ran them down until the person collapsed of a heart attack.
Some victims died just from seeing a demon.
He knew what demons looked like. He knew that a person had to be cracked like a sidewalk that let weeds grow through the concrete. And he knew that a person could have a demon on their back for decades and it would never hurt anyone except the host.
The answer was in the crack. What let the demon form? He didn’t have that information in his database. No one had stopped to ask why.
Why could some be exorcised and others couldn’t? His uncle said it had to do with the manifester being willing to let go. Noah had seen that proven time and time again. Exorcism didn’t touch a demon that had a target. Only after the goal was achieved did the demon leave, usually killing the host in the process and leaving a mess for those who’d witnessed it.
He scrubbed his hands over his hair. There was a commonality between Tahlia-and-Louise and Cory-and-Rachel.
Louise had been killed by his jealous ex.
Cory was a jealous man whom Rachel wanted to make her ex.
What did it mean? How had their personal demons gone bad? Worse…why had they started lashing out?
“What have you found?” She got out of bed and sat next to him, her eyes on the screen, her bare leg against his.
“I don’t know. There’s too many incomplete records. Few people ever looked back at why the demon was summoned.”
“And?”
“And it’s not right. What if…” He resorted the data. “What if the way a demon looks tells me more about the manifester than why it is here.” Face-eaters were often summoned by women, that hadn’t changed. The same for horns forming on men—usually bullies, if the old data was to be believed.
He shuffled the data again and looked only at his cases. Four years wasn’t much, but he’d made good notes and could remember all the cases.
“How does that help?”
“It doesn’t, not yet, but it means the old classification is wrong. Which means I’ve been looking at it wrong. The way everyone else always had. Why do you have a headache?”
“I don’t.”
“But if you did.” This is where talking to another witch would be helpful, but he doubted anyone would appreciate a phone call this early for brainstorming.
“I don’t know. Dehydration, head injury, tumor, tension—”
“Do you treat them the same?”
She didn’t make a noise but her lips made a silent “oh.”
“Yeah. It’s got nothing to do with how the demon is going to kill or even if it is going to kill. It’s about why it manifested.” And it was no wonder that people had been failing to kill demons for so long. Without knowing the intent behind it, they were pissing into the wind and hoping not to get splashed.
“How do you find out why?”
“By asking questions.” How did he dissolve a demon fuelled by possessive rage and jealousy? He’d failed the first time and he didn’t want to fail again. He needed to have a chat with Cory about his demon.
Rachel placed her hand on his leg, well aware that neither of them was wearing very much and she was now sitting on his bed. But demons were hardly bedtime talk. She had to be careful, if she asked the wrong question he’d clam up again.
“Your nightmare wasn’t about Cory, it was about Louise.”
“I get it every so often.” He was staring at the screen as if the answer was going to suddenly pop up. Wouldn’t that be nice if it was that easy? He started tapping the side of the laptop and it had one hundred percent of his attention.
She could slide her hand up his thigh and he wouldn’t even notice. She’d had all of his attention in the bathroom. His gaze had been locked with hers. It had made her burn for him because he’d been there with her for those few minutes.
He scrolled through lines of information. Words jumped out at her and none of them were nice. Claws, dead, liquefied, town slaughtered, mad dog. She closed her eyes and tried not to think about what these records meant. So much death. Noah had told her what happened once the demon had a target, that the victim was as good as dead. She was as good as dead, and yet they were running and hiding and hoping to find some way of defeating the demon. Despite the evidence of centuries of failure. The failure Noah lived with every day.
“What happens if the manifester is killed?”
“The demon dissolves.”
It was such an obvious way to save her life. She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Then why not kill Cory?”
He stopped tapping and scrolling. “Every time I take a demon case I think of killing the manifester. You think I haven’t considered that already? That the temptation to tear his soul free wasn’t there when he punched me?”
“Was it? Wouldn’t it be easier?” Safer for her, and everyone could get back to their normal lives.
“I can’t kill him.”
“Because of the murder charge?”
“Death isn’t clean, it’s messy and violent and it leaves a mark. People who kill carry that with them forever.”
“What about soldiers and cops?”
He nodded.
“I thought the Ravens were warriors?”
“When a warrior fronts up for battle he knows there is a chance he could die. I accept that. People who manifest demons don’t.” He paused and frowned, then typed up another note. What if the manifestation isn’t accidental? What did he mean by that?
“But you can watch me die.”
“No, I won’t let that happen. I intervene and give them chances to give up the demon. I can only exorcise a demon that the person wants to release. I’m doing my best.”
“What if I kill him?” If killing her husband was the only way she could be free, she’d do it. Wouldn’t she?
“If you honestly thought you could do that, you wouldn’t have run. You’d have shot him or smothered him and claimed self-defense. It’s not just a man you’re fighting.”
“Why do you do it if you can’t save anyone?”
He looked up at her, a frown forming. “What did you say?”
“Why do you chase demons when everyone you want to save dies? It’s not like you can bring her back. Louise was killed by a demon, wasn’t she?”
She watched as his jaw clenched. Then he pulled up a specific incident from his database. This was Louise’s death. He tilted the screen so she could read it better and she leaned forward, her head resting on his shoulder.
He moved his arm so it wrapped around her waist. “I’d dated a cheerleader for three months before Louise. When we split, she started up with the phone calls and following me and Louise everywhere. One night she showed up with a demon in tow. You can read the rest—what actually happened, not what the paper wrote.”
And she did. Whole gruesome account. It was no wonder he had nightmares. How many other cases gave him nightmares?
“That’s when you swore to stop demons from killing.”
“Not that night as I was knocked unconscious by her demon, but soon after… I’d had the guts ripped out of my life. I didn’t know which way was up. Sometimes I think I should’ve killed Tahlia when I realized what was going on, but they really would have had me for murder, and how would I explain that? The cops watched me for months hoping I’d kill another woman. You have no idea what that’s like.”
No, she didn’t. “But when I die, you’ll be connected to me.”
“You’re not going to die.” He almost sounded convincing. “This is the biggest breakthrough I’ve had.”
“It sounds like the same kind of jealous demon.”
“That’s what made me wake up. Cory said something similar to Tahlia.�
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“Tahlia died, too.” A fiery, horrible death.
Noah held her a little tighter. “That doesn’t always happen. Sometimes the manifester lives, but they are a mess. Their mind has been ruined as well as their life.”
“You follow up.”
His shoulder moved beneath her in a shrug and she didn’t press. It was easier to change course a little than to press him harder for answers.
“What is this note about the fire? Why do you think you caused it?”
He gave a low laugh. “Until recently I was able to set things alight with a thought.”
She sat up and looked at him. Her body twisted and she placed her hand on his chest over the raven “Really? That is so cool. Like real fire, light-a-candle, burn-down-a-building fire?”
His lips curved. “Yeah. Real fire. I was angry for a long time about what had happened. Fire is an easy expression of that but a hard spell to master and use safely.”
“But you did.”
“Mason made me because I was a hazard—literally. I spent hours practicing. And now I’ve lost it. I’ve lost the anger.”
“That’s probably a good thing.” Holding onto it couldn’t be healthy. “Did the fire stop you from getting a demon?”
“Maybe if I’d bottled it up I would have cracked and something would have snuck in. I want to get my fire back.” He closed the laptop lid and placed it on the bedside table, then looked at her. The cut and bruise on his cheek were dark in the soft light. He didn’t seem like a demon-fighting witch at that moment, but there was a hunger in his eyes that couldn’t be hidden.
She leaned up and kissed him. “I wish we’d met differently.”
“Yeah.” He drew her onto his lap, his fingers sliding under the t-shirt and tracing over her bare skin. Then his lips were moving down her neck and his hands were pulling off her T-shirt.
He hardened against her as she rolled her hips and moved closer, wanting to feel him pressing against her, teasing and tempting. This had nothing to do with her list, or the need to feel alive after being attacked. They were two people in bed who had found something better to do than sleep. She cupped his face and kissed him, her tongue flicking against his. His fingers pressed into the back of her hips, dragging her against his length. Her panties were getting wet already.
