When I was a block away from Union Park, a sense of fear washed over me for a fleeting moment. Demon… To my surprise, I could feel his dark presence like a noose around my neck, could feel the slash of his claws through my exposed flesh. For the six months since I’d returned, I’d done little more than train and study, waiting for the day when I could face one of the creatures that had tormented me for what had seemed like an eternity. And I didn’t care about Ivy’s warnings, the grimoire’s half-translated messages, or Grisholm’s orders. I’d survived the demons once. If anyone could face them, it was me.
Anger quickly replaced my fear, and I pressed on through the narrow passes that wove between the buildings until I emerged on Fourth Avenue just beside Union Park. The sense of evil was so strong there that it was hard to keep moving forward, my instinct to flee begging my body to oblige. But I stayed the course, scanning the faces of those nearby for any sign of what lay behind their eyes—beneath their flesh.
“Show yourself,” I whispered under my breath.
A man standing beneath a gaslight directly across the street turned with inhuman fluidity to face me, as if he’d heard my command. His deep brown eyes, framed with long lashes that almost shielded his stare, were so dark they nearly matched the black curls poking out from under his top hat. Expertly sculpted features caught the firelight, accentuating how devastatingly handsome he was. A perfect specimen. But demons always were when they appeared in our world; their looks served a dark purpose, and I knew that all too well.
I could feel the weight of his stare like he was standing right before me, trying to intimidate me—or seduce me. With demons, it was a fine line to tread. Their intensity was softened by charisma and charm that far surpassed their human counterparts. Combined with striking features and a strong build, they were the ultimate traps for their intended prey, luring them in like bait, only to turn on them once they gave them their trust.
I’d fallen victim to one before and had paid dearly for it. No amount of physical appeal could ever cloud my judgment like that again.
He tipped his brim at me and gave a sly grin before turning to head north, his frock coat’s tails fanning out behind him as he moved. He was baiting me, the bastard.
“This cat-and-mouse chase would be so much more fun if it could end with you choking on my daggers…”
Just as he knew I would, I pursued him at a safe distance, using the evil he radiated as a guide. It was so strong that I didn’t even need to watch him, really. But when the press of that evil all but disappeared in an instant, I panicked, forcing my way through New York’s elite without an ounce of decorum.
“How dare you!” a young woman yelled as I nearly knocked her into a passing carriage. I didn’t bother to stop and apologize.
More shouts and curses met my ears as I sped through the city at a pace that should have been alarming to any that witnessed it, but I wasn’t worth taking note of in my weathered coat, plain shirt, and men’s leather trousers. They were all too busy counting their money and gossiping salaciously to care—at least until I splashed them with murky water filled with questionable matter and cholera—then they could spare me a glance.
I was well past Union Park, headed down Fifth Avenue toward the homes of the wealthy, when that familiar surge of darkness slammed into me again. I ground to a halt and spun around to see if he’d snuck up behind me, and sure enough, he had. The bastard had the gall to wave at me from between buildings, then disappeared into the unlit space. I pulled a dagger free from its sheath and pressed it into the leather of my coat in an attempt to conceal it. If I was going to flay a demon, I preferred to do it without an audience.
Ivy most certainly would not approve of that. Grisholm, either.
The game is afoot, I thought as I rounded the corner into the black abyss. Excitement and nervousness coursed through me, the thrill of finally getting to face a demon balanced by my all-too-present fear. But though I walked deeper and deeper into the alley, I came no closer to him. I could see nothing at the far end of the corridor—nothing behind me—and yet the feel of the demon remained. He was near; why couldn’t I find him? I tried the doors lining the alley, but none opened. There was nothing to hide behind, nowhere to go.
Nowhere but up…
A prickle of fear worked its way down my spine as I lifted my face to the sky to find his masculine silhouette staring down at me from five stories up. I had little doubt that his expression was mocking.
“Perhaps you should come down here so we can play,” I muttered under my breath. Not surprisingly, he didn’t reply, though I had no doubt that he’d heard me. I could easily envision the smug smile on his face gleaming in the moonlight right before he disappeared from sight.
Trepidation seeped into my body once again, fixing me in place for a moment, until I swore I heard a female’s scream from above. Demons might have been magically bound from killing humans on Earth, but that didn’t prevent them from abducting them and dragging them into the demonic realm, where they’d meet the same fate I had—only they wouldn’t survive it. Without further thought, I took hold of the brick façade and pulled myself up with ease, with the help of Hazel’s potion. I scaled the building with inhuman speed, but the dark presence never moved. Whether that was to my betterment or detriment, I would soon find out.
I threw my body up over the ledge to find the demon waiting on the far side of the roof, grinning at me like cat. Blood rushing through my body, I advanced on him, but the hem of my coattail caught on the roof’s edge, yanking me back. I staggered backward until my hips hit the ledge, and the small of my back acted as a fulcrum against the stone, letting my momentum carry my torso over the edge. My hands scrambled for purchase as my body tipped over, my head aimed precariously at the alley below, until I caught hold of something firm and leathery. With a firm pull, I hauled myself back over the ledge to safety.
Once I got my bearings, I spotted the demon across the roof again, still smiling. I scoured the immediate area to see what I’d caught hold of, but found nothing. The only leather in sight was that of my coat and the gloves covering the demon’s hands.
“You cannot defeat the one you hate on your own,” he said, his deep, sensual voice traveling between us with a clarity it should not have had at such a distance. Then he took a step off the ledge and disappeared. I ran toward where he’d just been and peered over the side of the building to find him standing in the alley, unharmed and smiling up at me.
I wanted to carve that smile from his striking face.
Instead, I lowered myself over the edge and climbed down with as much speed as I dared. My boot slipped after two stories and I barely managed to spare myself a fall, only to lose my grip two steps later. I dropped to the ground, landing on my back with a thump. I wheezed and coughed as I tried to catch my breath, all the while staggering to my feet. I could still feel the demon nearby; I didn’t want to lose him.
I didn’t want to be ambushed by him, either.
I rounded the corner carefully, searching the area for the demon, the sense of evil still strong. I found the streets still busy with New York’s prominent society members, returning from whatever party had kept them occupied while I’d hunted the demon in their midst. The gas lamps blazed, casting a warm glow, and the booming laughter of powerful men echoed my way, followed by their overstuffed peacock selves, accompanied by their high-priced harlots.
No woman in her right mind would tolerate their boorishness for free.
“Perfect,” I muttered under my breath, recognizing one of them as the infamous Judge Jacob Cartwright: alcoholic, sympathizer of rich white men, and lover of teenage boys. He stroked his vile, graying beard as he walked toward me with a young woman in blue silk on his arm—for show, no doubt.
Next to him was the newly-crowned chief of the New York Police Department, Gordon Laskey, whom I’d had the displeasure of encountering on more than one occasion. His slicked-back hair was nearly as repulsive as his slippery personality. Bribes and
kickbacks were his currency of choice. A pass on any crime was up for sale, if one was rich enough. He could always find some poor soul to hang for it later.
Beside him strolled another gentleman, far taller than Chief Laskey. At first, I thought he was the demon I’d been chasing, his broad shoulders and graceful, confident gait so familiar. But on second glance, I realized the subtle differences. How the first demon’s coat was a midnight blue and this one’s was black. How one’s hair poked out from his hat in curls and the other’s did not. But there was something else about the one approaching—something I couldn’t yet place.
Then a stabbing sensation surged through my chest, and for a brief moment, I wondered if I’d broken a rib in my fall. But the sensation was different than that; less a sharp pain and more a deep, unrelenting ache. And with every step the demon took, that pain bloomed.
Along with fear and realization.
A laugh escaped him and rang out through the street, reflexively igniting a fire in my belly at the sound. Because I knew that laugh—had once loved to hear it. As he grew closer still, I saw how the light hit the angle of his square jaw, though most of his face was hidden behind the brim of his top hat as he spoke to the chief of police. I saw the familiar shadow of a dark beard growing upon it, and memories of cupping it in my hands and trailing kisses along its length until my lips met his mouth crowded my mind.
Xandros…
That burning in my chest was the final shred of soul I had left—the fraction I had somehow wrestled away from him before Ivy and the others had saved me from death. It obviously recognized him too, because it throbbed and pounded against my ribs as if it were trying to punch its way out to get to him; to rejoin the rest of what he’d forced me to give him. I pressed my palm against my chest to try to abate the pain and terror I felt, but my fear only increased as my soul’s pull toward him grew. And Xandros seemed to feel it as well. His head lifted as he scanned the street for the remnant of what he’d taken from me just as it yanked me forward a step, as though trying to deliver me to him.
Before his gaze landed on me, I ducked around the corner and forced myself to run. My chest and back protested the movement, but once I was well away, they seemed to appreciate my actions. I could no longer feel the press of evil from either demon, and I’d never been more thankful in my twenty-five years of life.
But I knew I was only safe for the time being.
With that cruel truth upon me, Xandros’ face appeared in my mind, and no matter how hard I tried to push it out, it remained steadfast, assaulting me with the pain of my past. Only, in my memory, it didn’t look as it had that night, or the many nights I’d spent with him before he’d absconded with me to his realm: handsome and dashing and everything a young woman could have ever dreamed of in a man. Instead, I saw only his countenance the night I’d been taken. The night I’d found him butchering another witch, his beautiful face contorted and snarling and covered in blood.
The blood of someone desperate to save me.
The blood of my mother.
CHAPTER FOUR
I stopped at the Sisters of Sacred Hope to tell Ivy that I was all right but too tired to go into the details of the evening with the others (or to see the worry in their faces). I did, however, mention the presence of a second demon in the city. It was too important not to. Seeing how weary I was, she reluctantly let me go so that I could rest, shutting the heavy wooden door behind her.
My body ached everywhere, which made the several blocks I had to walk to my boarding house almost unbearable. It was late, and the mistress of the house, Mrs. Whittle, had long since gone to bed, which suited me fine. I tolerated her out of respect for Ivy and Grisholm, who’d made the arrangements for me to stay there when I’d requested to live outside the Sisters of Sacred Hope (and a safe distance from the Lilies), but the old biddy made it challenging, to say the least. Had she known that I was a witch capable of burning her alive with a snap of my fingers, she might have held her tongue rather than sharing her disparaging opinions of my choice of ‘male attire’ or droning on about how a young woman like myself should be married. I had managed to scare her off of playing matchmaker with some of the single men who lived in the home, but only by stabbing her dining table with one of my daggers. It had stayed there for the whole meal, which had been eaten in silence from that moment on.
I grinned at the thought of the look on her face as I climbed the stairs to my room on the second floor and unlocked the door. The room was large enough for only a dresser, bed, armchair, and armoire. Nothing fancy, but it sufficed.
It was far better than a prison in the demon realm, that was for damn certain.
Exhaustion had set in, and I barely managed to slip out of my coat before I collapsed onto the bed. Though I hadn’t exerted myself as much as I could have, the fall had taken its toll, and every move I made reminded me of that fact. Yes, witches were otherworldly—supernatural—and we were blessed with physical abilities and advantages that humans were not, like speed, strength, and resilience, but we were neither invincible nor immortal, and my lack of a soul seemed to engender challenges even above and beyond those limitations.
Since my arrival in New York and my swift, if somewhat begrudging, induction into the Gilded Lilies, it had become clear that my health was failing. Ivy and Hazel had proven useful early on and made quick work of concocting a vitality potion that would stave off any further deterioration of my physical state or my magic, but it was not a long-term solution. I had to imbibe the silvery-brown tincture every night, or, we feared, I would slip ever closer to the fate I’d narrowly escaped with the Lilies’ summons. Death would find me eventually.
Because not even a Daughter of Fire could survive without an entire soul.
I looked at my dresser, where the glass bottle sat next to my wash basin waiting for me as always, and I walked the few paces over to uncork it. With one labored gulp, I managed to get it down. Then I waited. Its effects were strong and quick, typically knocking me flat for hours.
Drowsiness soon washed over me, and my knees buckled. I fell back onto the bed, arms spread wide to brace my fall, but they were too weak to be of any use. I lay there for a moment, staring up at the chipped paint on the ceiling, trying to make sense of what had happened that night. Had the unknown demon been trying to lure me to Xandros? Was it a coincidence that they had happened to be in the same place at the same time? Worse yet, were they just the start of a mass infestation of demons in the city, on the hunt for souls to take back to their realm?
I’d been the owner of one of those souls once.
I wouldn’t wish that fate on anyone.
My eyes grew heavy, and I knew what was next to come. The recurring dream I’d had ever since I’d been rescued from the demon realm would surely return, as it did every evening. I wondered if, on that night, the tiny hole in my memory would finally be filled.
I wondered if, one day, my past would haunt me no longer.
I startled awake at some unknown hour the next day. The sun poured in through the curtains I’d forgotten to shut when I’d arrived, and my eyes burned from the brightness. I slung one arm over my face to shield them and tried to push myself off the bed with the other. My attempt was far from elegant, but successful nonetheless. I was on my feet, preparing to wash up, when a pounding on my door echoed through the room. “Go away,” I growled, my body still sluggish from the potion.
“Oleander?” Agnes’s voice was soft and cheerful but held its typical edge of fear when addressing me. I was sure my hospitable morning manners did little to help.
“What do you want?” I asked as I made my way to the door. I unlocked it to find the young novitiate standing there, fidgeting with a note clasped in her hands while avoiding my gaze.
“Ivy said I was to give this to you right away…and to impress upon you the importance of heeding its directive.”
I took the note and opened it.
Oleander,
Grisholm has news and will be mee
ting with us promptly at four o’clock. Your presence is required, given your knowledge of demons. It seems the situation has escalated.
Yours truly,
Ivy Foxglove
P.S. Don’t be rude to Agnes. It’s not her fault you slept late.
She knows me too well…
I tucked the note into the waistband of my pants and started to close the door. “Tell her I’ll be there,” I said. “Wait, what time is it?”
“It was half past three when I left to bring you the note,” Agnes replied.
“Shit.”
“And I brought you these.” She extended the dark-colored glasses that Hazel had made for me to protect my eyes on particularly sunny days. “You forgot them.”
I mumbled my thanks, then closed the door. Already late, I rushed about the small room to get cleaned up. Mrs. Whittle had put a pitcher of fresh water out for me the night before, and I poured it into the basin so I could wash. I managed to find a fresh white blouse and threw it on, along with the dark leather pants that I’d traded for with a woman from the Delaware native tribe. I’d worn them the night before, but they’d fared well enough to brave another day. I tried to ignore the stitch in my side as I finagled into them. I was healed for the most part, but not wholly; an excellent reminder not to scale five-story buildings in the foreseeable future.
With my blades in their sheaths and my coat fastened up to my neck, I emerged from my room to find Mrs. Whittle standing there, preparing to knock.
“Miss Nightshade. I came to see if you would be gracing us with your presence for dinner this evening, since you’ve managed to sleep through both breakfast and luncheon.” Her acerbic tone was duly noted, and I worked hard to hold back a biting retort. Though short and stout, with graying hair that showed her age and wrinkles to match, she was a formidable opponent in a verbal war, and I’d learned early on not to push her needlessly unless I wanted to be tied up for eternity in battle.
A Curse of Nightshade (Witches of the Gilded Lilies Book 1) Page 3
