Dark Kings

by Sadie Moss

  It’s to complete the mission, I mentally scold myself. It doesn’t mean anything. Stop trying to find meaning in everything these men do.

  “…of course your business won’t be affected,” a man says tersely from somewhere to my left, his voice low and rough.

  A smell reaches my nostrils—one that I recognize, even though it’s muted, like someone’s tried to cover it up.

  Sulfur.

  I grab Phoenix’s lapel and set my tray down on a nearby table. “He’s nearby. I can smell him.”

  “Should I be worried about you being able to freakin’ smell the guy?” Phoenix whispers back.

  “Are you sure?” another person responds angrily. I can’t tell what their gender is, and when I look over to find the source, I can see that it’s because the person speaking doesn’t seem to be any kind of human at all. They’ve got scales all over, and no nose, a bald head, and frills on the sides of their head instead of ears. “I don’t know what you all are up to, but the business of Below does not concern us. We want no part of your crusade.”

  “That’s him,” I whisper to Phoenix, who has a look on his face that tells me he’s reached the same conclusion. “That’s him. That’s the guy!”

  Still holding on to Sloth’s lapel, I shift slightly, peering subtly over my shoulder again. The sulfur smell is stronger now, and I finally get a glimpse of the man standing next to the lizard-snake-person-thing.

  The guy with the sulfuric scent looks remarkably human, which is worrisome. It means he’s higher up the food chain, so to speak. A more powerful member of the corrupted. The only hint of his origin is the too-sharp smile that he gives as he speaks to his companion, and the smell of sulfur that clings to him no matter how much he’s tried to hide it with perfume or deodorant or whatever it is.

  “Get the others,” I whisper to Nix.

  “You should get the others.” He lifts a brow, grinning down at me. “Then I can just stand here and keep an eye on him.”

  “You’re hilarious,” I grumble, but he is Sloth, so I guess I shouldn’t be all that surprised.

  I peel off and go to fetch the others, who have congregated over near one of the blackjack tables, talking to one another in low voices, probably about what luck they are or aren’t having in finding our guy.

  But to reach them I have to walk past our mark, and as I do, I see him stiffen.

  Oh, no. Maybe Phoenix and I weren’t as subtle with our glances as I thought. Or maybe he noticed me walking with too much purpose. But whatever it was, it’s made this guy suspicious.

  The demon turns and fixes his gaze on me, his body going rigid.

  I freeze like a deer in headlights, my instincts screaming at me that this man is my mortal and natural enemy, that I need to flee or destroy him. My wings nearly sprout out of my back, but I manage to force them back inside before they truly blow our cover.

  Crap. I need to either get back to Phoenix or make it to the other guys across the room. I need backup.

  Before I can decide which way to move, the mark lunges at me.

  I scream in alarm, throwing up my hands, but he doesn’t try to kill me. Instead, he just shoves me out of the way and rushes past me toward the huge doors that lead back outside to the casino exit.

  “It’s him!” I call to the men, but they’re already on it, chasing after him, shoving patrons out of the way. I try to run, but I stumble in my too-tall heels.

  Darn it all.

  I yank them off and shove them at Phoenix just as he reaches me. “Here!”

  “Excellent.” Phoenix nods. “I’ll just hold these for you, and you can go get him. Perfect plan.”

  Gah. Sloth!

  I have no time to roll my eyes at him. I take off, keeping my wings hidden because if people realize there’s an angel here, who knows what insanity might break loose. Ford, the fastest, manages to circle around, leap over a table, and plant himself in the doorway, forcing our mark to screech to a halt and knock into a waiter. Drinks spill everywhere as the tinkling sound of glasses breaking fills the air.

  The mark ignores the booze spilled all over him and whips around to run the other way, shoving people aside, Beckett hot on his tail as Ford continues to guard the doors and Remington tries to flank our target.

  I dodge and dart in between people, since I’m not going to shove them. That would be rude and pointless, since almost all of the casino patrons are bigger than me. “Excuse me, pardon me, excuse me, pardon me,” I chant as I weave my way through the crowd.

  The mark is circling back toward the bar, toward me, and I try to dodge around another waiter—who clearly doesn’t care what’s going on and has a bored, detached look on his face like he’s thinking ah, yes, same chaos as always—only to slam full-force into the demon I’m trying to intercept.

  I go down in a heap. It feels like I just ran into a brick wall. The demon looks mildly dazed, but when he sees that I’m no longer in his way, he moves to flee again.

  I throw myself after him, grabbing his ankles and trying to yank him down to my level, sulfur stinging my nose.

  But he’s too big and too strong. He pulls his leg from my grasp and begins to run again—when my stiletto heel impales him in the chest, thrown with remarkable force.

  The mark staggers, his hand flying up to his chest to clutch at my sparkly shoe. Then he falls, landing hard on the floor.

  With a feral snarl, he raises a now-clawed hand toward me, his eyes glowing a hellish red.

  “Ah, ah, ah. No you don’t,” Phoenix drawls, and I’m neatly picked up and yanked out of the way before a bolt of what looks like pure hellfire lashes out at the spot where I was just lying.

  Whoa. What the heck just happened?

  “You ruined my shoe,” I note dazedly, my arms looping instinctively around Phoenix’s neck. He smells good, like bergamot and honey—and I can’t help but remember that scent from when I was drugged by the aphrodisiac, and how very sexy I found him.

  “Well, none of you guys were getting the job done.” Phoenix chuckles, the sound rumbling in his chest. “I told you I’d be more useful just standing there holding your shoes.”

  Beckett and Remington skid to a halt as they reach us, nearly slamming into each other.

  “For fuck’s sake. I’m a chef, not an athlete,” Remington grumbles, although he could’ve fooled me.

  Ford shoves past everyone and hauls our mark to his feet, yanking my shoe out of the guy’s chest and handing it to Remington.

  “Come on, you fucker,” he snarls, dragging the mark toward the front doors.

  Beckett looks over at Phoenix and me, and I realize I’m still being held by the languorous man.

  “Um. You can put me down,” I say, squirming a little. I should’ve asked him to do that immediately. There was no reason for him to keep holding me.

  Actually… why is he still holding me? Surely that’s extra work he doesn’t need to do.

  He sets me down on my bare feet with surprising gentleness, then holds up the shoe he didn’t throw at the demon. “Do you want your shoe back?”

  “Or this one?” Remington offers up my other shoe, but it’s all bloody now—and it’s corrupted blood too, which grosses me out.

  I pull a face. “Nah. I think I’m okay.” I’ll just go barefoot. It’s how I was when I was Upstairs anyway.

  “Everyone’s staring,” Phoenix notes. “Wouldja tone it down, you two?”

  I look over at Remington and Beckett and realize their eyes are glowing faintly. Oh. Makes sense. Everyone around us is greedy for information, gluttonous for gossip.

  Phoenix waves his hand like he’s a sleepy conductor, and the people around us start to sigh and turn back to their gambling. He’s made them too lazy to care about whatever scandal is happening around them.

  No longer the object of everyone’s focus, the four of us head outside where Ford has the mark pinned in his grip. The guy is obviously badly injured, but he’s putting up quite a struggle.

  “Don�
�t make me hurt you,” Ford growls, and I really shouldn’t find the rough timbre of his voice as attractive as I do. “I was around long before your soul was even fuckin’ born, never mind when it became fuckin’ corrupted. Keep this up, and we’ll see who the real power around here is.”

  Our mark gives a harsh laugh. “You think you’re so tough. That you understand what true sin is. You are nothing, and you will fall before us just like all the rest.”

  Then he does something odd. It’s like he’s… chewing gum? But as the guy bites down, I hear a strange cracking noise.

  Remington’s eyes go wide, and he seems to recognize what’s going on. “Poison! Death potion capsule in his tooth! Stop him!”

  Ford lunges, grabbing the man’s jaw tightly, forcing his mouth open, but it’s too late. I can see him swallowing, see the poison as it starts to eat away at his mouth.

  Remington and Phoenix both cover my eyes. “Don’t look, Trin,” Remington says softly.

  I want to tell them that I’m not a child, I don’t need to be protected—but at the same time, I really don’t want to see the violent, painful death happening right in front of me. And to be honest, I kind of enjoy the feeling of being protected by them. More than the way they’re blocking my sight, it’s the way they both move in close to stand on either side of me that provides the most comfort. The feel of their bodies surrounding me makes me feel small and safe, even though I remind myself not to get too attached.

  “Well, great,” Ford snarls, and Remington and Phoenix remove their hands from my eyes as the demon’s choking noises fade into nothing. “We’re back at fucking square one.”

  “Not exactly.” Beckett’s eyes narrow thoughtfully. “We do still have his body. We can use that to help us figure out how to close the portal.”

  My eyebrows shoot up. This is the first time I’ve ever heard of someone thinking a dead body might be useful.

  “How?”

  Beckett looks at me, his green eyes burning with determination. “A death witch.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Remington

  One of the biggest downsides of having an exceedingly well-developed sense of taste and smell is that it makes being around dead bodies truly awful.

  Although I’m not a violent person myself, I’m not opposed to violence or killing when it’s necessary. But I do truly detest how viscerally disgusting it all is.

  This demon didn’t smell great when he was alive. Dead, he smells even worse.

  Trinity found a glittery red face mask abandoned on one of the cocktail tables inside and insisted on putting it on the demon’s face before we smuggled him off of the casino’s property. She said it would be just like Weekend at Bernie’s, whatever that means. The thing looks truly ridiculous strapped to the face of the demon’s corpse, giving this whole thing a slightly comical bent as we shove the body into Beckett’s trunk.

  It’s possible she was onto something though, since no one questioned or stopped us as we half-carried, half-dragged the demon’s body out of the greenhouse where the pegasi dropped us off. I’m sure the casino staff see more than their fair share of supernaturals who overindulged and can’t handle their liquor.

  “Let’s go.” Beckett slams the trunk closed and walks around the car to slide into the driver’s seat.

  Without even discussing it, Phoenix and Trinity and I crawl into the back seat. This has become our “usual” somehow, even though we’ve only known the angel for a short time. Ford sits up front, staring out the window as if he could eviscerate any car that gets in our way with the power of his glare alone.

  “Wow.” Trinity’s voice is quiet and a bit shaky. I think everything is finally catching up to her. “That was. Wow.”

  She’s still barefoot, and her dress got torn a little during her struggle with the demon. The slit rides up her thigh, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of her smooth mocha skin.

  Dragging my gaze away and trying to forget that earlier today I saw so much more of her than that, I rest a hand gently on her knee. “You did well back there, Trin. You’re a natural at this.”

  I’m not sure if she’ll take that as a compliment or an insult, but I’m pleased when a small laugh bubbles out of her, and I feel her relax a little under my touch.

  “Yeah. I think I’m ready for my starring role in the next James Bond film,” she says with a chuckle.

  Phoenix snorts at that, and Trinity brightens a little more, clearly happy that someone finally appreciates one of her pop culture references.

  I keep my hand on her knee, my thumb rubbing a soft pattern over her skin, and she sinks deeper into the seat, more tension draining out of her as she lets out a long breath.

  She’s a strange creature, this angel. I like her.

  It goes against every impulse inside me, an age-old distaste for all of her kind, but I like her.

  Beckett and Ford are twisting themselves into knots as they struggle with their reactions to her, but I’m not in the habit of second-guessing everything I feel. Cooking is an art that relies on intuition and a deep connection to one’s cravings and desires, and I can’t deny that I desire the sweet, enigmatic creature sitting beside me.

  She tasted divine when I kissed her earlier. Her lips were the kind of wine I could drink every single day, the kind I could gorge on and never be satisfied.

  “Do you think this… this death witch will be able to help us?” she asks, dragging her gaze away from the road as Beck weaves aggressively through New York traffic.

  “She should.” Nix shrugs. “Death magic is strong stuff.” He nudges the back of Beck’s seat. “You’ve met with this witch before?”

  “Yes. I needed a contract signed by a dead man.”

  Beck doesn’t elaborate on his statement, and Trinity shoots me a vaguely horrified look. I just pat her knee, letting a small smile curve my lips.

  I know my brother, and as greedy as he is, he’s also surprisingly honorable. It’s less because of any inherent goodness in him and more a way for him to keep things interesting for himself, I think—much like a professional golfer might give himself a handicap when playing against a less skilled opponent. My brother wants to have to work to win, but that gets harder and harder the longer he plays the game. So he has to keep finding new ways to challenge himself.

  Twenty minutes later, we pull up to the curb in front of a run-down looking Chinese food place. Ugly neon lights flash in the windows, and heavy curtains hide the inside from view. When we step out of the car, the heavy stench of burnt cooking oil makes me gag. It’s a good thing I know this is just a front for a witch, or I’d be tempted to call the health department and report this place.

  Beck pushes open the door, and a bell above his head gives a little chime. We all follow him inside, Nix bitching under his breath as he helps Ford carry the body into the shop, the corpse’s arms draped over their shoulders.

  “Yes? What is it? What do you need?”

  The questions come one after another in such a quick succession that they sound like a single question instead of several. A white-haired woman walks out from the back as we enter a small antechamber that appears to be some sort of waiting area.

  She obviously never lets non-supernaturals even get past the door, because there’s been no attempt made to make the inside look like a restaurant. Stuffed animal heads line the walls, creatures no one would see in any human hunter’s lodge, and red velvet seems to be everywhere—adorning the walls, the furniture, the light fixtures.

  “We have a dead body that we need something from. We need to reverse a spell this guy performed. He opened a portal, and we want to close it,” Beckett tells her, getting right down to the heart of the matter like the businessman he is. “Can you help us?”

  “Yes, yes, I can help. That’s just the kind of thing I do. Morrigan can do this, you came to the right place.”

  The woman is a little taller than Trinity, and a lot bonier. Her cheekbones stand out starkly on her pale face, and her stark black
dress makes her pallid features seem even more washed out.

  Her head bobs from side to side as she steps forward, dragging a finger down the side of the dead demon’s face. The band securing the mask to his head snaps under her sharp fingernail, tumbling to the floor and revealing the man’s features. Foam still clings to the corners of his mouth, and his lips are a dark color, almost black.

  “Ah. Violent death.” She clucks her tongue. “Painful.”

  Trinity shivers beside me, and I rest my hand at the small of her back. She leans toward me; I can’t tell if the movement is conscious or unconscious, but I’m surprised by the protective impulse that rises inside me in response.

  “Yeah. It was.” Ford glares at the witch. “Very painful. What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “More difficult to revive a corpse that died violently.” Morrigan clicks her tongue again, an insect-like noise. “Takes more time, more effort. But it can be done.”

  “Then do it.” Ford practically drops the corpse into a chair near the door, and the body slumps over, already stiffening a little in death.

  “Ah…” Morrigan smiles, her gaze sweeping over all of us. “Also takes more payment.”

  “We can pay. Name your price.”

  The fact that Beckett isn’t bothering to negotiate with this woman is a clear sign of how badly he wants this done. There’s almost no amount of money she could name that would even put a dent in my brother’s wealth, but under normal circumstances, he’d haggle with her just on principle.

  Morrigan tilts her head back and forth like a pendulum swaying. “Let’s see, let’s see. A corpse, a demon corpse. A violent death, a reviving potion to undo a spell. That will be expensive, very expensive.”

  “Your price. Name it,” Beckett repeats, annoyance creeping into his tone.

  The death witch wrinkles her nose, glancing up at my brother as if she forgot he was here. She gazes at him for a second, as if mentally calculating his worth. Then she scrunches up her nose again and swivels her head to take in the rest of us.