Dark Hunt

by Richardson, Kim

  The baal demon seemed to glow with an internal light and expanded until he became frayed at the edges. Still, the light grew and grew. I averted my eyes at the sudden shining blur was too bright to look at. Within a few seconds, there was no tiny cat shape left but a large, gleaming black cat the size of a tiger.

  I wasn’t staring at a tiny Siamese cat. I was goggling at a three-hundred-pound black panther.

  Tyrius the black panther roared, an actual deep, bone-chilling roar that shook my apartment. His yellow eyes blazed with deep hatred as he crouched low and hauled himself at the demon.

  Degamon scrambled back, still in shock. The force with which Tyrius hit Degamon threw it against the floor. Degamon screamed in fury and panic as it tried to get the large cat off of it, but its weak arms were no match for the three hundred pounds of predatory muscle.

  I watched, transfixed at the savagery with which Tyrius attacked. Claws as sharp as the finest sword sliced easily into Degamon’s flesh. Black blood flew everywhere as though someone had turned on a sprinkler of black water, showering the floor and covering me and Jax in it.

  Tyrius mauled Degamon. With his large jaw, he went for Degamon’s throat and clamped down. With a howl, the demon toppled to the ground, writhing and spilling blood across the wood floor. Degamon’s eyes bulged out of his head as the black panther crushed its neck. Degamon thrashed and managed to kick off the black panther.

  The two stared at each other without moving, and I wondered who would attack first.

  There was a loud hissing sound, just as black and red mist coiled over the Greater demon until it disappeared under the cloud. Then in a flash of black and red vapors, Degamon was gone.

  A deep rumble, seemingly a mix of a laugh and a growl, erupted from Tyrius the panther. His yellow eyes fixed on me, and for a moment, I wasn’t sure whether to be frightened or happy. That was a seriously big cat. I’d never seen a black panther except on some National Geographic TV special on big cats. He was truly magnificent, surreal almost as though he’d stepped out of some mystical fairy tale or The Jungle Book. His coat was like oil and rippled with tight muscles, his body perfectly proportionate with slightly larger hind legs built for speed and to climb and pounce. He was the perfect killing machine. His yellow eyes were like tiny brilliant suns, and I found I could scarcely look away from them.

  Tyrius, the black panther, had saved our lives.

  Jax was staring at the cat in awe, which surprised me. There was no fear or hostility on his handsome face, just a curious fascination.

  Suddenly, the black panther shimmered with an internal glow until he became smaller and smaller. With a final flash of light, the black panther had disappeared, and the baal demon took his preferred Siamese cat shape again.

  “How are you feeling?” Jax was next to me, eyeing me with worry, his face inches from mine. “You took quite a beating from that red demon.”

  “I’ve been better.” I swallowed, but my throat felt like I’d swallowed a handful of razor blades. Degamon had released me, but my fever was still there. It was worse, if at all possible, and my energy was spent.

  “I’m sorry you had to give that demon your name, Jax.” My breath sounded harsh, and my throat tightened as my emotions swung from one extreme to the next. “I’m so sorry. How do you feel?” I was worried about him.

  Jax put a hand on his chest. “It hurt a little at first—like a fist around my heart. It was burning, and I couldn’t breathe. But I’m fine now. I don’t feel any different.”

  I frowned at him. Somehow, I knew he was lying.

  Jax’s eyes traveled to my neck, and his brows rose in alarm. He lifted his hand as if to touch my neck but then pulled it back, thinking better of it. “Your neck is bruised,” he said instead.

  “That will heal.” I knew normal scrapes and bruises would be gone in half an hour. I glanced at my right wrist, and I hissed through my teeth. You could clearly see the outline of fingers. The skin was swollen and red. Transparent liquid seeped through the blistered flesh, like a second-degree burn.

  “Holy shit, Tyrius.” Jax swore as the baal demon made his way over to us. “That was awesome. That was so beautiful I almost cried.”

  Tyrius stopped and took a bow. “Why, thank you, Jax. You weren’t bad yourself.”

  “Did you know he could do that?” Jax asked me, a smile on his face. “I didn’t know baal demons could morph into giant black panthers.”

  I shook my head, watching the baal demon closely. “No, I didn’t know,” I said as a smile of my own formed on my lips. “His transformation was as much as a surprise to me as it was to you.”

  “The black panther is my alter ego,” said Tyrius, his voice sounding a little tired. “A baal’s version of the Hulk.”

  Jax laughed, and I pulled myself to a sitting position as Tyrius climbed over my thighs, his blue eyes sparkling. “You stupid cat,” I cried, tears falling down my cheeks. “Why didn’t you tell me you could morph into a badass black panther?”

  Tyrius lay on my lap, purring. He smiled the only way a cat could smile and said, “You never asked.” And with that, the tiny cat fell asleep almost immediately.

  21

  “You’re sure your friends can help me?” I asked Tyrius for the second time as Jax took the next left and we drove up Rumsey Drive. I held on to the door’s handle for support, as every time the car jerked I feared my head was going to explode. I was tired, and part of me just wanted to curl up in the back seat and sleep. But Tyrius’s constant worried eyes and sharp tiny claws that kept gripping my thighs kept my eyes open.

  My body shook as my fever rose with every passing minute. I was soaked in my own sweat, but I was too feverish to care. It was getting harder and harder just to stay awake and alert. I felt ill, and my muscles ached like I’d been trampled by a horde of two-hundred-pound werewolves. Worse, my vision had started to go gray. What the heck is happening to me?

  “If anyone can figure out what that angel did to you,” said the cat, the tight anger in his voice pulling me out of my fever for a moment, “they can.”

  “I hope you’re right.” I didn’t like all this attention on me, but I hated being sick. It scared me. “I despise feeling this way. I barely have enough energy to keep my eyes open.”

  Jax turned to look at me before focusing his attention back to the road in front of him. He’d barely said a word since we left my apartment, but his worry was written all over his face.

  “I still can’t believe an angel could do that,” said Jax. “It’s silly, but I was raised to believe that angels couldn’t hurt a person. That if they did… they’d combust into flames or something equally lame.”

  “That’s a myth, man,” said Tyrius. “Don’t you remember Lucifer? Asmodeus? They were once angels too but corrupted to the core. Angels do turn to the dark side. And I’m not talking about the dark side of the Force. Angels are not Jedi, and this isn’t a Star Wars film. This is real. Some angels are worse than your most evil demon. Believe it.”

  I took a deep breath, tying to subdue another wave of sickness. “We have to alert the Angel Legion somehow. Tell them that one of their own”—I looked down at my sleeve, not wanting to touch or see the mark—“did this to me.”

  “Even if we could alert them,” said Tyrius, “how are you going to explain how it happened? You summoned an archangel, Rowyn… an archangel by trapping him. To the Legion, that’s sacrilege. Archangels are like their golden boys and girls—and you violated one. I wouldn’t be surprised if what you did calls for the penalty of death. You can’t tell them.” His blue eyes fixed on me. “You can’t tell anyone. You hear me? We tell no one... except my friends, of course.”

  “Tyrius is right,” said Jax, his breath tight as he gripped the steering wheel. “We keep this between us. I don’t see anything good coming from going to the Legion or the Council. When things get complicated, it gets ugly. They won’t understand your motives. And your estranged relationship with the Council won’t help us eit
her.”

  “I know.” My mood soured but I knew they were right. I’d done this to myself. If I hadn’t summoned the archangel, none of this would have happened. I screwed up. Royally.

  But that archangel had known what I was…

  “The archangel Vedriel knew what leaving that mark would do to you. He did it on purpose.” Tyrius’s voice was bitter. “He knew you would summon the demon. It’s the only reason he so willingly gave you the name. Think about it. He knew the demon would break the circle. He wanted it to.”

  “And hoped Degamon would kill me,” I whispered, and another wave of the shivers shook me. Unease overwhelmed my fever. I had seen real hatred in the archangel’s eyes before he’d grabbed me. His face had twisted into a satisfied smirk before he’d disappeared back to Horizon. I should have known the bastard had played me. He played me like the fool I was.

  “I’m sure that’s what the archangel intended,” said Tyrius. “He wanted you to die, Rowyn. And whatever that mark is, it’s making you sick. You better pray to your soul that my friends can remove it. I don’t want to think about what might happen if they can’t.”

  “Me neither.” I gave Tyrius a false smile, but he only narrowed his eyes farther. I met his eyes, feeling a pulse of shared fear as understanding flashed over him. By all accounts, I had been wasted by an archangel.

  While we drove, I thought about what would happen to me if we couldn’t figure out a way to remove it. The only plausible answer was death. My body was dying. I could feel it. Death inflicted by a celestial creature that was supposed to protect me—talk about irony. The only way I could describe my infliction was an incurable malignant growth. A cancer that was attacking my immune system, and I couldn’t fight it. Me, the person who hadn’t been sick a day in my life, felt like my insides were melting.

  “Man,” said Tyrius, “that archangel can hold a grudge. It’s not like we hurt him. So, we called him up, and he was stuck in a teeny-weeny circle for like… what? Ten minutes? Boo-hoo. You’d think we’d bled his angel relatives or something.”

  “We didn’t hurt him,” I said and took another labored breath. “But we did trap him in a seven-point star and threatened him.” I shivered. “Well, at least I did. He’s an archangel. He’s proud and didn’t like the fact that I held some power over him. That burst his big angel ego.”

  “Yeah, well, whoop-de-freaking-do,” mewed Tyrius.

  I felt a faint need to giggle, and a smile curved over me. “Whoop-de. Whoop-de. Doo. Doo.” I gave in to my desire to giggle. I was going mad.

  “Come again?” Tyrius said, his tail whipping nervously behind him. He climbed over my chest, his face so close that I had to squint just to look at him.

  Tyrius’s whiskers brushed my face as he moved closer to inspect my eyes. A talking cat. A freaking talking, snappy little cat. “That tickles.” I laughed again.

  “What is wrong with her?” Jax whispered loudly. The worry in his voice made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. My head rolled to the side as I let my eyes travel over to his face. His full, kissable lips, so close… so inviting.

  “You’re pretty,” I said, smiling. “Pretty. Pretty. Pretty.”

  “It’s the infection,” said Tyrius impatiently. “She’s losing her mind. She’s in between lucidity and irrationality until she either throws up or passes out. Hurry up, man, before we lose her completely or have to commit her!”

  I pushed Tyrius away from my face, feeling some strength return to me. “I’m not crazy. I’m just tired.” And a little embarrassed at what I had just said to Jax.

  “Sure thing, Rowyn,” said Tyrius. “Don’t worry, we’ll have you fixed up in no time. You’ll be as good as new.”

  I frowned. I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. I wasn’t a car that needed fixing. I turned and looked out the window before I further embarrassed myself with my uncontrollable giggles and mouth.

  The clock on Jax’s dashboard said it was midnight by the time we got to Manhattan and into Mystic Quarter—the district where the paranormal lived and mingled.

  We drove through Orchard Park in the East Village, the three-block park with a wall of fruit trees that hid Mystic Quarter from the rest of Manhattan. Every major city around the world had their own version of a Mystic Quarter. It was the only place in New York where mid-demons, half-breed demons and the rest of the paranormals could live in peace. That is, until one of them screwed up and the Sensitives came knocking.

  Half-breed demons were the creatures that had once been human and had been subjected to one of the demon viruses, which then turned them into the different demon races—vampires, werewolves, faeries, leprechauns, witches, and warlocks.

  Once upon a time, demons escaped through the Veil and came to our dimension. They fed on human blood, possessed human bodies, and mixed their blood with human blood. Soon, humans became infected with the demon viruses until they mixed their blood with others to make more of their kind. They were hybrids and were subsequently despised by other, purer demon species, like lesser demons and Greater demons.

  To the outside mortal world, Mystic Quarter was the slums or a very poor and unwelcomed place to live, which is one of the main reasons why they never even bothered to make the trip through the park. To them, the neighborhood was spooky and rumored to be filled with assassins and ex-cons; no doubt, rumors started by the half-breeds to keep the mortals at bay. No one wanted to cross over.

  There were occasionally cases of curious or drunk teenagers that crossed on a dare or just because they were stupid. Human fatalities were rare, and when that happened the Sensitives were called to investigate. Usually they were due to a vampire or a werewolf that couldn’t control their innate need to kill.

  “Here’s good enough,” informed Tyrius, staring out the window. “We walk from here.”

  Jax pulled his car to the curb and killed the engine. “Do you want me to carry you?”

  “No,” I said appalled that he’d even offered. “I’m not dead, just a little sick.”

  “Well, you don’t look so hot,” informed Tyrius, and I glared at him until I stopped seeing two Siamese cats.

  Burning with a combination of angst and fever, I fumbled for the handle and pushed the door open. Tyrius leaped out the door. My boots hit the concrete sidewalk, and using the door, I pulled myself out. I felt my blood rush from my head to my toes. The ground spun. Wide eyed, I stared at the golden light from a distant streetlamp post, willing myself not to pass out.

  Jax drifted within my sight and I saw him rush over. I stepped away from him before he could offer me his arm, glad that I didn’t fall flat on my face. Just breathe…

  I felt something brush up against my leg. I looked down to find Tyrius watching me. “I’m fine,” I lied, knowing all too well that the cat knew I was lying. “Which—way—Tyrius?” I rasped. I couldn’t get enough air in my lungs. The effort of speaking was winding me.

  “You proud and stubborn mortal.” Tyrius watched me for a moment. “Follow me.”

  Steadying myself, I shambled forward like a drunk behind Tyrius with Jax striding closely enough to catch me if I fell. I suspected that was his reasoning as to why he was so close and why I felt his shoulder brush up against mine, totally invading my space.

  Tyrius led us down a dark, narrow street, lit only with the same distant streetlamp from two blocks away. When I neared another streetlamp, I looked up and noticed that the bulb was broken. Accidentally or on purpose? Mystic Quarter was covered in darkness, the way the paranormals liked it.

  The fresh air and just moving again seemed to have stifled my giggles for the time being, but it did nothing to relieve the feeling of weakness and constant fever.

  The strong scent of sulfur and demon magic pulled me in every direction. It was everywhere—in the air we breathed, on the ground we walked on, in the trees and their flapping leaves, and coating us like a heavy blanket.

  I willed my legs to move, but they were stiff with cold, like ice blocks that didn’t w
ant to bend at the knee. I was glad that moving hid my shaking. This malaise was the worst feeling in the world, and I was angry that it was happening to me.

  Echoes of rich voices reached us, and the distant sound of a mocking laugh carried on the wind. Faeries. I’d recognize their scent anywhere—candy canes and butterscotch with an underlying hint of rotten eggs.

  Faeries, just as beautiful and mystical as vampires, and just as wickedly deadly. They could spell you to believe you were the Queen of England and them a handsome prince, just to slowly drink away your soul, your life force, making you their slave for as long as they wanted.

  Worse—they ate cats and dogs. Whenever a cat or dog went missing, a faerie was usually the culprit. Humans were oblivious that their beloved pets went straight into the bellies of the faeries.

  I hated faeries. More than I hated vampires.

  Faeries always felt fouler to me and had more darkness in them as though they possessed more of the demon virus than the other half-breeds.

  Sure enough we ambled past a park, lit only by the light of the moon, with lush grasses and fruit trees that lined a large pond. Fifty-plus faeries danced to some unheard music, or maybe it was just the wind. Who knew. They were weird like that. There was a bundle with a tail spiked above a firepit, and my stomach churned.

  They all stopped as they heard us pass, their cold faces screwed up in disdain. They barely looked at Tyrius, though no doubt they could smell the baal demon on him. After seeing what Tyrius could do, I wished he’d black-panther their asses. All of them.

  I caught the sensual smile of a male faerie, his eyes rolling over me in a seductive way. I made a rude gesture with my finger and Jax laughed. The male faerie flashed his mouthful of pointed teeth. Yikes.

  Seeing their hateful faces seemed to spark a little more strength in me, and for a moment I didn’t feel like I was about to keel over and die. Not yet.

  Mystic Quarter was colorful and bizarre, like walking into a circus fun house. You never knew what to expect. A pack of werewolves was fighting in a circle, and beautiful faerie girls danced in front of curtained stalls that promised a good time. Gnomes stood in front of booths that sold glittering jewelry, and I caught a glimpse of a few sprites the size of large moths, stealing earrings and bracelets whenever the gnomes weren’t looking.