A Grave Spell (The Spellwork Files Book 1)

by Jenna Collett

  My heels clicked over the pavement. The rhythmic beats echoed in the dimly lit garage. Recessed bulbs buzzed and flickered, casting moving shadows between the concrete pillars. A chill wormed its way down my back, and I clenched Jake’s keys until the jagged edges scored my palm. Supernatural or not, parking garages gave me the creeps.

  A door closed in the distance.

  Was that another set of footsteps?

  I slowed, separating the sounds, and tried to pinpoint their location. A car skidded around the corner flashing its lights. I stumbled out of the way, feeling a little silly. Get a grip, Graves. It was a sedan, not a demonic killer. Releasing a shaky breath, I kept searching, walking along the back row of cars.

  Jake’s van was backed into a corner spot. A little hula girl in a grass skirt hung from the rearview mirror. I hurried toward the vehicle and used the key, pulling on the side door to reveal the confines of Jake’s makeshift home.

  A ball of light flared to life in my palm.

  I looked over my shoulder and climbed inside.

  Chapter 14

  The inside of the van smelled like stale beer and cigarette smoke. I wrinkled my nose in distaste as I crawled over a lumpy, threadbare mattress and unmade sheets. A backpack and a cooler took up space beside the mattress, with fast-food wrappers rolled into balls stuck between them. Jake had screwed shelves into the wall to hold a stack of textbooks and other belongings. A deck of cards, a tin of cherry-flavored lozenges, and one of those bartender dictionaries listing the recipes of every mixed drink imaginable.

  I started with the backpack, sifting through his clothes and not finding anything more incriminating than a few pairs of socks. Next, I lifted the lid on the cooler. Beer cans, a half sandwich wrapped in Saran Wrap, and pudding cups filled the bottom.

  Not exactly a cache of demon paraphernalia or a note saying, “I killed Professor Roberts. Hope you don’t check my van.”

  Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.

  Standing on my knees, I pulled down his textbooks and laid them in my lap. They were used, with years of handwriting in the margins. I riffled through the pages, pausing when a series of photographs slid out. They were definitely taken at the historical society. Professor Roberts stood proudly in front of a glass case containing a few old books and odd-looking sculptures.

  These must be the artifacts found at the dig site.

  I scanned through the photos. They weren’t as incriminating as I would have liked. Jake could have taken them as part of his class trip. But the last picture made the back of my neck prickle. It was a group photo of the class standing around the glass case. Professor Roberts stood in the center, holding one of the ancient-looking books. Zoe stood on her left, but she wasn’t looking at the camera. Her gaze was fixed on the book.

  So, Zoe was on the class trip and had lied about it. Well, “lied” may be a bit strong, but she’d definitely omitted the fact. And why was she so interested in the book while everyone else smiled at the camera?

  I laid out the photos on the mattress and snapped a picture of the grouping with my phone. Slipping them back inside the pages, I returned the textbooks to the shelf, arranging them exactly the way they were.

  A car alarm blared.

  Startled, my shoulder bumped the shelf and knocked the objects to the floor. The tin of lozenges popped open, scattering little cherry discs everywhere. So much for being discrete. I hurried to collect the lozenges, hoping Jake wouldn’t notice if I missed a few. Fingers crossed he’d think it was just a fun, cherry-flavored surprise if he found one between his sheets.

  I dropped a handful back into the tin. The red circles clinked against the aluminum. I was about to close the lid on the case, but I stopped. Using my index finger, I shifted the lozenges to the corner and peered at the series of numbers etched into the bottom of the tin. It looked like a phone number.

  How odd.

  The car alarm had stopped, and the garage settled back into an unnatural silence. I reached for my phone. Nerves made my palms damp as I tapped out the number and hovered my finger over the call button.

  Did I dare?

  The odds were that it was just the number for a pizza place, but then again, who carved a pizza number into the inside of a lozenge tin?

  I pressed call.

  A ring tone hummed in my ear. Once, twice . . .

  The call connected, and silence filled the line. I heard a soft breath, then more silence, even though the line remained open.

  “Hello?” I said weakly, spooked by the unsettling connection. “Hello, are you there? Who is this?”

  Static crackled over the line, followed by more ominous breaths. Why didn’t they say anything? I held the phone steady, trying to listen for any sounds in the background. Maybe it would give me a clue as to who was on the other end of the line.

  The van stereo flickered on, and an eerie tune filtered through the speakers. I went still, fear icing inside my veins. Jake’s keys were still right beside me and not in the ignition.

  Something strange was happening.

  The windshield wipers swished across the glass, squeaking on the dry surface. Back and forth. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. Air shuddered inside my chest.

  “Stop,” I whispered into the phone.

  Click.

  The call ended, but the radio still played. A female singer crooned through the speakers. The low timbre of her voice rose the gooseflesh on my arms. I quickly replaced the tin and tried to cover any mess I’d made. My mind repeated the same warning over and over.

  Get out of the van. Run.

  Over my head, the dome light winked out, plunging the van into darkness. My muscles tensed as I slowly dragged my gaze back to the front of the vehicle and looked through the pitted windshield. Air lodged in my throat, holding back my scream.

  A man stood in front of the van. His tree trunk-sized legs were braced apart, thickset arms crossed over his chest, head cocked at a sinister angle. The skin on his face was pockmarked, and his eyes were almost completely black. A thick metallic odor reached my nose through the open door. I’d bet my demon blade the man outside had a long scar on his palm.

  I bolted out the side of the van, landing awkwardly on the pavement. His gaze tracked my movement as I lurched between a row of parked cars. Keeping my head low, I moved as fast as I could without revealing my location. His footsteps echoed in my ears, and I froze with my back against a car door.

  The fire exit was only a few feet away, but I had to cross out into the open to reach it. I inhaled sharply and pushed off the car, racing toward the exit. My heart thudded in my chest as I reached the door and slammed the metal bar. The door swung open with a hydraulic hiss.

  I clambered down a series of concrete steps and entered an alley. On the last step, my heel caught the edge, and I went down. Gravel abraded my palms. My ankle throbbed inside my strappy sandal. Painful tears blurred my vision as I struggled to my feet.

  The fire door shushed closed behind me. I had seconds to decide my next move. Running on my injured ankle was out of the question—I’d never make it in time. It figured I’d end up wearing a skirt and heels to my first demon attack. The outfit hindered any chance of a successful sprint.

  Nope, the better option was to hide and live to fight another day—hopefully sometime months into the future, after I’d been through enough combat training montages to make any action movie aficionado happy. But first, I had to make it look as if I ran. Slipping off one of my sandals, I chucked it down the alley, using a waft of magic to drift it into a distant pool of light. With only seconds remaining, I slipped off my other shoe for balance and huddled behind a large stack of wooden pallets and empty food crates.

  The fire door crashed open, slamming with a loud crack against the brick. I winced and held my breath. Heavy footsteps thumped against the concrete as the door swung closed, leaving me alone in the alley with the demon.

  I watched him through the thin slats of the crates. He scanned the alley, spotting my shoe
at a distance. His boots splashed through murky puddles, and he bent to retrieve it. He kept going, moving farther and farther from my hiding place. The ruse had worked, and he’d assumed I lost my shoe in a mad dash to the main road.

  Air hissed through my teeth, the pressure releasing from my chest as he neared the end of the alley. Nothing like a little quick thinking and an optimal hiding spot to avoid my first fight with a demon. Most hunters would have stood their ground, blades blazing, but my backup was likely still sitting at the bar chatting up our suspect about sports teams.

  One look at the demon, and I knew the odds of this fight were not in my favor. The monster was built like a barn, and his colossal frame took up almost the entire entrance to the alley. No wonder Gwen from the historical society had been nervous talking with him. He looked more like a bouncer than a staff member at the university.

  I squinted to keep him in focus and placed a finger under my nose to help ward off the smell of rotting food and the foul metallic scent he left in his wake. Clutching my shoe, my fingernails dug into my palm, nearly piercing the skin. Why was he still standing there?

  Oh, sweet Hecate, no.

  I realized my mistake when he turned back toward the alley, nose angled up to the air. Caden’s voice thundered through my mind, warning me to cloak my magic. My head dropped to my chest in irritation as I performed the belated spell, but it was too late to fool the demon. He knew my shoe was a decoy and I was still in the alley.

  He discarded my sandal over his shoulder and walked back the way he came. Stifling a whimper, I reached for my demon bracelet, reversing the spell until it changed shape. I gripped the hilt of my dagger, swearing to any magical entity listening that if I made it out of this alive, I’d follow Caden’s orders without question. Forever and ever.

  Most of them . . .

  Maybe.

  All right, fine, I’ll at least sit through an, “I told you so.”

  The demon drew closer. Shoving his beefy arms against a metal dumpster, he sent the contraption smashing into the brick. He flipped the lid, reached inside, and thrashed around until he was certain I wasn’t hiding in the garbage.

  I adjusted my grip on the blade as he quit the dumpster and prowled toward the pallets. No doubt about it: I was going to have to fight this thing. But it was better to do it on my terms than let him find me cowering on the pavement.

  Taking a few breaths that felt more like hyperventilating, I lunged from my crouched position, rolling past him to place myself at the open end of the alley.

  He whirled, swinging an arm. It missed my nose by an inch, and I was nowhere near able to gain control of the appendage with my magic. I may have stopped a water bottle from hitting me earlier, but a demon’s fist was a different story.

  I tried to even my breathing and remember some semblance of my training. What had the books said? There may have even been a pamphlet.

  Keep your center of gravity low to the ground. Feet squared. Stay focused and commit to the attack. Hit first, quickly, and without warning.

  Yikes. All of that was easier read than done. But here goes nothing . . .

  I followed the instructions and sliced the dagger through the air, aiming for his chest. He may not have had a warning, but he didn’t need one. His hand wrapped around the blade, digging right through his palm. My eyes widened as metal hit bone.

  Now I know where his last scar came from.

  A sickening smile curled his thin lips, revealing a set of stained teeth. My insides twisted. His foul stench made me gag, along with the blood pooling by his feet.

  He ripped the blade from my hand, tossed it aside as if it were a child’s toy, and shoved me off my feet. I sailed nearly six feet into the wall and landed hard on the grungy pavement.

  Pain pulsed through my muscles, and my head spun. I searched for my dagger through the cracks in my vision, finding it just out of reach. Groaning, I rolled to my knees and wheezed through the ache in my ribs.

  This was a joke. A very unfunny, morbid joke where I died and this fight was used as a teachable moment for future untrained hunters. An announcer’s voice droned in my head: Next time, on a very special episode of How Not to Fight a Demon . . .

  The monster roared, lurching toward me. I barely had enough time to counteract. Using a wave of magic, I sent an electrical current into the puddle beneath his feet. Sparks flared, shooting up his legs. The demon convulsed. His eyes rolled into the back of his head.

  Heck yeah! Elle scores a point.

  I increased the current, sending him to his knees. A flare of excitement burst to life inside me. I might actually have a chance! But my magic sputtered. It wasn’t strong enough to keep him down for long.

  He regained his footing, and the magical current dissipated. With a ragged step, he charged, forcing me to stumble backward. I fell and hit the pavement, but I kept moving until my back hit the brick wall.

  Blood seeped from the open wound in his hand as he reached for my foot. I cried out, kicking his arm away. Another kick, and my heel connected with his stomach. I might as well have been kicking a boulder.

  His fist cracked the brick inches from my head, sending dust into my eyes. I blinked away the particles and gazed in horror at the hand still lodged in the wall. The skin was stained red and blistered, but I noticed a dark symbol near his wrist. He was an underling. An enforcer demon hired by someone higher in the underworld rankings.

  Basically, I was getting my ass kicked by somebody’s minion.

  “Where is it?” he growled, wrapping a bruising hand around my upper arm. “Where is the Soulbinder?”

  The soul what?

  He jerked me forward, hot, fetid breath assaulting my face. “Tell me where it is!” When I didn’t answer, he sent me skidding across the pavement. This was nothing like the movies, where the heroine landed, did an acrobatic jump to her feet, and reentered the fray. Getting tossed around like a rag doll freaking hurt!

  Magic fizzled in my fingers. My demon blade was nowhere in sight. I stared up at the narrow slice of night sky peeking between the buildings, and a hysterical laugh bubbled in my throat. No surprise my first demon fight had turned out badly, but did my first semi-date in ages have to end with me dead in an alley?

  I got dressed up for this!

  The demon loomed over me. He’d picked up a jagged piece of wood broken off from one of the crates. Blood oozed from his hand onto the pavement. Sounds were fuzzy, yet my breath roared like a freight train inside my lungs.

  I tried to get up.

  Couldn’t.

  My extremely short stint as a demon-hunter had come to an end. Was anyone surprised?

  Cue the tiny violins.

  “Die, Hunter,” he rasped. The demon lifted the board and pointed the splintered edge at my heart.

  Something moved behind him. The fire door opened. Caden! Was there enough time before I became a marshmallow on the end of a stick? I had to at least give the fight one more try.

  The razor-tipped board descended with whistling speed. I gathered my magic, focusing it all in one burst. Wait for it . . . Remember what you learned.

  Magic exploded from my fingers, capturing the board a few inches from my chest. It held, suspended in the air. I tried to push it back, but it was all I could do to keep it steady.

  The demon’s features twisted into a vicious snarl. He roared, forcing all his strength into a final strike.

  I strained against the new surge of power, hands shaking, a cry buried in my throat. It was no use. My spell slipped, releasing the wooden spike. It plunged the final few inches, and I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for impact.

  Chapter 15

  A second passed. Then two. When I was still alive after three, I cracked my eyes open.

  The wooden beam had slipped through the demon’s fingers and fallen harmlessly to the ground. Mouth open in a silent cry, he swayed, tilting sideways before crumpling to the pavement on his stomach.

  My demon blade protruded from his back. I bli
nked, unable to look away from the gruesome image. The spellcaster rune in the dagger’s hilt twinkled. It emitted a burst of light as the magic sucked his soul and disintegrated his body, leaving behind nothing but a gross, oily slick on the pavement.

  I swallowed the acid climbing my throat and tried to sit up. A stabbing pain seared through my ribs. Caden crouched next to me. His face was pale, and he ran a jerky hand through his hair.

  “I thought you were dead, Graves.”

  That explained why he looked as if he’d seen his first ghost.

  I forced a weak smile. “You weren’t kidding. You have killed demons before.”

  He blew out a harsh breath and placed his hands on my shoulders when I moved too quickly. “Whoa, take it easy. Let me make sure you’re all right. Tell me what happened.” His touch moved down my shoulders, examining my ribs, then over my arms. He was quick and efficient, but I noticed a slight tremble in his movements as if he couldn’t shake off the past few minutes.

  Him and me both.

  “I was searching Jake’s van when the demon appeared. He must have been following us after we met with Gwen at the historical society. Someone hired him to come after me. I saw the mark on his wrist. He was an underling, and he demanded to know where this thing called the Soulbinder was. Do you know what he was talking about?”

  Caden went still. A dark look shadowed his face.

  “You have heard of it, I can tell. Do you think it’s one of the artifacts from the dig site?” I gripped his arm, forcing him to meet my gaze.

  “Possibly. Oscar can find out more now that we have a name.”

  “Well, whatever it is, the demons are looking for it, and they’re not afraid to send someone after it.” I carefully brushed the gravel from my clothes. My cute top was stained and ripped at the seams. Blood dotted the fabric. I frowned at the loss of my outfit. “At least I got my first demon attack out of the way. It could have been worse. I almost had that one.”