Unfortunately, a solid plot to exsanguinate the head honcho demon before assassinating him was trickier than it sounded, and apparently, was not to be completed in the span of one afternoon.
Malik bickered with Rohan and me over every possible tactic. The more Malik drank, the more disturbing facts he shared. The current Satan was the unique-est of the Uniques: part marid with a flame form, ancient and malevolent, part akoman, demon of evil intention who corrupts minds and destroys morals, and part andras with the body of an angel and the noggin of a black raven who incites violence and discord while slaughtering all in his path.
His kill spot was conveniently unknown.
“Then find out,” Rohan said.
Malik poured the dregs of the bottle into his glass, his gaze distant and forlorn.
“You were tortured. Join the club.” I wrenched his wine glass away from him and dumped the contents down the drain. “You are disgracing the entire evil spawn race. I’m ashamed to call you demon.”
He gaped at me.
“Yeah, I said it. And take a shower while you’re at it. We’re going after Satan, so put on your big marid panties and get with the program. I want a functioning evil ally when I come back.”
I flounced out of his apartment, slamming the door behind me and Rohan before Malik could quit sputtering and get in the last word.
“I made the big scary demon turn ‘Nava Red.’ Yay, me.”
“You’ve got a gift,” Ro said, with a wry smile. “It remains to be seen if he’ll pull his head out of his ass long enough to be useful.”
I punched the elevator button. “I can always use the ring on him when I find it. Ooh. Use it on Satan. Kill two birds with one stone.”
“You can’t.” The elevator door opened and Rohan stepped inside.
I followed him. “What if it’s the only way to keep me safe?”
The doors slid shut and the car began its smooth descent.
“It could possess you or kill you,” he said. “Something with that much power is too dangerous to exist. It’s unnatural.”
“We’re on the same page here. The ring is a perversion of our magic and must be destroyed. Right after I use it one time, if necessary.”
“You know how many fantasy novels start with some bright-eyed hero convinced they won’t be the one to fall victim to a powerful, magical artifact? It doesn’t end well.”
“Neither does being raped by the devil.” I stood in my corner, daring him to retort, but we glided downward in strained silence.
Hours later, neither of us had apologized, but we weren’t exactly angry at each other either. More sorrowful, because all the options were horrible and we had more pressing matters.
“Are you positive this is the right place?” I peered through the crack between the House Lannister and House Targaryen Game of Thrones banners in the window of the darkened souvenir store, but couldn’t make out more than shadowy lumps.
Westeros, I mean the old city of Dubrovnik, was beautiful at night.
A huge multi-sided fountain with a cupola on top was visible through the mouth of the alleyway where Rohan, Drio, and I huddled. Each side of the fountain was decorated with a stone-carved face with a spigot sticking out of the mouth. Cold, clear water ran from the spouts, puddling on the diagonal paving stones beneath.
I’d doused myself in some because even now, shortly after midnight, it was sweltering. My skin ran slick with sweat.
Located next to one of the Old City gates that were set into thick, massively high fortress walls, the fountain stood on a main street that seemed to be the only wide road. At the far end of the alley, shallow, uneven steps led up to two more levels of shops, bars, and restaurants.
A silhouetted Gothic church spire gleamed black against the looming fortress walls and the faint smell of fish blew inland from the harbor.
Techno lounge music pumped out of the wine bar next door, a boisterous crowd of shiny beautiful people spilling out onto the cobblestones into the warm pools of light cast by the old-fashioned iron and glass lanterns mounted on the walls of the cream stone buildings.
Drio tugged on the locked shop door. “Hybris is here.” He glanced at the chatting crowd surrounding us like he wanted to throttle them. “Get rid of them.”
Rohan elbowed his way into the tiny bar, emerging maybe two minutes later.
A man called out something in Croatian, and with excited squeals, the patrons pushed inside.
I covered Drio while he picked the lock. “What did you do?”
“Bought everyone a glass of wine,” Rohan said.
“Waste of money,” Drio said through the lock pick in his teeth. “Could’a just knocked them all out.”
He shouldered the door open.
The alarm panel was disabled and the store in disarray, souvenir shot glasses smashed on the floor, T-shirts unfurled like flags and draped over racks, and broken Bobblehead dolls littering the shelves.
A dead Rasha lay next to a discarded heavy pewter chalice that had been used to bash his skull in. None of us recognized him.
Drio sprinted toward the back of the store, Rohan and I pounding after him. We flew down the narrow staircase.
The grotty beige tiles were painted with bloody, scrawled words. You can’t hide.
A man had been dumped in a crumpled heap over a stack of cardboard boxes that were dented from his weight. He’d been torn open from navel to sternum, his entrails splattering over his University of Dubrovnik T-shirt. His head, ripped off his body, lay on its side on the dusty floor like a discarded soccer ball, wide eyes frozen open under blood-matted salt-and-pepper hair.
This hadn’t just been a kill; it had been an enraged slaughter.
Something metal clattered to the floor in the dark recesses of the room behind some shelving racks.
Drio flashed out.
“You found me,” a woman exclaimed, in a lilting voice.
Rohan froze for a second, before he practically knocked me over in his race to Drio.
I didn’t recognize her at first because her hair was longer than in the photo I’d seen and because I wasn’t expecting to see a dead person embracing Drio.
Asha hugged him, her face buried in his chest. She didn’t even reach his shoulder.
He stood very still, an indecipherable expression on his face, his fingers twitching like he longed to crush her to him, but couldn’t bring himself to touch her.
“It’s not her,” Rohan said. “It’s Hybris.”
Asha stepped away from Drio. Her nose ring winked in the faint light. “Desi, I missed you so much.” Oh, right. Drio’s full name was Desiderio. Her voice was melodic, hypnotic, a slight Indian accent flavoring her Southern California drawl.
Drio flinched like he’d been punched, and emitted a soft grunt.
I itched to blast the bitch, but Drio was staring at her like she was his redemption and his heart’s desire. How could I hurt Hybris when she was wearing that face? He’d never get over that visual. Never forgive me, even if it wasn’t really her.
“Desi? Why won’t you touch me?”
“Don’t call him that,” Rohan growled.
Asha rolled her gold eyes, eerie twins of Rohan’s. “Gawd, this is just like the time we drove down to Carmel and you wouldn’t let us sit in the back together because you said we’d burn your eyeballs out through the rearview mirror.”
Ro balled his fists. “You can’t know that.”
The faintest tendril of doubt that maybe this really was her slid through me. No. It was impossible. She was dead. There was a gravestone and she wouldn’t just be here for us to find.
Would she?
Asha’s face crumpled. “The demon hurt me. I was locked up and alone and she tortured me. I waited for you to come. All this time. Why didn’t you come?” She stretched out a hand. “You abandoned me.”
It wasn’t clear who she was directing this plaintive cry to, but it was mindfucking both the men. Even I was having trouble convincing myself that th
is wasn’t Asha.
Rohan’s eyes went obsidian black and dark magic crawled over him. He began to convulse.
“Rohan?” Asha turned wide, concerned eyes on him.
“Help him,” Drio snarled at me.
Rohan dropped to the ground, spasming. A cry tore from his throat.
I fell to my knees, wrapping him in healing magic and murmuring that I was here. That I loved him.
Rohan continued to convulse. His eyes rolled back, showing the whites.
In a blur of motion, Drio grabbed Asha, punching her over and over again, yelling, “Take off her face!”
He shattered her nose; he broke her teeth. He attempted to decimate the illusion with a savagery that stole my breath. God help us if this was her.
Asha’s tears mixed with her blood, her ruined face a pulpy mess.
Ro seized up, his throat muscles contracting but no air getting in. His lips turned blue and the hair on his body charred.
Drio didn’t stop, his knuckles split and bloody.
I let out a sob, for Rohan and Drio, both. I was surrounded by violence and death, rocketing toward an ineffable tragedy. I scrubbed my hands over my face. Think. If healing didn’t fix Ro, maybe brute force would. I changed my magic and shocked the shit out of him.
My electric magic hit Rohan so hard that he bucked off the ground, landing with a thud. He fell still and for one breath, my world crashed down around me. Then dark magic flared bright, rose into the air off of his body, and harmlessly dissipated.
Rohan’s eyes snapped open, clear and steady gold with no hint of shadows. I felt like I could breathe again for the first time in months.
But I didn’t get much of a respite as bone crunched and the side of Asha’s head caved in.
“Rohan, help him,” I pleaded.
He grabbed Drio who was chanting “die,” and flung him off of her.
Drio was so lost to the violence, he kept punching, hitting air.
Rohan knelt over Asha, curled up and limp on the floor. He ran a hand tenderly over her mangled skull.
Then with a roar, he sliced her open, death by a thousand cuts.
I was transfixed, helpless, my hand over my mouth, the only sound the wet cut of flesh and Rohan’s breath coming in harsh pants.
Asha neither moved nor breathed nor reverted to a demon form.
She should have reverted to demon form.
Drio scooted over on his knees. He reached for her with a bloody, trembling hand, his expression broken. “No.”
“Asha?” Rohan bent over her.
Drio and Rohan stared at her with an anguish so complete, it had smashed into them like a car hitting a brick wall at full speed. Shells of the men they’d been moments before.
A burbled laugh came out of Asha’s body. She threw them off, transforming into her demon form. This wasn’t the unhinged, half-demon/half-human wreck I’d last seen. She radiated power, strong, whole, and uninjured.
Hybris daintily licked a speck of blood off from the corner of her thick red lips, with one obsidian-black, scaly, webbed finger. Translucent black wings were folded into her side. “Oh, that was good. I mean, your faces were priceless. Thinking you were avenging her. Delicious.” She shivered and gave them a cruel smile. “Thanks, boys. I needed that infusion. All better now.”
She saluted us and was gone.
Drio remained on his knees, covered in blood and viscera. Rohan stared blankly at his own bloodied blades.
I backed out of the space behind the shelving unit and, hurrying back to the poor man who Hybris had so brutally killed, pulled his wallet out of his back pocket.
Josip Markovic.
Hybris had murdered the premier authority on the Ring of Solomon. She must have learned that as a demon she couldn’t use the ring. My heart ached for the poor man.
Drio flashed out, leaving Rohan and me to handle the situation as best we could. Rohan helped me bring the unfamiliar Rasha to our contact at the crematorium in Vancouver and we burned his body, before returning to the store in Dubrovnik where we set the retail section to rights.
Rohan thanked me for ridding him of the dark magic. “It’s finally gone,” he said.
Given that he was still half-catatonic from what had just gone down, the magic may physically have been dealt with but the emotional darkness in him still needed healing.
Though who was I to talk? I was stuck in auto-replay of Rohan seizing and Asha’s skull caving in, a scream wedged in my throat.
With my elimination magic, I cleaned up the blood and gore in the basement, then I magically welded Dr. Markovic’s head back on. I clamped my lips together because the scream now threatened to come out and once it did, I wasn’t sure it would stop.
I took a steadying breath. “Does it look like a heart attack?”
“I think so.” Rohan closed Dr. Markovic’s eyes.
“Ujak?” Footsteps clattered down the stairs. “Uncle, I’m back. Thank you for closing up for me tonight.”
Rohan and I portalled out, but not before I heard the nephew’s cry of distress.
The next three days were a mess.
I longed to talk to someone about what had happened, but even if Leo hadn’t gone with her mom to Toronto for a cousin’s wedding, I couldn’t have told her. I didn’t even discuss it with Ari. Drio’s actions, Ro’s actions, weren’t mine to share with anyone.
Well, almost anyone.
“Hi, Esther.” I put a rock on the grassy plot that I’d been directed to at the Vancouver Jewish cemetery. “I miss you and I could really use your advice.”
I sat down on soft, green lawn. “Drio’s M.I.A. Ro is obsessed with finding Hybris to the point of not sleeping, though physically he seems himself again so taking that as one small mercy. The other Rasha are still imprisoned, Mandelbaum might have captured the rabbis for himself, and I had to break the news of Josip’s death to my mom.” I fiddled with a stem of grass. “Raquel’s assured me there’s no change in the rift. She ran into Sienna’s bunch there and entered into an unspoken, wary truce, but they’re unable to seal it, even working together. Which is more than she’s done with the Rasha. Raquel keeps brushing me off, saying things are delicate in the witch community right now and the timing isn’t right to meet with the hunters.”
I paused, but there was no answer from the great beyond.
“None of the books at Demon Club have provided any insights on how to stop Satan, and Malik is refusing me entry to his apartment to work on the plan. Then there’s the ring which no one has found yet, but I have to find first so the rabbi can’t control Gog and Magog. My dreams are this fucked up mix of fire and rape and being strapped down on that table, and my magic healing is a dud where these stupid headaches are concerned but I’m scared to let anyone else into my head, even to try and heal me, and no matter how much essential oil I inhale, I can’t get rid of the smell of Ro’s scorched flesh and Asha’s blood…”
I flung the stem of grass away. “I’m losing my shit.”
“No kidding.”
I scrambled to my feet. “Rivka.”
As elegant as Esther had been prickly, Rivka was as put together as always. Her brown leather shoes were shiny with polish, her white hair was pulled into a sleek bun, and her button-down shirt was ironed in immaculate pleats, but there was a pall of sadness over it all.
I gave her the bouquet I’d bought her. “Thank you for taking care of my parents. It’s a relief not to worry about their safety on top of everything.”
“They’re nice people. And my garden has never looked better. Shana is earning her keep.” She sniffed the tiger lilies wrapped in colorful paper. “I always suspected my sister was a touch psychic. As a scientist, she scoffed at the idea.” She dug into her brown clutch and pulled out a familiar silver lighter with a scorched corner and “EG” engraved on it. She tossed it to me. “Here. Happy inheritance.”
“Thank you?”
“This isn’t some Bic disposable. You know the Hanukkah story?”
/> “I’m not that bad a Jew.” I flicked the lighter. Still worked. “The burning oil is a metaphor.”
“No, it’s real. Witches have always been keepers of the flame. We supplied the Maccabees with the oil that burned in the First Temple for eight days and nights and allowed the rebels their victory. A small group of witches have tended this same magical batch of fire in one form or another throughout our history. It’s our vow that so long as we keep the fire alive we’ll keep the fight alive, be it against demons, human invaders, or a patriarchy determined to stamp us out. Esther was the last fire-tender and leader in the fight.” She tapped me on the shoulder as if with a wand. “Now, you are.”
I waved my finger through the bottom of the flame, where it didn’t hurt. “What am I supposed to do with it?”
“The flame burns brightest in the darkest night.”
“That’s suitably cryptic.”
Rivka laughed. “Blame Esther. That was the specific answer I was supposed to give you.”
My luck, I’d end up on fire. I had this inheritance, but I still didn’t have answers, and the clock ticked down to Rosh Hashanah on September 18.
As frustrating as this limbo was, I’d wish I’d appreciated the calm. Little did I know I’d have to survive the Night of Fog and Monsters.
Chapter 13
Tuesday, August 22 started with a call from my mother insisting I have brunch with her at the IHOP located at the mall near Rivka’s house. This was wrong for several reasons. First, my mother was a total foodie, so hearing her say “IHOP” was like hearing a nun say “fuck.” She shouldn’t have known that word. Second of all, my mother despised malls so even if she was suddenly embracing franchise pancakes, it wouldn’t happen there.
The restaurant was packed. I wove past families with screaming toddlers, seniors arguing for meal substitutions, and a couple of wait staff bitching none-too-quietly by the kitchen.
Mom sat at a back booth, a combo platter of eggs, sausage, biscuits, and gravy untouched in front of her.
I slid in across from her. “Are you dying?”
“Why would I be dying?”
The Unlikeable Demon Hunter Collection: Books 1-6: A Complete Paranormal Romantic Comedy Series Page 158
