Haunted by Shadows: Magic Wars: Demons of New Chicago Book Two

by Carpenter, Kel

“I should be a lot worse for wear after being unconscious for a week,” I told her. “It’s January now, yeah?”

  “Mhmm,” Nathalie hummed. I frowned at her again as I took a bite of the protein bar. It was a far cry from actual birthday cake, but it could have tasted like tar and I would have scarfed it down all the same.

  “If you have something to say, spit it out,” I muttered while tearing open the second bar. She brought me four, and I had every intention of eating all of them.

  “You’re better now than you were after thirty-six hours unconscious. I think Ronan’s blood is changing you. Beyond Aeshma’s power, I mean.” She said it slowly, her light brown eyes watching my every move as I ate the bar with equal rabidness.

  When I finished, I took a second to catch my breath before saying, “There’s always been a risk of that.”

  Her eyebrows drew together, and she tilted her head.

  “You’re taking this awfully well. I really expected you to crack by now and start blaming Ronan or magic for your problems.” She sounded skeptical, yet relieved. Perhaps I would be too, in her shoes. It was my MO. Blame magic. Blame demons. Blame the whole fucking world. The truth was there was only one person to blame.

  Me.

  I was quickly coming to realize that it didn’t really matter who I blamed. That wasn’t going to change anything, only action would.

  “I knew the risks when I agreed. I made the choice. There’s no point being upset about it when I know I would do it again if it meant I learned what was wrong with Bree. My parents died, and she lost ten years of her life for me to become this way. The least I can do is accept the consequences so that she doesn’t lose anymore.”

  We were both quiet for a moment, but I think she understood then—really understood—that I would truly do anything for my sister to bring her back.

  I had no idea if it would ease the guilt, the pain, or the loneliness—but I would try all the same. I had to.

  “So he told you how to bring her back?” she asked slowly, almost cautiously.

  “No,” I shook my head, tearing open another protein bar. “But he told me why she never woke up, and that’s more than I’ve had to go on for a decade.”

  “Well, are you going to tell me so we can figure this out, or are you going to keep beating around the bush? You may be immortal now, but I’m certainly not.”

  I choked on the food I had shoved in my mouth. It quickly turned to a cough that only died down after drinking a full glass of water. I leaned against the counter, panting softly.

  “Her consciousness is trapped in Hell. I have to find a way to bring it back here so it can reunite with her body.”

  Nathalie let out a low whistle. “I didn’t know that was possible. I mean, theoretically yes, almost anything is, but I don’t recall ever seeing a spell for that.”

  “Me neither,” I breathed. “But if there was a way to send her there, then there’s a way to bring her back. I just have to find it.” I said it with conviction, with steel, because there was no room for doubt. Not even a seed of it. A seed could grow and flourish and upend a whole foundation, but I couldn’t afford that. Bree couldn’t afford that.

  “And we will—find a way, that is,” Nathalie said, putting a hand on my shoulder and squeezing. “But first, we need to go convince my parents that I want to re-enter the fold and hope they don’t kill you on sight.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “That wouldn’t be a concern if you’d let me handle them my way.”

  “Your way is more likely to get us both killed, and by extension, Barry. In the same way you would do anything to get your sister back, so would I for him. Which means we do this my way,” she said simply. “Besides, don’t you want to know how they took Lucifer, or what they plan to do with him? Knowing my family, it’s not something good, but it might be able to help us with getting Bree back.”

  If I could have glared any harder, I would have. I knew exactly what she was doing by bringing my sister into the conversation, and fortunately for her, it was working. Even if it did piss me off.

  “Fine,” I agreed. “But if someone tries to kill me, I’m not responsible for what happens after that.”

  Her lips quirked up in wry amusement. It wasn’t what you’d expect, considering this was her family and all. But I was coming to learn that Nathalie was an enigma in her own way. Loyal to those she deemed worth it, and unforgiving to those who weren’t.

  Blood be damned.

  14

  “You told me you didn’t have a mansion,” I murmured, as we pulled up outside her parents’ house. It was quite a stretch to even call it that. The property was gated over a mile out, and the longest driveway I’d ever seen led up to a four-story building. A white stoned porch rose up from the cobblestoned circular drive that was already packed with cars. Black double doors with sphinxes carved into the wood paneling held brass knockers. Gargoyles hung over the second, third, and fourth-story ledges. Their red eyes glowed unnaturally, giving the whole place an archaic and intimidating front.

  Nathalie parked on the grass, and I noted she was the only one to do so.

  “I don’t have a mansion,” she said pointedly. “My parents do, and in the event they die, it goes to my eldest sister and her husband—and if she dies, it goes to the next eldest, and if they all die—my cousins.”

  “Don’t sound resentful about it or anything.”

  She chuckled. “Not resentful, just making it clear to you. While I am wealthy and a witch, I am not my parents, nor am I like the rest of my blood relatives, for that matter. You need to remember that I’ll have to play a part here, just like you.”

  I tilted my head, assessing her. “You’re scared I’m going to lump you in with them.”

  She shrugged. “You will or you won’t. Either way, this isn’t going to be easy for you. Try not to speak unless spoken to. Let me handle the talking. If you see the chance to slip out and take a look around, take it. Go down, not up. If my family has him, he’ll be in the basement.”

  “We don’t know that they do,” I pointed out. “My dream showed me a stone room. Lucifer is the one who told me it was witches. In all reality, there are a lot of witches, not just in New Chicago, but across America.”

  Nathalie was quiet for a moment. “You said he was in a pentagram, yeah?”

  I nodded.

  “Then it’s likely because they plan to use his magic for something. That’s a black-witch siphoning ritual. My family is the blackest line there is.” She motioned to the house as if it proved her point. It didn’t, but I got the hint. “Regardless, they have him or know who does. No one on earth has captured the devil before, and witches are a boastful lot. They’ll talk. We just have to play the part and listen.”

  I cocked my head, evaluating her beyond the makeup and fancy clothes. Looking past the masks she wore for armor. There was pain there, behind her voice.

  If I were a gambling woman, I would bet that being back home was costing her more than she was letting on.

  But for Barry, she did it without question.

  I almost wondered what that was like; to have someone stick their neck out for you, without magic or money or any cause forcing them to.

  “You’re a good friend,” I said.

  She paused in opening the door and looked back at me. “You’re only just now figuring this out?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. Let’s get this over with. I’m already hungry again.”

  Nathalie’s laugh followed me out of the car, and halfway up her parents’ porch. I could have sworn one of the gargoyles canted forward a fraction and tilted its head at me, but when I looked again, they were simply stone.

  I narrowed my eyes and pressed onward.

  “You know,” Nat said, as we got to the door, “for what it’s worth, you can be too. When you’re not being an asshole.”

  I side-eyed her as she lifted her hand to the knocker and clacked it four times. “If that was you trying to ‘have a moment’, it didn’t work
.”

  She busted out laughing at me and a slight grin was beginning to curve its way around my lips when the front door opened.

  Her laughter dried up, and any makings of a smile on my face fell as I stared at the girl that was Nathalie . . . and yet not. I’d forgotten about the Le Fay twins until the very moment I found myself staring down at hers.

  While she had Nathalie’s pretty features, the horrible scar covering the right side of her face and the cruel smile clearly showcased their differences.

  “Nathalie,” the other girl said in a voice closer to a hiss.

  “Piper,” the real Nat said, voice resigned. “This is my twin sister, Katherine. Katherine, this is Piper, my familiar.”

  I made no move to shake her sister’s hand, and instead lifted an eyebrow in Nathalie’s direction. Familiar? We hadn't discussed a cover story, but that was not something I’d even considered . . . and wasn’t sure if I approved of. Familiars were people or animals that a witch sacrificed a piece of their soul to save. In return, the witch or warlock could use their life force to siphon energy and create bigger, more powerful spells. Creating a familiar was risky business. More so than most magic. You couldn’t be a weak witch, or undisciplined. Otherwise, you ran the risk of losing your soul to the very being you were trying to save.

  In most cases, familiars were beloved animals or the occasional romantic partner. Most witches wouldn’t run that risk for a friend, but Nathalie wasn’t most witches.

  Her sister seemed to be calculating that as her eyes flicked between the two of us.

  “Katherine?” another female voice called out. “You need to prepare for . . .” The voice trailed off as another woman that looked very similar, but not the same, came to stand in the doorway. She had harsh features that could be beautiful if not for the distasteful expression on her face. “You were excommunicated.”

  Nathalie shrugged. “I survived the devil’s pits and heard he was captured. Figured I’d take my chances that had been lifted.”

  Both women looked at her, as if weighing what to say. Then the second one looked to the side, as if seeing my face for the first time. Her eyes narrowed.

  Oh joy. Another fan.

  “What is she doing here?” the woman uttered.

  “I’m her familiar,” I said in a hard voice, stepping forward. If that’s what we were going with, I needed to own the title. Familiars were exceptionally loyal. It came with the territory. If the witch died, so did their familiar.

  The witch in the doorway lifted her head, assessing me at the same time Nathalie put a hand on my arm.

  It gave them the illusion she was in control when I stepped back. In all reality, it was Nathalie’s way of reminding me of the plan.

  I had a feeling this one was going to go about as well as the last.

  “Very well. I’m sure Mother and Father will be quite curious as to how you ended up with the Witch Hunter as your familiar.”

  Ah, with that she confirmed her identity as none other than the eldest Le Fay sister.

  Carissa.

  She gave me one last distrustful look and turned on her heel. My fingers itched to reach for one of my guns, but I held myself back.

  Katherine stepped back and opened the door further. Nathalie went first, as was witch tradition, and I followed at her heels like the good lap dog they thought me to be.

  Magic pressed against my skin—slight, but there all the same—as I stepped into the mansion. Music was playing softly in a far-off room. I appraised the gothic architecture that looked like something out of a shitty throwback Halloween flick from before the Magic Wars.

  “Nice place your parents got here,” I murmured. “Your childhood must have been downright peachy with those skulls mounted over the doorframes everywhere.”

  Nathalie snorted. “That’s certainly one way to put it.”

  We went through a series of rooms where the floors creaked, and the music drifted closer. Both Nat’s sisters were dressed in a similar fashion to herself, but a touch more provocative. When other witches and warlocks I recognized started appearing in the hallways and rooms, a slight sense of panic began creeping in.

  My guns were loaded, and my shot was good, but there were a lot of people here. More than the cars outside had indicated. I’d kidnapped or killed some of their brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews and sons and daughters. I was responsible for more of their kind’s demise than any other single entity in known history, and that little fact was becoming abundantly clear as the talking died down and whispers took its place.

  “Nathalie . . .” I started slowly.

  “Ignore them,” she replied softly enough it shouldn’t have reached anyone else’s ears. “No one will try anything until we meet with my parents. It’s their property, and no witch or warlock will want to be punished for breaking the laws of hospitality.”

  I knew the laws. I simply didn’t trust them.

  Maybe that was because I’d spent so long playing outside of them and using them against these very supes. They wanted my blood, and I knew it.

  Let them try, the unbidden thought came to mind. Nervousness and I didn't mix. Or rather, we mixed too well. The anxiousness of it made my adrenaline spike and heart start to pound. Rage began to build in my very pores, a magic all to its own.

  I tamped it down, breathing harder than I should have been.

  Why, oh why, did dangerous situations have to excite me? What was it about bloody violence that called to me when I felt it brewing beneath the surface?

  I’d just gone through the crash, and really couldn’t afford to slip back into it so soon. Not when I needed to find Lucifer and work out a way to call Bree back.

  My silent struggle was brought to a grinding halt when the haunting music cut out.

  The whispers stopped. Someone gasped, and footsteps started toward us.

  I looked over the top of Nathalie’s head.

  Her parents stood, as stone-faced as the gargoyles that watched their doors.

  A tense, taut moment passed where Nathalie straightened her spine.

  “Mother,” she said in a stiff, unyielding voice. “Father.”

  Her words seemed to snap them from their stupor.

  “You were excommunicated. You’re no daughter of ours—” her father, Jason, began, but her mother held up a hand.

  I flinched, though Nathalie didn’t. Her face was cold and impenetrable as marble when she stared at them.

  “You know the rules, Nathalie. Better than we do, I suspect,” Dolores Le Fay started. “You were excommunicated, and disowned. You’re no longer a Le Fay, or a member of this household. This is trespassing, and by witch law, we’re within our rights to kill you.”

  “I know.”

  When that was all she said, my apprehension grew. This was a really bad idea—

  “But you won’t,” she said after another moment. “You’ve heard the rumors of what happened in the pits. I survived them, and I now have a familiar.” She didn’t motion to me in any way, but their eyes still flicked up, and slight surprise ran through their features before it vanished like smoke. “I’m the only member of the Antares coven to survive,” she continued.

  “Because you’re a coward and a traitor,” Katherine sneered. I cocked an eyebrow in her direction that had her shutting up.

  “Because I’m not weak like the rest of them,” Nathalie shot back, her voice like ice and wind and the crack of lightning. I could have sworn an errant wind swept through the mansion then, despite her fingers not moving. “I’ve returned to reclaim my rightful place as third daughter of the Le Fay’s, and as a member of the Pleiades Coven by birthright and power.”

  “Power?” Katherine scoffed. “The only thing you have power over is that half-fae bastard—”

  A sharp look from Nathalie’s mother had the insult drying up like ash on her tongue.

  Nathalie stiffened, her brown eyes turning a touch amber.

  “What does Barry have to do with anything?” s
he asked softly. Her wary eyes watched her mother and sister, taking in every odd expression and shifty move. Dolores’ face went flat. Unreadable. Her pale skin smoothing, and ice-blue eyes stormy as they flashed toward the elder twin.

  Nathalie started laughing under her breath. Katherine frowned in confusion. “What’s wrong with you?”

  Dolores sighed. “You, Katherine. You and your incessant need to run your mouth.”

  “It was clever,” Nathalie said. “You framed his kidnapping as the Red Crescent pack knowing that I’d come for him. It gave you a chance to circulate the news as well. Two birds, and one stone.”

  “Just like I taught you,” Dolores said in a bored tone. “You wouldn’t come if you knew we had him. At least not so . . . unarmed. I had to improvise.”

  I reached for my guns at the same moment Dolores snapped her fingers. Invisible binds wrapped around my hands, halting them from lifting the weapons out of my holsters.

  “Ah-ah-ah,” Dolores said. “Not so fast, Witch Hunter.” She made a movement with her hand, and my hands lifted on their own accord as I was thrown back into the wall. I hit it with a thump but didn’t fall. She pinned me there in a demonstration of power. One I wasn’t predicting. The wind stirred. The ground started to shake. To rumble.

  I hung there, pinned against the wall, watching as Nathalie’s eyes turned pure, undiluted gold. The windowpanes whined as they tried to contain the sudden torrent of wind. The hangings on the walls rattled, and somewhere in the not-so-far distance, lightning struck.

  “Where. Is. He?” Nathalie said, her voice echoing with raw, untrained power that threatened to peel the flesh from my bones. My heart thundered wildly, and it was only my slow, deep breathing that kept it from stopping altogether.

  The crowd around us parted. Dolores Le Fay gave her daughter a pitying look, filled with condescension.

  And then Barry stepped forward.

  Unhurt.

  Unbound.

  I registered the truth only a second before Nathalie did, and it was an ugly, bitter thing to swallow.

  Barry wasn’t their captive. He wasn’t their prisoner.