Spells & Ashes

by Kim Richardson

  I moved to the table, grabbed some paper and a pen, and began to copy the texts. “How long will it take you?” I asked once I’d finished copying the last of the runes, knowing it was the wrong thing to say by the deepening frown on my aunt’s face.

  “It will take as long as Evanora needs,” said the old witch. She turned and shambled a few steps closer to her captive, her shapeless, forest-green gown dragging behind her as her knees crunched and popped like a crackling fire. “Now go,” she said, her fingers twitching in a dark spell. “Evanora has work to do.” A wicked grin materialized on her face, a homicidal gleam in her one good eye.

  A chill scuttled up my spine. Damn. I wouldn’t want to be that guy right now.

  I gave my aunt a kiss, saw her smile widen, and then walked over the werewolf and through the curtain door.

  I’d barely closed the shop’s front door when the screaming started.

  8

  I had time to kill while my aunt translated the texts, and I wasn’t the type to just sit and wait. I had a Greater demon to find. And I had to find him before he killed another human.

  I needed information. Witches were like the CIA of Mystic Quarter. They had spies everywhere. If there were other victims who’d died under mysterious circumstances, with a supernatural element in the city, there was a witch who knew something.

  One of the most popular witch hangouts was a pub. Luckily for me, it was just down the street.

  Nighttime was quickly approaching. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and Poe was nowhere in sight. Knowing him, it would probably be the last I’d see him tonight. Damn bird.

  With a new hop to my step, I made for a decrepit building that looked like it had seen its share of fires. The sign above a heavy wooden door read THE WICKED WITCH BREWERY. STOP IN FOR A PINT AND A SPELL!

  I grabbed the door knocker in the form of a wailing witch’s head, her face screwed up in pain and torment, and pulled open the door to step in.

  The noise hit me first followed by the stink of fried food, beer, and piss, all mixed with the lingering aroma of old vomit and perspiration. Black paint smeared the windows, blocking out most of the light from the streetlamps. The only illumination came from the fixtures on the ceiling that spilled a feeble, green glow.

  The pub leaned toward the rowdy side. It was a healthy mix of male and female witches, and packed. Not just with witches but with all manner of half-breeds; vampires, werewolves, faeries, trolls, gnomes, gremlins, and leprechauns were strewn about the space.

  I worked my way deeper into the pub, around a cluster of tables and witches, past a long, gleaming wooden bar that stretched the length of the room fitted by a row of tall stools. A couple of leprechauns stared into their drinks on the far end. An Asian vampire sipped on her glass filled with a red liquid that was too thick to be wine.

  The barmaid nodded at me. Lean and composed, her ebony-colored skin was a sharp contrast to her green metallic bustier as her long, elegant arms slung drinks along the bar.

  My eyes scanned the back of the pub toward the privacy booths farthest from the door and rested on a dark-haired male witch in a leather motorcycle jacket.

  My lips quirked into a smile. Gotcha.

  I adjusted the strap of my messenger bag and made for him. He had company. A voluptuous brunette in a tight, black cocktail dress sat across from him. She sat primly with her elbows on the table, squeezing her already ginormous breasts until they looked like they might pop. I didn’t care. He must be really into her because he didn’t even see me coming. He made a show of staring openly at her enormous cleavage.

  “Alex!” I cried, my face screwed up in a mock shocked expression as I stood next to his booth. “Who is this?” My lips trembled for an added effect. “You two-timing witch! How dare you do this to me. Your wife!”

  The brunette leaned back, her mouth slightly opened as she shot daggers with her eyes at Alex. “You’re married?”

  “I’m not,” said Alex, his face reddening with the sudden attention of everyone in the pub on him. He sat straighter. “She’s lying.”

  My eyes welled with tears. “What about little Sarah? And Jimmy? You don’t love them anymore?” Yeah, that should do it.

  “Bastard.” The brunette slid out of the booth, glowering at Alex. I could almost see the spells she was conjuring up in her mind. She might even hex him right here in front of everyone. I’d love to see that.

  “Don’t ever call me again.” And with that, the sexy brunette witch sashayed her way out of the pub, all male eyes following her like a piece of juicy steak.

  Grinning, I let myself fall to the orange, faux-leather seat and stretched out my legs. “Miss me?”

  “What the hell did you do that for?” Alex glared at me, his jaw clenched, making his pretty face a lot less pretty. He was a handsome witch. And the females took notice. I’d never seen him with the same female twice. Alex was a playboy. He liked to play with women. It didn’t matter if they were witch, human, or faerie. As long as they were female, his game was on. He was a male chauvinist creep, but he also had his uses. And, well, we females liked to blab, especially after a few glasses of wine. That was how he got most of his intel. Through his lovers.

  “Take it easy, Casanova,” I said. I yanked the strap from my bag over my head, grabbed a card from it, and settled the bag on the seat next to me. “It’s not like there won’t be another hot brunette in this seat as soon as I leave.”

  Alex’s face smoothed out, his gaze on mine. “You better have had a good reason to do that.” His hands dropped under the table, groping for a hex bag or moving his fingers in some dark spell.

  I felt the prick of dark wild magic brush across my skin like sandpaper. I cocked a brow. He shouldn’t have done that.

  Moving fast, I slapped the card on the table in front of Alex. “Do anything stupid, and all I have to do is say one word—and you’ll be pissing blood for months.”

  Alex’s eyes moved to the card, tracing the lines I’d drawn, his features shifting to a frown. “A malaise sigil.”

  I smiled. “And I know how to use it.” I always had my pack of pre-drawn sigils with me. They came in very handy for these kinds of situations. I’d already tapped into the magic of the sigil, feeding off my anger and my desperation to find the Greater demon. I really wanted to hurt someone, and if it ended up being Alex, then so be it. The guy really ticked me off.

  Alex watched me. His eyes widened as he sensed the magic influx. His face twisted, his expression hard. “You try anything in here, and I’ll fuck you up later.”

  I grinned. “Is that a promise?”

  Alex’s handsome face creased in anger, but he said nothing.

  His eyes met mine, and my predatory instincts stirred. “Go ahead, Alex. Try something. Give me a reason to whip your sorry ass,” I said, laughing. “All the witches you screwed will thank me. Come on. Do it.”

  He laughed softly. “You’re crazy.”

  “Possibly.” I gestured with my chin. “Let’s see your hands. Hands on the table where I can see them.”

  Very slowly, Alex rested his hands on the table. “What the hell do you want?” he asked with a nasty smile on his face.

  I shifted in my seat. “Well, I’m not here to discuss how many lays you’ve had this week.”

  He took a long breath, his dark eyes turbulent. “What do you want to discuss?”

  “I’m here because I need information. And you’re going to give it to me.” Yes, I was being a little aggressive, forward even, but the guy was a creep, so some rule in the universe made it okay.

  Alex leaned back and stretched his legs. “Who says I’m going to give you any,” answered the witch, trying to salvage some shred of dignity.

  “I do.” My eyes flicked to the card on the table. “That’s just the beginning. I’ve got lots more.” And I would love to use them on you.

  Alex’s face broke into a snarl. “I’m sick of you ordering me around like a slave. You think you’re better than me? B
ecause of your family name?”

  I shrugged. “No,” I said, smiling. “I know I’m better than you.”

  He looked at me, his face rigid with frustration. “You might have a knack for drawing sigils that actually work. I’ll give you that. But you don’t have that much power.” And then he added with a winning smile. “Without them, you’ve got nothing. You’re practically human.”

  I kept my face blank. “Heard it all before.” All my life. “But we’re not here to talk about me. I’m here because I want to know what you know about a couple of recent human deaths. Deaths that have the mark of the supernatural about them.”

  Alex raised an eyebrow, and the corners of his lips twitched into a smile, giving him away. “I don’t know anything about that.”

  “Sure you do. And you’re going to tell me about them.”

  He smiled bitterly. “Is that so?”

  I flicked my gaze to the card and back to him. His face twitched. Good. He knew I would use it. I leaned forward and said, “I want to know about these deaths. I want to know how many were killed and where they were killed. I want to know who they were. Were they male or female? And whatever else you think I would want to know.” I glared at him. “Now, Alex.”

  Alex showed me his teeth. “Why you so worked up? Is it that time of the month?”

  God, he was asking for it. What did all these women see in this asshole? “For you, it’s always that time of the month.” I let out a breath. “I’m losing my patience. Spill it.”

  His eyebrows rose. “What if I told you that I don’t know anything about any human deaths? That you came here for nothing.”

  “Then I’d tell you I know you’re lying.”

  “You owe me a date,” he said, a creepy smile on his lips. “She’s a complete animal in bed.” And then he added in a lowered tone, “She likes the kinky stuff.”

  I tried hard not to get a mental image, but the nasty picture was already branded on the backs of my eyelids.

  “I owe you shit.” I gritted my teeth. “Get on with it.”

  “Temper, temper.” He watched me for a moment. His smile grew seductive, and he leaned forward on the table. “I know what this is. You’re angry because I never asked you out. You’re jealous.”

  I choked on my air. “I’d rather gouge my own eyes out than go out with you.” Damn. That witch was vile. Now that was a horrible thought. “Hurry up before I put a stop to that enormous ego of yours.” I tapped my index finger on my card. “The sooner you tell me what I want to hear, the sooner I’ll be gone and out of your way, so you’re free to resume your creepy female mongering.”

  Alex smiled like I’d given him a compliment. “There were three human murders, whose deaths had some supernatural flair to them,” he answered, his handsome face marked with amusement. “Bodies were found surrounded with ritualistic elements.”

  So the angel-born had been telling me the truth. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

  “When?”

  “Last week. I don’t have dates, so don’t ask.”

  My heart raced as I leaned forward. “Who were they? Do you have names?”

  Alex shook his head. “No idea. It’s not like I keep tabs every time a human dies. This is New York City. Do you know how many humans die every month? A lot. I have other more important things to do with my time. I have a life.”

  I rolled my eyes. “What else?” I asked around a sigh. “I need more than this, Alex.”

  The witch shrugged. “I know two were females. Old, like fifty.” Fifty was not old, but Alex thought anything past twenty was pushing it. “One was a male,” he continued. “Early twenties.”

  I crossed my ankles and leaned slightly forward. “And you’re sure they were involved in some sort of ritual? Signs of a séance or ritualistic behavior?”

  Irritation flickered across his face. It took a moment for him to answer. “That’s what I heard. Yeah.”

  “Where were the bodies found?”

  “The guy’s body was found in Queens,” he answered. “One female was recovered in Brooklyn. The other was right here in New York.”

  I sat in silence for a moment. “One more thing. Do you know anything about an angel-born who’s been asking questions about these murders?”

  The smile on his face faded. “Angel-born?” He stiffened ever so slightly. But I saw it. “Why are you asking about an angel-born?”

  I thought about it. “Because he was snooping around.” If an angel-born was involved, it was because it was damn serious. “And he knows something.”

  A muscle feathered along his jaw. “What does he know?”

  I shrugged. “He didn’t say.”

  “Then he knows shit.” Alex rose in a fluid motion, his eyes on my card. “I’ve nothing else to say.”

  I realized he was waiting for me to let him go, so I grabbed my card and slipped it inside my bag.

  Alex stepped next to me, leaned over, and said to my ear, “The next time you pull this shit on me, I’ll kill you.” And then he left.

  Figures. I waited until I saw him exit the pub and made my way to the bar.

  “The tallest glass of red wine you have, Sajana,” I told the barmaid as I pulled my ass onto a stool. I needed a drink. Possibly three.

  I had pissed off Alex, and in doing so, probably lost him forever as an informant. A part of me felt guilty that I’d threatened him. But the larger part reminded me that he’d just threatened to kill me. Did that make us even? Not even close.

  What Alex had given me wasn’t much, but now that I had the number of bodies, sexes, and where they were found, I could work with that. Counting Julia that made three dead females and one dead male. All different age groups. I didn’t see the connection. Was there even one? There had to be. I doubted a Greater demon was picking off humans at random. But maybe he was. The day had not been a total waste.

  “Here you go, Sam,” said Sajana, as she put a large glass of red wine the size of a tall glass of beer in front of me.

  “You’re a lifesaver, Sajana.”

  My lips had barely touched my glass when another witch bumped against the bar. She was short and plump with a mane of glistening, black hair that reached her waist. She looked about fifty and mad as hell.

  “Your angel is back again, Sam,” said the witch, her dark eyes staring at me intensely.

  Oh. Crap. Not this again.

  “He’s not my angel, Rosaleen,” I said, matching her tone perfectly.

  “Got himself all beaten up again,” said Rosaleen, clearly not listening. “Drinks himself into a stupor and then harasses the hell out of everyone. It’s almost like he’s doing it on purpose. What kind of angel wants to get beaten up so close to death? By the cauldron. You need to do something about your angel.”

  “He’s not my angel.”

  Rosaleen looked at me with an expression like I’d lost my puppy on purpose. “He’s out back. Get your angel out of here before the leprechauns find him and kill him. It’s bad for business.”

  “He’s not my angel.” I opened my mouth to tell her off, but she’d disappeared behind the bar toward the kitchen.

  Cursing under my breath, I took the largest swig of wine that would fit in my mouth without having it dribble down the corners, swallowed, and made my way toward the back of the pub. A sign appeared over the back door. EXIT. EMPLOYEES ONLY.

  I pushed the metal bar and stepped out into a darkened alley. A moan escaped me.

  There, sprawled in the middle of black garbage bags, beaten within a few inches of death’s door, was an angel.

  9

  “Damn it, Kyllian,” I cried as I rushed over to him. I cringed. He was way worse up close.

  His face was bruised and swollen, and his right arm was visibly broken, one of the bones in his forearm protruding from the skin. One side of his face was puffy with dark purple bruises, his left eye swollen shut. Pink liquid spilled from a large gash on the side of his head—his angel essence mixed in with his human body’s bl
ood.

  Ah. Hell.

  Kyllian was the epitome of what an angel should look like, as though God himself had sculpted him. If you looked up angel in the dictionary, you’d find his picture with a detailed description: Tall, beautiful, broad shouldered, and built like a Roman God statue, with blond hair cut close to his scalp, skin the color of golden sand, mesmerizing blue eyes that could look almost gray, and a body that made every woman drool and every man envious. To top it off, he glowed. That’s right. All angels emitted a soft, white glow from their skin. It was faint. Humans couldn’t see it. But all us half-breeds could. Kyllian was a golden angel.

  But he didn’t look like that right now. My heart broke at the sight of him. He was too beautiful, inside and out, to look like this and to be lying in the middle of trash. He was dressed in his usual black of some stretchy material. He carried two daggers sheathed along his baldric, each long and silver and glowing. Soul blades. I couldn’t see his jacket anywhere.

  “Kyllian?” I pressed a hand on his left shoulder. “Kyllian, you need to wake up.”

  His right eye blinked and focused on me. “Sam?”

  “Yes. It’s me.” My nose wrinkled at the smell of alcohol on him. I could get drunk just on his breath. “Why do you always do this to yourself?” I knew why. He’d been doing it for more than two years.

  Tears welled in his eye. “They’re all dead, Sam. Because of me. All of them.”

  I reached out and clasped my hand on a spot on his face that wasn’t swollen or bruised. “Shhh. It’s going to be okay. I’m here now.”

  Giant tears spilled over the angel’s face. The pain I saw in that one eye had my own eyes burning. “It’s not right. Not right. It shouldn’t be this way. Why? Why does the Legion do this?”

  I swallowed. “I don’t know.” Which was the truth.

  Two years ago, the Legion of angels had sent Kyllian on a mission. He was ordered to kill a group of demon shifters. Turns out the demons weren’t so much demons but humans practicing some ritual. It was a massacre. Two kids had been killed along with twelve other humans.