by LJ Swallow
"Get him out of here," says Morgan.
I focus my eyes on the creature through the dim light.
What the fuck?
This is a dog and one I’ve seen before. Well, a hound three times the size of most normal dogs. His coat is a familiar deep brown, almost black. The fiery orange tinge to his fur appears when he’s threatened or aggressive—thankfully it’s not surrounding him now.
I pull open the door. "That's Spot!"
Two pairs of eyes meet mine. "What?" asks Cillian.
"Spot. I once rescued him from the Horsemen. Kinda. I haven't seen him since... well, the day after. I mean, not for sure. I used to imagine he followed me. But that might've been the booze."
This dog stepped through a portal that Crazy God opened last year, and I found him wandering around an English National Park the same day. I leashed the dog and took him to my car because he looked lost and frightened. I’ve always loved dogs and know their body language. Sure, he could’ve ripped me apart with his teeth, but I sensed he was lost. I’d presumed he was connected to demons already living in the world. I’d decided to discover who and help him home.
The scorn I received from the Horsemen for helping pissed me off. How was I to know he came through a portal? They threatened to kill him; I told them to back off because he hadn’t hurt anyone. I know Spot attacked them when he first emerged from the portal, but the poor thing was terrified and he didn’t injure them. Not really. I told Ewan that Spot was protecting himself. After more of my pleas, Ewan wavered and agreed not to kill him—immediately.
Locking Spot in the Four Horsemen’s shed overnight bought me time while I decided what to do. The next morning, I found the door open and Spot gone.
Morgan laughs, with more mirth than I’ve seen from this grumpy guy. "You called him Spot?"
"I'll tell you the story some time. Why is he here?"
The two men glance at each other and Cillian nods. "We found him too. He helps us out."
I chuckle. "Oh, so did the dog sign a contract too?"
Cillian shakes his head and stands. "I'll move him. Uh. Spot probably thought he was protecting you. Maybe he sensed your mark and the danger you're in."
I crouch down and meet the animal's eyes, then reach out and rub his muzzle. His coat is rough against my fingers, breath hot. The dog looks back at me and pushes his head into my hand.
Spot remembers me.
"I don't mind, he can stay. Maybe he could sleep in my bedroom? I'd feel safer then?"
"No!" exclaims Cillian, then he clears his throat. "Not a good idea."
"Whoa. Okay. Just saying, since you're concerned about me."
Morgan chews his mouth and looks down at the dog. "I think it's best if he sleeps back in his usual spot. We’re still unsure how dangerous he is."
I bark a laugh. "Spot's spot."
With a smile and shake of his head, Cillian turns to walk away, patting his leg to indicate the dog should follow. Head bowed, Spot pulls himself to his feet and does.
"I'm impressed you have him under control," I say to Morgan.
He looks at me then takes a good look at the amount of naked skin I have on show. "Eyes here." I point to my face.
"Sorry. You're distracting, Syv. You're one hell of a girl."
"Thanks. I think."
He runs his hand along his hair and sighs. "Sorry I'm rude. There's shit happening in my life that's really stressing me, and I freaked out that you wouldn't help."
"Shit like the Horsemen hunting you because you're a Dweller?"
He smiles. "That's one issue. I'll explain the other another time. But one thing..." I tip my head, waiting for his answer. "You can be annoying, Syv. Please stop."
"Huh?"
"Your mouth. Attitude. The constant sarcasm barrier drains me. Don't push us away, you need us."
I'm about to retort that I don't need anybody when he finishes with a "good night" and turns away.
Back in my room, I climb into bed and leave the lamp on. What the hell is Spot doing here?
How the hell is he here?
As I drift to sleep with memories of my strange day, I hear shuffling at the edge of my consciousness. Something bangs my door, as if slumping against it.
If I'd had the energy, or trust, I'd climb from my bed and let Spot into the room.
But there's a reason the two guys were hesitant to let him stay near me. And I don't want to discover why.
5
I weigh up whether to stay in the strange Institute or go home. My curiosity and nerves follow me to breakfast, along with indecision. Breakfast options at the Institute are limited. I'm a bacon sandwich girl, especially if I've a busy day ahead. These guys eat that sawdust cereal that has fruit in. Muesli? I stick to toast and enough coffee to wire me up for whatever they have planned. My disturbed sleep means I’m less awake than I'd like.
"Spot," I say. "Where is he?"
Cillian looks up from his bowl, bright blue eyes distracting me. Morgan glances at him. "Not sure."
"Do you have many demon dogs here? Or just him?"
"Just him."
Evasive much? "I imagine other Dwellers who live here are demons, but I'm surprised you let vicious animals roam the place. Shouldn't you lock him up or something? Dogs can be unpredictable."
Morgan shakes his head and spoons more cereal into his mouth. Cillian continues to hold my gaze. "We don't own him. He's here for protection, as most are. Didn't the Horsemen try and kill him?"
"How do you know that?" I ask sharply.
Cillian blinks, betraying more than he'd like. What is this? "Because he was a Dweller wandering the world. That's what the Horsemen do."
The door bangs as Dex strides into the room. He pours coffee before sitting at the table. "What are you talking about? What did the Horsemen do?"
"Killed Dwellers," puts in Cillian.
"They only kill troublemakers," I protest. "And I'm sure Spot gets a free pass for saving Xander's life."
"Spot?" Dex frowns from beneath his fringe.
"The dog you all adopted. The one who slept outside my room all night. Bloody snoring animal."
Morgan chuckles.
"Do you know where he is?" I ask Dex. "These guys are evasive. What's the deal?"
Dex yawns and rubs his eyes with a large palm. "He comes and goes. Don't worry, Spot is harmless."
I choke on my toast. "Sure, he is. Totally harmless with his toxic saliva and massive teeth."
"He won't hurt you," says Dex.
Throughout the exchange, Cillian has watched with an amused curve to his mouth. "I think it's hilarious you called him Spot. Why? He doesn't have any spots."
"I could tell you a story about a mythical underworld guarded by a dog, but you'd have no clue what I'm talking about, my Dweller friends." I slurp my coffee. "I know you're hiding something from me. I will find out what."
Morgan pushes his bowl to one side. "Forget Spot. We need to fix your problem."
I study my death mark. As I ate, I made my decision: I'll help them if they help me. But no contracts or commitments.
"Do we teleport to see this warlock chick, or do you have a car?" The words are muffled by the toast in my mouth.
"Pardon?" asks Cillian.
I swallow. "Teleport. Is that your usual travel method?"
"No. Ripping holes in the fabric of the world around tends to draw attention. And I need to be close to ley lines."
I smile to myself at his self-importance. "Yeah, I guess it would cause a problem in the middle of Tescos."
Morgan blinks. "Who’s Tescos?"
"A supermarket. Do you shop? I'd love the convenience of teleporting, buying groceries and then teleporting home. No bags to carry. But, I see the issue."
Cillian's mouth quirks into a smile. "I can't imagine you with shopping bags."
"A girl's gotta eat."
"I can see that." Morgan gestures at my plate. "Finished yet?"
I lick butter from my fingers, one by one. "Alm
ost."
My footsteps echo as I walk along the tiled floor, through the tall and wide entrance hall, towards the massive double doors. The uniform corridors are spotless and smell freshly cleaned and with wide windows every few metres on the right-hand side. We pass ordinary-looking people chatting in groups on the way, and they pay attention to us. How big is this place? I couldn’t tell last night as I was confined to one area, but the grounds I saw suggested a vast building.
As we step into the bright sunshine, I shield my eyes and look to the shining golden gates. I expected to see the eye symbol on the gate to match the ones inside, but the bars are smooth and straight.
The grounds are as pristine as the interior, as if somebody walks around all day removing every piece of dirt from the pavers and washes the windows daily.
I knew the place was big, but this is huge. The red brick building creates a ‘u’ shape and white-framed windows run in an orderly fashion four storeys up. An arch over the double doors contains an eye carved into the pillars, the only clue to the Institute. There’s a time warp feel to the wrought-iron Victorian-style lamp posts that line the quadrangle.
"Nice place," I say as I wander by the fountains. "Beats the dives I live in."
"You'll move here if you become part of the organisation."
I scratch my nose and look at Dex. "Yes. If."
"Or you want to be safe from demons," says Cillian.
"Or want that mark removing," adds Morgan.
I scowl at their list. "Okay, okay. I get it. You can help. Where's your car? I need to see that witch, right?"
"Warlock."
"Whatever."
Cillian leads us around a corner where a car is parked in front of a high brick wall. The sun bounces off the blue bodywork and dazzles me. I wave my hand at the Bentley. "Nice ride."
Cillian nods. "Sure is."
I walk over and stare at my reflection in the shiny bodywork. Not a car model I'd like, even if I did have a small fortune to spend on one. I immediately think of War's steed—Xander's Aston Martin. You'd think someone hunting down others would try to stay inconspicuous. There's an arrogance to Xander driving around in a car that's instantly identifiable: an 'I don't care if you know who I am'.
Cillian clicks his key fob and I hear a door open from another vehicle nearby. "Let's go."
He passes me with Dex and I look between him and the Bentley in confusion. An old Land Rover is parked towards the rear of the tarmac area, close to a couple of common models of cars.
"The Bentley is Donovan's car," says Morgan as he walks by. "No way would he let anybody touch that."
The Land Rover's bodywork rivals mine for dirt and dents. The interior leather is scuffed and, in some places, ripped. I climb in the back and wrinkle my nose at the stale smell.
Morgan picks up old food wrappers and a small rucksack from the back seat, chucks them into the boot, then gestures for me to climb in. With Cillian in the driver's seat and Dex beside him, we're set for our day's adventure.
"Where does the warlock live?" I ask.
"She has a shop in a nearby suburb. Lives above it."
"Oh, let me guess." I tap my lips. "Is it a shop filled with magic items? Crystals and fairy figurines and crap like that?"
Morgan smirks. "Yes."
I chuckle. "Of course, she has a magic shop. And I have red hair."
Morgan gives me one of his confused looks. There's something cute about his sullen face transforming when he does. The tugged brow and slightly pursed lips soften him. Does he realise that the broody aura he carries around is sexy as hell to a half-demon chick? The one who loves burrowing under people's skin and learning their secrets?
I pull a hairband from inside my pocket and capture my hair into a ponytail. "Red hair. Fits the kick-butt girl-with-mysterious-supernatural-parentage image." His confusion grows and I sigh. "Never mind. You should read some books. I suggest you start with Harry Potter, wizard." Morgan turns to Cillian. "Do you understand what she's talking about?" "Not often," he replies.
As we drive away, through the electronic gates, I shuffle down in my seat and yawn loudly. Morgan lounges beside me and pulls out his phone. Craning my neck, I attempt to spy on what he's doing, but he twists in his seat so I can't.
The journey takes us away from the city centre, through outlying suburbs until we reach the one Dana lives in. There’s no music to interrupt the silence so I grab the opportunity to catch up on some sleep.
We drive through to the centre. Cillian approaches and parks outside a small row of shops set back from the street. A smaller shop is squished between the Indian supermarket people walk out of with heavy bags, and the clothes shop with stalls outside.
A sign above reads Dana’s Den. I shake my head when I spot the fairy and dragon ornaments displayed amongst cotton wall hangings and crystal jewellery. I can’t sense magic. Everything displayed here is fake or tacky and likely imported from China. The pretty, winged fairy beside a pink jewel amuses me. If only the people jostling past knew what real fae were like. They probably work and socialise with them and have no idea.
Cillian and Morgan talk in low tones nearby. I turn to Dex, who rests against the car window, arms crossed, forearm muscles bulging. Man, he'd be tough in a fight, but I'm increasingly interested in how his strength would work out in bed.
"Are you a Dweller too?" I ask him.
He shifts and holds my gaze. "Yeah. Not elemental though."
"What are you?"
Dex's brow furrows deep. "You're nosey."
"Okay. Don't tell me. I'll figure it out. Are you a demon?" He regards me impassively. "No? I don't detect magic. Are you their bodyguard or something? Not that they need one."
"Let's go." Cillian interrupts us and gestures to the shop. "How's your arm?"
I pull up my jacket sleeve. Licking my finger, I rub the black mark. "Still there."
"That's odd," says Cillian. "The mark looks the same. There's no change in size or colour since yesterday."
"Is that unusual?" I ask hopefully.
"From what I’ve heard, they spread. We can ask Dana. She’s more involved with the demon community and knows more about the marks."
"We knew someone who had a death mark once before," replies Morgan.
"And?"
"The outcome wasn't good." A bell above the door tinkles as Morgan pushes it open.
"Oh nice. Thanks for the encouraging words." Swallowing down my fear at Morgan's comment, I follow him inside.
6
One thing I've learned since becoming part of the supernatural world is to expect the unexpected. This is true with appearances too: the fae queen school mum, the vampire rock star, the Four Horsemen drinking at their local pub... the list goes on. Who knows what a warlock could disguise herself as?
The woman standing at the counter in the shop is mid-twenties. She regards me with the darkest brown eyes I've looked into, set into a pale face. Her blue hair is as bright as Cillian's eyes and her face covered in piercings.
Yep. This is how I imagined a warlock. Dana locks the door behind us and turns over a sign to inform potential customers she'll be ‘back in five’. "Should we talk upstairs?"
We walk by shelves covered in books about crystal healing, Wiccan spells, and Tarot cards. If Dana is a warlock, these items are far from her dark magic. What else is hidden here? A curtain covered in pentagrams and skulls hangs between the shop and rooms at the building's rear, and we step through a kitchen and climb narrow stairs to a lounge room.
Dana's home matches my expectations too. Inside, dark blue walls are bordered with black, and paintings hang on each wall. I'm drawn to them, naturally, and study the pictures. Demons covered in magic symbols, dark landscapes bathed in fire and smoke. More pentagrams. Oddly, there's a photograph of a Golden Retriever sitting in a field with a red ball, tongue hanging out.
"That's Aleister." She points at the picture. "My dog. He died."
"Uh. Right. Nice name."
Unsure w
hat to say about the paintings, and aware I need to keep my tongue under control until I appraise this situation, I wander to the mantel above the fireplace. My magic sensing ability picks up on the darker force inside the curios displayed, and I'm not tempted to touch them at all. I already have a death mark, I don't want anything else cursing me. Tiny carved metal boxes rest amongst skulls carved from onyx. Tall candles in intricately wrought holders flank the items at either end of the small shelf.
I turn back and cross my arms, forcing a smile. "I'm Syv, by the way."
The mis-matched furniture is arranged haphazardly around the room, the tables and floor cluttered by books. Despite the modern lighting, Dana prefers candles—they cover surfaces. Being a clichéd warlock sure turns a home into a fire hazard.
"Dana. The guys told me you were coming with them. I don't usually allow strangers in this part of my house."
"And she's strange alright," says Morgan and throws me a smile.
"And proud of it. What do you know about this?" I yank my sleeve up. No time for pleasantries if my life shortens by the minute.
Dana crosses to me and peers at my arm. She smells strange, and I place the scent: patchouli oil and a reminder of hanging out with pot-smoking friends as a teen.
"Death mark," she says. I bite back saying 'well, we established that before we saw you.'
"We're not sure why Syv has the mark," puts in Morgan. "She’s not pure demon and everybody infected before was. But this happened when she was looking for a particular item, which we’re now worried somebody else has hold of."
Dana nods. "What were you looking for?"
"A client hired me to search for a boxed item and he didn't tell me what it was. That's not unusual. I don't ask questions."
"Who? Don’t be coy, this might help."
I huff. "Malvorn. He’s one of my main clients."
Dana snorts. "Oh, the human guy who acquires things he shouldn’t and sells them on for a nice price."
Malvorn. The only other person I work for as often is the Collector. The difference between the two is Col stores all his items and Malvorn sells his to the highest bidder. Once, I was tempted to cut out the middleman and sell the items on myself, but faced two problems. One, I don’t have the contacts, and two, I don’t like death threats.
