Ivy Cross and the Monarch of Darkness (Dark Inquisitor Series Book 1)

by A. D. Winter

I looked back at Freddy. He was gripping his wrist in pain, the corners of his mouth sprouting canines as his eyes welled with anger.

  “You dare harm the blood of the dragon?” he demanded.

  I rolled my eyes. “Dragon, schmagon. You’re all the same to me: bloodsuckers in overpriced suits.”

  He glanced at the sleeve of his jacket. “This cost thousands.”

  “You were robbed.”

  He drew a sword from behind his back and charged at me with frightening speed. The blade whistled through the air as it came for my face. But I dodged its attack, leaning to the side, then spinning around to escape its reach.

  He came at me again—so fast that I couldn’t even step to the side. But I caught his blade just in time, stretching out my nunchucks and blocking the attack with the connective chain.

  The impact was tremendous.

  My arms trembled, and I was nearly thrown back from the force of it.

  Freddy snorted. “You see, you’re no match for—”

  Before he could finish, I roundhoused him across the face, and he fell back into the street, stunned by the power of my strength.

  Glaring at me from the concrete, he touched his mouth, and his eyes blazed a furious red as he saw the blood dripping from his fingers.

  “I’ll never understand why you vampires like to talk so much,” I said.

  The corner of his mouth quirked into a smile. “Try living a thousand years alone,” he said.

  “No, thanks,” I replied.

  He rose to his feet, fixing his jacket, and tightened his hand into a fist. Drops of blood dripped onto the blade, and it suddenly glowed a frightening red.

  The Blood of the Dragon, I knew, an ancient spell used by the descendants of Dracula to increase the power of their weapons. It was a dark magic—one that I had to be wary of.

  But I had my own magic.

  I took a deep breath and called upon the power of my spirit. It burned to life, awakening the tattooed serpent slithering down my arm, and went to work. It infused my muscles with power, cleared my soul, and protected my aura with an ancient magic that glowed along my skin.

  Freddy charged at me with a scream, swinging his blade for my face. But with the power of my spirit, he was no match.

  I swung my chucks at his head, then side-kicked him in the back, sending him into the building across the street. His body tore through the wall, crashing through the bricks, and disappeared somewhere inside.

  Careful, I waited.

  When nothing happened, I decided to go check on him.

  I strode through a wisp of fog, marching up the debris and into the building.

  When I found him, he was lying on the ground, a steel rod poking out of his chest, blood seeping from his mouth.

  “You think my death means anything?” he managed through his coughs. “This is just the beginning. You have no idea what is in store for you, or for your precious little fae.”

  “No,” I said, hanging my nunchucks around my neck and pulling out a pair of cuffs from my belt. “But I’m going to find out.”

  I was just about to cuff him when I noticed something. He was reaching for the splintered two-by-four lying next to him.

  No!

  With one last grin, he shoved the splintered wood into his chest, digging it so deep that it ripped out of his back. Fire crawled up the length of the wood, and in one frightening moment, his entire body exploded in a blast of flame that threw me from the building.

  I flew across the street and crashed into a pair of trash cans outside. They toppled over, and I was instantly covered in a heap of garbage. The stench was horrible. Rotting vegetables. Stale milk. I lifted myself up from the mess, grossed out by the banana peel hanging from my shoulder, which I quickly knocked away. Ew.

  Staggering back into the street, I stared at the plume of smoke lifting from the demolished building, and sighed.

  Rats …

  Why? Why had he killed himself? Vampires were notorious for being selfish jerks. It didn’t make sense for him to do this.

  I cast my gaze about the street, shaking off the daze of the impact, and that was when I remembered.

  The fae!

  I spun around and saw her standing on the other side of the street. She was clasping her shoulders, shaking in fear.

  I raised my hands up and faked my best smile. “It’s okay,” I assured her. “You’re safe now. I promise.”

  She took a step back, eyes open and still.

  “Whoa,” I said. “Relax. I’m not going to hurt you, okay?”

  For a long while, she didn’t move. But then, from the alley, a cat leaped onto one of the trash cans, and knocked it over.

  The fae gasped in fear and sped off.

  Rats!

  I set off after her, hurrying down the street, but she was fast, even without her wings. When I turned the corner, I found her running up the steps of an abandoned church.

  Argh, why do the victims always have to run away?

  I rushed up the steps of the aging building and into the entrance. Inside, it was dark, and the air was stale. Statues of saints stood along the walls, while paintings of old men in white vestments stared down at me with thoughtful smiles.

  I narrowed my eyes, using the power of my spirit to enhance my senses. The fae’s signature was faint, but there. Yet there was something oddly peculiar about it—as if it were being masked somehow.

  I passed through the antechamber and into the nave, glancing around at the rows of empty pews. Suddenly the decorative torches along the walls erupted in flame, and my heart leaped in my chest.

  Dark magic.

  It was here.

  And there was a lot of it.

  I’d only taken a few stops when I saw her. She was standing by the altar, her lavender eyes glowing bright with menacing power. For a moment, she just stood there, but then her eyes rolled back in her head, and she was suddenly thrust into the air, where she was held by some powerful and mysterious force.

  She struggled to break free, but the force was too strong. It started to snap her arms and crack her fingers, causing her to cry out in pain.

  I rushed up the aisle, trying to reach her, but I never got the chance.

  The same terrible force that was holding her in place hurled me across the church, and I was slammed against the wall, unable to move.

  “You dare test me?”

  The voice was deep and terrifying. It rumbled through the church like an earthquake. I looked around, searching for its source, only to be surprised to find that it was coming out of the fae’s mouth.

  She was … possessed.

  “Who are you?” I demanded.

  “I am the whisper from the shadow, the howl in the wind, the thunder in the storm. But soon all will know me as the Monarch of Darkness.”

  The reek of sulfur filled my senses, and I suddenly felt the burn of fire along my skin. It was horrible. I didn’t know what to do. And then, just as I felt like I was about to die, the voice left and the pain disappeared.

  I fell to my knees, gasping for air. In the distance, I heard a thud. I looked up. The fae.

  I hurried to her side. Her skin was cold, and her brow was covered in sweat. I gave her a shake, hoping she would stir.

  But she didn’t.

  She was dead.

  I fell back on my heels, stunned by what had just happened. It had all occurred so quickly. One second I was chasing a frightened fae, the next she’d been overcome by a terrible spirit, and I was nearly burned to death.

  I looked around, searching for a clue. There had to be something. A sign. A mark. Some kind of hint that could lead me in the right direction. And then I saw it. There, on the ground, next to the fae’s body. A purple vial.

  I quickly picked it up and examined it closely. It was small, barely the size of a thumb, but imposing nonetheless. I held it up to the light of the torch, took a sniff, then frowned at the peculiar scent.

  What’s this?

  It was then, as I wa
s studying the purple glass cylinder, that I felt their presence. The magical signatures approaching outside.

  They’ve found me.

  I quickly hid the vial in my jacket and drew my nunchucks. They weren’t going to catch me unawares.

  The doors of the entrance swung open, and pouring into the church were the deadly hunters I’d hoped to evade. Armed with swords and axes, they quickly spread out, and I was suddenly surrounded, with no chance of escaping.

  From their number, a handsome young man with a mocking grin appeared. “Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

  I met his gaze. “What are you doing here, Luis?”

  “What does it look like?” He glanced over my shoulder at the dead fae lying on the ground. “Apparently, you’ve been a very bad girl.”

  3

  Ivy

  “It’s not what you think,” I said, warding him back with a raised finger.

  “Oh, no?” He wasn’t convinced, and he quickly motioned to the inquisitor at his side, who took out a pair of manacles from his jacket.

  “And who are those for?” I asked.

  “Do you even have to ask?” he replied.

  I couldn’t deny that it looked bad, but the least they could’ve done was give me a chance to explain. Unfortunately, they weren’t as accommodating. They pulled my arms behind my back and cuffed my wrists, dragging me forward like an average criminal.

  “We all knew this was just a matter of time,” Luis said, sharing a smile with one of the other inquisitors, a tall redhead with pouty lips. “You see, a criminal can only hide their true nature for so long.”

  “I didn’t do it,” I told him.

  “Sure,” he said, kneeling next to the body and pulling back one of the eyelids to reveal a lavender pupil. “And this isn’t a real fae.”

  “I’m telling you the truth,” I said. “I was set up.”

  “By whom?” he asked.

  I moved to speak but found that I had absolutely no idea.

  “That’s what I thought,” he said with a grin. “But don’t worry, the Tower will get the answers we need.” He touched the travel stone hanging around his neck, and a giant whirlpool appeared in the air.

  “After you,” he said with a wave of his arm.

  I stepped into his face, my arms still cuffed behind my back. “Ladies first.”

  His lips twisted in frustration, and he quickly motioned to the two inquisitors flanking me. They gripped me by the arms and shoved me forward.

  The dreaded portal, the bridge between the world of man and the world of magic.

  I hated it.

  According to the shamans, it was a safe mode of transportation. But I knew better. We’d all heard the stories. The dismemberments. The deformations. The eternity of being lost in a void of never-ending blackness. It was enough to give you nightmares for the rest of your life.

  But we all had to use them at some point.

  The portal flushed us through a pipe of blending colors, swishing us around and around until our minds were just slush and we could barely think.

  When we were finally sneezed out onto the cobblestone street of the city, I was met with a dark yet familiar scene.

  Downtown Salvation in all its glory.

  The night air was chilly, and the cloud-filled sky was marked by gloom. It was the perfect backdrop for dread and danger, and I loved every bit of it.

  It’d only been a day since I’d left on my mission, but I’d already found myself missing the dirty world of my youth.

  “Let’s go!” Luis yanked me forward and led me down the street.

  The other inquisitors fell back, but not too far. They weren’t fools, not like Luis. They knew who I was, and what I could do. Luis, on the other hand, was always overconfident.

  We walked along the cobblestone streets of downtown Salvation toward the Onyx Tower, looming in the distance. It had been built centuries ago, after the Minstrel of Woe had been defeated and sentenced to a living grave beneath the city, where even now thirteen magic users and thirteen shamans toiled every second of the day to keep it from rising.

  It was a dreadful sight, and I felt the painful sting of worry as I stole a glance at one of its higher windows.

  “It’ll be your new home in just a bit,” Luis said. “Just a couple more hours.”

  “I already told you,” I said. “I didn’t do it.”

  “It won’t matter,” he said. “With all the evidence I have on you, not even your beloved benefactor can help you.”

  I shot him a glare, one that said I was going to bust his face the first second I had the chance. He looked away.

  Luis was a chosen, like me—an orphan who’d been raised in the Forgotten Quarter, where life was cheaper than brass. But there was a distinct difference between us.

  He was ambitious; I wasn’t.

  The thought of becoming a high inquisitor or even a lord sergeant seemed like a headache to me. But not to him. He’d already received two letters of recommendation, making him two shy of a lord sergeant. But he was a goody two-shoes who played by the rules. I, fortunately enough, was not.

  Sure, I was impulsive, irresponsible, rude, a little violent—okay, maybe a lot violent—but no one was perfect, right? No, I was happy with who I was, even if I did feel a bit lonely now and then.

  Luis glanced over his shoulder at me, seeming poised to make some dumb comment. He didn’t disappoint. “You know, when Barton gave me the order to arrest the Pale Fury, I nearly fainted.”

  “It’s called menopause,” I said, wrenching my arm free of his grip. “You should see a shaman about it.”

  “You can make fun of me all you want,” he said. “But once you’re gone, there’ll be no distractions. And I’ll get all the credit I deserve.”

  “Good for you,” I told him.

  The processing station was packed tonight. Criminals, cuffed and beaten, stood in line, waiting to be booked by one of the clerks managing the check-in counter.

  It was worse than usual.

  But what could I expect?

  The city was struggling. Elves. Orcs. Goblins. Every magical creature from lore and mythology, all nestled within the confines of a giant city, led by a council of fae that seemed more interested in fancy palaces than their own citizens.

  We bumped shoulders on a daily basis, trying not to kill each other at every turn. Some days we were successful. Others … not so much. But what could we do? This was part of the pact, the agreement between the fae and the humans, who still ruled the old world.

  Now magic was a myth, and the creatures of lore could live out their lives in peace, protected within the enchanted realm of Salvation, where the fae ruled and magic endured. It was a deal that was shaky at best.

  When we reached the back of the building, where the main offices were, I was met by a dreadful image.

  High Inquisitor Nelson was in a freshly pressed Edwardian jacket with a pair of riding boots that were as crisp as his demeanor. His hair was short and white and neatly combed to the side, and his mustache was curled with wax.

  As head of the Order, it was his job to oversee the day-to-day functioning of the institution. And he did so with relish, a little too much.

  We were constantly being bombarded with requests for reports and depositions, lists of suspects we’d arrested, and financial reports for the destruction of public property.

  And that was where our relationship began.

  No one in the department was responsible for more public damage than me, a fact that was not lost upon the old man every time we crossed paths.

  “I wish I’d brought an artist,” Luis whispered. “It’s not everyday I get to see the high inquisitor destroy one of his underlings.”

  “You’re just jealous because he actually knows who I am.”

  Luis’s grip tightened around my arm as he gave me another yank.

  As much as I dreaded being lectured by the high inquisitor, it was nothing compared to having to face the figure standing n
ext to him.

  The middle-aged man with dark brown hair leveled his gaze at me, and I felt the worry in my chest deepen.

  James “Lightfoot” Barton was considered by most to be one of the greatest inquisitors in the Order. He was also, coincidentally, the man who’d saved me as a child.

  “Look at him,” Luis whispered. “He looks like he’s going to burst.”

  I rolled my eyes in annoyance. But it was true. Barton did indeed look angry, even worse than usual.

  I’d often wondered what went on in that square head of his. Was it all just anger and brutality? Or were there moments of peace and lucidity? I doubted it. Barton was born a fighter, who lived like a drunken monk—not the best combination.

  The one thing I did know, though, was he didn’t look happy.

  “High Inquisitor,” Luis said with a bow, doing his best to make an impression on the old man. He’d been trying this act for years, desperately seeking the recognition of his superior. Unfortunately for him, he was met with the usual reply: obliviousness.

  “Ms. Cross,” Nelson said, completely ignoring Luis. “What a surprise.”

  “I assure you, High Inquisitor, it’s not what you think.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “I’m sure it’s much worse.”

  “Lose the cuffs,” Barton ordered.

  “But, my lord,” Luis began in protest, “she was caught holding the body of a dead fae … in the human world, no less.”

  “Yes, yes,” Barton said in frustration. “I spoke with the witches in intelligence. I’m fully abreast of the situation.”

  “But she’s still armed, my lord,” Luis quickly added.

  “As is every inquisitor in this building,” Barton replied. “I’m sure that if Ms. Cross decided that she wanted to kill one of us, we would be able to rely upon the entire department for our defense.”

  “But, my lord …”

  Barton’s eyes narrowed at the young inquisitor, and Luis instantly shrank under his gaze.

  Swallowing his frustration, he unlocked my cuffs and stepped away, becoming the good little soldier he strove to be. “Is there anything else, my lord?” he asked with a bow.

  “Yes,” Barton said, opening up the door to his office and motioning for me to enter. “You can leave us alone.”