Night Magic: A Wing Slayer Novel

by Jennifer Lyon

  That the Ancestors in Summerland wouldn’t accept her. And if they didn’t, her soul would either die off or drift forever in the between-worlds.

  What if she couldn’t get the handfast off, couldn’t make amends, and her fear of death took hold? What if she figured she was better off as a demon witch? What if, he thought in that gloomy, painful place in his mind, he wasn’t enough to keep her with him? In addition to his own guilt, Phoenix also blamed his father. He was the man who got Sheri pregnant, pulled her away from all her family and support, then died without even telling her what he was. What her child, Phoenix, was.

  Sheri had learned from Haley just as Phoenix had.

  Then Phoenix had tried, every day of his life; he’d fought the voices for her, trying to yell over them, to keep her with him. But it hadn’t been enough.

  Now he was trying to fight a demon for Ailish. What if he still wasn’t enough? What if he failed her? Like tonight—she hadn’t listened when he’d told her to stop the magic!

  The wings on his biceps bulged and shoved, trying to get free probably to beat the cowardice out of him. The wings, the bird, loved Ailish, were desperate for her to sing and sing until the two of them sealed the soul bond and freed the bird to be her familiar. The bird wasn’t hesitant.

  Sitting there in the damp fog, he knew the truth. He wanted that handfast off first so he didn’t have to fight the demon for Ailish. So he didn’t have to put his heart and soul on the line. So he didn’t have to risk the worst failure of all … fighting for the other half of his soul, the whole of his heart, and losing.

  The bird was telling him he was a damned coward.

  A truck raced by, jerking him from his thoughts. He snapped his head around and heard a half cry, half scream from inside. Inhaling, he got a small whiff of witch blood.

  A witch was in that truck! He gunned his bike after it, staying back just far enough to avoid detection. Quickly he called in his position to the other hunters, feeling real hope that this would lead to the cadre bat cave.

  He blew past some kind of treatment plant that smelled of slimy Dumpster contents, hit a dirt road, and fought to keep from dumping the bike. His enhanced vision helped him to see well enough to get around rocks and shit in the road. Finally, he saw the truck stop up ahead.

  Towering antennas surrounded a building. Phoenix knew it used to be a small independent radio station, but it’d been bought out and the property sold. There were several vehicles. The truck stopped and the passenger got out, dragging a crying and chanting witch.

  Her blood scent hit him hard, and his veins swelled with it. They’d cut her to disable her powers. He got off the bike and started toward them, shielding himself. If he could focus his pain and lust on killing the rogues, then he could keep from killing the witch, rescue her, and get her to help. He broke into a run. The rogues had the witch between them and were hauling her toward the building. When he was three feet away, Phoenix palmed his knife, then ripped his chain off his belt hook and snapped it around the arm of one rogue, jerking hard enough to yank him off his feet and slam him to the ground.

  The other rogue threw the witch toward the building, and by the time he turned, Phoenix roundhouse kicked him in the face, knocking him fifteen feet.

  The first rogue got up and came at him. Phoenix leaped into him, knocking him to the ground and stabbing straight through to his heart. He twisted hard, making sure he was dead.

  The smell of burnt skin set off warning bells in his head. He threw himself off the rogue and rolled.

  He felt something fly by his shoulder but miss, leaving the stink of sulfur.

  He rolled to his feet and whipped around, trying to find it. Was Quinn Young here with his Immortal Death Dagger? He heard the sound of a truck barreling up the road, but he focused on that smell.

  Something tugged at his brain, some memory.

  Then he saw the small knife, no bigger than his hand but black as sin, flying toward him. What the fuck? That wasn’t the Immortal Death Dagger from Young’s arm! He dived, and it missed. Dirt filled his nose and mouth, but adrenaline pumped like cheap beer. He jumped to his feet, turned around, and oh fuck, now there were two of those mini-daggers reeking of burnt skin and sulfur!

  He snapped his chain, knocking both knives to the ground. They bounced off, shot back up, and came at him again.

  The truck was closer. He darted a quick look as he evaded the two knives once more. Key’s truck, he realized as he worked his way toward it, still evading the two knives.

  A sharp pain arrowed into his back, right into his kidney. Instant, blinding agony boiled through him. Two thoughts exploded in his mind—there had been a third mini-dagger … and that mark he’d seen on Young?

  Young was somehow making mini–Death Daggers.

  Darkness closed in as he heard the truck squeal to a stop.

  His final thought was of Ailish, his siren. Now she’d never sing for him. Wing Slayer, he called out in his mind, protect her.

  DAYS REMAINING ON HANDFAST CONTRACT: TEN

  Ailish heard all the noise and jumped up out of Phoenix’s bed. Morgan and Joe were in the second guest room. Carla and Darcy had taken Phoenix’s office. Her first thought was that Morgan was in trouble. She jerked on a pair of sweatpants and ran out.

  The noise was coming from the front of the house. The alarm wasn’t blaring, so the men must be back. She heard Axel’s and Sutton’s voices, and another man she didn’t recognize. Where was Phoenix?

  She hurried out to the living room.

  “Where do we put him?”

  “Who?” Ailish’s voice came out a bellow. Fear snaked up her throat. Her heart beat fast.

  “His room,” Axel said, then his hands were on her arms. “Ailish, Phoenix has been hit. We don’t know what the hell happened! It’s just a stab, but he’s bad.”

  Ailish heard men moving past her, carrying Phoenix. The entire house was up. She felt a wave of magic ripple through her. Darcy and Carla?

  Phoenix was hurt. Bad. The word burst through her head, and she jerked her arms from Axel’s hold, turned, and ran back into the bedroom. The magic was building, thickening. Her chakras bounced and pinged, then shot open, rushing from her pelvis to her throat. She stopped halfway into the room. The witches were chanting. She tried to see.

  A hand came down on her shoulder. “Two women are standing at the edge of the bed on this side.” Dee’s voice anchored her. “Other men are in the room. Phoenix is on the bed, lying on his right side. His back is bloody about here”—she touched Ailish behind her left kidney—“and it looks serious. He’s hardly breathing, almost gray in color.”

  Hot tears filled her eyes, her powers surged until her skin hurt, her throat spasmed. She couldn’t say anything, instead she let herself be led to him. Dee pushed her between the nightstand and Carla. “How bad?”

  “I see it with my third eye,” Carla said, then she gasped. “It’s the Immortal Death Dagger. A little one, some kind of clone, hit him. Oh no! He’s dying!”

  Darcy yelled, “We’re losing him! His spirit is leaving!”

  “No!” Ailish reached out and laid her hand on his face. His skin was cool and strange. “No! He can’t die!” He’d saved her life, given her his blood. Held her, fought for her. He’d called her his happy ending.

  “Save him!” a male voice filled with furious grief bellowed behind her. “Ailish, you’re his soul mirror, save him!”

  “Key, they aren’t bonded,” Carla said in a choked voice. “Her blood won’t do it.”

  “Try!” Key demanded.

  The force of his pain mixed with hers. Why hadn’t she bonded with him? Then her blood could save him!

  Because she’d been a coward. Afraid to be responsible for his soul. Now his soul was leaving. Bone-cracking shudders rolled up through her chakras in a desperate plea. As the room shrouded in gut-wrenching grief, Ailish refused to lose.

  She’d fight.

  She scrambled over his limp body, grabbed his knif
e, and cut her hand. The hot slash of pain only fed her urgency. Kneeling by his hips, she slapped her bleeding hand on Phoenix’s wound. The she lifted her chest, sucked in a breath, and released the song of her soul:

  Breath of life

  In my cry

  From the flames

  Wings shall rise

  “What’s she doing?”

  Darcy answered, “It’s her Siren’s Song, Key. She’s trying to call the phoenix from the ashes of death.”

  “Sing, Ailish,” Key said in a raw prayer.

  Her voice rose as she poured every scrap of power into it.

  Aching in beauty

  Tears of healing

  More power joined hers, flowing through Ailish with love and warmth. Dropping his knife, she put her other hand on his tattoo. Movement! She felt the feathers stir!

  Wings of my soul

  Soar to my call

  Pausing only to draw more air into her lungs, she went on:

  Breath of life

  In my cry

  “The wings are rising!” Carla cried out. “The flames are fully colored, and the wing is lifting out!”

  From the flames

  Wings shall rise

  Aching in beauty

  Tears of healing

  Phoenix opened his eyes, and a blinding gold light seared his retinas. “Christ—” He squeezed his eyes shut. Was this what a hangover felt like?

  “No, Wing Slayer.”

  He snapped his eyes open and sat up. “Huh?” He turned from the searing gold spotlight and looked right. “A bridge?” It shimmered, as if not quite there. Looked rickety as hell, too. Where the hell was he?

  “To Summerland. Hasn’t taken shape yet.”

  He couldn’t process what that meant and stared at the wavy image, trying to bring it into focus. Was he dreaming? His memory was kind of vague. Giving up on the flickering bridge, he slowly shifted his gaze. At first he saw nothing but emptiness, and then …

  There was no mistaking what he saw. “Wing Slayer.” At over seven feet tall, the being was huge. His massive arms were wrapped in bronze bands stamped with wings, the wings of all his hunters. His face was cut strong and square, with a straight nose. The toga getup was weird as hell, but with all the muscles rippling everywhere on the god, it was doubtful anyone hassled him.

  But his wings … Phoenix shaded his eyes, trying to see them. His wingspan had to be fourteen feet, and the arc at the top went as high as twelve feet. The tightly woven gold feathers gave off enough light to illuminate deep space. No wonder the dude popped so much muscle, those wings had to take some strength. “So what’s the deal here, did I croak?”

  A furious rumble shook … Phoenix looked down and quickly closed his eyes. There was nothing beneath him. He was just … floating. He hated heights. The shaking continued. “Keep that up and I’m gonna puke.”

  The air settled, but Wing Slayer’s voice blasted him. “You wouldn’t be in this situation, hunter, if you’d done your job.”

  Oh shit. He was getting reamed by his god. What had happened? He’d gone after that witch, found the rogue hideout, and … It all came back. Those freaky mini–Death Daggers. “I was trying to rescue the witch, but a dagger thing got me first.”

  “Not that job. Ailish. You’re her phoenix, her familiar. She can’t control that power until you bond with her. The fallout of her siren voice has given Young the ability to harvest the enhanced power in witch blood and use it to create clone daggers. They protect his lair. They only last a few hours, then he has to recharge them.”

  The god’s voice was so huge and powerful, it rumbled every cell in his body. That seemed to jar his memory even more, so that he recalled the pain of that dagger and the way it had drained all his strength until there was nothing but blackness. And then there was what he saw when the rogues attacked him. “I saw a burn mark on Young’s arm. He’s growing them on his body, probably spawned by the original Immortal Death Dagger and a lot of witch blood.” He’d known Young was up to something.

  Wing Slayer narrowed his eyes into gold beams. “You’re smart enough to figure this out, but not to see that you were given the privilege of a soul mirror, of being the legendary phoenix to the siren witch? You and Ailish have been together century after century. Never before did you think she wasn’t good enough!”

  The roar of those last words blew him back a dozen feet, and he landed on his ass as if there were a floor beneath him instead of nothing but black air. “I was a bird those times! Not a man!” He ran his hand over his face and discovered he was sweating. Calming down, he said reasonably, “She’s handfasted to a demon.”

  “She’s not your problem now, is she? She’s down there alone.”

  He jumped to his feet, finding a solid surface somehow. “Ailish!” He fought down the panic and forced himself to think. He’d screwed up, he acknowledged that. Letting the handfast scare him off because he was worried he couldn’t win the fight for Ailish against a demon. It shamed him, but could he fix it? “Am I dead? Can I get back to her?”

  “You are nearly dead. I met your spirit and we took a detour.” He crossed his arms—two slabs of rippled concrete covered with deep golden brown skin. “Asmodeus is not the only one who can play with the rules.” His wings twitched, similar to a panther twitching its tail right before it strikes and kills.

  Fear wasn’t something he felt often, but this deity gave off vibes. Killer vibes. “So …?”

  He sucked in a breath. “I’m waiting. I believe the siren witch will show what she’s made of and call you. As long as I haven’t taken you over the bridge—which is only symbolic, but you get the idea—you can go back.”

  “You’re outsmarting the demon!”

  He rose higher and looked down. “It would be easier if my hunters did their jobs. When Ailish is fully bonded to you, the two of you together will control her siren power. The residue that is giving Asmodeus, the rogues, and demon witches this boost will die off.” The being swelled, growing even bigger as he added, “These witches, they are the key to booting the demon off Earth entirely. It’s the one thing Asmodeus will never understand, the witches and their core of love.”

  Phoenix felt the sincerity of the god’s words vibrate in his chest. “Why do you? Understand, I mean.” Axel had told him that Wing Slayer had strong feelings about the witches. But now he was seeing it, feeling it. How did that happen? “You’re half demon, you grew up in the Underworld.”

  His light eyes took on red, the gold light in his wings darkened, and things beneath his skin began to shift. Phoenix was stunned when he saw two protrusions pushing at the top of his forehead. Horns? His deep bass voice snarled, “Think I need a history lesson from you, hunter?”

  His skin pebbled, his hair stood up, his heart tried to escape his chest. Phoenix was seeing the demon side of the god struggling to get out. For the first time in his life, he shut the fuck up.

  “Wise,” Wing Slayer said in approval, going fully back to his god form. Then he added, “I met a witch when I was on Earth centuries ago. Asmodeus was furious and—” He stopped talking, his wings brightening. “Ah. She’s calling you.”

  Ailish’s voice washed over him, her notes powerful as they reached into his head, heart, and blood to take root. He’d never felt anything as sensual and compelling. Already he sensed himself moving.… “Wait, how do we break the handfast?”

  “Fight for her, die for her, whatever it takes. Don’t let Asmodeus win!”

  Ailish’s voice took dominance, and everything else faded away. There was nothing but her voice guiding him, drawing him, and then he felt her tears on his arm. Her fingers stroked his tat while her voice filled the room, reaching, seeking …

  Wings of my soul

  Soar to my call

  Energy flooded his body; he opened his eyes and saw her.

  His Ailish. Wearing black sweats, another of her little tanks, her chest lifted high, her head tilted back, as she sang with such force, such tremendous magic, it
made the bed itself shudder. A glass shattered somewhere, and things fell to the floor. Yet she never stopped, never paused. Her coconut-scented power wound deep inside him. He was on his side with his back to the doorway of the room. He rolled onto his back and swept his gaze around in a protective reflex to make sure she was safe.

  His bedroom was in shambles—his closet spilled out, drawers tossed, books, keys, and assorted items littering the ground. Even the paint on the walls cracked and dripped. Ailish’s siren voice had demolished his room. Six people stood around the bed: Axel, Sutton, Key, Darcy, Carla, and Dee. He could feel Darcy and Carla’s magic, see the ravaged faces of his friends.

  None of that mattered.

  Only Ailish, his siren witch, the glory of her voice second only to the beauty of her. He reached up to her face, cupping her strong jaw. “Ailish, my siren.”

  “Out,” Axel ordered.

  Phoenix heard them all leave the room, heard the door shut tightly. He was alone with the woman who had the power to call him back from death.

  He pulled her down into a kiss. Her taste flooded through him.

  His god had commanded he fight for her. In that moment, he knew a profound truth: He would give his soul for her.

  Cradling her face, he tugged his mouth from hers, then he flipped her beneath him. Her lips were swollen and wet, and he groaned. With his elbows braced on the bed, he used his thumbs to caress her scars and said, “You’re mine. You have always been mine. I heard your birth cry … and I heard you call me back from death. I will always hear your call, my beauty, and I will always rise for you.”

  She reached up and skimmed her fingers over his jaw, his cheeks, his eyes. “My voice is yours. All this time I thought the power was mine. I fought to keep the demon from getting it, and I thought it was for me.” Tears welled in her eyes. “But it’s for you, it’s to bring you to the world that needs you. I had to sing, had to call you back, my hunter, my phoenix.”