by SM Reine
“Whoa there,” I said, standing back with my hands lifted, unsure if I should try to help her. “Be careful. The femoral artery—”
“It didn’t hit anything major. Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.” She sounded calm, but she was sweating. She glared at me with furious blue eyes. “This is sacred ground. Isobel should have been safe here.”
“What happened? Was it an incubus?”
Ann frowned. “No, it was a guy dressed like you.” I was dressed for work—so, black suit, white shirt, black tie. OPA standard. Probably Eduardo.
“Do you know where he took her, Ann?”
“He said something about a pit when he dragged her out of here,” Ann said. “That’s all I know.”
“Wait. A pit, or The Pit?”
“Dunno.” She wiped her blood off the dagger with her forefinger, then rubbed it on the shaft of the scepter. I couldn’t help but recoil. The blood was…vanishing. Like the scepter was drinking it up. Any urge I’d had to protect this girl was suddenly gone. Isobel was right. Ann didn’t need to be saved by anyone—definitely not my responsibility.
“Do you need me to take you to a hospital?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.
“We’ll be fine,” Ann said.
We? Hadn’t she said that she was alone? I backed away from her, eyeing the darkening streets outside the shattered windows. I needed to get out before the Needles realized I was there—and before the worse demons came out to play.
I left Ann alone in the darkness.
26
The Olive Pit should have been open at six o’clock in the evening, but its neon sign was turned off and the windows were dark. I sat across the street in the Charger for a good long minute, arguing silently with myself over how I should approach it: Go in alone, or call for backup?
Procedure said that I should call for help. We were expected to work with a certain level of autonomy—probably more than the real FBI were—but when it came to situations potentially involving firearms, we were supposed to get Union support. If a witch cast a spell at me, I could cancel it out with my own magic, but magic didn’t do much against bullets. And Eduardo would definitely be armed.
But I didn’t know whom to call anymore. Suzy had been arrested for a murder she couldn’t have committed by the company we worked for. Eduardo and Joey were definitely bad guys. And Fritz—who knew about Fritz? He had contributed to Suzy’s arrest, too.
I sent a text message to one of the only phone numbers I had memorized then got out of the car.
The windows were unlit, but the curtains were open, so I peered inside. There was a light on in the kitchen, but everything else was turned off.
Silhouettes moved in front of the illuminated doorway. I counted them.
Five distinct men. I could tell them apart by their heights and clothing. And those were just the ones I could see.
I sat against the side of the building as I considered my odds, hiding out of sight from the men inside. Handling a single witch was easy. That was what I did best. Stalking them, figuring out their patterns, slipping a sleeping potion into their coffee. No confrontation necessary.
But five guys—I didn’t know where to begin.
“You really think this is time for a drink?”
I whirled. Domingo stood in the mouth of the alley. He wore another comfortable sweatsuit and carried a brown paper bag.
“You got here fast,” I said.
“I saw on the news that Agent Takeuchi is going to trial for the waitress’s murder, so I figured you were declared innocent. I was already on my way to bring you dinner at your apartment. Up for celebratory junk food?” He tipped the bag and the smell of cheeseburgers wafted through the air.
I hadn’t been hungry until that moment. I snagged his sleeve, pulled him down to the ground with me, tore into the bag. “We’ve got a problem,” I said around a mouthful of burger. “There are at least five men inside this building and they’re holding Isobel captive.”
Domingo tensed. “So you texted me?”
“I can’t handle it alone.”
“Call in backup! You’re with the FBI!”
I swallowed down one of the burgers. “Actually, I’m not. I work for a secret government department called the Office of Preternatural Affairs. We handle witches gone bad and demons and stuff. I don’t know if I can trust anyone with the OPA now. All I know is I can trust you.”
He made the time out symbol with his hands. “You shitting me?”
“What? Abuelita’s a witch, we’re witches. Are demons that weird?”
“No, I knew about demons. I mean this Office of Whatever the Fuck.”
“You knew about demons?”
“Do you think you’re the only one Ofelia talks to? Yes, I know about demons. But I thought that secret government stuff was some tinfoil hat bullshit.”
“Oh yeah, newsflash. Secret government agencies exist. I work for one.” I shrugged. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone, but I figure this is better than getting killed. So—ideas?”
Domingo sat back against the wall, staring up at the sliver of sky we could see between the two buildings. Clouds were moving in again. Smelled like rain. He was probably thinking about what I’d told him, but I knew it wouldn’t take him long to wrap his brain around it. My brother was tough as fuck.
“Isobel,” he said after a minute. “The woman you were telling me about.”
“Yeah. The woman.”
“She worth saving?”
Was she? She’d stolen Suzy’s Glock and gotten my friend detained. But she’d also been taken by Eduardo or Joey. If she’d framed Suzy, then she needed to come to justice—and not the vigilante kind.
The thought of turning Isobel over to the OPA didn’t sit well, either.
Cross that bridge once I come to it.
“She’s worth it,” I said.
Domingo grabbed the last burger out of the bag and scarfed it down. Once he was done, he wiped his hands off on his sweats and stood up. “’Kay. I’ve got an idea.”
+ + +
Domingo had everything he needed in the trunk of his car—his “mobile command center,” he joked. He tossed me a big black can of salt and a skein of yarn and told me to help him circle the building. He’d take the north and east sides; I’d take the west and south.
“Don’t let anyone see you,” I warned him.
Domingo flashed a dazzling smile. “Me?”
This was the guy that had once stolen a dozen MacBook Pro laptops from an Apple Store while it was open—and escaped without getting caught. Casting a circle of power around a bar filled with demons unseen was nothing compared to his battle with the Geniuses.
I still moved to cast my half of the circle as fast as I could. I kept low, crouched under the windows, and unspooled the yarn as fast as possible. Then I joined up with Domingo in the back alley. He clapped his hands to close the circle, and the shock of magic was strong enough to make me sneeze twice.
“Shut up,” he said, clapping a hand over my mouth. I sneezed on him. “Sick, dude.”
I scrubbed my face clean. “What now?”
“Sleeping spell,” Domingo said. “The Cèsar Hawke Special. I got all the herbs you recommended—including passionflower—so all we have to do is amplify and project it.” He tossed a gemstone to me. An emerald the size of my thumbnail. “I’ll get the chants going over here. Put this on the western point of the circle. Once the spell activates, take the emerald and head inside with it—everyone’ll be unconscious.”
I rolled the gem over in my fingers. “Everyone?”
“Everyone but the guy holding the emerald.”
That’d make getting Isobel out tricky. But hey, it also meant skipping a fight and getting my ass kicked. I’d take it.
“What are you doing driving around with the supplies for sleeping spells?” I asked.
“I’d been planning to take it around to test it on friends. Well, covenmates. Help me tweak it a little, you know?”
He planted his hands on his hips, giving the circle’s circumference a hard look. “This should probably work.”
“Probably? I’m feeling real confident in your skills right now.”
He grinned. “Go save the woman, Cèsar.”
27
The magic was already building by the time I reached the front of the building. I was fighting so hard against the urge to sneeze that my eyes were streaming, blurring the street around me. But even though my vision was shot, I could see that one of The Pit’s windows was suddenly open.
All of the windows had been closed when I’d checked the building out earlier.
I dropped into a crouch, hiding below the windowsill. I could hear footsteps on the other side of the wall. Whoever had opened the window was still nearby.
On all fours, I crawled to the edge of the circle and set the emerald on the western point. It sparked with blue light.
Domingo’s magic surged, sudden and powerful. The sneeze caught me off-guard. My face pretty much exploded—and the sound echoed.
Shit.
The front door unlocked behind me.
I was standing by the time it swung open, but I didn’t draw my gun in time. Eduardo Costa stared at me from the other side. He looked as surprised to see me as I was to see him. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, so I could see that he had a shoulder rig with a holster under each arm.
“Cèsar,” he hissed.
I socked him in the jaw.
Eduardo didn’t even flinch.
He tackled me to the ground and we hit the pavement hard. He was heavy on top of me, knee digging into my chest, compressing my lungs. But my difficulties breathing were the least of my problems. If he moved two inches to the right, he would break Domingo’s circle of power. Scuffing that line of salt would kill the spell instantly.
Had to get him back inside the building.
Blows rained down on me fast and hard. Couldn’t even tell where Eduardo was hitting. Everything from the shoulders up hurt like fireworks detonating in my bones. I blocked my face, absorbing the contact with my forearms.
He paused to draw a gun.
It only took a second—but it was long enough. I sat up. Slammed my head into his face. Missed his nose, but sent him reeling.
The emerald flared just a few inches away from my head as Domingo’s magic snapped into place. The burst of energy meant that anyone inside the building should have gone unconscious.
Too bad Eduardo was outside.
I grabbed the emerald and held it in my fist as I swung. I knocked Eduardo’s arm aside at the same instant that he fired. The bullet went wide, smacked into the stucco exterior of The Pit. The sound was loud enough that my aching skull began to ring like a bell.
He turned to aim again. I dived, shoving him through the doorway.
We both crossed the threshold.
The instant his foot touched the ground, his eyes went blank. He rag-dolled on the ground. Caught a table on the way down. It collapsed under his weight, cracking and crashing underneath him.
I caught my breath, prepared to pass out with him.
But I was awake. The emerald was warm in my hand.
“Domingo, you genius bastard,” I whispered.
I held still for a moment, listening for the sound of others on the approach. Anyone who was awake should have heard the gunfire and come running, but my brother’s spell seemed to have worked. Everything was silent inside The Pit.
Kneeling beside Eduardo’s body, I patted him down for weapons. All I found were the two guns under his arms. They were smaller than mine—each one a Beretta 9mm, both probably Union-issued. That was a pretty standard model of gun for police and military. I still had my Desert Eagle, but I took one of pistols anyway. Having twelve extra bullets couldn’t hurt.
I checked the safety, then tucked Eduardo’s gun in the back of my belt and went looking for Isobel.
There were more bodies near the kitchen. I had expected to find Joey nearby, but was shocked to see that these men weren’t OPA employees at all—they were slender men with black hair and leather jackets. I thumbed back an eyelid on one of them. His irises were demon-black.
What was Eduardo doing hanging out with incubi?
And they weren’t just any incubi. The guy I was looking at was wearing a leather jacket pinned shut with silver needles. The wickedly sharp edges were stained brown.
These were the same fuckers who had hurt Ofelia and attacked me in Helltown.
And they had Isobel.
A storm of righteous fury and protectiveness surged in my chest. It was too easy to imagine Isobel looking like Ofelia had when I found her at the beach house. All the punctures in her ears, her nose, her lips, the back of her neck.
Not again.
I followed the beam of light through the kitchen door. That was where I found Thandy—the manager that I’d interviewed right after Erin died. She didn’t look injured, and she had a pulse. She’d be fine once Domingo lifted his spell. That accounted for four of the people I had seen in the kitchens. There was at least one other around here somewhere.
A door next to the walk-in freezer was opened. It led to basement stairs.
I headed down.
The basement was cold and dry, with a dirt floor and brick walls. They had several floor-to-ceiling racks of wine bottles, a few kegs stacked in the corner, and some other assorted liquor on the shelves. Guess it was what I would have expected to find underneath a bar.
The chair with a woman tied to it, though—I was pretty sure that wasn’t normal for a bar.
I rounded the steel chair to find that Isobel’s ankles and wrists had been tied to it. Her head drooped low, chin touching her chest. I gently pushed her head back and was relieved to see that she hadn’t been tortured yet—not with needles, anyway. She had a black eye. Her bottom lip was split open in two places. Blood had dried on her chin.
“Jesus, Izzy,” I muttered.
I holstered my gun and worked at the knot on her right wrist, picking at it with my stubby fingernails. It had been tied tightly by an expert. It wasn’t loosening. I had to resort to biting at it to get the thing undone. Thank God everyone else is unconscious. I must have looked like an insane pit bull gnawing on her ropes.
Luckily, the other knots came more easily. I was working on her left ankle when I felt Domingo’s spell fail.
A frisson of energy settled over me, like I’d stepped under one of those grocery store produce misters. Breathing became easier immediately as my nose stopped itching.
The magic was gone. The circle had broken.
And I was still in the basement of The Pit.
“Step back. Hands in the air.”
I settled back on my heels, mind racing through all of my favorite swear words, both real and invented for the situation. “You woke up fast,” I said, looking over my shoulder to see Eduardo on the stairs. He still had one gun. Guess I should have taken both of those from him.
He scrubbed a hand over his eyes. Took another two steps into the basement.
“I should be thanking you,” Eduardo said. “I thought that Erin was going to get the bounty. But you fixed that problem for me, didn’t you? Sounds like I’ll be the one to enjoy the payday now.”
Wait. Erin was going to get the bounty? What bounty?
Isobel was stirring behind me. Had to get her out of there—first priority. Questions could come later.
The door opened again.
“Don’t shoot him. He’s mine.”
My heart stopped beating at the sight of the second man that had stepped onto the stairs. His hair was choppily short and inky-black. His skin was pale, his eyes endless pits of darkness. And there was a tattoo encircling his neck—feathered wings that touched his chin with the tips.
It was the incubus that had tortured Ofelia.
My hatred was immediate, but brief. The incubus had brought raw sexual energy with him. His thrall crashed into me. Sucked my breath away.
All I could think of was nak
ed bodies. Sweaty skin. Lips and fingers.
“Hey, I caught him first, Gregor,” Eduardo protested.
Gregor. The incubus was named Gregor.
“And I told you not to shoot him,” the demon said, cracking his knuckles. I stared at his fingers and thought about them wrapped around my hardening shaft. I couldn’t help it—couldn’t clear the image from my mind, no matter how hard I fought it.
I’d been able to resist the Needles in Helltown, but this guy was a thousand times more powerful than that. I was the tree bowed under the weight of the hurricane. I was nothing.
I needed him.
Eduardo was still talking, but I barely heard him. “If you think this means you don’t have to pay me the bounty—”
“I don’t,” Gregor said.
Fuck it, kill him. Kill him now before the thrall’s too much.
I moved in slow motion. Stood, turned, drawing my Desert Eagle.
My hands were clumsy on the metal. Didn’t want to be wrapped around a gun, didn’t want my finger curved around the trigger. My dick was hardening, straining against my fly. I wanted my clothes off. I wanted Gregor. I knew it was thrall, and it didn’t matter.
I aimed the gun at Gregor’s head but couldn’t pull the trigger. His black eyes were sucking me in. He extended a hand toward me and the tension between us grew to a fever pitch until I couldn’t tell that Eduardo was still in the room. Hell, even Isobel didn’t matter anymore—the woman I’d broken into The Pit to save. It was just the incubus and me.
The demon that had tortured my sister.
Shoot him. Now.
The Desert Eagle slipped out of my hand. Hit the ground.
My trigger finger tensed after the gun was already gone. Seconds too late. The only explosion I heard was my will self-destructing.
I tried to draw Eduardo’s Beretta, but then the incubus was on top of me, slamming me into the wall, punching me across the jaw. It felt good. Like pleasure erupting down my spine. I wanted him to do it again. I wanted him to rip my throat out and drink the blood and ride me down into darkness. I’d bleed for him, drain every fluid dry if Gregor asked.
