by Anya Bast
Shuffle. Pause. Shuffle. “Six witches. You haven’t yet discovered the third I killed. The one after your sister.
Her stomach lurched.
“You are aeamon, only half-breeds. It’s like slaughtering cattle, like hunting. It is nothing to kill you. Some aeamon I might take a liking to, like a human might care for a pet. I have taken such a liking to you.” Shuffle. Pause. “But make no mistake; I will still kill my dog if it means I can go home.”
Boyle stopped about five feet from her. Isabelle had backed herself up against the wall that had been farthest from him. The metal felt smooth and cool through her T-shirt.
“And the doorway? How does it work?” Her voice sounded hoarse and ravaged, as if she’d smoked a pack a day for the last twenty years. Really, she was just trying to stall, hoping the copper would do its work.
“I suppose you are owed an explanation. It appropriates the magick of the witches I sacrifice. Certain types of magick in certain amounts at certain times. Some witches I was able to take remotely, some I had to kill here. You, the last, must be killed in close proximity to the doorway.”
Boyle covered the last few feet that separated them with more strength than he’d displayed since she’d injected him. The rest of Isabelle’s hope died with a sick whine. The injected copper hadn’t worked.
“Will you fight me?” he asked.
She stiffened and gritted her teeth. “How can I? How can I when I know you’ll take my mother or some other witch in my place?” Even though every fiber in her body wanted to lash out at him, kick, punch, and scratch…then run for her life.
“That’s why it will not give me much pleasure to kill you.”
Much.
Boyle pulled her into his arms like he might a lover. Her mouth pressed against the smooth black leather of his jacket. She tasted something warm and salty and realized she was crying. He cradled her in his arms for a moment, long claw-tipped fingers brushing through her hair.
Then he lowered his mouth to her throat and bit.
Demons were like spiders, their venom squirting from their mouths into their prey, rendering them paralyzed.
Boyle’s sharp teeth pierced her skin like twenty needles. Pain shot through her body, making her twitch in something close to a convulsion. When she jerked against his teeth, it hurt even more so Isabelle went still and keened softly as blood ran down her neck. The demon groaned, as if in ecstasy, as if he loved the taste of her, and tightened his embrace.
The venom shot like acid straight into her bloodstream and Isabelle arched her back in agony, unable to do anything more. Her vision faded from color to black-and-white. The images she viewed were blurry around the edges.
Was this how Angela had felt?
No, she didn’t want to think about Angela. Anything but Angela.
A coat brushed her cheek for the millionth time. Darkness had swallowed her whole. She didn’t even know where the door was in the middle of the night when no light spilled beneath the crack. Hunger gnawed at her stomach lining. She’d gone through all the jacket pockets already and found nothing, not even any of those little plastic wrapped crackers from the restaurant. Her only comfort was Angela, slumped in sleep beyond the closet door, her breathing steady in the night.
The only steady thing in Isabelle’s life….
She came to lying in the center of the floor, not far from the doorway. Moving her limbs was fruitless, just as the involuntary scream that tore from her throat remained soundless, ineffective. Silent. Mute. Motionless.
Prey.
Just waiting.
Boyle lowered himself over her, her vision still in black and white. His mouth opened, but she heard nothing. The demon grasped her arms, cold fingers digging in. He lowered his mouth to hers and began to suck out the magick from the center of her.
Inwardly, she screamed. She writhed. She died.
Outwardly, she could do nothing but endure it.
Her heartbeat was the only thing she could hear. It beat loudly in her mind, growing slower. Her vision changed from black to white to blacker and then blacker still. Maybe she would be lucky and she would die before Boyle began to feast.
Had Angela died before that point?
Then Boyle was gone. The pressure on her chest eased and her magick snapped off where Boyle had bitten into it, sending a flash of searing pain through her and then nothing.
Unable to move, unable to see clearly, Isabelle only caught bits and pieces of the movement around her. Long black hair. Flashing copper sword.
Thomas.
Damn it. She’d known he’d show eventually. Fear for herself disappeared. Dread for Thomas replaced it. Movement flashed out of the corners of her eyes. Sword. Blood. Claws. Teeth.
Then, again, nothing.
Nothing but a pulsing, purring noise to go along with the beating of her heart. Soft at first, it grew louder and louder. Magick prickled against her skin, letting Isabelle know that the demon’s venom was wearing off.
Where was Thomas? And what was that alien magick scraping along her body?
The texture of the power rippled and grew stronger. The same stink of evil teased her nostrils and then Isabelle knew what it was. She felt a tug on her body like tiny hands that grew stronger.
Somehow, the doorway had opened.
Thomas appeared over her, blood running down his temple and coating his long black hair. He scooped her up into his arms. “We’ve got to get away from here,” he said, his voice sounding far away. “The doorway is appropriating Boyle’s magick as he dies and it’s opening, but it’s unstable. Pulling…pulling us in.”
Alarmed, Isabelle tried to move. It was like her arms had been wrapped in cotton, but she managed some mobility. Color now tinged the edges of her black-and-white vision, too.
Thomas dragged her a distance away, far enough that the pull of the doorway ceased, and lay her down. Isabelle sat up, scanning the room for the demon. Boyle lay a short distance away, on his stomach. Multiple stab wounds marred his back and his blood crackled and popped on the pavement around him. He still lived. His limbs twitched and a low, thick moan wafted from his throat.
About five feet away from him the doorway gleamed almost prettily in the air, a riot of shimmering colors that pulsed and flickered with magick. Isabelle was no earth witch, but even she could sense the volatility in the spell.
She glanced at Boyle and shook her head. “No, he’s not dying. He doesn’t die. He’s like something out of a horror movie. You only think he’s dying and then—”
Thomas shhhed and rocked her in his arms. “He’s dying, believe me. He was more than halfway done for by the time I arrived. I just finished the job you started. It’s over, Isabelle. It’s over.”
Could it be? It seemed like it had been forever since it had begun.
“Home.” The groan came from Boyle. Bleeding and beaten, he pulled himself toward the doorway. He went inch by inch across the floor by willpower alone, leaving a trail of hissing blood behind him. “Home.” This time it sounded more like a sob.
“Let’s go,” Thomas said, helping her to stand. “I don’t know what that doorway is going to do.”
She climbed to her feet and took a quick inventory of Thomas’s wounds. His clothing and probably his skin were singed from Boyle’s blood. Cuts marked his head, his cheek, and his chest. His own blood soaked his thigh from a gash, but she couldn’t tell how deep it was. “Thomas—”
“Come on. We both need medical attention.” He slid his arm under her waist and helped her walk toward the exit.
The door at the far end of the warehouse opened, revealing Adam and the rest of the Coven witches entering the building.
Adam’s gaze focused on something behind her and Thomas. “Watch out!” he yelled and started to run toward them.
Isabelle glanced back and saw that Boyle had reached the doorway and was crawling through. The doorway had grown larger and brighter. Magick flared and rippled outward from the unruly, half-finished spell.
Magick, light, and sound exploded.
THOMAS CAME TO FACEDOWN IN A PATCH OF GRASS, his upper thigh throbbing in agony. His hand still gripped the handle of the sword. He had to physically force himself to relinquish it, one finger at a time.
Isabelle was no longer in his arms. He sat up and groaned, pain shooting though his body from his wounds. The pounding in his head had increased ten-fold and now nausea roiled in his stomach to boot. His hand went to his thigh and came away sticky and hot with his own blood.
He pushed all that away, pushed it back, and almost passed out from the effort. None of that was important. Only Isabelle was important.
“Isabelle?” he croaked.
It was dark. Wind creaked through tree branches not far away and the air smelled strange. Not at all normal. It smelled faintly of…demon magick.
“Isabelle!”
“I’m…here.” She groaned and something thunked. “Damn it. I’m here.”
Thomas groped toward the sound in the darkness and finally found warm flesh. He gathered her against his chest. “Are you all right?”
She took a moment to answer and when she did her voice sounded thin. “I can’t take any more poofing today. It makes me sick.”
“Poofing?”
“The transporting through unconventional means.” She groaned. “Poofing. We went through the doorway…I think.”
“I think so, too.”
“Where do you think we are?”
He looked up, studying the night sky. It looked just like any other clear, perfect night sky — a few wispy white clouds and a whole lot of bright stars. Except…“Wherever we are, it’s not Chicago.” He pointed skyward.
“What?” Pause. “Oh, shit.”
Above them hung two moons. One large and luminous, the other smaller and pale blue.
TWENTY-FIVE
“DO YOU THINK WE COULD BOTH BE HALLUCINATING the same thing?” Isabelle asked, huddling closer against his chest.
“I doubt it.”
“How badly are you hurt?”
He shifted and the throbbing pain in his thigh shot to brilliant white-hot life. He gritted his teeth. “I’ll be fine.”
“Do you think Boyle is out there somewhere?”
Thomas took a moment to answer. His mind had been turning over that same possibility ever since he’d seen both moons shining in the sky. The thought of being trapped here, with no way to get Isabelle back home, sent a shot of ice water through his veins. The fear he felt for her would probably anger her, but he couldn’t help it. He knew all too well she could take care of herself, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to try.
He shook his head. “I don’t know. If he is, he’s probably dead by now.”
“Maybe. Demons are like cockroaches, though. Hard to kill.”
They sat in the dark for several minutes, absorbing their situation and listening to a strange bird cawing somewhere to their left. When Isabelle began to shiver, he wrapped his arms around her tighter. They needed to find shelter.
He had no way to judge the time, but light seemed to be getting brighter on the horizon, which logically meant it was nearly morning. Of course, in this alien world, who knew for certain?
Gripping the sword in one hand and using it as a sort of crutch, Thomas helped Isabelle to stand and led her to a small clump of trees on their left. At least they wouldn’t be so out in the open. He hoped they weren’t doing something dangerous, but he had no way to know for sure. His intuition said they were fine in the place he’d chosen and that would have to be good enough for now.
After they’d settled at the base of a huge tree, Isabelle turned to him and touched his face, tracing very lightly the cut on his head and the one on his cheek. “You’re lying about being okay for my sake. Don’t do that. Remember I’m empathic and can feel you’re in pain. How badly are you injured?”
He hesitated before replying. “Boyle sliced me up with his claws. It’s nothing serious except for the wound in my thigh. That one’s a little deep, but I don’t think he hit anything vital.”
She snaked a hand to his left leg. It came away bloody, no doubt. “A little deep?” She’d tried to make her voice steady, but he could hear the quaver in it.
“It will be fine.”
“Right.” She made an exasperated sound and pulled her shirt over her head.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m using my shirt as a bandage. You take care of everyone else, so let me take care of you as best I can.”
He grabbed her T-shirt before she could shred it. “You’re going to freeze!”
“Then you’re just going to have to keep me warm.” In the semidarkness she glanced down at his bare torso and feet. “I’m wearing more than you anyway.”
“Clothes weren’t my first concern when I saw you on the back of Boyle’s bike.”
“Duly noted. Clothes aren’t my first concern right now, either.” She yanked her T-shirt from his grasp and tore it a couple inches up from the hem, making it into a long, ragged piece of material. “Now let me play nurse.”
Leaning into him, she wound it around his upper thigh. He took advantage, burying his nose in her hair and snaking his hands around her waist. “I told you, I’ll be fine.”
She finished by tying it tightly. He winced and stifled a yelp of pain. Then she pressed her hands to the gash to staunch the flow of blood. “Yeah, whatever. Maybe I can call you an ambulance. I’m sure the demonic emergency medical system is spectacular.”
Thomas laughed.
“Damn it, Thomas. This isn’t funny.”
“I was just thinking about how I said I’d never traveled before.”
She leaned her head against his shoulder and gave a low, soft roll of laughter. “If I had to get trapped on a demon world with anyone, I’m glad it was with you.”
“Yeah, but we’re not staying here. If there’s a way forward, there’s got to be a way back. That doorway has to still be open.”
Isabelle leaned back on her heels and went silent for a long time. Finally, she said, “The doorway was already volatile. You felt it. Do you really believe it could still be open?”
“I have to.” It was true that the doorway had been unstable. There was no telling what had happened to it. It may have completely collapsed once they were through.
Thoughts like that weren’t welcome.
So instead he wrapped Isabelle in his arms, enjoying the contact of the bare skin of their torsos, and held her close, willing the pain in his side and all the uncertainty away. “I love you, Isabelle.”
She sighed into his neck. “I love you, too, Thomas.”
Somewhere in the darkened field in front of them Boyle groaned.
ISABELLE STIRRED FROM HER TWO-MINUTE INVOLUNTARY nap. Her ears twitched as sound carried across the clearing. Twigs breaking in the distance. Voices.
Many of them.
“Isabelle,” Thomas whispered.
“I hear.” She stiffened against Thomas’s chest, where she’d fallen asleep. Her skin where they touched was warm, but her bare back — bare except for her bra strap — nape, legs, and arms were cold.
The morning light touched the iridescent green leaves and curling, vinelike vegetation of the alien outcropping of trees they’d taken shelter beneath. Even stranger than the flora was the staggered urban skyline in the distance.
A demon city.
A whole city filled with demons.
Isabelle’s mind had stuttered to a halt at the idea — jagged and pointed alien skyscrapers full of demons.
There was a point where your mind could only hold so much. After that capacity was breached you either had to accept what you were seeing, or you would go crazy. She and Thomas had already passed that point before they’d glimpsed the skyline.
Thomas sat up a little straighter and pulled her al
ong with him. The thicket concealed them, but who knew what sort of magick floated on this air. Neither of them could be certain they’d be able to hide themselves adequately from whomever or whatever approached.
Flicking out a small tendril of power, Isabelle tapped the morning moisture in the grass. Her magick flared instantly and shot out ten feet farther than she’d intended. “Shit!” she whispered. “My magick is a lot stronger here.”
Power flared like velvet against her skin and a mild taste of earth skated against her tongue as Thomas tested the magickal currents. He grunted. “Mine is stronger, too, and it handles differently. The equivalent of going from manual to power steering.”
“Different earth, different magick?”
“Or maybe—” He broke the sentence off. “Maybe it’s not that our magick works differently here. Maybe it works different on our Earth. Maybe our power is stronger here because the part of us that’s demon is…home.”
“Don’t say that. I reject that. I’m ignoring you now.”
Cautiously, she added more magick, adjusting the way she handled it so it wouldn’t rush out and alert the walkers to their presence. She sent it from one drop of water to the next, toward whoever walked on the far side of the clearing. She would probably only find out what they already knew — demons walked there.
After a couple of minutes, she found them and gleaned what information she could remotely. Around forty individual boots tromped through the wet clearing, so that meant something like twenty demons. All of them had large feet, which meant they were likely male demons.
Isabelle unhooked the tendrils of magick and withdrew. After she’d told Thomas what she’d found she added, “They’re speaking some strange language, demonish, I guess.”
He nodded. “I can tell they’re coming right for us.”
She stiffened. “Then let’s get the hell out of here.”
His hand closed around the handle of the sword beside him — the gesture of a man wanting action, but with none to take. “If we move now, they’ll spot us for sure. I sense movement all around us, in all directions. Isabelle, we’re trapped. In any case, they’re moving slow, right? I don’t think they know we’re here.”
