by Ann Gimpel
“What is the Otherworld?”
“’Tis the home of the Celtic gods as well as the dead. Fae and Dark Fae live there too.”
She narrowed her eyes. “It’s real? Have you been there?”
Stewart nodded. “I have. ’Twill exist so long as the gods remain here. Once they leave, the magical realm beneath the hills and barrows of the Old Country will vanish into nothingness. Or so legend promises.”
Meara raced onto the deck with Jamal, Ilona, Tairin, and Elliott right behind her. The screech that emerged from her mouth would have done her vulture proud. “Everyone who doesn’t have to be here to keep the ship from foundering, come with me,” she shouted.
Stewart ran to her. “What is it?”
Breath steamed from her open mouth. “Vampires might hate water, but it doesn’t faze demons. Two just materialized in the hold.”
“This is my fault.” Elliott drew his lips back from his teeth in a snarl. “If I hadn’t loosed Grigori, the fuckers would have stayed put in Hell.”
“You have no way of knowing that,” Meara said. “Come on. Let’s not just send them packing but make them so miserable reinforcements don’t show up.”
“We can do this,” Tairin said. “I defeated one in Munich.”
Stewart pushed around everyone and surged down the ladder. Yara’s power was new. So new, it might make her a prime target for demons who could sense such things. Defending her was at the very top of his list.
Nay, I must do my best to protect everyone. ’Twas my idea to cross the North Sea. I will do whatever I have to so those who trusted my judgment doona come to folly on account of that faith.
Yara’s energy closed from behind him. “You can’t face them alone,” she protested.
Hope raced through him. Maybe she cared more than he thought. Before he could craft a reply, Meara flew past in her vulture form cawing fiercely.
Stewart ran faster. How hard could it be to drive two demons back to Hell?
Doona underestimate them, an inner voice cautioned. Demons loose in the world doesna bode well for any of us.
Sulfur and the stench of dead things left to rot in a sun far hotter than it ever shone in this part of the world twisted his guts into a knot.
“Stay behind me,” he told Yara.
“Like hell I will.” She tried to push past him, but he grabbed her arm.
“Lass—”
“Don’t lass me,” she grunted.
They came to the same hold where Jamal had stacked coins. Brilliant black-tinged light flared, so bright it hurt his eyes.
“Damn. I thought she said two.” At least Yara wasn’t barreling around him.
Stewart loped into the hold. Meara shrieked viciously. Jamal and Tairin crowded into the small space, followed by Michael, Elliott, Ilona, and Gregor. Magic kindled, light against dark.
Three red-scaled demons leered at them. From their horned heads to their forked tails, they bled confidence.
Stewart squared his shoulders. “Why are ye here?”
“Turn the ship back the way it came, Druid. The gold doesn’t belong to you.” The demon’s inflection made Druid sound like a curse.
Stewart snorted. “It doesna belong to your Nazi masters, either.”
“Not their opinion,” another demon countered. “Do not make the mistake of calling them our masters. We have only one master, Lucifer, as you know all too well.”
Stewart stared them down, unwilling to dignify the dig about his run-in with the Dark Angel. It hadn’t gone well—for him—and apparently everyone in Hell knew about it.
“The way I see it, ye have a problem,” he went on smoothly. “The only reason this boat isna at the bottom of the North Sea is we solicited help from a quarter that would just as soon see ye back in Hell. If ye kill us, the boat will sink. If ye—”
“Shut up, Druid.” Fire roared from the center demon, and a small, wooden cask burst into flames.
The demon to the left of the fire-crazed one grabbed his arm with a taloned hand. “Stop that. If the boat catches fire, it will founder.” Magic atop magic doused the fire before it could spread to anything else.
Stewart pulled power like a madman. No better opportunity than when the bastards were squabbling to launch a forward attack. “Weave power in with mine,” he commanded. “Doona hold back.”
“Finally!” Meara squawked into his mind and launched herself in a flurry of feathers right at one of the demon’s eyes.
Chapter 10
Yara blinked hard, but the demons didn’t go away. She’d heard Meara announce demons had boarded the ship, but it hadn’t sunk in. Not exactly. A million times worse than vampires, the three abominations stood easily, balancing on the balls of their feet as if they had every right in the world to be there.
Stewart racing past, clearly intent on taking down the threat singlehandedly, had gotten her moving, but nothing in her life had prepared her for the reality—or the brimstone stench—of denizens who belonged in the underworld.
Not walking about in the light of day.
Their presence sullied the goddess’s light and was an affront to every single living creature. Buck naked with genitalia hanging free, the three demons sported thick hind legs. Smallish forearms were tipped with long, red talons just like their feet. Horns protruded from their foreheads and their eyes were a swirling mass of red and amber. No one could ever mistake them for human. Not so much as a scrap of humanity clung to them. None had hair, but maybe hair couldn’t grow on their scaly hides.
Stewart told her to hang back. She made a good show of protesting, but what she wanted to do was turn tail, run back to her cabin, and lock the door. Since that might not be enough, she’d seal it with magic.
Stop it! I’ve never let anyone fight my battles for me, and I’m not about to start now.
Meara was in vulture form, and she shrieked a battle cry just after Stewart ordered them to blend their magic. More Rom crowded into the small space. Aron, lithe and with his dark hair bundled out of the way, darted toward the demons with magic sloughing from him. He wore his power proudly, like a banner, with hubris only the innocent could muster.
“Aron!” Ilona shrieked. “No!” The gypsy-turned-shifter threw herself after her younger brother and grabbed his arm before he reached the demons.
“Sissy. Let go of me! I can do this. Vampires can’t touch me. Maybe these fuckers can’t, either.”
“We’re not going to find out. I—”
The hold dissolved into chaos, obliterating the rest of Ilona’s words. The air teemed with flames and smoke until Yara struggled to see anything. Grunts and cries filled the room, and the coppery stench of spilled blood didn’t bode well. Unsure how she knew, Yara felt certain the demons’ blood wouldn’t smell anything like hers.
To her shame, she realized she’d wound wards around herself, much as she’d used in her cave or the shepherd’s hut when she wanted to escape notice. Embarrassment scoured her like a hot, bitter tide. She’d thrown in her lot with the shifters and Romani fighting for their lives. Now wasn’t the time to hide behind an invisibility she’d cultivated for years.
Yara took the power she’d shrouded herself with and used it to form a clear area in front of herself so she could see. Her heart constricted. While she’d been buried in self-preservation, the demons had been wreaking havoc. Only two remained, but Michael lay on the floor with another Romani next to him, chanting over his inert form.
She drew the amulet on its leather cord out from beneath her clothing and tossed it to the Rom next to Michael. “Use this,” she cried. “It might give you some protection.”
The Rom draped it around his neck, but never stopped chanting. Michael didn’t stir.
Power flared from Stewart’s outstretched hands, power that flayed scales from one of the demons. It bellowed in pain and outrage while Stewart surged forward, refusing to give any quarter. Meara attacked from the air, digging her beak into the thing’s eyes. One orb burst under her assault, and
the rotten egg stench intensified until Yara’s gorge rose, burning the back of her throat with bile.
Elliott and Tairin had the other demon cornered, and it hissed at them, following the hissing with guttural words. Though she didn’t know the language, demonspeak was easy enough to interpret. The demon mocked the shifters. Told them they were insignificant bugs to be crushed beneath his clawed feet. Brilliant light flashed around Tairin, and a black and gray wolf formed where she’d stood. Wonder at the transformation filled Yara.
Simple and elegant and terrifying, Tairin skinned her muzzle back from her fangs and rushed the demon, aiming for his Achilles tendons.
Breath congealed in Yara’s throat. Were the bastards configured like humans? If not, Tairin’s risk would be for naught, and might well spell her doom. Yara stopped thinking. She could philosophize all she wanted later—if she survived. Magic jumped to her summons and crackled from her outstretched fingers. Careful to keep the flow of her power well above Tairin, Yara thrust it forward with instructions to fry the thing’s brains.
She had no idea how much power she commanded, but she ran full open. No reason to titrate the current boiling through her. To hell with sending the demon packing. Killing it would work better because then it couldn’t come back to harass them again.
She crossed the few feet separating her from Elliott and gripped his shoulder. “Do this with me.”
He didn’t question her, just unlocked his magical well, so she could join with him. Together, they upped destructive energy until the demon’s scales began to smoke and shrivel. It shrieked and redirected the flow of its fell magic, intent on flight now that it was beaten.
“Oh no, you don’t,” Yara cried.
“We need to let it leave,” Elliott protested.
“Why? We can destroy it. That wouldn’t be true if it were still in Hell, but they’re weaker here. Maybe then ten others won’t show up on his heels.”
After a moment’s hesitation when Elliott started to close his magic off from her, he reestablished their link.
Yara wanted to thank him for believing in her, but she couldn’t transfer her attention from their adversary. She also wanted to know how Stewart and Meara were doing with the other demon, but she didn’t have anything extra to finesse so much as a sideways glance. One hundred percent of her focus rained destruction on the demon dead ahead.
Tairin snarled, growled, and snapped. Black ichor shot from the demon, coating her fur in a thick, stinking gore that mocked normalcy.
Nothing about this is normal. We’re fighting for way more than our lives.
She inhaled raggedly. They were fighting to keep magic alive in the world. Once it withered, every living thing that was good would fade right along with it. The demons knew that too. Maybe they were sick of being confined to the nether regions. Anxious for a shot at freedom from endless darkness.
The thought had no sooner formed than she understood what the Nazis must have promised. Hitler was a genius at figuring out what motivated people. Offering unlimited blood and sex had snared the vampires, coopting them to play on his team. Freedom was the key that had lured demons.
“Good to know what we’re up against,” she snarled.
“What?” Elliott asked, keeping most of his attention trained on Tairin.
“Later. Let’s do whatever it takes to annihilate this bastard.”
Surprisingly nimble given the thrashing he’d taken, the demon leapt away from Tairin’s strong jaws and threw itself over Michael’s prone form. Either Tairin had missed its ankle tendons, or it didn’t have any. It dug its talons into Michael’s shoulders, leaving bloody tracks.
He groaned. Magic flared from him, but a pitiful amount. The demon might have been weakened, but Michael’s power couldn’t be more than an annoyance to it. The amulet didn’t appear to be any deterrent at all.
The demon snapped his head back, and its unearthly gaze bored into her. Still in demonspeak, it said, “Release me, and I will go peacefully. If I must force my way out of here, I shall take him”—the demon stabbed a talon through Michael’s upper arm—“with me.”
Michael screamed, writhing to get away from the demon.
The creature laughed uproariously, pointed a talon at the Rom who’d been chanting over Michael, and barked a single word. The man clutched his chest and gurgled as a ripping, tearing sound burst from him.
“We have to let the demon go,” Elliott said into her mind. “Michael is like a father to me. We can’t let the demon kill him too.”
Tairin sprang over debris. Hunkering next to Michael and the demon, she growled furiously.
“Goes double for the wolf,” the demon went on, sounding more confident his plan would work. “Call the abomination off and I’ll be on my way.”
“Who the hell are you calling an abomination?” Tairin screeched. Even telepathically, her outrage rang through. Fury sheeted from the wolf. It circled behind the demon so fast it was a blur. A staunch leap positioned Tairin on the demon’s back where she closed powerful jaws around the thing’s neck.
“Now!” Yara urged Elliott. “Give it all you’ve got.”
She opened channels she’d never even known existed until magic gushed, blotting out everything but their adversary. Careful to avoid Tairin clinging to the wolf like a limpet, she instructed power to boil the thing alive. Noxious smelling smoke filled the hold, but the demon’s scales began to blister and peel away from the hide beneath.
Still more black blood poured from its many open wounds, and it crumpled atop Michael.
“Tairin! Let go!” Elliott cried.
She hurtled backward off her perch just before the demon’s body exploded.
Elliott scrambled forward and got hold of Michael, pulling him out from beneath what was left of the demon. Michael retched weakly, and Elliott turned him on his side so he wouldn’t choke on vomit.
Yara made a dive for the other Romani who’d been kneeling next to Michael. His face was gray, and when she felt for a pulse, she couldn’t find one.
“Goddammit!”
Losing anyone to the demons was unacceptable. Worse than deaths at the hands of the Nazis or the Dutch government or vampires. It was irrational. She felt that way because demons outplayed everything else evil rolled into one.
She shook herself hard and sent magic auguring into the Romani in her arms. If the damage wasn’t too severe, maybe she could repair it. An inner voice argued she’d lost it. Dead was dead. No matter how powerful she’d become, no one could defeat death.
The gods can.
She shushed the voice in her head and continued her assessment of the gypsy man’s injuries. Heat and light bombarded her, accompanied by shrieks and growls. Who else had shifted? Why wasn’t the other demon dead?
Doesn’t matter. I can’t look now.
The man’s heart had shattered inside his chest. Yara gazed at the damage with her third eye. Horror spilled through her. All the demon had done was point at the man and speak a single word. What hope was left for any of them against an enemy this strong?
I can’t think like that. If I do, I’m doomed.
She placed the man down gently and turned her hot, gritty gaze outward in time to see the third demon dissolve into a smoking ruin. Stewart and Meara’s magic still pummeled it—bright white and blue white—but Meara was in her human form again. Two wolves prowled through the hold. Tairin and a larger wolf that looked like her.
Probably Jamal.
Meara cut the flow of her power; so did Stewart. He scanned the hold and shook his head. “Three dead. We canna afford another visit from the underworld.”
“While I’d prefer not to entertain demons a second time, likely we’d fare better than we did today.” Breath whistled through Meara’s teeth. “It took a while for us to hit our stride. If demons do show up again, we’ll be more efficient.”
Emotion pummeled Yara. Fury. Hopelessness. Sorrow. She looked at Elliott, with Michael cradled against him. “Will he be all right?�
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Elliott nodded. “Yes. But he won’t be in any kind of shape to do much of anything until he recovers his strength. The demon was desperate there at the end, and he siphoned a piss pot of Michael’s essence to defend himself.”
The air shimmered, and Tairin transformed back to human. She hurried to Elliott and knelt, threading her arms around him and Michael. “I’m glad you’re still here,” she told Michael.
“That makes two of us.” He flailed against Elliott. “Let go so I can get my feet under me. And stop worrying for chrissakes. I’m not as fragile as all that.”
Elliott and Tairin straightened, and Elliott extended both hands for Michael to grasp, hauling him upright.
Tairin pursed her lips into a tight line. “Not sure what I’m going to do for clothes. Mine ripped nine ways from Sunday when I shifted.”
“I have things you can borrow,” Yara said. “Knew there was some reason I brought all that stuff.”
“I’d appreciate it.” Tairin’s expression softened. “It would only be until I can locate a needle and thread and repair my things.”
“You’re in luck. I have those too.” Yara shut the dead man’s eyes and got to her feet, murmuring the Romani prayer for the dead. Stewart had mentioned two others. She scanned the hold. One of the shifters and another Romani lay sprawled in spreading pools of blood.
Stewart intercepted the angle of her gaze and nodded curtly. “Och aye, they got a wee bit too close to the line of fire. Meara’s right about one thing.”
“Oh I am, am I?” She furled her gray brows.
Stewart tipped his chin her way. “I’d forgotten how much collateral damage demons spew in their wake. Now that we know, we can instruct everyone who’s left to take greater care to give them a wide berth—if they return.”
Elliott gave Tairin a quick hug. “You might want to take Yara up on that offer for something to cover yourself.”
“Come on.” Yara hooked an arm beneath Tairin’s. “Let’s get something on you before you freeze to death.”
“Not much chance of that.” Tairin spread her arms wide to encompass the smoke-filled hold. It still stank of sulfur and brimstone and was just now returning to a tolerable temperature. When the demons were in full destruction mode, the space had grown far too hot for comfort.
