“Bad Dinah, no more rum for you,” she says, then giggles helplessly, followed by a choked sound and a slight sob.
“Oh gods, I’m going cuckoo,” she complains, and I’m inclined to agree.
I can’t make up my mind about her, which is by far not a normal occurrence.
Mortals are rarely surprising, but Dinah Novak is, for several reasons. She looks uncannily like her grandmother, the only difference is her features are slightly more angular and she’s almost a foot taller.
I can sense power in her. It feels chaotic and subdued at the same time; as if she is keeping it contained. But there is no sign whatsoever that she was holding back and lying about not knowing how to summon me, which is confusing. There’s also the swollen and purple cheek she is prodding idly, unaware of my glamoured presence six-feet away from her.
The idiot I just dispatched has a twisted and corrupted soul. It was hard to stop myself from draining him dry of all life. I refrained because that would have terrified the girl that’s currently standing in the middle of the kitchen scratching her head and looking as if she’s going to faint, vomit or cry.
She runs her hands through her messy golden waves and closes her eyes, her stomach complains loudly.
“I know, but the tall demon wouldn’t make us soup, what would you have me do?” she complains, looking at her stomach, gently poking it and hissing. “Gods dammit, that still hurts.”
A sudden surge of anger against her attacker overtakes me, something fairly surprising considering I don’t trust her.
It’s nothing personal really, but the blood that runs through her veins is much more powerful than her grandmother’s ever was. And humans with such power are always a risk.
Dinah grumbles and opens the fridge, rummaging and humming loudly. She closes the door with her foot and unloads cheese and apples on the counter.
I am almost tempted to put her out of her misery and make the damn chicken soup.
Staying would be a waste of time. She is clearly not up to much more than eating a very strange dinner and talking to herself. Her grief is so sharp I can feel it without trying, and I can’t stand to watch her mourn anymore.
I use the back door, not making a sound, and repair the wards before portalling out of there.
* * *
Finding the funerary is no hard task, the town is small and most people are asleep by 11 PM. Nevertheless, I keep my invisibility spell in place. Entering the old building is no hard task, the door is unlocked.
I take a half step back.
The pungent smell of chloroform is heavy in the air, it mingles with the faint scent of flowers, a nauseating combination. Closing the door, I turn on the lights with half a thought, walking towards the back room, feeling an unexpected rush of sadness when I look at the body of who once was Magdalena. The same odd sensation that clings to her house buzzes from her body. A quick spell confirms there was no demonic magic involved, but what of magic like the one she possessed?
I cast another spell, searching for physical damage, and find only the tear in one of her heart valves, not uncommon in a heart attack, but again, violent.
I sigh and pinch my nose’s bridge, it’s been a long week. I want to dismiss the strangeness of this, but time has taught me to not ignore my instincts.
I turn off the lights, sending a sliver of my power around me, creating a windy vortex of amethyst light and darkness. The portal leads me right to the edge of the woods; I look back at the small town, inhaling clean air, and feeling a small buzz of static energy. There’s a light pressure in my frontal lobe. It has been there since Dinah summoned me, but I thought it was just irritation.
“Magicae revelare,1” I cast, blinking as golden magic becomes visible.
There is a thin but solid barrier against demons around the entire town and part of the forest. No low-class demon could cross it without suffering a terrible headache.
Only a Nephilim could cast such a strong barrier, a powerful one at that.
And the magical signature is strangely familiar, which makes no sense.
I will have to pay another visit to Dinah soon and see if I can … persuade her to use her power in my presence.
DINAH
Part of me wonders if I’ve imagined it.
Maybe I did.
The headache I have is beyond epic. I take three aspirins and shower, making my best effort not to think about what happened last night, and about what awaits me. Dressed in black boots, jeans, and a turtleneck, I make my way downstairs, half expecting to see a leather-clad, six-foot-eight demon with amethyst eyes waiting for me.
Nada.
Phew.
Fortunately, coffee and sandwiches are in my range of cooking abilities; I eat slowly, not wanting to get nauseated. Knowing I will be late, I call for a taxi. The ride is quiet, my face so devoid of emotion and most likely living-dead-alike that the driver doesn’t blab. The gray sky and chilly air echo the sadness that envelops me. I inhale shakily as I walk between the worn-out granite tombstones, ravens caw nearby, and white mist curls around my ankles. A few small drops hit my head.
The mahogany coffin is closed, and I am relieved for it. The old gravedigger and his son, a sturdy fella that resembles a bear, are standing nearby, their heads bowed respectfully. I lay my hand on the lid of the coffin, biting my lip as I pry it open just a bit. The nagging sensation that she had no peace makes my chest ache and I close it quickly.
She would not want me to remember her like this.
I hear her voice as if she were beside me. “There is nothing but flesh and bone left after death, my dear. You must hold on to the memories.”
Warm tears trickle down my face.
Alone.
It’s selfish, I know, but it’s all I can think of.
No one came, no one cared.
The puritans that she many times counseled and helped would rather drop dead than show up, and quite frankly I prefer it that way.
“Do widzenia,” I mutter in her birth language.
“What have you done to my son?” A voice calls behind me.
I turn to see a dark-haired, middle-aged woman dressed in a sky-blue smart suit with a skirt; pointy face scrunched up in anger and despise.
Clara Beaumont, Daniel’s lovely mother.
I narrow my eyes at her, then turn towards the men and give them a nod. “Thanks.”
They nod back and I briskly walk away, as fast as the limping allows.
“I am talking to you!” she screeches.
I walk a few more yards and whirl around to face her. “Really? You had to do this now? Have you no decency? No respect?”
“Respect?” she snorts. “That witch and you are the embodiment of disrespect to this town.”
I lean forward, she is almost a foot smaller than me. “Watch. Your. Damn. Mouth.”
She flinches back with unhidden disgust, and I make an effort to keep my temper controlled as a throbbing pain spreads down my thigh. I hide a wince and let most of my weight rest on my right leg.
“What have you done to my son, you evil witch?” she snarls.
“Little for what he has done to me,” I say, forcing a wry smile to my face. “And nothing compared to what I will do to him if he ever tries to hurt me again.”
To my own surprise, I am being honest. Daniel has come too far and one unfortunate day, he could very well do to someone else what he’s done to me. Or worse.
She tries to slap me but I see it coming and seize her wrist, firmly but not enough to leave a bruise. My lip curls and her eyes widen, skin turning ashen. I release her and she steps back.
“You will p-pay for this,” she stutters, eyes wide with fear as she clutches the silver cross in her neck.
“Really? Will I? He is the one who broke the restraint order, invaded my home, and attacked me again, I have the bruises to prove it.”
She opens her mouth to interrupt me.
“Quiet!” I growl. “You will leave me alone once and for all or I’
ll have that pathetic excuse for a man dragged back to jail again, understood?”
Her pale face grows red, and she begins to mutter a prayer under her breath and runs away from me. She’s always genuinely thought I’m a witch.
If it weren’t for respect to the place we are at, I would’ve set something on fire just to give her a reason to pray.
Thunder rumbles and I consider going back home, but I know I’d fall into getting drunk again or end up crying. Instead of that, I walk slowly through the tombstones until I reach the forest and plunge in. I’ve traveled this forest many times, sometimes alone, sometimes with grandma. Sharp nostalgia clings to my chest and I feel as my heart is tearing itself apart.
My leg throbs madly and I am forced to stop. A rush of cold wind ruffles my hair and the chill cuts through the thick sweater, making my teeth clash.
What the hell?
My neck pricks with awareness and I look around me, desperately trying to find who is watching me. Because I am certain someone is.
“Who is there?” I ask.
A soft chuckle that makes me shiver even more echoes from all around me.
I want to run, but I know my leg will not allow it. I feel the impulse of screaming, but what’s the point?
“Gotcha!” says a male voice near my left ear. I pant and jump, turning around.
Bad idea.
His hair is so pale it almost looks white, a few strands touch his forehead, others his high cheekbones. Unearthly beautiful and clad in a charcoal-gray suit, pristine white shirt with two opened buttons. But that’s not the relevant part.
Obsidian eyes lock with mine and I can’t move. The raw power that oozes from him is unmistakably dark and twisted. Like falling from a cliff with no bottom, like having spiders climbing up my legs.
Look at that, I am a magnet for hot guys. Too bad is the 5th circle of hell kind of hot guys.
“You truly are a sight to behold, my dear,” he murmurs, taking my chin in his hand.
His hold is strong, almost painful. My stomach cramps, but I can’t move.
He clicks his tongue, perfect lips curl in a cruel smile. “Now, now, no need for that look of terror, I will not hurt you… yet.”
That’s comforting.
“W-what do you want?” I ask, breathlessly.
He releases me and circles me, inspecting me upside down like one would look at an item on a shelf.
“First thing’s first, little dove,” he chuckles. “My name is Kazzian, but you can call me Kaz. I know your name, of course, Dinah Marie Novak,” he says, leaning to smell my hair, my neck.
I swallow, feeling the unstoppable rise of panic.
Dammit, I should have brought my taser.
Like that’ll help, drawls an annoyingly right little voice in the back of my head.
“And I come bearing gifts,” he says against my skin, then retires to set his dark eyes on mine.
My teeth are still clashing a bit. “G-gifts?”
He chuckles. “Why yes, my dear. I am a generous demon. Do you want to know what I come to offer?”
I nod, out of fear or because he wanted me to, I don’t know.
“A long life of wealth beyond your dreams, of power to command those beneath you,” his voice accelerates my heart beat even more. “The pain you’ve carried for twelve long years erased, all can be yours.”
“In exchange for w-what?” I ask.
He leans in and his warm breath hits my face, mint, and berries. “Your soul, of course.”
Of course.
“N-n-no,” I stutter, wishing my teeth don’t clash and I could sound firmer.
He clicks his tongue. “You have not thought it through, little dove, allow yourself to imagine it.” He leans in closer, his nose brushes mine. “You could buy islands, countries, command an army. By my side. All in exchange for something you can’t even wield, but I could use so well to benefit us.”
His voice is lulling, and the fear ebbs. My muscles relax.
Why not? A part of me wonders as I stop shaking.
Power, money. Heady excitement fills me as I see myself sitting on an obsidian throne, wearing a long dress made of blood-red silk, a cruel smile on my lips, and Kaz by my side as an army of humans and demons kneels before me. Mine to command.
Wait a minute.
I hate dresses, and red, and being a bossy bitch.
And useless or not, my soul is mine and no one else’s.
The image in my mind’s eye vanishes at once.
He put it there, I’m sure of it.
“No,” I say, this time firmer.
“No,” he says, fake sadness in his voice. “Silly, little dove.”
He grabs hold of my chin again, but this time I’m not frozen. I thrust my knee up, thankful that he’s only a few inches taller and wondering if that works on demons.
I have my answer when he releases me and bends, his expression morphing into hot anger. Perfect lips curl in a snarl.
“You will regret that,” he promises with an ominous voice.
I step back, placing my hands in a defensive position; he laughs.
“Oh please,” he mocks. He flicks out of my vision and I pant as my forearms are firmly trapped behind my back by strong hands. I thrash and try to free myself, but his hold is too strong.
“Enough,” he commands, I feel his power coiling around me, evoking equal parts of dread and surrender.
“No!” I yell, tossing my head back. He grunts as the back of my head collides with his face but still doesn’t release me. He holds my arms with one hand and uses the other one to pull at my hair and force my neck to arch. I have the feeling he is not even trying to be brusque, his strength is just colossal.
“Little dove,” he growls. “Why do you have to make this so difficult?”
In a blink I am against a tree, my hands held up, one of his legs between mine.
Panic flares and a strangled cry explodes from my throat. He laughs, his black irises glow with a maniacal glint, then expand until his eyes turn completely black and he leans nearer, his mouth dangerously close to mine.
Where are those involuntary flares of magic when I need them?
“Ego creo ignis!2” I cry.
Fire bursts from my hands. Orange-red and hot.
The demon shrieks and releases me at once.
I can’t believe that actually worked. It rarely does.
Dancing flames linger, covering my palms. I wonder if I can create a fireball and cup my hands, forming a loose circle.
To my surprise, that volatile power that runs through my veins bonds to my wishes for once. An orb of fire forms between my hands, like a miniature sun, I waste no time and toss it towards him. Kazzian jumps out of the way and the fire collides with a nearby tree. The flames burst, and with a sharp crack, the whole tree ignites in a matter of seconds.
Oh oh.
The fire in my hands dies out, and I sway on my feet.
I feel depleted of energy, about to faint.
The demon hisses, bringing his hands together, my jaw slack as bursts of black flame turn into a ball and he smiles wickedly then throws it at me with an elegant flick of his left hand. I toss myself to a side, falling hard on the humid ground. An involuntary shriek leaves my lips as I feel my leg throb hard enough to impede me standing.
Dammit.
The tree where my back was moments ago bursts into black flames that stink of sulfur and makes my eyes watery. I cough and crawl trying to get away but something collides against my stomach and I’m flying back, crashing against another tree.
I have no air in my lungs to scream. A groan leaves my lips as I crawl a few feet.
“You had to make it difficult, didn’t you?” Kazzian snarls, kicking my stomach again.
I fly back as if I’m weightless and land hard a few yards away, face-up, seeing rolling clouds and feeling raindrops clash against my heated skin. The already gloomy weather mixes with the unnatural chill that emanates from the demon and intensifies the s
hiver that shakes my whole body. My lungs protest as searing pain flares from my ribs and back. My sight clouds for a moment, but I fight against unconsciousness. Idly, I wonder how I’m not dead yet; I can feel the sharp edges of my own broken ribs as I gulp air greedily.
Instinct makes me roll a bit, looking for Kazzian. He’s smiling a few feet away from me.
I can do nothing but watch as he forms yet another demonic ball of fire and tosses it at me.
I’m dead.
So, so, so dead.
Purple light flickers as a dark form materializes between me and my impending death. The black fire collides with an amethyst shield with a hiss. I blink against the flare of amethyst light to see a towering male with black hair.
Look at that. It wasn’t a dream after all.
“Kazzian,” the demon who I accidentally summoned says. His deep voice has an impossible to ignore trace of cold anger.
The demon takes a step aside, and I am able to see Kazzian again. There is anger in his pale countenance but also fear, terror, to be more accurate. His black irises have returned to normal size, and he looks paper-white.
“My prince,” Kazzian says, bowing to tall, dark, and grumpy.
Did I summon a demon prince?
My week just keeps getting better and better.
“What do you think you’re doing?” the prince asks, his voice loaded with authority.
Kazzian swallows. “Taking what is mine, she promised me her soul and was having second thoughts. But it’s too late for that. Rules are rules.”
“That is not true!” I squeak, wishing I could stand.
The prince flicks a glance back at me. I had forgotten how unearthly beautiful those amethyst eyes of his are, how it feels like they can see right through me.
His brow furrows as he turns to Kazzian. “Liar.”
Kazzian steps back and places a hand on his chest. The movement makes him look surprised, but I am certain he just wants to put a safe distance between him and the prince. “On my honor, I swear.”
The Prince scoffs. “You do not know what that word means.”
Demon Warden: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy (The Cursed and the Fallen 1) Page 3
