Demon Warden: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy (The Cursed and the Fallen 1)

by Selene Kallan

  I stare at him, at a momentary loss for words as I realize how if he wasn’t such an annoying asshole, I might consider him attractive.

  “Are you deaf?” I growl at him. “I said: Leave. Me. The. Fuck. Alone.”

  Heat begins to pool behind my sternum, around my heart. The urge to unleash my power and force him to back down is almost impossible to resist.

  Aaron lifts his hands. “I want you to listen to the other side of the story and make the right decision before it’s too late. You do not belong surrounded by demons.”

  “I’ll summon Nox, and I won’t stop him from kicking your ass,” I warn as he takes a step closer.

  Dark anger fills his eyes for a moment, but he controls it. “Fine, I can see I’ve scared you, but I won’t give up that easily,” he moves his hand behind his back and I lift my hands in the standard defense position—one hand near my torso, the other ready to block. He lays a white card on the sink beside me. “There, when you’re ready to talk, you can call me.”

  “We’ve nothing to talk about,” I snap.

  A muscle tightens in his jaw. “Not even about how your soul could be taken without a contract? How your weakness puts you in even more danger than you know? How the clock is ticking and you will lose something precious forever unless you do something about it?”

  I kick myself mentally for the curiosity that makes me lower my hands slightly. Aaron moves his body slightly towards me and I raise my fists again.

  He lifts his hands and backs down, then retreats through the door.

  I take a deep breath, lowering my hands and looking at the white card embroidered with golden numbers and a cross with a sun in the middle. Listening to a single thing he has to say is insane and useless and reckless. I’d be foolish to allow myself to be truly alone with him. With a deep, reassuring breath and a roll of my shoulders, I pick up the card. I use the faintest amount of fire I can manage and the paper ignites at once, turning to ashes in seconds. Then I go out and look for Bryce.

  NOX

  Dhanika was right. The new spells and rune magic Khaylen has designed to reinforce the borders of Locthus are just shy of giving me a headache. I’m standing by their dining table. Looking at the thick brown paper in which Khaylen has drawn the complex schematics and glyphs that are a mix of Ancient Runic and Latin.

  “Are you sure about this?” I ask.

  Khaylen sets a glass of fragrant lavender, light purple tea near me, he’s nursing a cup himself. Barefoot and wearing his usual set of long-sleeved white shirt and simple blue trousers.

  “I am,” he says, green eyes keen on my face.

  I look back at the schematics. “This means combining our power further than we’ve done before, what if we end up repelling each other’s magic?”

  While Fae magic is more neutral than Asteri or Nephilim power, there’s still the chance of a clash.

  Khaylen shrugs one shoulder. “I’ve accounted for it, we’re using neutral language and there’s enough dryada blood in me to balance things out.”

  Light Fae originated from the union of female dryadas and male Asteri. The Dryada species was dying, and in order to leave at least a piece of themselves behind, they mated with Asteri that had broken off with the tyrant in chief. While Dryadas had a lifespan of a couple of centuries, they were also not much alike their half-blood descendants. Most were barely above five-foot-tall, and of a delicate constitution. Good with animals and plant oriented magic, but appalling at defensive spells. Which is why humans hunted them down, burning them and their forests, using them for ludicrous rituals.

  “Very well, we better get to it,” I agree, taking a sip of the warm lavender tea sweetened with honey. “You’ll need all the sunlight you can get to make sure your battery doesn’t run out.”

  The amount of energy Khaylen is going to use will be astronomical. I’d have thought it was impossible for him to do it if I didn’t know exactly how powerful he is.

  Khaylen smiles. “I’ve made sure to take long sun-baths the last few days, I have more than enough energy to use, but yes, it will be a lengthy process.”

  The French doors leading to the forest open and Dhanika comes in. She’s dressed in a mid-thigh white dress with thin straps, most of her slightly golden skin on display, a basket of red and green apples in one slender arm.

  “What on earth is the matter with you?” Dhanika asks, brow furrowed as she examines me, placing the apples on the island counter.

  I blink. “What do you mean?”

  Khaylen snorts. “My baby sister, always so diplomatic.”

  Dhanika gives him a look. “Two minutes of difference hardly make me your baby sister, Len.”

  She approaches, keeping two-feet of distance between us. “So?” she asks with a dark-gold arched brow.

  I barely resist the impulse of crossing my arms. “So what?”

  Dhanika places a hand on her hip.

  Khaylen laughs. “I’d advise you to answer the question.”

  Dhanika’s eyes shine with realization. “Where is Dinah? I’d love to give her a tour of the town while you two fix the wards.”

  “Busy, she’s still in college,” I reply, keeping my voice almost uninterested.

  “They had a fight,” Khaylen says.

  “Yes, I can see that,” Dhanika agrees.

  I feign nonchalance. “I don’t know what you two are talking about.”

  “I shall make more tea,” Khaylen says, taking my almost full cup and walking towards the kitchen.

  “Sit, please,” Dhanika says, pointing at the seat at the head of the table closest to me.

  I ponder to say no, to leave or behave like the intimidating demon I’m supposed to be. But, with those two or Isir, such a task is near impossible. They’ve seen me at my worst and best and know far too much. I sit, still deciding that there must be something wonky in their heads to have the guts to boss around a demon.

  Dhanika picks up the schematics and rolls them, sitting to my left. The sound of the kettle fills what’s an otherwise uncomfortable silence. I pretend to be very interested in the decor, in the light pouring from the windows and making the polished wood glow.

  Khaylen appears to my right side with a tea tray. Pouring the warm liquid into delicate china with grace and placing a plate of chocolate biscuits to share.

  I sip the tea and blink. The mix of herbs is delicious and calming.

  I arch a brow at Khaylen. “You used magic.”

  He shrugs. “Just a tad, now spill it.”

  “Since when have you two become my psychologists?” I demand.

  Dhanika chews delicately on a biscuit and levels serious eyes on mine. “Around the time you became ours.”

  I cringe inwardly, immediately taken back to that cold cave, the smell of blood and iron and fear. I can see Khaylen crying, holding a broken Dhanika in his arms, resigned to their fate. I gulp some tea and lock away the memories. The twins are safe now, it’s all that matters.

  They’re both quiet, definitely thinking the same. So I give up and recount most of what happened with Aaron and the fight with Dinah, not lingering on many details but deciding not to lie.

  Both watch me with curiosity and understanding, sipping their tea and waiting until I’m done. I can’t resist eating one of the biscuits, they are delicious.

  “Well, she does have a point,” Dhanika says, leaning back and placing her hands on her lap. “You are judging her based on her kin and not who she is.”

  Khaylen hums his agreement. “We’d be the last to judge. You know better than anyone how long it took us to stop hiding, to be around vampires without fear or reproach.”

  “Not to mention our kin,” Dhanika says darkly. “Fear is not a rational thing, it warps your perception and turns you into someone you wouldn’t recognize in normal conditions.”

  I swallow hard, trying not to think about what they’re thinking.

  “What was done to you by the Nephilim was appalling, to say the least,” Khaylen says, restin
g his elbows on the table and looking straight at my eyes. “But you can’t allow it to shape your opinion of them all, Astherinox.”

  I try not to cringe at the use of my given name. Really, what were my parents thinking?

  “Especially not of one who trusts you with her life,” Dhanika wrinkles her nose, “and quite frankly, I doubt she has the cunning necessary to create some elaborate plan that leads to your demise.”

  I nod. “I know that.”

  Much as I’d like to keep lying to myself, Dinah isn’t dangerous.

  “However, you could be the factor that pushes her into less tolerant ideologies,” Khaylen points out. “And Nika is right, I used my empathy to read Dinah, she’s the type to become dangerous if you hurt her loved ones, but otherwise harmless.”

  “I think I already knew all this,” I admit.

  “Of course you did, you just needed to have someone give you a metaphorical slap,” Dhanika says with a small smile.

  I grimace, remembering Isir’s completely literal slap.

  Khaylen blinks. “Oh, you did get one.”

  I scowl half-heartedly. He is a telepath too, but couldn’t try to get inside my head without me knowing.

  Dhanika snorts. “Isir, bloody loon.”

  Khaylen smirks. “But a completely fun loon, we ought to pay Qetesh a visit soon.”

  Dhanika presses her lips in a wry smile. “Have fun, I shall not submit myself to being ogled by humans.”

  Khaylen winks. “I’ll make sure they’re all staring at me.”

  Dhanika rolls her eyes. “Cocky are we?”

  Khaylen shrugs. “Realistic.”

  I take a deep breath, feeling relaxed, letting their good-natured bickering wash away the rest of the tension. I’m nervous but looking forward to speaking to Dinah.

  I stand. “If you two are done, we have a lot of work to do.”

  Khaylen stands too, catching a biscuit Dhanika tossed at him with his teeth.

  She snorts. “How multi-talented.”

  I can’t help but smile. Dhanika ushers us out and goes to the kitchen.

  Khaylen walks beside me in silence, lifting his head to the sun; our pace is significantly faster than a normal human stroll, but not hurried for us. The surrounding animals are torn from hiding thanks to my presence and come out to surround the fae. Something flies straight to my face and I stop, looking into a pair of huge pink eyes. Or well, huge for the 20-inch long pixie with a pink dress fashioned with leaves, tiny wings, and hair of matching color. The pixie lets out an adorable little yelp and scurries away, leaving a trace of shimmering dust.

  “Oh, now your hair looks fabulous,” Khaylen remarks. Another pixie has seen fit to sit on his shoulder and peer with apprehension towards me with huge green eyes, pointy ears twitching.

  “I had no idea there were pixies in the US anymore,” I comment, not bothering to try to get the dust off, it’ll vanish in a few hours.

  Khaylen sighs. “Very few, they’ve been pursued and end up crucified in glass boxes by so-called entomologists. Of course, none has posted a serious paper without the hunters tracking them down and stealing the specimens and then tracking where the pixies were to trap them all and burn their homes.” He gently caresses the head of the pixie whispering in his ear. “They remain in some native reservations and the few fae glamoured areas. But soon, even we won’t be safe.”

  I say nothing, silently vowing to make sure his prediction doesn’t become true.

  Soon, we arrive at the site where one of the quartz slabs is placed; there are eight of them strategically positioned around the town. While it is possible not to anchor wards, the kind that shield Locthus are so thick and complex they need physical binding. I use my power to unearth it, it’s six-feet underground. Khaylen places one of the schematics on the ground next to the square, ten-inch thick quartz slab.

  “Mind wiping the board?”

  I nod, sending rippling amethyst energy to delete the runes previously engraved on the shiny, transparent stone. A fine layer of quartz dust floats in the breeze for a moment, leaving us even shinier, I’m sure. The wards ripple and flicker, taking a second to knit themselves together again. It’d take the destruction of every single slab to destroy them completely. And if a single one fell, an emergency call would reach me anywhere in the world.

  The pixie remains sitting on Khaylen’s shoulder, holding onto the fae Prince’s hair and ear as he casts a complex glyph. Golden energy making bathes Khaylen from head to toe.

  Runes form in the cardinal points of the concentric circles and geometric figures floating just in front of Khaylen. He moves his fingers elegantly, directing his magic to create his half of the wards. When he finishes, he settles the glyph on the stone, which shines bright golden before the glyph is engraved on it. The cut is perfect.

  Khaylen takes a step back, looking satisfied, and just a bit like a crazy genius. “You turn, Highness,” he points at the stone with a flourish and steps back.

  I cast my glyph, muttering the incantation in Latin under my breath, and take a peek at the schematics to make sure I’m doing it right. The stone shines with a combination of amethyst and golden when I set the glyph down. A soft, pulsing sound is produced and bright lines of golden-amethyst energy join the existing web of the wards that light up like a beacon. At least to supernatural eyes.

  “Wow,” comes the tiny voice. The pixie’s moss-green eyes are wide.

  Khaylen chuckles. “I told you it would work.”

  “I shall never doubt your brilliance again,” I retort, aiming for sarcasm but coming up short. Khaylen is one of the most powerful and brilliant fae in existence.

  “Shall we?” I say, pointing west, where the other slab awaits.

  Khaylen smiles. “After you.”

  A pink form appears in my peripheral vision, I ignore it as I keep walking, not for the first time admiring the beauty of the untouched, ancient forest. The moss-covered sequoias, soft ground, and clean smell. I feel a tingle in my hair and the warmth of a small body on my shoulder through my T-shirt. I almost stop, surprised, pixies usually never get this close to me.

  Khaylen chuckles. “You have an admirer.”

  I can’t help but smile as the tiny pixie settles more comfortably on my shoulder and sings in her language. “So I do.”

  CHAPTER 19

  DINAH

  I’m nervous, there’s no denying that. My lower lip is thoroughly abused and I have a serious case of restless legs. This is it. My graduation project will be approved or rejected and if it gets rejected I’d have less than two months to change it, not that I’d do that. It’s taken me almost four years to take the idea into a tangible thing, and I won’t be persuaded to give up on it.

  Why, oh why do teachers think it’s such a brilliant idea to have one talking in front of everyone? Peer review, gah.

  Dean, teenage genius that he is, has come up with a software that has an autocorrect for complex coding. Which can also be used to solve algorithms that look like something aliens could come up with. Carson could not be prouder. The middle-aged teacher looks so puffed up that one would think he wrote the bloody thing.

  The other’s projects have also been quite good, some are derivative, some improved, or combined versions of free-source software. Amy, a rather quiet, gothic girl, has created a new version of Arch Linux I’m dying to test out.

  “Novak, let’s see what you’ve got,” Carson says, I can hear the challenge in his tone, the implication I’ve got nothing interesting to show.

  I nod and get up on legs that feel a bit unsteady, laptop in hand, and demonstration ready. My hands shake a bit as I connect the HDMI cable to my laptop. Why am I so nervous? I barely know any of the others despite the painful group projects I’ve been forced into, I don’t care what they think. I certainly don’t care what James Carson has to say about my project.

  But I need them to like it, to approve, so I must care, right?

  Ugh, maybe I could move to Alaska and live in a
n igloo. How hard can fishing be?

  “Whenever you want, Miss Novak,” Carson drawls. I hear some snickers but don’t lift my eyes and confirm who laughed.

  “Right, so who here has ever used a dating app?” I ask, steeling my nerves and looking up.

  I’ve fought demons, dammit, I can do this.

  Some lift their hands, others, Dean included, look bored.

  “And were you scared you were going to inadvertently find a psycho?”

  Amy winces and gives me a small nod. The others just look at me expectantly.

  “Well, I may have a solution,” I say, my voice a bit steadier as I open the app. Water ripples against a black background and the word Scry appears in silver, slick letters.

  “So, erm, before going on a date, you can copy-paste the profile picture of your prospect and their name. If you have a social media link, even better. In less than a minute, Scry will tell you if said person is real. And if they are, it will find their criminal record and scour the web looking for comments, posts, and forums where they have been, generating a basic psychological profile. Based on writing patterns, it will also track down possible false profiles. No more awkward dates with a white supremacist, or a misogynist, or a religious fanatic,” I finish in a rush.

  I look up and examine the reactions. Amy has big interested eyes, a few others look surprised and others are frowning, including Dean. None look as angry as Carson.

  “Can I send you some info?” asks Amy quietly, looking completely uncomfortable with breaking the silence.

  I smile. “Better than that, I’ll send you the app if you give me a copy of LOKI.”

  Amy smiles and nods.

  “You will do no such thing,” Carson snarls.

  “Excuse me?” I ask.

  He’s red-faced. “You mean to tell me, you’ve spent the last few months creating an invasive, humiliating piece of software?”

  I can see a few nods in the background.

  I swallow, my throat is parched. “Scry will only pick up information that the user has willingly posted on the internet and criminal records. People have the right to know who they’re going to date, they have the right to know they’re safe.”