by Karen Mead
“Who in the—?” Quentin started, black blood dripping from his mouth. Lawrence looked out the window behind Sam.
“There’s a pizza truck outside,” he said quietly. “Should I kill him?”
“No, you moron,” grunted Quentin, getting to his feet. He approached Helen and ripped the tape off her mouth. Helen scrunched up her face in pain, which surprised Cassie; somehow, she didn’t expect Helen to show any signs of human weakness. “You are going to yell downstairs that everything is fine, he is to drop off the pizza and leave. Your son’s going to die, but I can make it painless,” he whispered quickly. “Or not.”
“It’s fine, Dylan,” Helen called without hesitation. “I’m just having some work done on the front of the house. Just drop the pizza off on the glass table; you know where my cash jar is.”
A pause. “You sure everything’s okay?”
“Yes, yes, I’m just busy upstairs. Help yourself to a ten dollar tip.”
“You’re the best, Mrs. A!” he said, then Cassie could hear the man enter the house, splinters of wood from the destroyed door crunching under his feet. She then heard a click, like a mechanism locking into place, and wasn’t sure if she was hearing it with her ears or her mind, but it was definitely there. Lawrence and Quentin shared a look of confusion for a fraction of a second, then all the demons in the room—including Sam, Bennet and Serenus—collapsed to the floor like they were marionettes being pulled with strings.
“What in the—?” Quentin growled, struggling to move off the floor. It looked like a magnet inside his chest was attracted to something below the floorboards.
There was the sound of sneakered feet dashing up the stairs, then a teenaged boy with a dyed-black Mohawk and tons of stud earrings in both ears ran in the room and helped Helen to her feet.
“Sorry for the delay, Mrs. A,” he said, removing a pocket knife from his apron. “I had to make another stop.”
“That’s fine Dylan, you’re right on time,” said Helen calmly, as though a bunch of demons weren’t currently struggling on the floor of her son’s bedroom. She turned gracefully as Dylan cut her ropes. “I know people want their pizza while it’s hot. Now free everyone who’s currently bound, please.”
“Got it,” said Dylan, kneeling down behind Cassie to cut her ropes. Relief flooded through her, but she was afraid to trust it; was it really over?
“What have you done, witch?” bellowed Quentin. It was hard to look imposing while glued to the floor, but he did his best.
“Strangely, I feel zero need to explain anything to you. I’ll be sure to let you know if that changes,” said Helen, crossing her arms. She looked at Sam, who was also suffering under the effects of whatever strange spell she had cast. “Sorry, darling. It’s an anti-demon spell, it’s not intelligent enough to determine friend or foe.”
Dylan ripped the tape off of Sam’s mouth, began to saw through the ropes binding his arms, then frowned.
“These are cursed, Mrs. A. I can’t cut ‘em with a normal knife.”
“That’s alright, free everyone else you can,” Helen replied calmly.
Practically shaking with rage, Lawrence cried out from his place on the floor next to Quentin.
“You said the Witch of the Outer Banks was a weak garden witch! You led us into this with faulty information!”
“I was told she wouldn’t be a factor!” Quentin yelled.
Helen walked forward until she was standing in front of the two demons. “Oh I am a weak witch, children. Pitiful, really. But you came into my home; I’ve had 30 years to prepare for this,” she said quietly, crossing her ankles. “With that amount of time, even a weakling can mount a reasonable defense.” She glared down at Quentin, and Cassie shivered; even without his ice-blue eyes, her glare was certainly a match for his. “You tried to bleed out my son like an animal, in front of his mother. Did you really think that was a good idea?”
Bennet, whom Cassie had almost forgotten was there, was struggling on the floor next to Sam. As Dylan ripped the tape off of his mouth, he was looking up at Helen like he had seen a ghost. “Helpless, but powerful…a child yet, a crone…” he murmured.
Ignoring him, Helen continued to lecture the demons at her feet. “And as though threatening my family weren’t enough, now I have to do something I really, really hate: I have to call my husband. And it’s all YOUR fault.”
She shook her head and sighed. “I would love to do something horrible to you to make you pay, but frankly, your chances of surviving the night are nil, so it’s not even worth thinking about. It’s a shame; you’re all still young.”
“You’re the Mother of Sorcerers,” said Bennet in a hoarse whisper. “It’s you; it’s always been you. And that means…” he said, flicking his eyes to look at Sam with an expression of wonder.
Helen took a deep breath, touched a bronze ring on her finger and then called out. “Oh husband dearest! I need you to come home and take out the trash. Dinner’s on the table.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Pascal steeled himself in front of the door of the Daily Grind; why a demon would choose a coffee shop as a base of operations was beyond him, but it didn’t matter. Tonight, not only was he going to get his familiar back—the one he had handpicked, with the most perfect magic for his needs—but he was going to kill all the human members of Sam’s entourage that he could find. How he was going to explain that in court he wasn’t quite sure, but it was fine: Quentin had good lawyers. Besides, non-magical servants were still considered more or less disposable.
With a hand gesture, he motioned to one of the vampires behind him, who handed him the time stopping amulet. With a word, he activated it; now, anyone inside the shop should be frozen. He could kill whoever he wanted while they were in that state, but he would probably snap Sam’s servants out of it first; he wanted them to know who they were being killed by. It seemed only fair. After casting a basic illusion to keep anyone passing on the street from looking in the windows, he opened the door and entered the shop, his minions following obediently behind.
To his surprise, while the customers were indeed frozen, several in mid-sip, three men sitting at a table in the corner were playing cards, with a relaxed air as though all the people around them hadn’t just become living statues.
“Do have any nines?”
“No. Go Fish.”
Pascal squinted, confused. He recognized Dwight and Khalil, two of Sam’s human servants, from pictures he’d been provided with, and he knew Eugene Buckley by reputation. But why weren’t they affected by the spell?
“If you’re wondering why your amulet didn’t work on us, please remember that our master is a specialist in time magic,” said Eugene without looking up from his cards. “It’s going to take more than a cheap amulet like that to freeze us in time.”
“Pretty cool. Power by osmosis,” said Khalil. “Do you have any threes?”
“No. Go Fish,” said Eugene.
Pascal shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I would have unfrozen you to kill you anyway.” He snapped, and the four vampires fanned out behind him. Buckley was formidable, but with four vampires plus Pascal’s own magic, there was no way the trio had a prayer. Still it was strange; why were they so calm?
“What stupid plan have you cooked up?” Pascal sneered. He could feel the weight of the vampires’ stare on the back of his neck; they were waiting for him to give the command so they could rip the humans apart.
Khalil slammed his palms on the table and glared at Pascal defiantly. “There’s a bomb strapped to my chest; the minute I die, this whole block is going to go up like a Chinese fireworks factory.”
There was a pause.
“That’s rascist,” said Dwight, shuffling his cards.
Khalil picked up his cards again. “Sorry, I just always wanted to do that. You know how it is.”
Pascal frowned. Somehow, this seemed to be getting away from him. “So, there isn’t a bomb strapped to your chest?”
“Oh no, I
was just joshin’ ya.”
“There’s no bomb strapped to anybody’s chest?”
“Not that I know of,” said Eugene. “Do you have any 2s?”
“Fine, then enough of this stupidity.” He pointed at Buckley, preparing himself for a curse that would kill a rather old, rather powerful vampire. It took a moment. “Ormea—”
Before he could finish the curse, he heard a loud clicking sound and several soldiers, in full riot gear, popped up from behind the counter and several tables. He looked down at his chest, and saw several red dots from laser sites trained on his heart. At least five people were pointing rifles at him.
“If his lips move, shoot before he can curse,” said Eugene quickly, not looking up. “Mr. MacGregor, would you please give Mr. Arrigio a call? I’m sure he’d be interested to know about the trespassing going on this evening. And Menacing in the first degree.”
“My pleasure,” said Dwight, pulling out his phone. “May as well get some photo evidence, too.” He pointed the phone at Pascal and snapped a picture.
Pascal seethed; they thought they could get the best of him with a couple of soldiers? The nerve. He made a subtle gesture with his right hand, a secret sign for the vampires to fan out and attack.
As the vampires started to move, several of the black-clad soldiers disappeared, and for a moment, the room was a total blur of moving figures; when his vision cleared, he saw each of the vampires crumpled to the floor, metal stakes protruding from their chests.
“What the-?” he started, then a soldier moved with incredible speed and grabbed him by the throat, preventing him from speaking.
“The target has been secured, Captain,” the soldier called over his shoulder to Buckley.
“Thank you Gregory, I can see that,” said Buckley.
“It’s kind of overkill, you know?” said Khalil while Dwight dialed Arrigio’s number. “I mean, Navy SEALS who are also vampires? That’s just excessive.”
“I know,” said Buckley, sifting through the deck. “But that’s the whole point.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
The first thing Sammael did when he appeared in the room was give Helen a quick kiss on the lips. The demon was wearing a tuxedo, complete with a top hat and black gloves. Cassie wondered if he’d just come from a party, or if he’d gotten dressed up just for Helen. “My love, I thought you’d never call. Ah, I smell wonderfully devious magic in the air.” He sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose. “And pizza.”
“You’re welcome to it if you like,” said Helen. “Now—”
“Please spare us, My Lord!” yelled Lawrence, prostrating himself; of course, given that he was being pulled down towards the floor by some kind of magical force, that wasn’t hard. “We’ll do anything, absolutely anything! We’ll serve you for the rest of our lives!”
“Oh God, shut up,” muttered Quentin.
“Indeed. You’re annoying, quiet down.” said Sammael, waving his hand in Lawrence’s direction. The man’s mouth seemed to literally disappear, leaving a blank wall of flesh where his lips should be. Even though she had no love for the man, Cassie couldn’t help wincing in sympathy; it hurt to even look at his face.
“As I was saying—” Helen began, but Sammael spoke over her.
“Now, what is this marvelous spell you’ve prepared here? Let’s see—it has something to do with you, right?” He walked over to Dylan and sniffed at the teen’s collar. “Ah, you’re what, 19 years old? Charmed every day of your life with an anti-demon spell since birth, I think. As was the house, I would guess. You enter the house and bam!” he clapped his hands together. “The circle is complete, and it’s an anti-demon spell ten times as powerful as either would be independently. Only my wife, gentlemen,” he said, applauding. “Trust me, you find a witch who thinks like that, you put a ring on it.”
Helen rolled her eyes; Cassie thought she might be trying to hide the fact that she was flattered. “For your information, the spell didn’t work as well as I’d like: I was hoping it might incapacitate you too.”
Sammael turned to her with a wounded look on his face. “That hurts, pumpkin. More importantly, why haven’t you been summoning me?”
Helen looked away. “You know why.”
“Enlighten me,” said Sammael, and Cassie swallowed. It was impossible not to hear the threat implied in his tone. But if Helen was frightened at all, she didn’t show it.
“You won’t let me age,” she said. “It’s my right.”
“Oh not that again!” he said, pacing. He seemed completely unaware of everyone else except Helen, which was quite a feat, considering how crowded the room was. “Why do you want to die? Do you want to get away from me that badly?” he said. Cassie looked from him to Helen, transfixed; there was genuine hurt there. The very idea that Helen wanted to age, and possibly die, seemed to upset him.
“Whether I do or not is my business,” said Helen. “The fact remains, we are separated until you restore me to my proper age. But what’s important right now is these demons here, who tried to kill and eat our son,” said Helen, motioning to Lawrence, Quentin, and the as-of-yet-unnamed third demon.
“I’ve thought of doing that several times, but I had no idea there was a support group available,” said Sammael, then he sighed. “But come on, no changing the subject. Is that really the only reason you haven’t been summoning me?”
“Well…” said Helen, looking down and away. “The fact of the matter is, darling, you bore me.”
Sammael reacted like he’d been slapped, then looked around the room at everyone, even Quentin, with a look of Can you believe this woman? on his face. “Excuse me?”
“It’s always, let’s watch the Trojan War again, or let’s watch the slaves build the pyramids,” said Helen, shrugging. “It was fascinating the first dozen or so times, but frankly, at this point I’d rather read.”
“Dear,” Sammael said patiently, as though talking to a child. “Why didn’t you tell me? You know I can’t read your mind—well, technically I can, but I swore I wouldn’t as part of my vows, so same difference,” he said.
Helen still wasn’t looking at him; there was something downright contrary about her pose, Cassie thought. “I shouldn’t have to tell you I’m bored. You should have some ability to discern my mood, by this point in time.”
“Right, so it’s all about my not meeting these imaginary standards that exist solely in your mind again,” he said, shaking his head. “I am so tired of this, you make it so I can’t read your mind, then you blame me for not reading your mind, and this is all my fault somehow? You’re being completely unreasonable!”
Cassie felt slightly delirious; this was like a lover’s quarrel seen through some bizarre funhouse mirror. She wished they would talk about something else, because right now, she felt downright voyeuristic listening to them.
“Perhaps,” said Helen. “But for now, what should we do about this situation?”
“This?” said Sammael, waving his hand. “Nothing. Let our son, who you love so very much, fight his way out of it. If he’s as good as you say, he should be able to.”
Helen clicked her tongue. “I suppose you’re averse to finishing them off because you’ll be accused of intervening in a children’s quarrel?”
“I’d never hear the end of it from the guys,” said Sammael, turning to look at Cassie. He also looked at Aeka, stretched out on the floor, the only one left in the room who was still asleep, for some mysterious reason. “Although, the spoils are hardly child’s play,” he murmured. Cassie felt a chill go down her spine and did her best to become invisible; she never wanted Sammael to look at her the way he was looking at Aeka right now, like he had special plans for every cell in her body.
“Don’t be greedy,” said Helen, moving towards her son’s side. “He’s done what you asked; I summoned you. Now, time to pay up what you owe.”
Sammael was quiet for a minute, then he slammed his fist in the wall above Aeka’s prone form. Bits of plaster went flying
everywhere and Cassie winced. “That’s the whole reason why you summoned me, isn’t it? So you could bestow another gift upon your precious little baby boy,” he practically spat. “Since the day he was born, I’ve been nothing but a means to an end to you!”
Now it was Helen’s turn to speak slowly and patiently. “Darling, you’ve been a means to an end to me from the moment I first summoned you. I never once tried to hide it.”
Cassie stifled a gasp and tried even harder to blend into the wall. That’s it, we’re all going to die. She’s hurt his pride, he’s going to light us all on fire, and that’s that. Oh well—still better than having to be Quentin’s lapdog, I guess? Maybe?
To her surprise, Sammael didn’t seem to react much to Helen’s declaration. “It’s true. You’ve never lied about your intentions,” he said, finishing with a deep sigh. He turned on his heel and knelt in front of Sam, who was still struggling under the weight of the curse. “As promised, I’m going to show you how to travel back and forth from Realm whenever you desire. Pay attention, because I’m only going to show you this once,” he said and put his hand on Sam’s forehead.
There was complete silence in the room, everyone staring at the two nearly identical demons by the window. Cassie felt the familiar itch between her shoulder blades, an indicator that strong magic was at work, and rubbed her shoulders against the wall to try to make it go away. After a moment, Sammael removed his hand and stood up.
“I’ve got it,” said Sam in a low voice.
“Damn well better,” said Sammael. “I guess that’s all I’m needed for. Good night, Helen: Good God, but you are a piece of work,” he said, bowing his top hat to her.
“Tssk,” said Helen. “Don’t leave like that. I’m not completely hopeless, you know.”
Sammael just looked tired. “Dear, you know I love you, but I really am out of patience. If you have something to say—”
“Want to go out for a night on the town? It’s been a while,” said Helen, smiling. Her smile was dazzling; she wasn’t beautiful, but somehow when she smiled, Cassie could imagine a little bit of what had so attracted the Demon Lord to her. Maybe it was because her smiles were so rare, but they seemed to be imbued with a kind of mischievous glee. “Or maybe more than a night.”
