by J. N. Colon
When I turned left and my gaze landed on a familiar sight, my fist punched the air.
The cabinet.
I quickly ate up the distance to the exact image from Link’s mind and wrapped my fingers around the serpentine handles. Was this how an archeologist felt on the verge of unearthing a hidden relic?
That giddy high quickly dispersed as I peered into the empty cabinet. My shoulders slumped. Where could the dagger be?
“Looking for this?”
I whipped around, a pit of dread tearing into my gut when I faced the beautiful and deadly demon queen.
The edges of Cyria’s pale lips twisted into a smirk while the dagger dangled from her fingertips. “I must say, I’m impressed.”
And I’m screwed.
Electric strands of magic slithered down my arms, converging over my palms. “How about you just pretend I was never here.”
Her husky laugh swirled between us. “How about no.”
Before I could even lift my hands to defend myself, a sharp pain slashed at my temple, and crimson exploded across my vision. I dropped to the hard marble with a resonating thud. A myriad of shadows moved through the room, looming over me like grim reapers about to yank out my soul.
Son of a bitch, that hurt. I should have known Queen Cyria would have a couple of lackeys with her.
A short, squat demon with tiny horns on her nose appeared, smiling broadly while she forced a cloth bag over my head.
My pulse skyrocketed as darkness encompassed my vision. And my panic only grew when a pair of magical restraints locked around my wrists. A boot slammed into my abdomen, snatching the air from my lungs.
I curled onto my side, wheezing. The pain ricocheting through my frame made it impossible to concentrate enough to reach my magic and break the shackles.
“Pick her up.” The thick fabric over my ears muffled Cyria’s voice. “And don’t damage her too much. There will be plenty of time for that later—unless she complies with my demands.”
A pair of hands roughly hoisted my aching body from the ground and tossed me over a meaty shoulder.
Cyria’s haunting words left me chilled to the bone. Not only was I at the mercy of the demon queen, but she intended to inflict physical harm if I didn’t meet her demands.
And there was only one thing anyone ever wanted from me.
My deadly touch.
Whose death would be on my hands next?
Chapter 20
My wild thrashing against the magical restraints did nothing to free me from the steel chair or even shake the damn canvas bag off my head. The temporary blindness had my heart in a vise grip, or maybe a demon stood inches away, slowly sucking out my soul.
If I didn’t focus and find a connection to my powers, I’d never escape the demon queen’s clutches.
Sweat coated my skin, and the struggling only rocketed the temperature a couple dozen degrees. After Cyria’s goons carried me from her penthouse, I passed out and woke up chained to a freaking chair.
I cursed myself from now until the next blood moon. Had I really thought I could walk into the queen’s home, steal the knife, and skip back to Shade while singing a jolly tune?
The dagger might not even have anything to do with the East Side Slasher, but here I was, held captive by demons.
With another violent heave, the black material finally fell off. I blinked as sharp needles stabbed behind my eyes from the flood of light. My skull throbbed. Whoever hit me packed a serious punch.
As my vision cleared, a sheet of ice slithered from my nape to my toes. Metal instruments hung from blood-red walls, sharp blades gleaming in the stark fluorescents.
Air rushed out of my lungs. Those were not weapons. They were tools of torture. Ellexia had a similar room in her home.
Cyria sure as shit intended on torturing me.
I jolted up and immediately crashed back into the hard metal chair, harsh throbs shooting up my tailbone.
Stupid magical restraints.
Did Jasper make it back to Shade? Maybe he told Lachlan or Caleb my idiotic plan.
A disgusted scoff slipped out. I didn’t need anyone—especially that arrogant prince—to rescue me.
The electric zip of my powers bubbled in my core, and I yanked, shattering the thick barrier of the restraints. At least the demon queen had no idea these shackles were useless on me.
The heavy chains fell to the concrete floor with a violent clank. I jumped out of the chair, my muscles screaming from stiffness. How long had I been bound to that metal piece of crap?
I patted my pockets on the off chance the demons forgot to remove my phone. Nope. No phone.
The garish, windowless room provided no indication of the time. That was part of the torture, though. Without a sense of time, captives grew even more disoriented and closer to crumbling.
Not me. I’d be long gone before those monsters had a chance to put one single blade to my flesh.
I stormed to the door, laying my ear on the icy steel, straining to hear any signs of life. Cyria could have ordered a demon to stand guard outside.
Not a sound echoed.
I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans before gingerly turning the knob, wincing as it squeaked. When I peered into the long hall of drab concrete floors and slick cinderblock walls, no demons emerged.
A quiet breath of relief exited my lungs as I slipped out and skulked to the corner, pressing my body against the wall. The cold, damp air made me shiver. I craned my neck back and studied the low ceiling.
If this was the basement of Tolliver Tower, there was no telling how far this underground prison stretched or where the exits were located.
A door banging shut traveled down the maze of corridors. Shit. I grabbed the closest handle and slipped inside a dark room, listening as footsteps approached. My lids clamped shut. I was screwed if they were headed to the torture room.
After a few minutes, the footsteps disappeared, and no alarms rang out.
Thank the gods.
I tiptoed out of the room and crept along the cinderblock wall in the opposite direction. The basement could be crawling with demons. One wrong move and I’d be dragged back to the torture room. The queen wanted to know why I was interested in her dagger.
At the end of the hall, a large door came into view with a plastic sign depicting a set of stairs nailed to it.
A way out.
I sprinted forward, but a conversation carried from the hall on the left.
My boots hit the brakes, and I plastered myself against the wall, my pulse spiking to astronomical levels.
“Bring in the next subject.” Queen Cyria’s voice swirled down the corridor like a twisted cloud of doom. “I hope this one turns out better than the others.”
Subject for what?
Before I could knock some sense into myself and escape, I tiptoed in the direction of a slightly ajar door and peeked inside. The scent of blood and death swam up my nostrils, and I winced. Ugh. Where was it coming from?
A few buckets of paint, a ladder, and a couple of blue tarps covering old rubber tubs filled the edges of the room. Maybe an animal had gotten stuck somewhere and died.
With my luck, a human or nightworlder corpse was probably lying around.
Cyria stood in the center, impatiently tapping one of her knee-high stiletto boots. Her icy-blonde hair trailed down her back in a long, intricate series of braids. A door on the other side opened, and two demons dragged in a struggling human.
My hands curled into fists as a rush of curses tumbled through my mind. Could I sit back and let them hurt a human?
A piece of duct tape over his mouth kept the guy from making anything more than grunts and groans as he tried in vain to break free of the demons gripping his arms. His eyes were wide, fear staining every facet.
“Dumont,” Cyria called, and the demon dealing drugs at Pulse appeared, his glamour back in place. She passed over the dagger. “Do it.”
My heart tapped out a frantic beat as Dumont marched
to the human with the dagger clutched in his hand, the black blade gleaming ominously. Oh, gods, he was going to stab him—right in the heart like the East Side Slasher.
I didn’t need any more evidence because the truth now slapped me in the face. Cyria and her demons were Chicago’s latest serial killer.
But why did they need the dagger of Astrix? Some other vital piece of information was missing.
Dumont raised the twisted blade, going for the human’s heart.
No!
Before I could make a move, the knife pierced the guy’s chest. I slapped my hand over my mouth to keep the gasp from slipping free. Blood bloomed across his yellow shirt as his tawny eyes rolled back in his head.
Acid crawled up my throat as another layer of blood and death poisoned the atmosphere.
The demons unceremoniously ripped the tape off his mouth and then dropped him to the floor, where he began to violently convulse, his body contorting in unnatural positions. The hair on my nape rose at the nightmarish scene ripped straight out of a horror movie.
Was he having a seizure?
After a few more moments of flailing, the guy went limp.
He was dead.
Cyria’s clap echoed like a gunshot through the suddenly quiet room. “Well, that seems promising.” She wiggled her fingers at Dumont. “The dagger.”
He wiped the thick coat of blood off on the guy’s shirt before gently placing the crimson and silver hilt in the queen’s palm. “What’s next?”
She ticked her head to the corner of the room. “You and Vita dispose of those two in fae territory. Make sure it’s close to Shade again. The sentries found the other one before anyone else.”
What little moisture had remained in my mouth quickly dissolved when a pallid hand became visible from beneath a blue tarp.
The smell hadn’t come from a dead animal after all.
“Maybe call some attention to the drop spots so a human can discover at least one of the bodies this time.” Cyria stashed the dagger in her leather jacket, the cruel twist of her lips puckering my flesh. “Getting the human police on Lachlan’s case while nightworlders already suspect him of more treachery would be a plus.”
Lachlan wasn’t my favorite person—I wasn’t crazy about most fae—but at least they didn’t kill humans for an evil plot against another supernatural creature. If I’d had backup, I’d have stormed in there and slapped Cyria across her flawless face.
A choking, gasping groan shattered my fantasies of knocking the demon queen out.
“Someone’s ready.” The queen’s hips swayed as she moved closer to the human Dumont just murdered—only he wasn’t so dead anymore.
The guy slowly sat up, his lids lifting to reveal a pair of vibrant blue irises in place of his former brown ones.
What. The. Fuck.
“Welcome to your new life, darling,” Cyria sang.
Air rushed in and out of my lungs too quickly. How could a human—a dead one—wake up sporting demon eyes?
Only shifters and vampires were made creatures. You couldn’t turn a human or any other being into a demon. They were either created in the Underworld or born from at least one demon parent.
My head spun, and the slick cinderblock walls began to close in on me. Did the dagger do this?
The guy’s demonic stare swiveled across the room, finding me within the crack of the door. Before I could move, his finger shot out. “Witch.”
Several heads, including Cyria’s, whipped in my direction.
That bastard.
I bolted, forced away from the stairs as the demons gave chase. There had to be more than one way out of this basement of hell.
A heavy door loomed ahead, cutting off the corridor, but when I slammed the long handle down, it wouldn’t open.
Damn it! I was really getting sick of all these locked doors.
Violet sparks flew from my fingertips as a group of demons rounded the corner. The click of the lock releasing was sweet music to my ears. I plowed into the door and shoved it closed behind me. Electric cords of magic slithered across the surface, fusing it to the doorjamb.
The screech of talons against metal echoed as demons tried to claw their way through.
Sweat cut a line down my cheek as I sprinted down the hall. This place was a freaking maze. If I could find a safe hiding spot, maybe I’d be able to use my magic to locate a damn exit.
I turned the corner and smacked into a hard wall of muscle, stumbling and landing on my ass. Pain ricocheted through my bottom half as my head craned back to examine the behemoth demon with onyx spikes rippling down his arms and three glowing eyes.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
A snarl curled out of his mouth, fetid saliva dripping down his knobby chin. “You’re in the wrong place, witch.”
“I agree.” I scrambled up and formed an energy ball in my palm, tossing it as the demon charged.
The churning orb of magic crashed against his gut, knocking him into the wall so hard the floor shook. His head lolled to the side.
Frantic footsteps slapped the concrete. Shit! I dashed inside of a room, easing the door shut and turning the lock. I sagged against the wall, knees quaking as muffled voices zoomed by.
My hands fumbled for a switch. I found one, flicked it, and winced against the sudden harsh light. Couldn’t this thing have a dimmer?
I blinked my vision clear, focusing on the wooden shelves spreading out. Unlike the gleaming collection in Cyria’s penthouse, these dusty objects pulsated with a power that tickled my scalp.
An assortment of crystals in every shade of the rainbow glittered beneath a row of wooden boxes used to trap demonic essences. Ceremonial daggers rusted next to a summoning board. A necklace dangled from a hook, the silver pendant gently swaying as if to grab my attention.
Blood rushed to my head at the sight of the familiar crescent moon. I used to stare at the same necklace around my father’s neck—before he took off and left me with my psycho mother.
But it couldn’t be the same one. His pendant never throbbed with any mystical properties.
I slowly inched toward it, my hand trembling as I reached out to flip over the pendant. My shoulders sank. Instead of a star, a goat head flashed on the other side.
The door burst open, scattering the nostalgic thoughts of my father trying to creep in.
I threw my hand up to create a shield, but the demon queen moved faster. She grabbed hold of my soul without even touching me, an invisible vise grip around my core.
My heart lodged into my throat. Son of a bitch. How did I so easily end up in her grasp again?
“Look what I found.” Cyria strolled inside, choking the air right out of the room.
Tiny bolts of magic zapped my fingertips. “Let me go.”
Her grip tightened, and a surprised cry tore from my mouth as my magic fizzled back under to hide from her chilling presence.
“I wanted to do this nicely.” Her hand lifted, fingers stroking my cheek. “But I should have known you were trouble, Thorn Rosalee.”
How does she know my name?
My flesh puckered at her touch. “Get your hands off me.”
She ignored my venomous tone and clutched my jaw so I couldn’t turn my head. “Bring it here.”
A familiar blond head of curls appeared, but those blue eyes were no longer angelic. Poison filled every glimmering fleck.
Link.
“Do you know what this is?” The queen grabbed a device from Link, bringing the cylindrical copper object—no bigger than a cigar—into my eye line.
Every drop of blood froze in my veins. I couldn’t breathe as black spots converged over my vision. How the hell did the demon queen get her hands on a witch dampener?
“Oh, good. By your reaction, I can tell you know what it is.” She flipped it over, revealing the swirling sigil fashioned from metal only found in Illyria and cursed by a hundred witches on a full moon Samhain.
Witch dampeners were hard to make and even harder
to find. Ellexia kept one in her arsenal, but I had yet to develop an immunity to the debilitating magic—mostly because it was an impossible feat. Even the grand witch realized that.
“Don’t,” I hissed, trying to yank out of Cyria’s relentless grasp.
If she activated the device and branded my skin, my powers would be shoved so far under, nothing would bring them back until the mark was destroyed.
The sinister twist of the queen’s lips sent a line of cold sweat down my back. “You shouldn’t have tried to run away.” She ticked her head toward Link and Dumont. “Hold her down.”
Chapter 21
The two demons rushed forward, each seizing one of my arms in a bruising grip. Cyria sliced her finger across the sharp end of the device to trigger the witch dampener. Her blood sizzled, and the swirling sigil blazed red-hot like embers of hellfire.
Sinister power stained the air, willing and ready to drain every drop of my magic.
The moment that symbol touched my skin, I’d be screwed.
“I’ll die before I do anything for you.” My muscles burned as I tried to fight the demons holding me captive, but Cyria’s grasp on my soul rendered my body weak.
Her smoky laugh slithered over me like slimy snakes. “You’ll change your tune when I’m done with you.”
My heart battered my chest cavity as the ominous power of the device clogged the air, colliding with the queen’s desire to have me under her thumb. She stepped forward, poised to brand the sigil on my neck.
Before she did, her invisible claws retracted from my soul.
Big mistake.
Power surged through me, and I latched onto Link and Dumont, letting my deadly touch drain their energy.
A gasp tumbled out of my mouth as a heady wave crashed into my core. I’d never connected with two living beings simultaneously. One was bad enough. I could only imagine the effect killing two creatures at the same time would have on my soul.
More darkness would consume it, like a nasty cancer tainting healthy tissue.
The demons’ smug smiles melted the moment black veins spiderwebbed across their pallid complexion and their lives began to fade. A barrage of images plowed through the thick mental barrier I’d tried to construct. Death, destruction, mayhem, and lust battered my mind.
