by Jess Haines
The only advantage he had against the demon was its limited ability to leave the proximity of its master. Victor could only keep it on this plane for so long, and even then, it couldn’t go very far from him; if Victor let it stray more than a few yards, he ran the very real risk of the demon slipping its leash.
A broken familiar bond between a regular familiar usually ended in a bloody, often fatal, mess.
A broken familiar bond between a warlock and his demon was a recipe for a disaster that could level a city.
The only way they might escape with their lives would be to let Victor believe he’d won. It would take sleight of hand and a big dose of chutzpah to pull off the duplicity, but James thought he could do it. He’d tried going straight during his time dating Lyra, back before everything had gone to hell, but when in doubt, do what you do best. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was an improvement over the helpless, agonized writhing he’d been doing for the last several hours as he fought the combined pain of the demon’s poison and the goading of the geas wracking his body in that hospital bed.
It didn’t take long to reach one of the side entrances of the marketplace. He parked under an old oak, drooping under the weight of Spanish moss, tucked Lyra under one arm, and made his way to the narrow alley between a closed convenience store and a row of empty storefronts in a forgotten shopping plaza. He took a left turn into a wall and found himself in a stairwell similar to the entrance near Lyra’s book store.
This one was darker, a couple of the magelights having burned out long ago, but it still led down to the main market. The tents at the row of this entrance were moth-eaten and dingy. Most of the vendors hid from the light, watching with eyes that glowed various shades of red, amber, or green from the dark sanctuaries of their booths. Wares were hawked in slithery hisses, promising impossible things.
It was not the safest point of entry, but with the weight of the geas goading him, he didn’t have much choice unless he wanted to suffer debilitating pains for taking anything but the most direct route to his destination.
Keeping his eyes dead ahead, and his strides long, he kept Lyra close to his chest. The heat of her felt good against his skin, but it wasn’t the right kind of warmth. He hadn’t held her close enough. Hadn’t told her how he really felt. Hadn’t found the right time to say he was sorry.
Not that she’d ever forgive him now. Even if she somehow managed to figure out that he wasn’t acting under his own willpower, he’d shattered every last iota of trust she’d once placed in him. That wasn’t something he could blame on Victor. He’d done it himself, the minute he tried to steal the book from her instead of work out a way to get it that wasn’t so underhanded.
As he slipped from the marketplace and into the tunnels that led to Victor’s lair, he clamped down on the fine tremors that started in his fingers. Keeping his muscles taut didn’t help much. The shakes worked their way up his arms, through the muscles of his back, and even down his legs.
Only a madman would face a warlock and his demon alone, armed with nothing more than bottom shelf powers and an unconscious phoenix.
Chapter 15
The receptionist was gone and all the lights were off except for a single lamp when James arrived at Victor’s office. The place stank of sulfur and blood. No doubt the warlock had been prepping for the moment the phoenix was back within his grasp.
He paused in the foyer, the tremors in his muscles growing into spasms that nearly dropped him where he stood. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he fought the goading of the geas just long enough to get a feel for what was waiting for him in the next room.
The swirl of dark magic was a black hole, sucking all the life out of the room. He was about to walk into a death trap, and there was nothing he could do about it.
Sweat trickled down his back as he gave in and moved inside, clutching Lyra’s unconscious body close. Unless he came up with a brilliant distraction to prevent the warlock from immediately accepting and then sacrificing her, the moment Victor put her in his spelling circle, she would die.
Speak of the devil; Victor looked up from the book, a few sparks spiraling up from the open pages on the wooden podium and drifting on a nonexistent wind. Moira’s body was in the center of his circle, the shadow-frame leaking ink-like blood into the grooves of the pentacle. The sprawled shadow’s chest moved up and down in a slow, shallow, but regular rhythm, still alive for the moment. Whatever spell she was fueling was making every hair on his body stand on end. An electric feeling was in the air, the crackle of it almost a tangible thing, tiny insect legs crawling over their skin.
“Well, look at that. The prodigal son returns.”
James said nothing, woodenly approaching the podium, arms held out stiffly before him like a zombie as he offered the drooping frame of the phoenix to the warlock.
Dark eyes that glittered with malicious glee watched James approach. No move was made to shorten the distance between them to ease the pain of the geas. One hand was held out, accepting the offering as the bundle of fiery feathers was given to him.
One thick finger stroked her crest, the naked avarice on Victor’s face spurring a pang of something that made James’s heart constrict, even as the bonds of the geas lifted and freed his body from the constant, driving pain that had brought him here.
Just as the geas faded, thick, spidery talons closed around his upper arms, holding him in place.
“No scones?” The demon’s deep voice was wistful with disappointment.
James swallowed, doing his best not to gag from the stench of its breath wafting over his shoulder. “Sorry, Baz. The geas... Next time.”
“You’re assuming there will be a next time,” Victor said, not looking up, his fingertips absently drifting over the lines of the spell he was reading in the book. “I’m rather disappointed in you, Pierce. It shouldn’t have come to laying down a geas to make you obey me.”
James bowed his head. He didn’t bother denying it. The warlock was arrogant, but not stupid.
Victor strolled around the podium, tossing Lyra’s limp form into a bird cage near the circle. He latched the cage and turned away, folding his arms across his chest as he studied the oil-slick patterns of the half bubble that had formed over the circle, trapping Moira inside. Dark, deep violet sparks drifted off the surface of the enclosed circle, slowly swirling like a maelstrom of hellish fireflies around his massive frame.
His eyes closed, head tilting back as he absorbed the power into himself, siphoning life from Moira a sip at a time. The dark tattoos painted on Victor’s skin shifted and moved with a life of their own, twisting like tiny serpents into positions to suck in the purplish sparks like black holes of need.
At this point, it was a miracle Moira was still what passed for alive among her kind. With all of the power being stolen from her, she couldn’t survive much longer. As powerful as she was, it would take decades for her to regain her strength, assuming Victor didn’t destroy her in the process of stealing her magic.
Bazriel arched his long neck over James’s shoulder, his saucer-sized green eyes narrowing as a forked tongue flicked over reptilian lips. “Some people simply do not know how to share.”
“We discussed this. She is not for you.”
“As you wish. What about this one?”
James went very still. Victor opened one eye, glancing in their direction. The warlock’s gaze slid over James’s body like an oil slick. The sorcerer’s stomach dropped somewhere in the region of his shoes. He’d seen what became of Bazriel’s toys after they were discarded. He’d had nightmares about the times he’d been tasked with disposing of what was left.
Victor looked away, returning his attention to the circle as he spread his arms and breathed in Moira’s suffering.
“I’ll need him when I’m done with the specter. A little life, a little death, and a taste of immortality, hmm? You know how it goes.”
Bazriel made a noncommittal sound. If the demon hadn’t been holding James’s arms
so tightly, the sorcerer would have sunk to his knees with relief.
Though he wasn’t too sure if he should be relieved just yet.
“What are you going to do with Lyra?” James didn’t bother to beg for Victor not to hurt her. He knew he’d be wasting his breath.
Victor flicked the cage, making the metal rattle. “Didn’t you read that book?”
James shook his head. Bazriel loosed a mocking chuckle; he flushed with embarrassment over the derision in both the demon’s amusement with him and Victor’s contemptuous gaze.
“No? You always were a better thief than you were a scholar. It’s unfortunate, Pierce. I had high hopes that Baz could teach you one day.”
Bazriel’s rumbled laughter became a bit heartier. James tried to shrug off the demon’s grip, but it only tightened its hold around his arms.
“You never would have done that,” James accused, ignoring the pain of the talons pricking his skin, digging into the meat of his muscles. He’d deal with the consequences later, assuming he survived a second dose of demonic corruption. “Baz is right. You don’t know how to share, not that I give a shit right now. Tell me what you’re going to do to her!”
“It’s simple, really. Immortality comes at a price. Eternal life requires a balance of life and death.” He pointed at the cage. “A few of her feathers, a bone or two, and some freshly spilled heart’s-blood combined with a correctly timed sacrifice”—he gestured with a flourish at James—“will change the balance of nature. Open a window, so to speak.”
Swallowing back the bile rising in his throat, James looked away.
With a grin that gleamed pearly white against the backdrop of his dark beard, Victor smiled at James. “Don’t look so down. It’s a better way to go than by leaving you to Bazriel. You know my gifts. I’ll make it quick, painless.” The warlock paused, glancing down at Lyra again. “That reminds me. Bazriel, let’s not have a repeat of this afternoon. So it’s crystal clear, if it comes down to it, your priority is the phoenix. It does not leave this chamber. Do you understand?”
It shrugged, leathery wings rustling.
“Bazriel. You’re not going to slide by on a technicality. I’m commanding you. Do. You. Understand?”
Green eyes blazed with heat, teeth bared all the way down to blackened gums. “I understand.”
Victor nodded and returned his attention to the task of consuming what remained of Moira’s life. The demon growled softly, the sound like the grinding of dry, dusty bones. James barely heard the thing’s whisper, far too quiet for Victor to hear.
“Talentless hack.”
Triple rows of yellowed fangs clacked together with irritation as the demon turned from the circle, dragging the sorcerer with him as it withdrew into the shadows. Its great ribbed wings flapped with a decisive snapping sound as it stalked the perimeter of the room, James’s sneakers sliding over the stone.
He yelped as the demon’s grip tightened, on the verge of crushing his muscles.
It whispered in his ear, oh, so sweetly, “Let me end it before he does. He doesn’t have the skill to make it painless.”
James shook his head, frantic. He didn’t dare speak in case Victor would hear him in the vast, echoing chamber.
“He cannot cast this spell. You know it as well as I. Let me have you, James. Make your decision soon. The shadow will not last much longer. Once she fades...”
Bazriel didn’t need to finish the thought.
Once Moira was gone, Lyra and James were next.
Chapter 16
Lyra did her best not to move as she listened to the warlock explain how he wanted to use her parts and James’s life to pay the price for his own immortality.
Her blood, bones, and feathers were all a part of her, and she wasn’t about to let them go without a fight. However, as of that moment, she wasn’t sure what she could do to escape. She’d opened her eyes to slits, studying the enclosure and her surrounds.
The nail in her coffin was likely the command that Victor gave to the demon. The creature was huge, nearly double the height of a grown man, with a wingspan that rivaled that of a double seater plane. James was terrified of the damned thing, even with its weird obsession with scones and tea time. She had been afraid of it when she first saw it, but with the growing anger building in her chest, it was hard to consider thoughts that revolved around self-preservation.
The demon most likely had the strength to squash her like a bug, even without bringing whatever magical powers it had to the table. However, it was preoccupied with holding James, and she sensed that it was displeased with its master to some degree. Whether she could use that to any advantage was debatable.
Moira was fading. Lyra’s strange new vision showed as much; the edges of the shadow that formed Moira’s figure were growing blurry, diminishing by inches. She couldn’t withstand Victor’s onslaught much longer, James wasn’t capable of providing a distraction in his current condition, and she wasn’t going to do either of them any good stuck in a freaking birdcage.
Rage boiled in her breast at the helplessness of the situation. The metal bars beneath her were gaining a cherry glow from heat fueled by her growing wrath.
Assuming she survived what was coming, turning back to her human self meant nothing if her friends died in the process. Moira was not as close to her as others, but she was dying now because she had agreed to help Lyra. Not to mention she had no doubt that Robert would eventually come looking for them. James had betrayed her, yes, but she’d heard the word “geas” being bandied about. That was likely the only explanation for what he had done to Robert, and to her. Not that she could tell him she forgave him, even if she wanted to. The one thing she couldn’t understand or forgive was choosing to work for a maniac like Victor in the first place.
Unless she found a way to stop this immediately, Victor would destroy everything. She had power. She knew she did; he wouldn’t be attempting to use her as a spell component if she didn’t. The power had risen up inside her at unexpected moments, saving her from the eagle, and healing the little boy in the emergency room.
She didn’t know how to control it, but the instincts were there. She felt it as a constant presence in the heat that rolled through her body whenever her emotions ran high. A feral beast, waiting under the surface, able and perhaps even eager to well up and take control. She’d been careful, only letting it show itself in flashes and spurts, or in moments when she had been startled into using powers she wasn’t even fully aware of having.
Robert had said, “The more you let the bird take over, the harder it’s going to be to turn you back.”
Whatever was there, roiling through the lava in her veins, clawing to get out, might not be so easy to contain once unleashed. Letting the animal side of her take complete control might be something she couldn’t come back from. She knew the stories. A phoenix could burn itself out, only to be reborn from the ashes. Whether it would still be her, should she burn out and return, was unknown.
She closed her eyes, burying the worm of doubt burrowing in the back of her mind. Accepting the monstrous nature inside this body was a risk, but it was the only shot any of them had of getting out of this alive. The only trouble was dragging it out on command. The only time it had ever appeared was when her life was in danger, or her adrenaline had spiked out of great fear or anger.
Thinking and planning wasn’t going to bring the beastly part of her to the surface. Focusing on Victor’s hulking form just a few yards away, she let the reality of what he was doing sink in. He was planning on killing people. He was going to kill her. He was going to kill James. He was on the verge of killing Moira. What was before her was a power-hungry shell of greed, a monster that had no regard for the natural balance of life and death, not a man.
Rage built as she let it sink in that he wasn’t stopping. She had no doubts he wouldn’t stop once he was done with them. He’d discard Moira like yesterday’s trash, and no doubt once Robert showed up, he and anyone he brought with him to
help would also fall under the warlock’s knife. His pet demon was whispering things in James’s ear, leaving him writhing in its grasp. The black corruption of its poison was spreading up his arms, visible even in this dim cave as the plague spread through his veins from where the creature’s talons now pricked his skin.
Once Victor had his immortality, he could set the demon loose and never have to fear the consequence of letting it off its leash. The thing spread disease with a scratch; hundreds, if not thousands, would probably die before it could be stopped. If it could be stopped.
Fire would cleanse this place. She knew it in her bones. She knew it the way she knew that the demon’s poisonous touch would kill James if Victor’s knife didn’t reach him first.
Rather than suppress the heat in her heart, she caved into the desire to set it free.
The result was immediate, and far more intense than she anticipated.
A red haze overtook her vision, and a shriek that shook the heavens bugled from her throat as she rolled to her feet and spread her wings. The embers that frequently drifted around her like a perpetual cloud became a full blown conflagration, the firestorm rolling out from her like a mushroom cloud, melting the cage into slag around her.
The demon looked up from its task of driving its captive mad with its lying tongue. Victor spun around from the circle, his concentration broken, the circle falling away as the flames licked around his feet, breaking around him like waves on a seawall.
Lyra was not fully aware of it, but her size had already doubled as the flames that had replaced her feathers grew, with no sign of slowing down. Victor shaded his eyes as he snarled and stalked toward her, dark bands of magic forming around his fist as he raised his other hand in her direction.
With an unearthly shriek like the thunder of a thousand pine trees exploding in a forest fire as their sap superheated, she spread her great wings and loosed another wave of cleansing flames. The demon howled like the shattered souls of the dying as those flames touched him, tossing James from itself like a rag doll as it took to the air. Lyra took flight as well, claws outstretched as she met the creature in the air.
