Curses & Blood

by Kim Richardson

  “Well.” I let out a breath. “I’ll have to get my hands on one of those.” They would have saved me time and energy and possibly my life.

  “I can make that happen.” Logan gave me a full-fledged smile, his eyes glittering and revealing a quick intelligence. It boosted his sexiness ten-fold. The angel-born was incredibly hot.

  Okay then. I straightened. “Well, we can all agree that these freak Rifts have something to do with this book.”

  Faris rubbed his hands, grinning. “I’m feeling a road trip in the works.”

  I matched his smile with my own. “You read my mind.”

  “A sample of my many talents,” purred the mid-demon, drumming his fingertips together, his eyebrows rising suggestively.

  “You know where it is?” inquired Logan, a small frown forming on his forehead at what Faris had said.

  “No,” I answered, still smiling with excitement pounding through me. “But I know who might.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Rain spotted the streets in black puddles by the time we reached Lars Woodbury’s place. It was coming down in sporadic little starts, turning into a misty drizzle such that if we stood out long enough, it would completely drench us. The night wind was chilly, and I was glad I’d brought a short jacket, though it wasn’t rainproof. By the time I’d run out of Logan’s car and made it to the lobby, I looked like I’d gone for a dip in one of the Central Park lakes. After applying a fast-drying sigil to my clothes, they were warm and dry like I’d just pulled them out of a dryer.

  Logan, in his brown leather jacket and matching boots, didn’t seem bothered by the rain. He shook the rain from his hair and combed his fingers through it, looking like a model from one of those hair products commercials. He stared at me for a moment, his brown eyes framed by thick, wet eyelashes that seemed to pull a new level of fierceness into his eyes. Droplets of rain trickled down his temples to his jaw and curved around his luscious lips, making them all the more tempting. Damn he looked good wet. It made me wonder what he’d look like stepping out of a shower. Preferably with me in it with him.

  And Faris, well, somehow the rain didn’t affect him. Literally. It just rolled off and never stuck, as though his outer shell was made of oil. I suspected he was wearing some sort of invisible protection, like some demon umbrella.

  The twenty-minute car ride to the Upper East Side had been filed with an uncomfortable silence and tension. After the road trip to New Haven four weeks ago, I’d thought Faris and Logan had finally put their differences away and could be somewhat cordial, even tolerate each other. With the new Rift situation, it was almost as though Logan felt Faris was involved somehow. Not directly, but as though he knew something about the Rifts he wasn’t sharing.

  I didn’t believe it. Faris hadn’t lied to me yet. By the way he was brooding in the car, I knew he felt it too and didn’t appreciate being accused of something just because he shared the same DNA as the rest of the Netherworld creatures.

  Whatever bit of trust I’d managed to build between them was gone. I could sense Logan’s renewed animosity toward Faris, like he’d just discovered the demon-mangled body of his ex-girlfriend all over again. That would take time to fix. But right now, I had other problems. Giant problems. Logan’s and Faris’s little boy spat would have to wait.

  Lars Woodbury lived in one of the top floors of a luxurious apartment building on 5Th Avenue overlooking Central Park. The structure itself was made of a light-colored brick with large windows and single balconies overlooking the park. The top of the building disappeared in the gray clouds and dark sky.

  “I had no idea being on the Gray Council paid so well,” said Faris, admiring the lobby’s high ceilings and decorative moldings with lots of gold and red accents. “You think there’s room for one mid-demon? I might not even mind those moth-eaten robes for a place like this.”

  The doorman watched us as we made our way to a waiting elevator. It too was luxuriously fitted with mahogany panels and rich golden wallpaper. Lars preferred to live amongst the rich humans instead of residing in a modest place like Mystic Quarter. That said a lot about him. It said he favored the company of humans over his kind. Me, I pegged him as an insecure witch who craved the acceptance of others, specifically the wealthy and powerful. From what I remembered, Lars was a middle-aged male witch who’d packed the weight around his mid-section over the years and never could get it off. He was forgettable. You could pass him in the street and never even notice him.

  With Faris on my left and Logan on my right, I pressed the number forty-five. The doors closed and then the elevator jerked and began to climb. In silence, I watched as the numbers rolled swiftly up to the higher levels.

  Faris leaned over and whispered in my ear. “Boy Scout is going to be a problem.”

  Logan’s attention snapped to us as Faris leaned back. I kept my face blank. I knew exactly what Faris meant by that. My initial plan of “making” the witch talk with a few spells if he wasn’t forthcoming (all done under a glamour guise of course) suddenly had me second-guessing my brilliant idea.

  I didn’t need Logan’s approval to do my job, but I didn’t want to scare the angel-born either with a glimpse of my crazy self. Because to get the witch to talk, I might have to tap into that darker part of me—a part he hadn’t seen yet.

  A half-breed had been killed. I considered it just cause for slapping on a few spells and incorporating a little pain. But the angel-born were different. They followed the rules. I didn’t.

  I clenched my jaw, not liking how I was feeling. I was torn between the fear of ruining a new relationship with a guy I actually liked by showing some of my true colors and the obligation of finding out who killed the faerie and took that book.

  Besides, what was the point of a relationship if I couldn’t be the real me? I was a Dark witch. I wasn’t going to pretend to be someone else, not even for him. If he didn’t like the real Samantha Beaumont, he might as well leave right now.

  Emotions clouded my thoughts, and I forced myself to clear my mind and focus on the job. My gut told me Lars knew something about the stolen book and why his Council member was killed for it. That information wouldn’t come easily. The witch didn’t get a seat on the Gray Council on account of his looks. He was a politician and a powerful witch. And tonight, I’d get a preview of just how strong the witch was.

  First, I needed something to work with. Having something personal on him was better—something I could use that would exert minimal damage.

  I turned to Logan. “Do you know Lars Woodbury?”

  The angel-born shrugged. “I’ve seen him a few times. Council business. I don’t know him on a personal level, though, if that’s what you mean. He doesn’t know me. He won’t know who I am.”

  Bummer. Lars would sense my witch aura as soon as I crossed the threshold. “That’s too bad,” I said, feeling a slight tension in my shoulders. “I could have used some personal info to use on him. Guess I’ll just have to make stuff up.” Faris snorted and I glared at him. “Have something to say?”

  “No, mistress,” said Faris. His eyes widened dramatically, smiling. “I’m just looking forward to how you’ll retrieve this information without poking holes in the witch. Though, a leaky witch is a cooperative one. Just saying.”

  “Shut up, Faris.”

  The elevator doors swished open and I marched out fuming. I should have come alone. I worked better alone. Having Faris following me around like a well-trained Labrador retriever on jobs was tiresome enough since I had to worry whether he’d step out of line and smoke a human. But having Logan now was much worse.

  Two was doable. Three? Well, three was complicated.

  I strode down a long corridor, Logan and Faris in tow, and walked up to a tall metallic black door with the numbers 4515 etched into it in gold. Soft yellow light outlined the doorway and laid a strip of gold across the floor of the hall.

  The hairs on the back of my neck pricked with sudden alarm. All my warning flags went up. />
  The door was open.

  CHAPTER 8

  Logan pulled out a soul blade. “I don’t think he’s the type of guy who would leave his door open like that,” he said, his voice low.

  I gave him a sidelong glance. “No, he wouldn’t.” With a quick breath, I tapped into the magic of my sigil rings, my heart thumping with both excitement and apprehension.

  Faris’s shadow fell over me. “Unless he left it open on purpose and this is a trap,” he whispered, and I met his gaze. “You don’t know this witch. Anything’s possible.”

  Crap. He was right. Either way, I still had to hide my face. If word got out that I’d broken into Lars’s place—even though technically it wasn’t a break-in if the door was already open—I’d have lots of explaining to do with the Dark Witch Court.

  I flipped the flap of my messenger back, rummaged inside and pulled out a pair of black glasses. Glamour sigils were etched along the rims and the frames in swirly ornate patterns. If you looked closely, you could read the words HUMAN LIBRARIAN on both sides of the frames.

  Faris let out a chuckle. “What are you supposed to be? Clarise Kent? Those glasses won’t fool anyone.”

  “I was going for sexy librarian,” I mumbled, seeing a strange smile on Logan’s face. Heat rushed to my cheeks. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. And by the way, they do work. I’ve done this before.”

  “Pray tell.” Faris drummed his fingers together, his eyebrows rising in delight. “I’m getting all kinds of mixed signals.”

  I put the glasses on, and a cascade of energy flowed over me as soon as the rims touched my skin. The glamour sigil drifted around and inside me, my skin warm with the sudden overflow of energy and power.

  I flicked my gaze to Logan and saw his mouth slightly open. His expression was curious and mixed with a sort of amazement lingering in his eyes. That’s when I knew the glasses were working.

  “Not bad,” said Faris. “Can you do Marilyn Monroe next time? I’m really digging blondes at the moment.”

  Standing straighter than before, I pushed my glasses further up my nose. The glamour wasn’t perfect, and it wouldn’t last for more than an hour. Even so, it was enough. I only needed five minutes. For now, the glasses would keep Lars from discovering I was a witch. I was a sexy librarian.

  “Let’s go, boys.” I shared a look with Logan and Faris, and then I pushed the door with my finger. It swung to the other side, and I stood for a moment, listening and sending out my senses in search of demon energies. But I felt nothing.

  Spindling the energy from my rings, I said, “Be frosty.”

  I walked in, and Faris and Logan followed. Bracing myself, I shut the door carefully behind me. I didn’t want any humans to stumble in during my interrogation.

  I had no idea what to expect. Lars might have left his door open on purpose to lure in potential thieves. Maybe he was bored and that’s how he got his thrills. Still, you’d have to be insane to break into the home of a very powerful Dark Witch.

  Guess that made me crazy. I did my best work with a bit of crazy. So, sue me.

  The door opened into an extravagant apartment with fourteen-foot-high ceilings and windows. Classical music floated in the air. Mozart or Beethoven? No idea. Classical music wasn’t my forte. Demons were.

  The faint scent of candles found me, along with something else. Blood. Thick, almost choking. The sudden tension along Logan’s shoulders told me he’d smelled it too. Faris was smiling as he took a deep breath, taking it all in. Damn that demon.

  I crept farther inside, Logan and Faris flanking me on either side, and strained my ears for any sudden intake of breath before the conjuring of a dark hex or spell. If Lars tried anything, I’d be ready for him.

  The scent of sulfur assaulted me, and I looked over to see black ribbons of demonic magic twirling around Faris’s hands like black bangles.

  Floor-to-ceiling windows gave us a view of Central Park. Not too shabby. We were greeted by dark, polished hardwood floors as we made our way toward the center of the apartment. Black leather sofas welcomed us and sat above the largest burgundy and blue Persian rug I’d ever seen in my entire life. Apart from the leather sofas, most of the furniture was ornate, wood, and had that antique look found in an expensive antique dealer shop. Collectibles. Gathered over the years. Maybe even stolen. I’d heard a rumor once that a witch in had gone home with one of Pablo Picasso’s paintings from The National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC and left a spelled fake in its place.

  Nothing looked out of place. I couldn’t see any sign of a struggle in the main living area, the open kitchen, or the dining room.

  But it still didn’t explain the smell of blood.

  “Well, this is unfortunate.” Faris waltzed toward a tall bookcase next to the empty fireplace. He picked up a small carved figurine and made a face. “Why would anyone want to display something as atrocious as this?” He lifted the small statue toward me. “It has breasts. But I’m not sure it’s female.”

  “Put it back. It could be cursed,” I told him.

  “Clearly.” Faris put the figurine back and wiped his hands on his pants.

  I looked over the small kitchen. I wasn’t sensing any witch vibes apart from my own, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t here.

  “Check the bedrooms,” I said, seeing three doors down a hallway past the living room. “He could be using a glamour. Be ready.”

  Heart pounding, I crept past the living area and made for the first door. Logan and Faris sneaked past me, heading for the other two. Keeping my magic bundled up in my will, ready to let go in case the witch jumped, I opened the door, slowly and quietly.

  The door didn’t open onto some kind of trap or curse. It didn’t open up to show me Lars either. Instead, I found myself staring at a bathroom, every bit as lavish as the building. A black toilet. A black bathtub, a giant shower with—wait for it—black tiles. A double black vanity with black sinks. Cold. Very male. And very bachelor. No way a female witch lived here. The first thing she would have done was take out the black toilet. I wouldn’t want to sit on it either.

  I stepped out of the bathroom just as Logan came out of the next room. “Nothing,” he told me.

  “Me neither.” Strange. The open door was a given. It was a clear invitation to take a look. Where was Lars? And whose blood was I smelling?

  “In here,” came Faris’s voice from somewhere inside the last bedroom. “No need to rush. He’s not going anywhere.”

  I screwed up my face and looked at Logan, who gave me a shrug. Pulse fast, I rushed past the angel-born, sprinted into the bedroom and skidded to a halt.

  “Holy shit,” I cursed as Logan bumped against my arm.

  “Damn,” was all Logan could muster.

  A naked man hung from the ceiling. Six chains suspended from metal hooks bit into the flesh of his back. A deep gash on the top of his head cut all the way down to his forehead, framing a face contorted in a mask of pain and fear. His red, fiery hair was wet with blood. He’d been gutted. A large gash perforated his chest, and his innards sloped into a bloody mess above his sheets. Dark, bloody and empty sockets were all that remained of his eyes. Runes and sigils painted in blood marked his arms, legs, even his face, where it wasn’t already cut and bruised. Probably his blood. Burning candles sat on the bedroom floor, each strategically placed at the points of a large, six-pointed star within a circle, painted in blood, in the middle of the room.

  And in the center of the circle sat two bloody eyeballs, placed above a single name. Naberius—a demon duke of the Netherworld.

  Fan-freaking-tastic.

  “Sammy, meet Lars Woodbury,” said Faris, standing next to a king-sized bed with a totally inappropriate smile on his face. “I believe it safe to say, he won’t be answering any of your questions.”

  I pulled off my glasses and dropped them into my bag. “Now we know what his involvement in all this was.”

  “Yeah,” expressed Faris. “Demon soufflé.”

&nb
sp; If I had any doubts as to whether Lars was involved somehow with the death of the Council member or the missing book… I didn’t anymore. But his being dead was a problem. Not only could he not answer any of my questions, but seeing him like this just added a crapload more questions to my list.

  Logan stepped carefully around the bed and looked up at the dead witch’s head, his handsome features twisted in disgust. “You sure it’s him?”

  “It’s him.” His red hair was a dead giveaway, but I recognized his face. What was left of it. I eased forward and moved toward the middle of the room, careful not to step on the blood circle or star. “He was offered as a sacrifice. And the way they put him up on display like that makes a statement.”

  “It sure does,” agreed Faris. “He’s dead.”

  Logan was next to me. “Who’s Naberius? Never heard of this demon.”

  “I have,” said Faris before I could answer. He moved his gaze along the hooks piercing the dead man’s back. “Insufferable know-it-all. He owes me five thousand souls.” His mouth clamped shut at my glare. “What? It’s true. Don’t give me those eyes. I don’t do good. It’s not in my DNA.”

  I was not having this conversation with him. “He’s a duke,” I told Logan. “Powerful. Deadly. Yada yada yada. You know the rest.”

  “So, you think the killers offered him this witch’s soul?” asked Logan, his voice bitter, and I knew he was struggling to keep his emotions from showing. The witch’s death was bothering him. A lot.

  I knelt before two light blue eyes with fleshy strands of nerves still attached behind them. “Looks like it.”

  “Why?”

  “Good question.” I stood up and searched around the room for any more clues. “What’s also a good question is why Lars and why now? If these are the same guys who killed the faerie, why didn’t they just shoot him? Why the dramatics? Why Naberius?” I looked at the mid-demon, one of Lars’s eyeballs between his fingers. “Faris?” What the hell was he doing? “Faris!”