The Mark of Kane (A Thaddeus Kane Novel Book 1)

by LW Herndon

  Then the head rose, tilted, and stretched higher. The tongue elongated and tested the air, probably catching a tasty morsel of me on the breeze. Some shiver of reaction pulsed from behind the head. I watched it shimmer along the coils of the body and cause a slight shift of the thick loops. Chaz’s head was visible in the break of the coils, his eyes closed, body encased in the nest of the serpent’s body.

  Crap.

  Blood beat at my temples with a vengeance.

  The serpent’s eyes snapped open and focused on me. The pupils wide, wet, and black, delivered a total pronouncement of a dangerous nighttime predator, part reality, part conjure. It was another example of the sorcerers’ blatant determination to bend the will of creatures past and present for their sick games.

  I felt Abraxas shudder against my skin as he recognized Chaz. A plan. We needed a plan. Beyond Chaz’s hexagram were several cages. They all appeared empty but barred the rear exit.

  “Anything?” Perry shouted.

  Langston responded with a terse shake of his head.

  “No,” said Bart.

  “Worthless.” Perry’s hand clenched. With swiftness belying his age, he drove his athame deep into the chest of the first scout and ignited the energy within to flames. The body performed a jerky dance as it disintegrated and disappeared. “A dozen of these imbeciles and no sign of the vessel.”

  Immune to his tantrum, the remaining scouts made no reaction to Perry’s attack.

  The guards, however, shifted uncomfortably. As Perry neared the end of the line, a soldier stepped forward from the shadows, his rifle lax in his hands. His stance and confrontational attitude indicated he didn’t acknowledge Perry’s wishes as his main objective. All human, the mercenaries obviously reported through a separate chain of command. Linked to the secret partner in the shadows?

  “If there are no more to round up and let in, I’ll take my men back to report.”

  Perry gave a quick glance to the open hexagram, the implication too obvious to the mercenary. He gestured to his men with his head and moved closer to Perry. “My men are not your playthings, Professor Perry. You would be well advised to remember that.”

  Perry briefly turned my way with a glare, not seeing me in the darkness. His profile had given me a good view of his disdain and annoyance, though he did nothing to stop the retreat of the mercenaries.

  I was equally disappointed to see my best option for a distraction now gone. Worse, I had no way to follow the mercenaries for more answers. Their departure revealed a movement in one of the cages at the far end of the room. Evidently not all of them were empty, and from the shift in the shadows, I gauged the occupant was large. Not the size of the serpent but worth avoiding.

  I spun through my options. Moloch would have seen the same scenario I did. With luck he was keeping Brazko and Zepar away. Especially with Perry so well prepared for a demon capture. Freeform battle was out.

  Too bad we couldn’t communicate.

  For a brief second, I had an image of Decibel and her constant intrusion in my mind, ready with a smart reply. I’d always shielded myself tightly around the clan out of necessity. Vulnerability on the home front is never a good thing. As a result, I’d never actually tried to let someone read my thoughts. Even Chaz, while a mission partner, wasn’t someone I trusted in my head.

  Abraxas had roughly the same seniority as Decibel. My challenge would be to shield the information I didn’t want him to see while interacting in some useful exchange. Or maybe just a one-way feed from me to him?

  Perry stalked over to Bart and Langston, his hands fisted on his hips. They spoke in tones I couldn’t hear, but Perry’s interim signals to the empty hexagram were clear enough to interpret.

  “Abraxas, can you communicate with Moloch?” I felt a thick pain behind my eyes but held tight to my shield.

  “Just give me a physical sign.”

  His tattoo squeezed tight around my chest in retaliation for my efforts to keep him from my mind, but at least he acknowledged the question.

  “We can use what’s in the cage to distract the serpent.”

  Another slight rake of tattooed claws scraped beneath my lowest rib. Not really painful and easier to breathe through than the squeeze.

  “We wait for another break, and the others come in far enough to open that cage.”

  His claws moved up a rib, a bit gentler, or maybe I had gotten used to this.

  “The control is unstable,” Langston’s voice rose in response to Perry’s last comment.

  Perry stomped to the centerline of the room. “I can control it. They’ll do anything for food.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the snake. “And we have a snack.”

  “The last time, the spell didn’t—”

  “I don’t give a damn about last time. Get the hell over here and prepare for the summons.”

  Shit. I froze. If he tried to summon Shalim, we would have to split our focus, and my plan would be a bust.

  Bart moved a candle closer to his map and set a bowl between him and Langston on the floor. Each man donated blood and several items I couldn’t make out. The incantation came from Perry, with an alternate litany uttered forth from Langston and Bart. The entire process proceeded in a confused and sloppy manner.

  In spite of my opinion, a breeze picked up from the stale air, first gusts buffeted from all sides, and then they centered over the hexagram. Flickers of static and sharper strikes of light shot from the circumference as the air took the form of a funnel and the hue of luminous pea green. The tip hovered above the hexagram; the large open end above connected to a split in the dimension for the object of the sorcerers’ summons.

  I held my breath and debated the prudence of stopping the summons. I had no way to determine if the victim would survive in midstream. The pressure against my ears increased with a droning, isolated push of my insides out of synch with my outsides.

  Claws nipped at my collarbone as Abraxas scrambled higher so his dragon could see the result of the summons. The fire of his rage burned along the entire tattoo, but I didn’t bother with a comment. He was angry. So was I. Both of us in total agreement on the horror unraveling on the court.

  A sharp crack rent the air in conjunction with a burst of light, then the wind and funnel disappeared.

  I let out my breath as the demon inside the hexagram fumed. The final verses of Perry’s binding spell inflicted a permanent tether between them with painful, invisible strands. Tied to the sorcerer for the extent of Perry’s lifetime, the demon lord would be totally dependent on the master for every personal need and unable to retaliate under penalty of death. The worst demon humiliation known—subservience to a human master.

  Fortunately, the demon within the hexagram wasn’t Shalim.

  Perry had summoned a female blood demon from a far-eastern clan. My knowledge of her was academic, not personal, though I knew her clan to be smaller, nomadic, and less violent than most of her kind. The blood demons were the precursors of the vampire myth, yet unlike the romantic tales of fiction and movies, they merely needed to feed on blood for survival. As with any other clan, one doesn’t “convert.” One is born demon.

  My recollection from Shalim’s few discussions, as well as Naberius’s books, was that this female’s clan—her numerous skin markings and complex skull bones flagging her as their leader—had chosen to live among humans. They existed in symbiosis with their human neighbors, not hostility and aggression.

  Now, a proud ancient of beauty and grace, she stood prisoner, a sorcerer’s pawn.

  Langston stood on the side. He’d made no gesture during Perry’s tirade or the summons, neither one of reluctance nor support. His expression revealed nothing, though his eyes gleamed brightly as he inspected the demon lord. He appeared strangely pleased with the progress, or lack of progress, so far. A reflection of his own agenda, perhaps subtly hidden from Perry, and one I’d seen in the eyes of wild dogs who waited for the signal that their alpha was too weak to lead. Langston outwardl
y showed signs of partnership, but his aloof demeanor depicted the snake he was, waiting for his moment. I stowed the information away for later use.

  All three men looked worse for wear. Bart now showed a streak of white in his hair, Langston’s was full silver, and Perry appeared more shriveled with age.

  The spell had a price. Good to know. It was hard to assess the effect on the brain, though maybe the drain of power was the cause of Perry’s madness.

  Perry stepped into the hexagram, and the demon lunged at him, her claws unsheathed as her well-muscled, white and black, tiger-striped body rippled with rage. She hit an invisible brick wall inches from his face. With a sneer and eyes bright with cruelty, he stared at her and exerted his will. He forced her body down like an accordion until she lay crumpled and bent at his feet. With a laugh, he grabbed her around the neck and forced her back to the floor and embedded his athame in her stomach. She arched into the act with a painful, sharp sound.

  My hand fisted at her abuse, but, while she was a captive, I didn’t count her out quite yet.

  A weak growl resonated from the demon imprisoned closest to me. His claws ground into the wood floor as he struggled unsuccessfully against the confines at the edge of his circle. His demon master suffering feet from his prison incited new energy and fury and a wash of emotions, leaving me to wonder at his role in her clan. He didn’t have the musculature for a warrior, but like Naberius and Chaz’s roles in our clan, there were equally significant positions, power not denoted by physique or size.

  Rage rippled inside the gymnasium—a fortunate thing that the sorcerers were lax in their attention. My anger pulsed. Abraxas’s burned, and the furious tremors from Moloch, Zepar, and Brazko buffeted in waves against my skin. The female’s connection to a competing clan was negligible compared to the abuse she received at Perry’s hands. Any demon would have raged at her suffering. The sorcerer would bleed her until she was weak and then force her in to slavery as his minion.

  Evidently, the serpent felt the vibrations too. His head weaved from side to side in anticipation of violence or blood. Or both.

  Demons feed viscerally. Few find sustenance in the torture of their own kind, especially at the hands of humans. They also have very long memories for vengeance.

  “Open the cage now and release the rear doors.” The message I sent to Abraxas focused the anger toward a common objective.

  The gate of the cage swung up with an almost undetectable metallic ping. The shadow inside shuffled forward, and the light of the flames revealed one long, hairy pincer leg after another. The orange bulb of the body, no smaller than a cow, swayed, suspended on eight legs.

  I looked away, not wanting to investigate magic’s evolution of “bugs gone bad.” Whether snakes in the wild eat spiders or not, these two recognized each other in an instant as mortal enemies. The serpent flared a wide colorful hood I hadn’t detected in the dark and uncurled as the spider raised one leg. Each postured for dominance, Chaz to be the reward for the victor.

  Langston glanced over his shoulder at the sound of movement and responded by dispersing the scouts toward both creatures.

  Bart stared wide-eyed for a second before he snatched a satchel and headed for the locker room.

  The demoness wiggled far enough away from Perry to extricate the athame, and while his hold was firm, his distraction allowed her time to bellow and take a swipe at his shoulder. A clean line of blood showed through his pressed white shirt, but it was the she-demon who screamed and flinched—a reciprocal pain as a result of the binding.

  I didn’t wait for the outcome. I shot from my hiding place, grabbed the tail of the desiccated albino blood-demon on my way by, breaking the circle of his restraint, and slung him free. He would be of no help to his mistress, but he could return to his clan for others. The demoness’s screech and the creatures’ fight covered his cry, but Langston picked that moment to look my way.

  I maneuvered between scouts, avoiding a sharp spider leg, and rolled beneath the snake belly and to the other side before it landed with a tremor on the gym floor.

  “Shift outside.” I shoved the command to Abraxas, but he held off while I ducked to get Chaz. My partner was alive. No obvious snakebites, but he wavered in his catatonic state and lifted his head with a brief moment of consciousness. “TK.”

  “Hang in there. Abraxas will take you home.”

  “Saw you.”

  “Yeah.” I pulled him along the floor and barely avoided the slither of the reptile body. Scouts, demons, creatures—all moved quickly as shots rang out.

  “I saw you in the fire,” Chaz said. His claws dug into my arm.

  “Okay, buddy.” I didn’t have time to talk gibberish with Chaz. Hoisting his body over my shoulder, I ran a jagged pattern for the back exit.

  “Abraxas.” I felt the commander release from my body. Brazko had drifted too far into the gym, now behind me instead of closer to the exit, but Zepar was running interference as mist. From the corner of my eye, I saw Langston step forward, gun trained on Chaz.

  I spun around, covered Chaz’s head, and paced backward.

  The first shot went wide.

  Moloch shifted to fly above in a distraction to give us time to move outside.

  No sign of Abraxas as I vaulted for the door. Several more shots, and Brazko stumbled beside me, but he lumbered through the exit.

  Moloch grabbed Brazko and disappeared. Zepar was gone as well.

  I moved faster into the cold night and left the sounds behind me. A fierce suction of energy uprooted a lamppost and slammed it against the exit doors, sealing the opening for precious minutes as Abraxas transferred Chaz’s body to his hold and disappeared.

  Several quick steps and I faltered. I brushed at my skin where Abraxas had curled. The flesh was sensitive and hot, and the palm I pulled away from my body glistened in the shadows.

  I hadn’t felt the shot, but I could feel the unnatural surge of energy ripping lesions beneath my skin. The pain blossomed and moved, shifting from my stomach to my chest. I dropped to my knees with a bone-crunching impact on the asphalt. I struggled to raise my head and force my legs to work as my flesh became a mass of boiling pain.

  Perhaps intended for a human, Langston’s shot had been effective with Solomon and now with me.

  If I left and sought help, I would lead the sorcerers to Shalim and Decibel, Jez and Anne, or Aisha, Marco and Ray. No good choices. The Consortium would have access to everyone I had promised to hide. The realization made me try to block my pain and my thoughts from Jez. She shouldn’t suffer with me. I could only hope that Decibel would be able to help her at the end.

  Being dead would be better than risking their lives.

  That would have been my last thought before I passed out if the softness of a feminine thigh hadn’t brushed against my hand.

  Strong arms hoisted me over a shoulder.

  For a brief second, I was able to fight back the gulf of pain, blink back the veil of frosty white, and take in a delicious view of crystalline blue flesh. Swirls of silver feathered over long, sleek legs, a rounded derriere to die for, and a pert, narrow tail that swished across sculpted calves as the legs increased speed and took flight.

  Not a bad way to die.

  CHAPTER 18

  The light was intense, and the surface I was on, hard. I squinted against the brightness and pain, seeing nothing. There wasn’t a part of my body that didn’t feel as if my flesh had dissolved from my bones. I heard murmurs to my left and turned my head toward the sound.

  “It’s too much. He can’t take it.”

  “There is no choice.”

  “He won’t survive!”

  “Then wake him. He’ll agree. It’s the only option.” Decibel’s voice cut through the fog in my brain.

  “Where?” I asked. It was all I could get out. Even my throat felt flayed from the inside out.

  “At the she-devil’s house.”

  “Bitch,” said Anne.

  “Stop it. Both o
f you.” Jez’s voice cut through the snarling words of the other two.

  “Anne.” I garbled the name.

  “I’m here.”

  “Get it out.”

  “I don’t have a solution yet that won’t kill you.”

  “Burn it out.” Chaz had seen me in fire; perhaps it was the end intended for me to go. One way or another, the destruction of the organism was the only option.

  “I can’t control the flame that well. Not in a body,” said Anne.

  “Just do it.” I tried for a breath. My throat rattled under the effort. “And Anne.”

  “Yes.”

  “Get it all. Don’t hold back—just do it, no matter what.”

  Their voices faded, and what I had taken to be searing pain paled in comparison to heat so strong it felt frigid. I heard voices cry out, or perhaps it was mine. The sensation of pain cut off too soon. I could still feel the itch beneath my skin.

  “Don’t stop,” I choked out.

  It started again and continued in waves. Each was worse than before and rose until I was sure my blood would boil and my head would explode from the pressure. I shrank from reality, cleaved myself from the pain, and drifted away from the body. I could see everything. Anne crouched beside me, Jez ensconced in Decibel’s arms. Each right there, yet so far away.

  Tunnels of gray, like clouds, separated me from them, then hours and miles. The wisps broke as I drifted over the red desert lands of Shalim’s southern holding. I floated, light and effortless, through the caverns beneath the mountains. I watched the creatures and insects that had sung horror in my ears and gnawed on my bones. Each night of my journey from the Hunta, they’d followed me. Each day my body had knit back just enough to give them new fodder for their pleasure. I saw only ghosts of the past with no pain and even less emotion.

  The gray wafted in on a winged whisper and receded. I drifted to the great boulder the Hunta people had rolled in front of the cavern after they left me for dead, my punishment for loving one of their own.