Shadows & Flame Complete Boxed Set: Demons of Fire and Night Novels

by C. N. Crawford

  Hugo slouched into the pale leather of a large U-shaped booth. A bottle of champagne sat in an ice bucket shaped like a golden egg. Just to the side of the table hovered an enormous bald bodyguard, with a face the color of raw meat. A snake tattoo curled around his scalp. Even with fire magic on her side, Ursula didn’t want to learn how she’d do in a fight against him. She’d have to find a way to leave the hulk behind, and get Hugo on his own.

  She stopped just next to Zee at the edge of the table, clutching her champagne. She tried to loosen her shoulders so she didn’t look quite so much like a grim reaper on a death hunt. Except that’s pretty much what I am.

  Zee plonked her champagne on the table, flashing the group a dazzling smile. The model grinned, throwing her hands in the air and trilling in a French accent, “Zee! I’m so glad you’re here. You look amazing, as usual.” She wore a tiny, beaded white dress, so delicate that it reminded Ursula of dew drops on a spider web. The woman draped a thin, tan arm over Hugo’s shoulders.

  She knows Zee. Zee didn’t mention that.

  The bodyguard turned his head. “Good to see you again, Zee. I was hoping we’d see you tonight.”

  And the bodyguard, too? Ursula frowned, staring at her companion. If Zee was a regular here, maybe she’d know the doorman, the coat man, and the bartender. But what were the chances she would happen to be close friends with a French lingerie model and Hugo Mode’s bouncer?

  Is this magic, too?

  Chapter 15

  Only Hugo seemed immune to Zee’s spell. Over a pale green cocktail, he narrowed his eyes. Up close, his features were less plastic than they appeared in the music videos, and his dark blue irises glittered in the dim club’s lights.

  The model twirled the stem of her Manhattan glass. “Please. Join us, Zemfira.”

  Zee scooted in next to the model, while Ursula took a spot next to Hugo. Yanking a thin straw from his drink, he flicked tiny droplets over the table. “I was in the middle of a story.”

  Zee took a sip of her cocktail. “Don’t let us stop you, Hugo.”

  Hugo shifted in his seat, looking around the table. “I was explaining why I had to dump Madison. I’m sure you saw it in the papers.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “So my PR guy sent me Virginie here. We’re supposed to go to the opera tomorrow. Like, to be seen together.”

  Virginie smiled.

  “Oh?” Zee cocked her head, feigning sympathy. “What happened with Madison?”

  Hugo frowned. “She bought a one-piece for our vacation in Saint Kitts. And there were going to be paparazzi there, obviously.” His clipped accent and soft Rs suggested he had some history in a British boarding school, but also that he’d lived in the US long enough to give his voice a nasal quality. He sounded a bit like a 1920s radio announcer. Hugo turned to Ursula, dark eyebrows raised. “Do I look like the kind of guy who would date a girl with a one-piece?”

  “I don’t even know what that means.”

  “A one-piece bathing suit. A swimming costume.” He spoke slowly, like she might have a head injury. “Like, not a bikini.”

  “Yeah, I get the bathing suit concept. I just didn’t know there was a recognizable type of man whose girlfriend—”

  Zee kicked her hard under the table and Hugo glared at her. Shit. I’m supposed to be charming.

  She smiled, widening her eyes. “But of course I never wear swimming costumes—I mean bathing suits.”

  “You don’t swim?

  She licked her lips in what she hoped was a seductive gesture. “I only swim au naturel.”

  Hugo shifted toward her, suddenly interested. “What else do you do au naturel?” His gaze rested firmly on her breasts before moving to her face.

  “Oh, you know. Things.” She said it softly, gently placing a hand on Hugo’s knee where Virginie couldn’t see. Hopefully the knee-touching would distract him from the fact that she’d just tried to say “things” seductively.

  Hugo stared into her eyes, and little smirk played around the corner of his mouth, before he abruptly looked away, slapping his hands on the table. “I need to go for a slash.”

  He pushed his leg against Ursula’s, indicating that he wanted to get up from the table. Ursula scooted out, watching as Hugo and the bodyguard disappeared into the crowd. She took a sip of her champagne cocktail. Charm him and isolate him. One point for Ursula.

  Her cell phone vibrated in her purse and she pulled it out. Zee’s name popped up.

  “r u going to follow him????”

  “should I?”

  “He wants u 2. Now is ur chance.”

  Virginie was gushing to Zee about her upcoming opera date—as if the Russian ice princess were the warmest, friendliest person in the world. Definitely magic of some sort. Ursula would have to ask Zee about that later.

  Straightening her short dress, Ursula stood and strode toward the bathrooms. She’d read somewhere that British soldiers were given a rum ration before they went over the trenches. She downed the rest of her cocktail. In Club Lalique, champagne would have to do.

  She glanced down at the wyrm-skin purse tucked under her arm. It held a credit card, 250 American dollars, a tube of red lipstick, her lucky stone, and her cellphone. But most importantly, it contained a small parchment pact and a bone-colored pen with a razor-sharp nib. All she had to do was remind Hugo of his contract, jab his palm, and get him to sign in his blood. Simple.

  The dance floor had begun to fill, and Ursula wove her way through the crowd of lithe, glittering women and besuited men. She tried not to think about the pen’s second function. Kester had shown her a button hidden in its side that, when clicked, extended the nib into a small blade. That was the soul-reaping blade.

  But she wasn’t going to use that. Even by the Headsman’s standards, that was a worst-case scenario. No one would agree to these bargains if word got round that Emerazel’s hellhounds murdered everyone on their eighteenth birthdays. In order for the system to work, they needed signatures, not corpses.

  In one of the corners, a gold-plated letter M hung above a dark alcove. Hugo’s bodyguard stood just next to the entrance. As Ursula approached, the bodyguard gave her a wink. Good. Hugo’s definitely expecting me.

  She pushed open the door and slipped inside. There was a short, curly-haired man by the sinks with a white towel in his hand. A silver tray of cologne, Club Lalique matchbooks, and breath mints were arranged on the counter behind him. “Miss, this is the men’s—” he started to say, but he fell silent when he glimpsed the one-hundred-dollar bill in Ursula’s outstretched hand.

  “Can you give us a few minutes?” she whispered.

  He nodded silently, pointing to the end of a row of black stall doors.

  Ursula’s heels clacked over the tiles. Steel urinals lined the left wall under tall windows that granted a view of Manhattan. Any man taking a piss in Club Lalique could imagine that he was urinating on all the poor sods below. Ugh. If the revolution came, I’d be on the wrong side of the palace walls.

  As she took a deep breath, she tapped the last door. “Hugo?” Seductive. Sound seductive. “It’s Ursula,” she breathed.

  He cracked the door open, and she slipped inside, gripping her purse in anticipation. A window filled one entire wall, with only a thin black curtain covering the lower half for discretion. She could only hope no one was spending their evening scanning the Lalique bathrooms with a pair of binoculars.

  Hugo pressed himself flat against the window, loosening his shirt collar. “Who are you?”

  Ursula tried tossing her hair, but with the awkward jerk of her head it probably came off more like an involuntary twitch. “I’m Ursula. Zee’s friend.”

  A cold sweat beaded on his forehead. “But I don’t know who Zee is, or why my date seemed to know her. When I asked my bodyguard, he couldn’t remember where he knew her from either.”

  Zee had definitely used some sort of spell on them. Time to dispense with the pleasantries. “You’ve just turned eighteen. I’m her
e about your pact with Emerazel.”

  He wiped a hand across his mouth, staring into her eyes. Emerazel’s fire now blazed behind his indigo irises. “No one came on my birthday. I thought I’d gotten away with it.”

  She exhaled. So he knew the drill and this wasn’t too much of a shock. “Sorry, no. You didn’t get away. And now it’s time to sign the papers.” She stepped closer, pulling the pen from her bag and popping off the cap.

  “And after I sign… I’m just a little fuzzy on what I’m agreeing to.”

  “When you die, Emerazel will take your soul to burn in the inferno for eternity.” Bollocks. I might need to work on my pitch a little.

  Hugo’s blue eyes bulged. “I don’t want to do it anymore.”

  “Of course you don’t. It’s awful—” Ursula sputtered. “—Not ideal, but you don’t have a choice. The deal was, you gave your soul in exchange for—” She pulled the parchment out of her purse. “What was it you asked for? Fame?”

  He swallowed hard, eyes open wide. “For people to hear my music and think it’s amazing.”

  She thrust the contract toward him. “Hmmm… Well I guess it only works on a portion of the population. Anyway, you made the deal verbally. And now you get all the French models, Grammys, and green cocktails you can consume until you die. Considering most of the world has to live on $6 a day, you’re getting quite lot. I mean sure, the eternal torment—”

  “It’s the soul part that concerns me.” The pink had vanished from his cheeks. “It was just a lark with my mates. I thought it was a fairy story.”

  Was she going to have to act as a therapist with all the supplicants? She wasn’t very good at this hand-holding stuff. How was she supposed to convince him this was a good idea? This was an awful idea. And even if he was a knob, she didn’t want him to burn until the end of time. Bloody hell, she wasn’t a psychopath—she definitely wasn’t cut out for this gig. Still, she’d have to put forth the effort if she didn’t want to face slaughter at Emerazel’s hands—or perhaps Kester’s.

  She squared her shoulders. “Well, chin up, and all that. Here’s the pen.” She forced a smile onto her face. “Please sign, and everything will be fine… for a while.” She couldn’t bring herself to outright lie about it. She was a terrible liar.

  “I’ll have to spend eternity burning in the inferno,” he sputtered.

  This tidbit would likely be a bit of a sticking point in these negotiations. “From what I understand, the other option is starting your sentence now, and I’m sure you can see that’s worse. You’re young. Death is a long way off. Unless you refuse to sign, and then it’s a very short way off.”

  Hugo’s shoulders hunched. “What do you mean?”

  Ursula gazed into his indigo eyes, trying to convey the gravity of the situation. “If you don’t sign, I have to reap your soul now, and then it’s straight to the fires. The torment can start now, or later.” God I don’t want to be doing this.

  Hugo swallowed hard, his body trembling.

  She depressed the button on the knife and the blade popped out with a snapping noise. She pressed the button again, retracting the blade. Hugo’s eyes bulged.

  “Of course, Emerazel doesn’t want me to reap your soul now. It’s bad for business if you guys don’t get anything in return for eternity. She needs to keep the bargains coming, you know?”

  Hugo tightened his lips, reaching for the pen with a resigned look on his face. But just as he was about to take it, he swung an elbow at her head.

  Chapter 16

  Ursula dodged, but not before Hugo’s elbow grazed her cheekbone. She stumbled into the side of the stall. He followed his elbow with a wild haymaker, but she saw it coming. As she ducked, she struck upward with the sharp nib of the pen, slicing into his forearm.

  Hugo let out a shrill scream, gripping his wrist. “You cut me.”

  “You’re lucky I haven’t killed you yet.” She thrust the bloody pen toward him. “Sign. Now.”

  She was losing control of this situation. Kester had told her not to call attention to herself, that she was supposed to work in the shadows, but she had a hysterical pop star on her hands. Just as she thrust the parchment at him, Hugo lowered his shoulder and charged.

  She tried to sidestep, but the stall was too narrow. He knocked her backward through the door and onto the marble tiles. Her head smacked against the floor, and pain exploded in her skull.

  Clutching his arm, blood dripping between his fingers, he stood looking down at her. “Unbelievable,” he said, then sprinted from the bathroom.

  Ursula clenched her teeth, forcing herself to stand. Little flecks of light sparked in the periphery of her vision, and she held onto the edge of the sink for support. She rubbed the back of her throbbing head. I can’t let Hugo get away. She had royally cocked this up, but at least the bathroom was still empty.

  Outside the door she could hear Hugo shrieking, “A crazy woman cut me! Call the police!”

  Shit. How was she supposed to get out quietly now? This place was littered with CCTV cameras, and everyone would be looking for her. If she screwed this up, Emerazel was going to take pleasure in personally executing her, for reasons Ursula did not even understand.

  Think, Ursula. If she ran through the door, she could make it past Hugo’s guard, but some well-meaning club patron would surely tackle her before she made it across the room. What about a diversion? If she used Emerazel’s fire, she could set off the sprinklers and the fire alarm. In the ensuing chaos, she might make it to the elevator, but likely not much further before a bouncer caught her. She tightened her fists. F.U., you bloody maniac, you dragged me into a hellish world I don’t even understand.

  She needed to escape now—before anyone came in.

  Outside the door someone shouted, “She’s still in there, right?”

  Sodding hell. So much for working in the shadows. In a few moments, Hugo’s bodyguard and the bouncers would be in here. Her heart raced, heat blazing from her hand. If she didn’t control herself, she’d be lighting something on fire. Or worse—she’d be lighting someone on fire. She glanced down at her hands, at the black smoke curling from her fingertips.

  Then it came to her. She rushed to the door, gripping the doorknob. She closed her eyes, willing the heat from her hand into the metal. It was just enough to warp the latch shut.

  Someone banged on the door, shouting and trying to turn the knob, but it wouldn’t open.

  Okay. I’ve locked myself in. But how was she supposed to get out? There were windows over the urinals, but they were sealed shut. And even if she could break one, she was fifteen stories up. She hadn’t exactly brought a parachute. Magic. I need to use magic.

  She grabbed a bottle of cologne and a matchbook from the attendant’s tray. Gripping the bottle, she smashed off the top on the steel edge of the sink before pouring it on the floor in the shape of Emerazel’s sigil. She struck a match and dropped it. Flames blazed around her.

  What was that transportation spell Kester had chanted? He hadn’t taught it to her. Bollocks bollocks bollocks.

  An authoritative voice boomed through the door. “Is she still in there?”

  She closed her eyes. It’s in my brain, somewhere. In her mind’s eye, she was back in the stone circle. Kester held her against his chest. She could almost feel his heartbeat next to her cheek. He’d intoned the strange magical words about a portal of fire, and Emerazel’s grace. She repeated after him, and the spell slipped from her tongue, as though she’d known it all her life—which, perhaps, she had.

  The bodyguard pounded on the door, shouting. But the fire was raging all around her, and she dissolved into ash.

  Chapter 17

  Ursula blazed into the sigil room before doubling over with a coughing fit. Hot soot seared her lungs, and her body burned with preternatural pain. I really need to remember to hold my damn breath. At least she’d escaped the club in one piece. Granted, she didn’t have Hugo’s signature on the pact, and she’d left Zee behind, bu
t neither was she in handcuffs in the back of a police cruiser.

  Footsteps sounded in the hall, and Kester appeared at the doorway. “What happened? How did you get here?” He paused, sniffing. “Did you douse yourself in cologne?”

  She’d never thought the sight of his strange green eyes would be a relief. “Sigil spell. Forgot to hold my breath.” She wiped tears from her smoke-stung eyes. “And I had to use Giorgio Armani as the accelerant.”

  “You look gorgeous.” Candlelight danced in his eyes, and his gaze trailed over her short dress. “But I still don’t understand how you got here. I never taught you that spell.”

  “I remembered what you said.”

  He stepped closer, narrowing his eyes. “Impressive as that is, I’m a little alarmed that you felt the need to use it. You collected Hugo’s signature, right?”

  Ursula brushed ash off her dress. “Things got messy. Hugo made a scene.”

  A muscle clenched in his jaw. “You didn’t get his signature? Then why are you here?”

  “I had to escape.” How do I explain this? “Hugo ran away and started shrieking that I wanted to stab him.” The truth again, I guess.

  Kester moved closer, irises burning. Had she really found his face a welcome sight? He looked—terrifying. “We’re supposed to work in the shadows. If your face becomes known, Emerazel will destroy you. If you fail to get a target’s signature, as you have, Emerazel will destroy you. She hates you, for reasons I don’t understand, and she seemed very eager to reap your soul. I told you the importance of getting this right.”

  Oh, God. I can’t escape the lectures about my own failure, even among the hellhounds. “You told me the importance, but that doesn’t make me any more experienced. You and I both agreed it was insane that Emerazel wanted to send me off without training. I don’t know why you’re suddenly surprised that it didn’t turn out well. And you know what? I still don’t understand what she wants with everyone’s souls. What does she do with them?”