by Ann Aguirre
While I’d been tidying, Booke had cast his spell. He brought me the statuette, placing it in my hand with a sober look. “If everything goes to hell tonight, it’s been an honor.”
“Seriously? That’s your pep talk?”
“I am British, you know.”
That was a joke. I thought. So I laughed, but the sound resonated with nervous tension. Booke rubbed my shoulder with gentle affection, evidently over his prior aggravation. It hit me then that he’d be leaving soon. Regardless of how this ended he’d be in the wind, living out his dream of seeing the world before he replaced Ms. Devlin at the arcane library beneath Wonder Lanes.
Gods, I’ll miss him.
I checked the time. “I’m calling Kel. Get ready.”
Booke knew without being told that he had only seconds to keep us from ending up with Barachiel right on top of us. Hopefully his blocker would last long enough to bring Chance back, and then I’d help Kel fight the crazy-ass demon that had him on a magickal leash. We all would. The whole crew would be assembled at that point and ready for a fight.
Bring it on.
I whispered the summons soft enough that Booke couldn’t make out Kel’s true name, and this time, I put a little demon magick in the call. Using it in this realm stung, like pushing up too fast through the ocean and taking a load of salt water up the nose. But it didn’t hurt like using my mother’s magick had—and that worried me. I noticed no response from the baby, no pain, no nausea.
Kel appeared before me a few seconds later, battered, bewildered. He was also filthy, exhausted, covered in half-healed wounds. Gods, what had he been doing for the past two weeks? Booke smashed the statuette at our feet, bringing up a cloud of dust that shimmered, settling gently on my skin. The blocker was on the job. We’d see how well it worked.
“What have you done?” Kel demanded. “I warned you, this is madness.”
“We have a little time at least. Booke’s got us covered. Literally.” I paused for Kel to sense the truth, and some of his tension and rage diffused. “I need your help. You’re the only one who can do this for me. Believe me, if there was any other way . . .” I shook my head. “We tried. This is it.”
Anyone else would’ve persisted in the questions, but he read my desperation. Kel ran a hand down my cheek, left the stickiness of his blood behind. Fortunately, I had no open wounds on my face, or I’d be high as a kite right now. Last time, I went tripping balls after a hit of his blood. That made me wonder if all demon blood had healing properties, or only the ones who had been magickally fooled into believing they came from angelic origins. Not a critical question right now, though.
“What do you need?” he asked.
Ritual of Doom
Booke handed Kel his phone. “A precise translation, if possible.”
Kel skimmed the pages with quick cognition. Then he handed the cell back. “It’s a spell to part the veil. Not to Sheol. Elsewhere. But it won’t work unless you have help from the other side.”
“I do,” I said. “Can you lay it out for me? What do we need to cast it?”
Without protest, Kel made a shopping list for Booke, who took the keys to the Pinto and hurried off, muttering, “They’re going to love us at the shop.”
“You don’t have to stay,” I said to Kel. “Just write down what I need to do. I’ll take it from there.”
“Barachiel will find me,” he replied wearily. “The wizard’s spell will slow him, but the ending is inevitable. Knowing the truth, I cannot swerve. We’ve played cat and mouse for days.”
Judging from his injuries, Kel had been the mouse. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Everything ends, dadu.”
This time, I didn’t forbid the endearment. While he was constant, he was also an immortal half-demon, bound to a maniacal creature that believed it was an archangel destined to rewrite the world. It had been working toward that until I stumbled into the mix. With a combination of Chance’s backlash luck and my own stubbornness, I fucked up Barachiel’s life; he didn’t take rejection well either.
“Seriously, I don’t want you here if Barachiel shows up. I’ll have backup.” Whether Booke, Shannon, Chuch, Eva and I could take out an ancient demon, I had no idea. But Kel would die if we didn’t. “Just write the spell down.”
I handed him a notebook from my purse, along with a pen. Kel heaved a sigh, but he wrote in his lovely, old-fashioned hand. A few minutes later, I took the pad from him, scanned the steps.
“That doesn’t look too bad.”
“What you’re not seeing is that all great workings require a sacrifice.”
“Shit. Like a life? If I cast this spell, it might kill my baby?”
Oh, gods, no. No. Fate couldn’t be so cruel. I’d gladly die to give Chance the life he wanted in this world, but I couldn’t kill our child for him. He wouldn’t want me to if he knew that was the price.
“You choose the sacrifice before you cast.”
“So it wouldn’t just randomly take my kid?”
Kel shook his head. “Generally, it’s a magickal sacrifice, an artifact or a foci brimming with power.”
“It’s not death magick, then.”
“Not usually, though death magick would serve as a workable substitute.”
“Dammit. I don’t have any—oh. I could give the spell the touch . . . and what’s left of my demon magick.” I gazed up at him, anxious. “Would that be enough?”
“I don’t know. It depends how much power your partner brings to bear on the other side.”
“It’s all I have to offer,” I whispered. “I’ll try.”
The ritual would leave me a normal human. That wasn’t a deterrent, however, as that was all I’d ever wanted, my whole life. If this didn’t work, I’d end up a single mom, just like my mother. It has to work. I was in no way strong enough to follow the example set by Cherie Solomon. All those years, she knew where my father had gone—and that he was never coming home.
Chance is. He promised.
Kel went over the ritual with me with tireless patience, drilling until I felt sure I had memorized all of the steps. By the time the others started arriving, I’d recited the incantation eighteen times. Shan got there first, sword in hand. Tonight, she eschewed her usual Lolita-goth gear; she was practically garbed in black leggings and a fitted black tee, no loose fabric to interfere with her movements or allow an opponent to grab hold of her. Likewise, she’d bound her black hair back into a tight French braid. Her makeup was still Shan: eyes heavily lined in kohl, ivory pale cheeks, and a blood-red mouth. She looked like a poster of a vampire I’d seen once; I didn’t say that, as she was so over the undead.
“You nervous?” she asked, giving me a one-armed hug.
“Kinda. If I let myself think about what I’m doing for more than two seconds.”
“Semper fi.” She threw some complicated hand gestures at me, which could’ve been military, or they might’ve been gang signs.
I ignored them. “Isn’t that the Marine Corps motto?”
“That’s not the point. What does it mean?”
Though I didn’t speak Latin, I actually knew this. “Always faithful?”
“Yep.” She flashed me a triumphant grin. “And that’s you.”
My heart gave a little squeeze. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. Where’s the dog?”
“Cowering in my purse. I’m thinking of charging him rent.”
Butch gave an indignant yap and trotted out to greet her. He wagged his tail hard enough to shake his whole body when she rubbed him just the way he liked. Sadly for the dog, it couldn’t last. She moved off for some practice swings, and her arcs with her sword were beautiful to behold.
Next, Chuch and Eva rolled up, looking like they could star in an action movie. Both had dressed in dark, nondescript clothing. Eva was strapped with a 12-gauge shotgun and a handgun in a thigh holster. Chuch had automatics, plus a duffle bag bulging with other goodies. If shit went down, he’d make it re
al. I squinted, realizing that was the same bag he’d carried the tarp in the other night.
Night had fallen while I memorized the ritual, a dark and starless night earmarked for Chance’s return. Inside the warehouse, it was gloomier still, but Eva had foreseen that eventuality. “Storm lamps,” she said, setting them around the circle I was drawing in chalk. She activated the batteries one by one, so the squalor was more evident. In the far corner, three rats skittered toward a crack in the wall.
Eva made a face. “Not exactly pretty, is it?”
“No, but if things go hideously wrong, we won’t take out a city block either.”
“There is that,” Chuch said, joining us.
I smiled, but didn’t pause in sketching the circle. My thigh hurt, the way I was crouched on the cement, but I ignored the pain. “Thanks for coming, all of you.”
“It wouldn’t be a welcome back party if the gang wasn’t all here,” Chuch said.
Well, everyone except Jesse. And he wouldn’t show unless things went catastrophically wrong. Here’s hoping I don’t see Jesse Saldana tonight.
Booke returned last, but he had everything I needed. And he wore a harried look. “I may have scraped another car getting out of downtown.”
“I’m not worried about it,” I told him frankly.
“But I’m an outlaw now. A felon.”
“You didn’t mind leaving the country on a fake passport and a charm,” I pointed out.
“That was before I realized I’d be here to face the consequences.”
I laughed. “Quit fretting, granddad, and show me what you got.”
With a grumble, Booke handed me various dried herbs and powders while Kel reminded me when to use each one. Soon this will be over. That became my mantra as I prepared the site with the spell components. From that point, I ignored the others; my focus had to be complete, the ritual flawless. The susurration of their voices rolled over me in waves, but the snippets didn’t penetrate. Finally, I had everything in place, and I was ready to begin.
“I need you all to step off. I’m not exactly sure how big the gate will be—”
“Then shouldn’t you back up as well?” Chuch wondered.
“I have to stay close to the circle. Theoretically, it should contain the energies and keep the portal from spreading to alarming proportions, but . . .” I shrugged. “Just move, okay? And keep a sharp eye out for trouble.” Demon magick was notorious for rebounding in powerful, unexpected ways.
“On it,” Shan said.
Since I would be using the touch—and sacrificing it, plus the remainder of my demon magick—I got out the athame I had carried with me from Sheol. In this realm, it didn’t look as ominous, so possibly the trip back had stripped it of some of its power. But it still didn’t look harmless. I whispered the words in ancient Babylonian as I drew the blade across my palm. My blood welled up ruby red and ready to work. The crimson fluid dripped down the blade; then the warehouse seemed oddly, ominously quiet, as if there were a barrier between the others and me. When my blood trickled onto the chalk, I released the concentration that kept me from reading random objects and murmured the words of gifting—of sacrifice—and then the circle shimmered.
I hadn’t been positive this would work, but I gained confidence as my remaining abilities went into the protective ring. If this worked as a power exchange, the circle would be drained when the way opened. The ritual would take my magick and give me back Chance. Easy, right?
Not so much.
The demon magick clawed on the way out, raking like barbed wire in my veins as blood spilled from my palm. It stuck to me like tar, unwilling to be sacrificed. With pure will, I forced it out until I had nothing left. Then I closed my fingers to get the bleeding to taper off. Booke was there with a roll of gauze; I hadn’t asked him to buy it, but he wrapped my palm without comment.
“I never saw anything like that,” Chuch murmured with a hint of awe.
I surveyed my work, and it was a pretty damn fine circle. Now, for the fun part. Chanting for gods knew how long, pushing at the way between worlds, until it thinned enough to permit passage. The ritual didn’t say how long it would take.
Eva cocked her gun. “It smells like trouble in here.”
Now that she mentioned it, I did smell something burning; maybe it was just the storm lamps heating up. The Babylonian words sounded strange rolling off my tongue, but they had a hypnotic quality, making it easier to focus. After a few repetitions, all distractions faded. I poured myself into the spell, all I was, all my will, until I was focused only on the circle.
How will I know if it’s working—
Before I finished the mental question, a massive boom behind me tempted me to look, but I couldn’t stop chanting, no matter what had happened.
Chuch was shouting, “Incoming! Take cover.”
“I count eight,” Eva called back.
“Fuckin’ demons,” Shan muttered.
Awesome. So the last Luren in the trifecta of Sexy Evil had come gunning for me—and he was smarter than the others. He’d brought backup . . . but this time, so had I. I didn’t let my concentration lapse; if I did, even for a second, then the spell failed, and there would be no second chances.
“What the hell is that?” Eva asked.
Her shotgun went off. I desperately wished I could see the action, and then some of it spilled onto the other side of the circle. Eight shades. Shit. The demon must’ve hired a contractor. Since shades couldn’t be harmed by mundane weapons, Eva, Chuch, and Shan needed to get away from them. But I couldn’t shout the warning, couldn’t pause in my chant, even though my thigh felt like it was on fire and my throat was raw, my lips parched, and my voice had dwindled to a husky croak.
How long have I been casting?
“We can’t hurt these,” Shan called. “Back off. Leave it to Kel and Booke.”
Thank God for Shan.
I heard Kel fighting. Despite his wounds, he wouldn’t let these monsters get me or my friends. He shouted, “Show yourself, demon!”
“Look in the mirror,” the Luren said slyly.
Its voice carried in the sprawling warehouse. The thing could be hiding anywhere . . . and it was clearly smarter than its predecessors. If I knew demons, this one hadn’t limited itself to shades . . . because it wasn’t just trying to return me to Sheol to pay my debt to Sibella; it was also fighting for its life. And nothing was stronger than self-preservation . . . except for love.
Chance . . .
Booke smashed one of his statuettes and the powerful pop of strong magick filled the air, raising the hair on my arms. A shade hissed as it winked out of existence. The Englishman laughed, triumph in the sound, but then I heard his footsteps as he scrambled away . . . from something.
“Run.” Shan’s calm tone terrified me.
“Kelethiel!” The shout boomed like thunder, shaking the walls around me. Even the concrete floor trembled beneath my aching knees.
Barachiel. Oh, shit.
I tried to break off then—to end the spell. My friends would need all the help they could get—and even knowing it meant I’d never see Chance again, I tried to stop. But I couldn’t. I was trapped in the loop and the chanting continued, ancient words spilling out of my raw throat like the girl with the cursed dancing slippers. I was past the point of turning back; I would cast until I died, the ritual drawing energy out of me until I was a withered husk.
Had my sacrifice been insufficient to open the way?
I’m so sorry.
“Eva!” Chuch’s weapon went full auto, but I didn’t know what he was shooting. Maybe Barachiel.
Not Eva. Oh, gods, no.
The words hurt now, drawn out of me like blood. My eyes filled with tears, so a watery veil blurred the world. In that mist, I glimpsed a swirl of something—maybe—a hint of Chance’s face, but it was too far away, thin and warped. Something . . . something was wrong.
This isn’t working.
Shannon called out a challenge. Don
’t piss off Barachiel, I thought. Leave him to Kel. But even Kel couldn’t kill him. Maybe they can tag team him . . . but there’s the Luren . . . and his shades . . .
The ritual took more, pulling my life force like silken threads in a skilled weaver’s loom. I tasted bitter ashes on my tongue. I should never have done this. Oh, gods, baby, I’m sorry. I thought it was safe.
I thought—
Nothing.
There were only the words. They became reality. Owned me. They were thunder and the smell of fire in a pine forest. My friends receded. Their struggles seemed dim and faint, awful but inevitable. The mist rolled closer. A hand stretched toward me, but it was ghostly and ephemeral.
Not enough.
Not—
Kel and Barachiel stumbled toward the circle, locked in a death grip. My friend had his arm around the demon’s neck, his silver knife in its side, and he was using it like a handle. Kel bled from so many wounds that it was impossible he could still be on his feet. I didn’t know why Barachiel wasn’t using the compulsion; maybe knowing the truth gave Kel some limited ability to resist it . . . or maybe it required concentration like the spell that was killing me by inches. Pain broke focus.
If only I could get someone to hurt me . . .
My vision sparked black and white. Even the pain in my body felt distant. And then Kel heaved them both forward, breaking the circle, still full of my power. The explosion rocked me backward, out of the trance, but I was stunned, barely conscious, when I pushed to my hands and knees. The ritual swelled with the added power, incredible energy, and both Kel and Barachiel arched into postures that bespoke impossible pain. I sensed the river of life funneling from the two of them, quickening the ancient spell; it became a black and red tornado swirling around them.
“This is not how it ends,” Barachiel screamed.
The sound went on and on, until it fused with the chant I still could not stop, even now, though my lips were trickling blood. Another explosion rocked the warehouse and the mist caught fire, blasting a tunnel of hell toward us. I lacked the energy to move, but Shan pulled me away from the flames. I expected a horde of demons or angry divine enforcers, but Chance strode from the fires untouched. With every step, he became more real until at last he stood on the other side. From behind him came a quiet voice that was so beautiful it hurt my ears, echoing with bells, wind chimes, and laughing children.
