Nocturnal Magic (Demons of Fire and Night Book 2)

by C. N. Crawford

  A chill snaked up her spine. Not only did he hate her, but she had an unsettling feeling she hadn’t even begun to witness Abrax’s power.

  Suddenly, her appetite deserted her. I want Honjo.

  Her hand was shaking as she placed her bread on the coffee table, and her old, familiar instincts kicked in. If there was one thing that came naturally to Ursula, it was self-preservation.

  I need to find a weapon in case Abrax shows up. Her pulse racing, she scanned the room for something that could be used for skull-smashing or organ-puncturing.

  Bars had knives sometimes, didn’t they?

  She hurried across the room and began pulling open the drawers. Coasters, fancy napkins, toothpicks. Bugger all, basically. Not a lot of damage you could do with toothpicks.

  She yanked open another drawer. A corkscrew. Bloody hell. I won’t get very far fighting an ancient demon with a corkscrew, but it’s better than nothing.

  She shoved the corkscrew into the robe’s soft pocket. Maybe I can find something a bit better.

  She crossed to a door off the living room, pushing through into a bathroom. She scanned the gray tile. The silver, claw-footed bath looked amazing, she had to admit, but she found not a single toilet plunger or towel rack that could be used to smash someone’s head in.

  She ran back to the front hallway, her frantic gaze landing on the spiral staircase. She bounded up it, two steps at a time. At the top, more doors lined a long hall. She flung open the first and walked into a luxurious bedroom: floor-to-ceiling windows and a large bed covered with a violet bedspread.

  A dresser stood against one wall. Candles and a jewelry box resting on the top, but unfortunately, nothing so handy as a knife. She pulled open the jewelry box, finding only actual jewels. Of course. People didn’t tend to keep weapons among their diamonds, but you never knew.

  Her pulse racing, she yanked open a drawer, cursing when she found it empty. One drawer after another, each completely weaponless. Not only was this place completely weapon-free, like a psychiatric facility, but she hadn’t even been given clothes.

  So much for “providing everything you need.”

  She hurried into the hall, flinging open another door to find another bathroom. An enormous porcelain tub stood before the curving windows. Not a lot of privacy here.

  She crossed to a white porcelain sink, yanking open the cupboard below it. She rifled through a few extra rolls of toilet paper, and some ancient-looking vials of green and blue liquids. Not even a toothbrush she could file down to a point.

  Her heart racing, she stood and patted the corkscrew in her pocket. Its thin twist of steel was all she had to protect herself.

  Somehow, it did not reassure her.

  Ursula trudged down the stairs again. Of course there weren’t any real weapons in the apartment. Abrax, Nyxobas—whoever was in charge here—didn’t want a hellhound able to defend herself. As a hound of Emerazel’s she was simply too dangerous to the night demons.

  In the living room, she headed for the bar, then popped the cork off the carafe of wine. She grabbed a wine glass, filling it nearly to the top, then crossed to one of the sofas.

  She plopped down onto the rich, velvet fabric and took a long sip. She’d have to keep the glass nearby. In a pinch, she could smash it and stab someone with the shards.

  Her stomach tightened. One of these days, she’d like to have a normal Friday night. Though hoping for an ordinary night in the Shadow Realm was probably a bit of a stretch. The alcohol warmed her stomach, soothing the tension from her shoulders.

  Abrax or Nyxobas...

  Somehow, Nyxobas didn’t seem like he’d have a golden lion mosaic in his atrium or a suite of rooms filled with classical art. Abrax seemed more like the type to relish intimidation through luxury. She shivered. He was also the kind of perv who’d put her in a glass cage so he could watch her every move.

  She tucked her feet underneath her. If Kester were here, he’d probably have a clear idea of what she should be doing. He’d stretch out on the sofa, full of confidence. He’d level his green eyes on her and tell her precisely what spells she needed to be practicing and how to evaluate her true threat. Then again, she’d hardly seen him in the past six months. After she’d saved him from Nyxobas, she’d gone to visit him on his tugboat. And that’s when she’d learned the truth—that Kester was in this to save his sister’s soul. She felt so close to him that night, like she’d made a true friend. And yet, since then he’d been a ghost. He’d stopped by the flat once or twice with Zee. He turned on his usual arrogant charm. Flirting, double entendres, references to his prowess with a sword. But when she’d asked what he’d been doing, he’d just shrugged. “On a special assignment given to him by Emerazel,” was all he’d said. And then, he’d disappeared again for another month.

  When she’d asked Zee about it, the fae girl had shaken her head. “That’s Kester for you. Wham, bam, thank you ma’am. It’s how he operates.”

  But that didn’t explain it at all. She and Kester had neither whammed nor bammed. Sure, she’d thought about it. How could she not, given his chiseled beauty? But nothing had happened…yet.

  And meanwhile, she’d been missing a mentor. Kester was supposed to teach her how to become a hellhound, but there’d been no magic lessons, no practice sessions in the armory to build her skill. In the last six months, she’d learned virtually nothing new about the job.

  Sure, she’d kept busy in other ways. There was the mob boss assignment in Hell’s Kitchen—a first-rate wanker who’d been forcing his thugs to sign over their souls. Ursula had been tasked with hunting down each of the Mafiosi.

  Because they’d signed over their souls involuntarily, her job had been to nullify pacts. She’d thought it’d be easy—who actually wanted to burn in the Emerazel’s inferno for eternity? But once the Mafiosi had tasted Emerazel’s power, they seemed to stop caring about eternal damnation. She’d been forced to reap more of their souls than she cared to think about. It had been brutal work, but at least she’d filled a good number of pages in her ledger.

  And each page was another step toward freedom. Once she managed to fill her ledger, it was goodbye to the hellhound life.

  She took another sip of wine, pushing her worries about the ledger to the back of her mind. Right now, she had more immediate concerns. After the dragon attack and the near-drowning with the Forgotten Ones, exhaustion burned her muscles. She propped her wine against the base of the sofa, then leaned back into the velvet. She pulled a soft, white blanket over her body, staring through the window at a perfect view of Nyxobas’s palace.

  The sharp spire glimmered like a shard of glass. And as her eyelids drooped, dark clouds seemed to whirl around its summit.

  Chapter 6

  “Ursula.” Someone tapped her shoulder.

  “Mmgghhft,” Ursula groaned, opening her eyes. Cera stood above her. It was still dark outside. Maybe it was always dark here? She still wasn’t quite sure how that worked. She pushed up onto her elbows, blinking to clear her mind. “What’s going on?”

  “You need to wake up. You’re to meet the lord in fifteen minutes.”

  “I don’t understand. What time is it?”

  “Almost eight p.m. Earth time. You slept all day. You need to get dressed.”

  “But I don’t have any clothes to wear.” Ursula’s brain was slowly turning on. “I’m supposed to meet Nyxobas now?” Cera held up a white bag. “I brought you a dress. I’m not entirely familiar with Earthly fashions, but I based it on that gold gown I saw in the picture in your apartment.”

  She straightened. “The Francesco Sforza dress? With the ribbons?”

  “Not quite as revealing as that one, but the same idea. The women in Nyxobas’s kingdom don’t show off their flesh quite so wantonly as Emerazel’s women do.” She shook her head. “No respect for yourselves.”

  Ursula frowned. She hadn’t been a fan of the ribbon dress, but there was no need for slut-shaming. “There’s nothing wrong with fem
ale bodies, you know. Or showing them off.”

  Cera’s silver eyes narrowed. “You’ll need to adapt to the culture here. I know incubi and vampires flout Nyxobas’s rules on Earth, indulging in all sorts of heresies, but you’re in the Shadow Realm now.” She thrust the bag at Ursula. “Nyxobas believes in denial of bodily urges in order to reach heavenly perfection.”

  “Right.” Ursula peered inside the bag. A lilac dress nestled next to silver shoes and a bag of toiletries.

  She stood, then pulled the dress from the bag—an exquisitely delicate fabric that shimmered in the candlelight. She stood, holding it up. It certainly had more fabric than the Sforza dress. This one reached the floor, but it still featured a plunging neckline and tiny shoulder straps. The fabric was practically sheer, but gathered enough around the skirts that she wouldn’t be showing too much off.

  “Wow,” she breathed. “It’s gorgeous. Where did you get it?”

  Cera’s chest seemed to swell. “I created it. There aren’t any designer shops here, so if you want a pretty dress, you have to make it yourself. I’m glad you can recognize fine craftsmanship when you see it.” She beamed. “There’s underwear in the bag. I figured a hellhound would like the skimpy kind.” She sniffed.

  Ursula peered in the bag at a pale blue thong. “Thanks, Cera.” Weird as it was to get thongs from a stranger, it was actually very nice of the oneiroi to try to choose things she thought Ursula would like.

  “Perhaps you’d like to go into the bathroom to try it on,” prompted Cera.

  “Sure.” Apparently, Cera was horrified by the idea that Ursula might strip right here, even though the demon had already seen her completely naked.

  “And while you’re at it,” Cera called out, “you may as well bathe and beautify yourself for the lord. It will help him warm to you, I’m sure. There are toiletries in the bag.”

  Ursula frowned. “When you say ‘lord,’ are you talking about Nyxobas?”

  “Honestly, child.” Cera chastised her as though it were the most absurd question in the world. “Clean yourself up. You mustn’t displease him.”

  Sighing, Ursula carried the bag into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. A lantern bathed the bathroom in warm light. So, she had to make herself look good for her lord. Whoever he was, she was apparently at risk of provoking his wrath with her bedraggled appearance. This was just getting weirder by the minute. Still, she wasn’t going to argue. Makeup was its own armor, and one that made her feel like herself. A war paint of sorts.

  Ursula untied her robe, hanging it from a hook on the back of the door.

  She crossed to the claw-foot tub, turning a silver knob and letting the bath fill with water. Stepping into the warm bath, she grabbed a bar of floral soap. Steam curled from the water, filling the room with the scent of lavender and mint. Around the bath’s rim, candles flickered, casting dancing light over the gray tile. She lathered under her arms, and ran her fingers over her neck to clean up the grime. The water felt soothing over her skin, and she splashed warm water over her shoulders, rinsing off the soap.

  She might not understand why she’d been called to the night realm, but she knew Nyxobas had good reason to hate her. She’d forced the high demon Bael, Nyxobas’s general, and his second in command, into signing his soul over to Emerazel. A twinge of guilt pierced her chest. Nyxobas had probably ordered Bael’s death since then. She didn’t imagine the god of night would forgive a tactical failure of that magnitude.

  Her stomach tightened. And if Nyxobas hadn’t ordered Bael’s death, the high demon would probably rip her limb from limb. She’d completely destroyed his plans to take over the Shadow Kingdom.

  A knock sounded at the door. “Don’t take too long in there,” Cera cautioned. “We mustn’t keep the lord waiting.”

  Ursula rolled her eyes. Whoever “the lord” was, he sounded like a real prick.

  After a final scrub of her legs, she rose, feeling the soapy water drip off her skin. She unplugged the drain and stepped from the tub, grabbing a towel. Goosebumps rose on her bare skin as she dried off.

  Cera banged the door again. “You really don’t want to make him angry.”

  Ursula tried to ignore the demon’s frantic knocking. Peering into the bag, she grabbed the tiny blue underwear and slipped into it. Somehow, it fit her perfectly. Probably precisely because Cera had seen her totally naked and was able to gauge her exact measurements. No bra, I see.

  She grabbed the dress from the bag and pulled it over her head. The silky fabric skimmed luxuriously over her breasts, hips, and thighs before reaching the floor.

  Her gazed flicked to the mirror, and a smile curled her lips. The neckline plunged to her belly button. Braless and with a daring neckline, she was exposing a little more than she normally would. But she had just proclaimed the importance of pride in one’s body, and she wasn’t going back on it now. Plus, she looked damn good.

  She slipped into the silver heels, then turned to study her reflection again. She ran her fingers through her auburn waves, trying to tame them into submission. She had to admit—the red of her hair looked stunning against the cool tones of the dress. Cera might be cranky, but the woman was a genius with a needle and thread.

  She leaned over, picking up the makeup page to unzip it. As Cera continued to hammer on the door, she lined her eyes with black, rouged her cheeks, and slicked her lips with a rather stunning shade of cherry red. A dusting of shimmery white powder over her cheekbones was the final touch.

  If the lord could be mollified by makeup and dresses, she was certain this ensemble would do the trick.

  She pulled open the bathroom door into the living room.

  Cera beamed at her. Clearly, the woman was proud of her work. “The lord may have a bit of a shock when he sees you. But dark god above, it is gorgeous.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to offend the lord with a poor dress choice.”

  Cera nodded enthusiastically, apparently missing her sarcasm. “Oh yes. Very true. Now, we must go.” She looked at the clock, visibly shuddering. “I don’t want to anger him,” she muttered, turning to hurry for the door. “Please come with me.”

  Sharp claws of panic gripped her chest. She’d left her only weapon in the bathroom. “Wait,” she said. “I need to wee.”

  “Not now!” scolded Cera.

  Ignoring her, Ursula ran back to the bathroom. She gripped the robe, yanking the corkscrew from its pocket. She swallowed hard. Where the hell am I supposed to hide it in this outfit?

  She didn’t have much of a choice. It was going in her thong or it wasn’t coming at all. Suddenly, she was no longer so keen on the dress’s sheer fabric. She hoisted up her skirt, tucking the corkscrew into the front of her knickers, pointy side up. She didn’t want the sharp bit doing any damage to the most delicate parts of her body.

  “Hurry up!” Cera wailed.

  Ursula smoothed out her hair, pulling open the bathroom door into the living room. She hoped her facial expression conveyed some sense of normality—as opposed to, “I’ve just shoved a corkscrew in my knickers, and I’m trying not to hurt myself.” Plastering a smile onto her face, she followed Cera through the hall and out the front door, trying not to look over the bridge’s railings. She didn’t need her stomach turning any more flips than it already was. Plus, vertigo and heels seemed like a bad combination.

  This time, when they entered the lion atrium, Cera led her across the tiles. The demon climbed the stairs, pausing at the onyx door.

  Ursula frowned. “Is this all part of the same manor?”

  “Yes. You’re about to meet the lord who owns your apartments. He will have control over every aspect of your life for the next six months. So you understand why this is important to get right.”

  She hugged herself. And if it all goes to shit, I’ll just fight him with the corkscrew in my knickers. Top planning, Ursula. You’ve really outdone yourself.

  At the top of the stairs, Cera flicked her fingers. The heavy onyx door c
reaked open, revealing a tunnel.

  Cera held out her hand, gesturing for Ursula to enter. “Go along. The lord is waiting for you.”

  “You’re not coming?” said Ursula, her skin growing cold. With a growing sense of dread, she climbed the steps.

  “No. He wants to meet with you alone.”

  The hair rose on the back of Ursula’s neck. “Can you at least tell me who I’m meeting? Is it Nyxobas? Or Abrax?”

  Cera frowned. “I’m not at liberty to say. He’s a lord. I’m not allowed to call him by any other name, and I’m certainly not going to defy him. Everyone here knows their place, and if you’re smart, you will, too. Your life depends entirely on the lord.” The little demon backed down the stairs, her milky skin a shade paler than normal. “You’re going to be late. You need to go.”

  Ursula folded her arms, reluctant to plunge into the dark hall without knowing what she was getting into.

  She watched Cera hurry across the tile, turning to Ursula one last time before pulling open the door. “Good luck.” She disappeared through the door, leaving Ursula entirely alone.

  Cold dread bloomed in Ursula’s chest. Well, it’s not like I can run away from whoever this lord is. She was going to be in the Shadow Realm for six months, living in his house. She was going to meet him one way or another. She turned, taking a tentative step into the tunnel. Candles flickered in sconces, their dim light wavering over rocky walls. The tunnel seemed to be carved from a cliff of the moon crater itself.

  Hugging herself, Ursula strained her ears for any sound, but she heard only deathly silence.

  She walked further into the hall, trying to soften her footsteps on the smooth stone as much as possible. She considered pulling the corkscrew from her knickers, but decided against it. It was too big to hide in her palm, and clearly showing up armed to meet “the lord” would be a major breach of protocol. Still, the bulky feel of sharp metal in her thong was oddly reassuring—a thought she’d never before imagined would cross her mind.