Nightsoul

by McKenzie Hunter

  Cory’s chin jutted out, but his eyes glinted with uncertainty and introspection. Several beats of silence passed before Cory conceded. “No,” he admitted, “but for me, it’s a last resort. Is it for you?”

  Harrison didn’t even wait a beat. “Light magic is weak because it’s limited by so many rules and the nebulous perception of good and evil. No, light magic is never an option. I deal with whatever magic will give me the results I need.” He responded in the neutral timbre of a sociopath admitting to a heinous crime without any remorse.

  I scored high on the personality disorder test and I suspected that I would continue to do so until I had magic. It was embarrassing and shameful to admit that I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t be a wraith sucking magic from people and leaving them for dead if there weren’t any consequences. That knowledge didn’t make me feel good. When it came to magic, ethics got a little blurred. I didn’t want to kill, but the need seemed too hard to deny. But I did it. Often.

  There were some similarities between me and Harrison. He’d do anything for the results he needed, and I struggled with not doing anything and everything to get magic. But was it that struggle, my desire to not kill, that separated us?

  “What do you want from me?” Harrison asked, dragging his searing gaze from Cory to me.

  “Can you make it appear again?”

  He frowned. “A Mirra is very strong magic. I can’t do one, but I can do something very similar. Who did the first one?”

  “The Woman in Black.”

  “Hmm. I’m sure I can make it reappear, but after that, then what?”

  “Once you see it, you might be able to identify the magic.”

  “If I can’t, would you be willing to show it to someone else?”

  “Someone else or a demon?” Cory asked.

  “A demon is someone,” Harrison pointed out. His docile amber eyes grew hard. “If you want my help, that can’t be excluded as a possibility.”

  “What will this help cost?”

  “An oath that you will give me a favor in return.”

  I didn’t like bartering with favors. I’d rather reach into my bank account and pull out everything in it than trade in favors. Most people like to keep them open ended. Anyone who agrees to that is just asking for trouble.

  “What’s the favor?” Although I had no intention of paying in favors, I was curious if he would be one of the few people who was specific enough to make me change my mind.

  He shrugged nonchalantly. “Just a favor. I’ll let you know when I call it in.”

  Yeah, right. There’s no way I’m agreeing to that.

  “I don’t deal in favors. Payment only. How much do you want?”

  He nodded. “Very well.” He went back into his motorhome, where he stayed for several minutes.

  “What’s he doing in there, discussing it with his accountant?” Cory sniped.

  Unless you were in one of the innumerable witch shops around town, as I was, witches didn’t really have a fee schedule. They just came up with a number that wouldn’t make you walk away. I did it as well. I had a baseline consulting fee, but I’d add a surcharge just because the client was being annoying or an ass; I called it a hazard fee.

  I suspected Harrison used a similar system. He handed me a piece of paper and I grimaced at it. What was he trying to do, upgrade his motorhome?

  “Half up front, and if you’re successful in giving me an answer, you’ll get the rest when we leave.”

  “And if I can remove it?” His voice held a level of confidence that piqued my interest.

  “What do you want?”

  “Since you aren’t offering favors, double.” The fact that a favor was worth the egregious amount he was asking made me glad I didn’t peddle in favors. “Fine. If I walk away from this with my magic permanently restored, you can have double.”

  There goes the down payment on my house, I thought sadly. How much more was this endeavor going to take from me?

  Whenever fire, reptiles, tannin, knives, and a bunny are used in a spell, believe me, things are about to get real. Real gross. Real messy. Real dark. Real bloody. And real painful. I prepared myself for the worst.

  It made things even more unsettling when, once we were settled in a circle formation around the campfire, the bunny hopped into my lap.

  Harrison had already taken blood from the serpent. It was done with such clinical proficiency, I knew he’d done it many times before.

  “I need the rabbit,” Harrison told me.

  “No,” I blurted without thinking, holding the bunny to my chest.

  “I need the blood of a mammal.”

  I extended my arm.

  “I need a great deal. Enough to fill this.” He showed me a shot-sized container. When I kept my arm extended, he rolled his eyes and without any warning slashed my hand. I squeezed my balled fist. Each time the blood flow slowed, I received another slash until the clear glass was totally full. After I cleaned the cut with the damp paper towel Harrison handed me, I tossed it into the fire. I wasn’t leaving anything that could be used for a spell against me.

  Bunny had the good sense to hop out of my lap and run.

  That’s right, bunny, get as far away as possible from this bunny blood-draining jackass.

  Despite knowing that the magic Harrison was doing was dark, I couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the beauty of the tenebrous tendrils of black, gray, and crimson twining over the fire. The crackling sound of it created a tranquil melody, and a strange sedative feeling overtook the area. Pepper and tannin wafted from Harrison, removing the initial aversion I had for his magic. Even the forbidding aspect that marked his presence seemed diminutive now.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “For what?”

  “To reveal your mark?”

  Dammit. If it wasn’t a Mirra, it was an excellent fabrication. Like the one at Elizabeth’s, which had not only looked like fire but felt like it, too. After having my hand sliced several times, I wasn’t keen to go through fire. But I simply nodded.

  With a simple swipe of his finger through the air, fire rose from the campfire and drifted to him, settling in his palms.

  If it burned or caused any discomfort, he was doing an excellent job of hiding it.

  I stuck my arm through the fire and winced at the pain that lanced through me, biting back the scream in my throat. My eyes blurred with tears.

  When I pulled it out of the fire, the only thing that marred my arm was the raven.

  Cory hadn’t seen it before.

  Both he and Harrison studied the bird, perched on a gilded branch with several archaic-looking symbols around it. I hadn’t noticed the small insignia next to it, or perhaps I just hadn’t paid it any attention. Cory and Harrison got their phones out to capture a shot of it, but one snap and the raven disappeared.

  Harrison had me go through the Mirra-replica again. This time he scribbled away, sketching the markings and the bird. When he turned the sketch to me, it bore a striking resemblance. He was talented.

  The raven remained for several minutes, giving the witches time to examine it.

  “I don’t know what these symbols are, but I’m assuming it’s a protection spell.”

  Duh, no kidding.

  Harrison’s mouth twisted to the side in concentration. “This is the witches’ old language,” he said, pointing to symbols at the top of the raven. He made a face, his fingers traced along the other markings. “I have a rudimentary knowledge of fae and this is theirs.”

  Cory frowned. I don’t think it was just Harrison’s connection to dark magic that was bothering him; something in Cory’s posture led me to believe he didn’t trust Harrison.

  “If you’re willing to do anything to find out what this is, there’s another source who I’m sure could decipher the sigils, maybe even break the curse.”

  “A demon,” Cory said tersely, negating Harrison’s need to tap dance around the topic.

  “Demons are old, have been around for years, an
d have experienced far more magic than we’ll ever know. I think a demon could help us.”

  I agreed without hesitation or even looking at Cory.

  “There’s always a bargain with a demon and they won’t accept cash. They don’t need it. Hosting them—” Harrison said.

  “I’m not hosting a demon,” I told him firmly. People survived hosting a demon, but I’d heard of more failures than successes. The horrors of the host’s mind never being the same or feeling as though they’d lost full volition of their body once they were no longer a host, for example.

  “Sometimes they just want things: blood of a mammal, hair of a witch, an item of yours. A book or something just as benign or inconsequential. Once, one only wanted the sound of a fae’s laughter.” Harrison scrunched his nose in dismay.

  “Why?” I asked. On the hierarchy of stupid and innocuous things, that ranked pretty high.

  He shrugged.

  “You didn’t want to know?”

  “Not really. It was simple enough. I don’t like to give them spell books or magical objects, but it’s a better trade than letting them host.”

  “How many times have you hosted a demon?” I asked.

  “Once,” he said nonchalantly as if it wasn’t a great feat that he was still around to tell about it. “It’s not as bad as you’re led to believe. It’s like anything else: People like to sensationalize it. ‘Never make deals with a demon or you’ll die,’ ‘So and so made a bargain with the demon and he hasn’t been right since.’ Usually it’s the favor requested that leaves them messed up. If you’ve dealt with the Woman in Black, then you’re used to tricksters. The fun in it all is getting one over on them. I’ve done it several times.”

  He beamed. Tricking a trickster had to bring some level of satisfaction.

  I’m not sure if it improved your magical street cred to tell someone you’d tricked a demon. It only made me warier and consider him more duplicitous than I had originally.

  “Mostly, you don’t hear about the successful ones because people who summon demons and make deals with them get stigmatized, and no one wants to be looked at the way”—his accusing gaze snapped in Cory’s direction—“he looks at me.”

  Cory flushed and dropped his gaze to the ground.

  The air was still thick with smoke and magic, distracting enough that I hadn’t paid attention to the circle of salt, tannin, and a maroon blend he’d made into a circle inside the engraved stones.

  “You stand here,” he instructed me. Cory was next to me, examining the circle.

  “This line isn’t as thick as the others. In fact it’s barely a line. Perhaps you should go over it again,” Cory suggested.

  Harrison’s face flashed with irritation. “I have a ward. He won’t get out.”

  “Perhaps, but this will just add a second level to your existing security.”

  Harrison rolled his eyes, reached into his pocket to pull out the ingredients, and secured the circle.

  “Satisfied?” Harrison’s voice had a hard frost that sent shivers through me.

  Cory nodded.

  “You’ll need to be over there. Otherwise he’ll assume you’re part of the deal, too.”

  Cory’s lips pulled into a taut line as he scrutinized Harrison. “Remember, Erin has to agree to the deal,” Cory reminded him.

  “Of course.”

  Cory looked uneasy as he stepped back about two feet, splitting his attention between the circle and Harrison. There wasn’t any trust.

  “Keep going until I tell you to stop.” The satisfaction from getting Cory away showed on Harrison’s face. Cory was being uncharacteristically overbearing.

  It wasn’t until Cory was close to twenty feet away that Harrison told him he could stop.

  Summoning a demon was a lot simpler than I expected. A few words spoken in Latin, words scribed on the ground, and an invocation. I was positive I could do it. There were enough steps to ensure no one accidentally summoned a demon, but it was easy enough that it wouldn’t deter someone if they wanted to do it.

  The apparition of a man appeared. He was of average height, with olive skin and features so sharp they gave him a severe, stark look. His snake-slit eyes were hard, unwelcoming, and fixed intently on Harrison.

  “You summon me again…” he hissed.

  “She needs help,” Harrison rushed out.

  His attention turned to me. The demon gave me a smile and brushed the nutmeg-colored hair away from his face. His weird eyes studied me with interest.

  What the hell is this? I want my demons gross looking with messed-up teeth, a snout, horns, disfiguring scars, and goat eyes. Not enchanting snake eyes.

  Just in case he could entrance with his eyes, I didn’t look directly at them.

  “What do you need?” he asked in an Australian accent.

  And they shouldn’t have cool accents, either. I want them to bleat or at least make a mangled garble.

  The markings of my raven were gone, so Harrison stepped next to me and held out the drawing. “She has this mark on her arm.”

  Dragging his eyes from me, the demon still regarded Harrison with disdain. Slowly his gaze moved back to me, roving over me, and if it got anywhere near my arm, it was clearly by accident.

  My sneer and dagger glare got his attention and he straightened.

  “Dareus,” Harrison said, pulling the demon’s leer from me. And that was a good thing because he was about to hear all the curse words, insults, and hostile language I’d accumulated over my lifetime.

  “May I see it again?” he asked politely. If not less than a minute ago he was ogling me like a perv, I would have been fooled by it.

  Dareus studied Harrison for a few seconds and it was obvious they shared a long history, a long, tumultuous history. Harrison showed him the sketch again. Dareus’s slitted eyes moved to it. A slow smile curled his lips.

  “Then they do live,” he said brightly. His gaze snapped to me. “You are being protected by elven magic.” He looked to Harrison and smiled appreciatively. “She will do. I’ll take her.”

  Harrison blurted a word in Latin.

  A blast of magic sent me across the clearing, landing me on my butt, shocked and bewildered. When I came to my feet, Cory was near the circle, moving some of the ingredients of the circle to fill in the part that Harrison had kicked away. Fury was in Cory’s eyes. Harrison took a defensive stance, magic curling around his fingers but not executing it fast enough before Cory blasted him with enough magic to smash him into a tree. He crumpled against it, and when he tried to come to his feet, Cory hit him again. Then again. And once more, leaving Harrison shuddering in pain.

  Rage marked every step of Cory’s advance. Behind the bright smile, the charismatic and amiable personality, and quick wit, I often forgot he was a strong, military-trained magic wielder. I forgot he’d killed before and was capable of doing it again. It had slipped my mind that among the witches, he was one of the most skilled. Watching him go at a beleaguered Harrison like a single-target missile was a reminder. White-hot magic that looked like sparks of bound electricity ready to be released made me recall that he’d had access to the Mystic Souls and had taken several spells away from it. I suspected this was one of them.

  Unfettered anger shone in his eyes, and I was neither reckless enough nor did I care enough about saving Harrison to jump in front of him. But I did care how Cory would feel knowing he’d killed someone in a fit of rage.

  “Cory!” I yelled.

  His gaze flicked to me. Some of the anger leached from his eyes and awareness took over. He threw the magic. It soared to the left and slammed into a large oak tree, blasting it to pieces and scattering bark and chunks of wood throughout the area. Some of the pieces landed just a few feet from Harrison.

  With effort, Harrison pulled himself to his feet. His eyes went to the demolished tree and his face paled. Mixed with the fear, I could see hints of frustration and irritation. He whispered an invocation, made several swipes with his hand, and the
demon started to disappear. I realized he was sending Dareus away before I could finish asking my questions.

  Dareus screeched, “You still owe me!”

  Harrison’s eyes screwed shut for several moments. When he opened them, he gave a passing look at Cory and then at me.

  “The remainder of the money is forgiven. Do not come here again.”

  Talk about gall. Harrison tried to give me to a demon and he was telling us not to return. He had no idea how much I didn’t want to see his smarmy ass again. I looked over at the closed circle and was hit hard with what had nearly happened. I needed to get away. Cory looked as if he felt the same way.

  I drove to Cory’s place, keeping a comforting hand on his leg, but it wasn’t helping.

  “Thank you for stopping me,” he said softly once I’d pulled into the parking space in front of his apartment. His expression was as hollow and dejected as his voice. It made me ache.

  “He was trying to give me to a demon. Your reaction was warranted.”

  “Even after I’d fixed the situation and beaten him up?” he inquired in a low voice. “What happened to that tree would have happened to him.”

  We all knew that.

  “He was going to give me to a demon,” I repeated. That had to offer him some consolation, but it did nothing to ease the grimace on his face.

  There was no way I was going to let him stay at home wallowing in his misery. When I grabbed my keys and started to get out of the car, he stopped me.

  “No, I really want to be alone.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He nodded. I wasn’t sure he wanted to be alone, but he didn’t want me there—a reminder of the reason he reacted that way.

  I nodded, repositioned myself in my seat, and watched as he got out of the car. He quickly made his way to his apartment.

  I drove for several blocks feeling the weight of my guilt and concern. Eventually they got the best of me and I pulled over and scrolled through my contacts until I came to the name I needed. Hesitating for an excruciatingly long time, I looked at the name on the screen. Alex.