Witch Blood

by Anya Bast

  “I’m going home,” he whispered as he lifted her into his arms. “Don’t you understand? I’m going home.”

  “Not if I can help it.” Isabelle stabbed him in the throat.

  Boyle dropped her. She fell to the concrete and this time Thomas wasn’t there to cushion her fall. Isabelle hit her elbows, tailbone, and jarred her teeth. Boyle screamed and backed away from her, pulling the blade from his throat and tossing it across the warehouse.

  Maybe his immune system had been weakened by the straight shot of copper into his body. Maybe he’d run out of “allergy shots.” In any case, the wound she’d made with the blade smoked and popped, the gash growing larger. Acidic blood dripped and sizzled onto the floor.

  Isabelle crab-walked back away from him, toward the door. She knew she couldn’t leave until the demon was dead, but she went for the exit involuntarily anyway. Boyle held his hands to his throat, screaming, and tossing his head. She wanted nothing more than to get away from him, like a child needs to escape the monster in her closet that isn’t imaginary after all.

  She backed through the sticky part of the air that Adam had found. Her stomach lurched as the tendrils of half-baked magick pulled at her clothing, skin, and hair. Made up of the power from the murdered witches, the partially open doorway stung her nostrils like undiluted evil, like she’d snorted dark, bitter ale through her nose.

  Isabelle gasped and shot backward, out of its range. It was much stronger than the last time she’d gone through it. Boyle’s spell was nearly finished. She was the last key. Apparently, he’d taken another witch before her. They’d made it harder on Boyle with their list, but they hadn’t stopped him.

  Even free from its grasp, she couldn’t shake the cling of the partially finished doorway from her skin and hair. Her breath came in short, brutal bursts as she waited—prayed—for Boyle to fall. For it be over.

  Lady, please. She didn’t want to be the last piece of that gateway of utter yuck.

  Boyle turned and stared at her, as if reading her thoughts. His eyes glowed red and his lips parted, revealing razor sharp teeth. Slowly, he removed his hands and straightened, showing her clearly that his knife wound had healed.

  Then he smiled.

  Isabelle pushed to her feet. Base fear rocketed through her, burning down her veins and shooting up her spine. She wished she could be stronger, braver, but watching that demon smile at her made her whole body quake.

  “Why won’t you just die!” she screamed at him. Because, Lady, she didn’t want to.

  He took a step toward her and stumbled, his smile fading a little. “You don’t understand my motivation. I’m leaving this place.” He said this place like someone might say maggot. “I’m going home to my people, to the places I remember and love.” He stumbled again, but then straightened and walked steadily for her, as if gaining strength from the very idea of returning home. “I refuse to die.”

  Isabelle backed up farther and farther. She simply couldn’t stop herself. It took every ounce of her willpower not to run, just as it seemed to take every ounce of Boyle’s not to die and keep slowly advancing on her. The bad thing was that she suspected Boyle’s will was stronger than hers.

  However, the copper she’d injected into him was taking its toll. If Micah’s theory was correct, the copper was eating him up from the inside out. His body struggled to heal itself and regenerate tissue, just as he did with the external injuries inflicted with copper weapons. But copper taken internally would be far more harmful. Now it was simply a question of which was stronger, the killing effect of the liquid copper or his body’s healing ability.

  She kept her gaze on Boyle’s shuffling feet as he neared her, completely unable to look up into those red, burning eyes—the ones that told her the end was near. “What tells you the sacrifice of five witches is all right? Because you have killed five, haven’t you, Boyle? You took another one before me.”

  Shuffle. Pause. Shuffle. “Six witches. You haven’t yet discovered the third I killed. The one after your sister.

  Her stomach lurched.

  “You are aeamon, only half-breeds. It’s like slaughtering cattle, like hunting. It is nothing to kill you. Some aeamon I might take a liking to, like a human might care for a pet. I have taken such a liking to you.” Shuffle. Pause. “But make no mistake; I will still kill my dog if it means I can go home.”

  Boyle stopped about five feet from her. Isabelle had backed herself up against the wall that had been farthest from him. The metal felt smooth and cool through her T-shirt.

  “And the doorway? How does it work?” Her voice sounded hoarse and ravaged, as if she’d smoked a pack a day for the last twenty years. Really, she was just trying to stall, hoping the copper would do its work.

  “I suppose you are owed an explanation. It appropriates the magick of the witches I sacrifice. Certain types of magick in certain amounts at certain times. Some witches I was able to take remotely, some I had to kill here. You, the last, must be killed in close proximity to the doorway.”

  Boyle covered the last few feet that separated them with more strength than he’d displayed since she’d injected him. The rest of Isabelle’s hope died with a sick whine. The injected copper hadn’t worked.

  “Will you fight me?” he asked.

  She stiffened and gritted her teeth. “How can I? How can I when I know you’ll take my mother or some other witch in my place?” Even though every fiber in her body wanted to lash out at him, kick, punch, and scratch…then run for her life.

  “That’s why it will not give me much pleasure to kill you.”

  Much.

  Boyle pulled her into his arms like he might a lover. Her mouth pressed against the smooth black leather of his jacket. She tasted something warm and salty and realized she was crying. He cradled her in his arms for a moment, long claw-tipped fingers brushing through her hair.

  Then he lowered his mouth to her throat and bit.

  Demons were like spiders, their venom squirting from their mouths into their prey, rendering them paralyzed.

  Boyle’s sharp teeth pierced her skin like twenty needles. Pain shot through her body, making her twitch in something close to a convulsion. When she jerked against his teeth, it hurt even more so Isabelle went still and keened softly as blood ran down her neck. The demon groaned, as if in ecstasy, as if he loved the taste of her, and tightened his embrace.

  The venom shot like acid straight into her bloodstream and Isabelle arched her back in agony, unable to do anything more. Her vision faded from color to black-and-white. The images she viewed were blurry around the edges.

  Was this how Angela had felt?

  No, she didn’t want to think about Angela. Anything but Angela.

  A coat brushed her cheek for the millionth time. Darkness had swallowed her whole. She didn’t even know where the door was in the middle of the night when no light spilled beneath the crack. Hunger gnawed at her stomach lining. She’d gone through all the jacket pockets already and found nothing, not even any of those little plastic wrapped crackers from the restaurant. Her only comfort was Angela, slumped in sleep beyond the closet door, her breathing steady in the night.

  The only steady thing in Isabelle’s life….

  She came to lying in the center of the floor, not far from the doorway. Moving her limbs was fruitless, just as the involuntary scream that tore from her throat remained soundless, ineffective. Silent. Mute. Motionless.

  Prey.

  Just waiting.

  Boyle lowered himself over her, her vision still in black and white. His mouth opened, but she heard nothing. The demon grasped her arms, cold fingers digging in. He lowered his mouth to hers and began to suck out the magick from the center of her.

  Inwardly, she screamed. She writhed. She died.

  Outwardly, she could do nothing but endure it.

  Her heartbeat was the only thing she could hear. It beat loudly in her mind, growing slower. Her vision changed from black to white to blacker and then black
er still. Maybe she would be lucky and she would die before Boyle began to feast.

  Had Angela died before that point?

  Then Boyle was gone. The pressure on her chest eased and her magick snapped off where Boyle had bitten into it, sending a flash of searing pain through her and then nothing.

  Unable to move, unable to see clearly, Isabelle only caught bits and pieces of the movement around her. Long black hair. Flashing copper sword.

  Thomas.

  Damn it. She’d known he’d show eventually. Fear for herself disappeared. Dread for Thomas replaced it. Movement flashed out of the corners of her eyes. Sword. Blood. Claws. Teeth.

  Then, again, nothing.

  Nothing but a pulsing, purring noise to go along with the beating of her heart. Soft at first, it grew louder and louder. Magick prickled against her skin, letting Isabelle know that the demon’s venom was wearing off.

  Where was Thomas? And what was that alien magick scraping along her body?

  The texture of the power rippled and grew stronger. The same stink of evil teased her nostrils and then Isabelle knew what it was. She felt a tug on her body like tiny hands that grew stronger.

  Somehow, the doorway had opened.

  Thomas appeared over her, blood running down his temple and coating his long black hair. He scooped her up into his arms. “We’ve got to get away from here,” he said, his voice sounding far away. “The doorway is appropriating Boyle’s magick as he dies and it’s opening, but it’s unstable. Pulling…pulling us in.”

  Alarmed, Isabelle tried to move. It was like her arms had been wrapped in cotton, but she managed some mobility. Color now tinged the edges of her black-and-white vision, too.

  Thomas dragged her a distance away, far enough that the pull of the doorway ceased, and lay her down. Isabelle sat up, scanning the room for the demon. Boyle lay a short distance away, on his stomach. Multiple stab wounds marred his back and his blood crackled and popped on the pavement around him. He still lived. His limbs twitched and a low, thick moan wafted from his throat.

  About five feet away from him the doorway gleamed almost prettily in the air, a riot of shimmering colors that pulsed and flickered with magick. Isabelle was no earth witch, but even she could sense the volatility in the spell.

  She glanced at Boyle and shook her head. “No, he’s not dying. He doesn’t die. He’s like something out of a horror movie. You only think he’s dying and then—”

  Thomas shhhed and rocked her in his arms. “He’s dying, believe me. He was more than halfway done for by the time I arrived. I just finished the job you started. It’s over, Isabelle. It’s over.”

  Could it be? It seemed like it had been forever since it had begun.

  “Home.” The groan came from Boyle. Bleeding and beaten, he pulled himself toward the doorway. He went inch by inch across the floor by willpower alone, leaving a trail of hissing blood behind him. “Home.” This time it sounded more like a sob.

  “Let’s go,” Thomas said, helping her to stand. “I don’t know what that doorway is going to do.”

  She climbed to her feet and took a quick inventory of Thomas’s wounds. His clothing and probably his skin were singed from Boyle’s blood. Cuts marked his head, his cheek, and his chest. His own blood soaked his thigh from a gash, but she couldn’t tell how deep it was. “Thomas—”

  “Come on. We both need medical attention.” He slid his arm under her waist and helped her walk toward the exit.

  The door at the far end of the warehouse opened, revealing Adam and the rest of the Coven witches entering the building.

  Adam’s gaze focused on something behind her and Thomas. “Watch out!” he yelled and started to run toward them.

  Isabelle glanced back and saw that Boyle had reached the doorway and was crawling through. The doorway had grown larger and brighter. Magick flared and rippled outward from the unruly, half-finished spell.

  Light flashed and the pull intensified. Isabelle screamed as the thing sucked them in like some kind of black hole. Hell, maybe it was a black hole.

  Magick, light, and sound exploded.

  THOMAS CAME TO FACEDOWN IN A PATCH OF GRASS, his upper thigh throbbing in agony. His hand still gripped the handle of the sword. He had to physically force himself to relinquish it, one finger at a time.

  Isabelle was no longer in his arms. He sat up and groaned, pain shooting though his body from his wounds. The pounding in his head had increased ten-fold and now nausea roiled in his stomach to boot. His hand went to his thigh and came away sticky and hot with his own blood.

  He pushed all that away, pushed it back, and almost passed out from the effort. None of that was important. Only Isabelle was important.

  “Isabelle?” he croaked.

  It was dark. Wind creaked through tree branches not far away and the air smelled strange. Not at all normal. It smelled faintly of…demon magick.

  “Isabelle!”

  “I’m…here.” She groaned and something thunked. “Damn it. I’m here.”

  Thomas groped toward the sound in the darkness and finally found warm flesh. He gathered her against his chest. “Are you all right?”

  She took a moment to answer and when she did her voice sounded thin. “I can’t take any more poofing today. It makes me sick.”

  “Poofing?”

  “The transporting through unconventional means.” She groaned. “Poofing. We went through the doorway…I think.”

  “I think so, too.”

  “Where do you think we are?”

  He looked up, studying the night sky. It looked just like any other clear, perfect night sky—a few wispy white clouds and a whole lot of bright stars. Except…“Wherever we are, it’s not Chicago.” He pointed skyward.

  “What?” Pause. “Oh, shit.”

  Above them hung two moons. One large and luminous, the other smaller and pale blue.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  “DO YOU THINK WE COULD BOTH BE HALLUCINATING the same thing?” Isabelle asked, huddling closer against his chest.

  “I doubt it.”

  “How badly are you hurt?”

  He shifted and the throbbing pain in his thigh shot to brilliant white-hot life. He gritted his teeth. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Do you think Boyle is out there somewhere?”

  Thomas took a moment to answer. His mind had been turning over that same possibility ever since he’d seen both moons shining in the sky. The thought of being trapped here, with no way to get Isabelle back home, sent a shot of ice water through his veins. The fear he felt for her would probably anger her, but he couldn’t help it. He knew all too well she could take care of herself, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to try.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. If he is, he’s probably dead by now.”

  “Maybe. Demons are like cockroaches, though. Hard to kill.”

  They sat in the dark for several minutes, absorbing their situation and listening to a strange bird cawing somewhere to their left. When Isabelle began to shiver, he wrapped his arms around her tighter. They needed to find shelter.

  He had no way to judge the time, but light seemed to be getting brighter on the horizon, which logically meant it was nearly morning. Of course, in this alien world, who knew for certain?

  Gripping the sword in one hand and using it as a sort of crutch, Thomas helped Isabelle to stand and led her to a small clump of trees on their left. At least they wouldn’t be so out in the open. He hoped they weren’t doing something dangerous, but he had no way to know for sure. His intuition said they were fine in the place he’d chosen and that would have to be good enough for now.

  After they’d settled at the base of a huge tree, Isabelle turned to him and touched his face, tracing very lightly the cut on his head and the one on his cheek. “You’re lying about being okay for my sake. Don’t do that. Remember I’m empathic and can feel you’re in pain. How badly are you injured?”

  He hesitated before replying. “Boyle sliced me up with his c
laws. It’s nothing serious except for the wound in my thigh. That one’s a little deep, but I don’t think he hit anything vital.”

  She snaked a hand to his left leg. It came away bloody, no doubt. “A little deep?” She’d tried to make her voice steady, but he could hear the quaver in it.

  “It will be fine.”

  “Right.” She made an exasperated sound and pulled her shirt over her head.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m using my shirt as a bandage. You take care of everyone else, so let me take care of you as best I can.”

  He grabbed her T-shirt before she could shred it. “You’re going to freeze!”

  “Then you’re just going to have to keep me warm.” In the semidarkness she glanced down at his bare torso and feet. “I’m wearing more than you anyway.”

  “Clothes weren’t my first concern when I saw you on the back of Boyle’s bike.”

  “Duly noted. Clothes aren’t my first concern right now, either.” She yanked her T-shirt from his grasp and tore it a couple inches up from the hem, making it into a long, ragged piece of material. “Now let me play nurse.”

  Leaning into him, she wound it around his upper thigh. He took advantage, burying his nose in her hair and snaking his hands around her waist. “I told you, I’ll be fine.”

  She finished by tying it tightly. He winced and stifled a yelp of pain. Then she pressed her hands to the gash to staunch the flow of blood. “Yeah, whatever. Maybe I can call you an ambulance. I’m sure the demonic emergency medical system is spectacular.”

  Thomas laughed.

  “Damn it, Thomas. This isn’t funny.”

  “I was just thinking about how I said I’d never traveled before.”

  She leaned her head against his shoulder and gave a low, soft roll of laughter. “If I had to get trapped on a demon world with anyone, I’m glad it was with you.”

  “Yeah, but we’re not staying here. If there’s a way forward, there’s got to be a way back. That doorway has to still be open.”

  Isabelle leaned back on her heels and went silent for a long time. Finally, she said, “The doorway was already volatile. You felt it. Do you really believe it could still be open?”