Demon Fire (Brimstone Magic Book 1)

by Tori Centanni

  Demon Fire

  Brimstone Magic - Book 1

  Tori Centanni

  Copyright © 2018 by Tori Centanni

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Art by Lou Harper

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Also by Tori Centanni

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Even from my vantage point across the parking lot, I could tell the guys who’d congregated around the picnic table were not vampires.

  What I couldn’t tell was if they were supernaturals of some other kind. They lacked that little glow around their auras that would mark them as witches like myself, and they didn’t have the nervous energy of shifters. They might have been changelings but something about the way they carried themselves—casually aloof, trying to look bored while projecting a confidence they didn’t have—felt too mundane to me. Too human.

  But then, I’d been wrong before.

  Still, it was looking more and more likely that the rumors that someone was dealing brimstone in this small park weren’t true. This was my second night parked outside this small picnic area and I’d seen no sign of illicit activity, unless you counted after-hours use of the barbecue.

  Brimstone was a highly illegal stone from the Underworld that had strong magical properties. It could enhance one’s magic using demon energy, something that was against the Magic Council rules. When used inside an open circle, it could increase the strength and power of a spell by fifty percent. It could also increase one’s chances of accidentally summoning a demon.

  Ask me how I know.

  This didn’t look like a brimstone deal, though. Just kids killing time until curfew.

  So much for paying my rent. Brimstone went for a lot on the black market or the Council would pay me a pretty penny to turn it in—assuming I wanted to risk being given the third degree about where I got it.

  Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t normally a pay her bills with black market magic sales kind of girl, but it had been a dry summer on the work front and I was getting desperate. Longer days meant shorter nights, which meant less time for the nocturnal supernaturals to find the kind of trouble that later required the services of a PI like me.

  I shot one final look at the table and the teens on top of it, illuminated by street lights, and decided this was a bust. I’d have to troll around supernatural bars to drum up some business that way.

  If worse came to worse, I might even have to take a mundane cheating spouse case. I hated those. By the time someone was sure enough of their spouse’s infidelity to hire me, they usually didn’t need confirmation and it felt sleazy to charge them for it.

  I was about to turn the key and start the engine when someone came walking out of the trees. My heart leapt into my throat. Despite the street lamps, I couldn’t see their face, but there was a faint aura of magic around them. They wore a sweatshirt with the hood up, hands in their pockets. One of the teens opened his backpack and showed the newcomer something inside.

  I used a tiny amount of demon magic to look into the shadows and saw a purple glow emanating from top of the open backpack.

  Brimstone.

  Heart pounding, I eased my car door open, careful to slip out quietly and grab my sword from the back, before easing the door closed. I didn’t want to draw their attention. Not yet.

  I inched closer, keeping to the line of trees surrounding the parking area and hoping to stay in the shadows.

  “That’s all you’ve got?” the newcomer asked, voice gruff.

  “We weighed it,” the kid holding his backpack open said. “It’s ten pounds.”

  I nearly tripped. Ten pounds of brimstone? That would pay my rent for the rest of the year. And maybe next year, too, depending on current market price. I didn’t know how the Council’s crackdown was affecting the going rate of the stuff. Brimstone was heavy, so I knew ten pounds wasn’t a lot but you didn’t need more than a thumb-sized rock to reap its benefits.

  “Ten pounds? That ain’t nothing,” the guy in the hoodie muttered.

  Nothing? My pulse raced and I licked my lips. Ten pounds was a treasure trove of brimstone.

  “Just take it,” someone in the shadows called to Hoodie.

  I stopped short, startled by the presence I hadn’t even noticed. I blinked into the dark. How many of guys were out there?

  Hoodie obliged, grabbing the backpack out of the teen’s hands. “Hey!” the teen objected.

  I raced forward, sword out. “Stop!” I shouted. Everyone froze. Out of surprise more than obedience but I’d take it.

  Hoodie licked his lips. I could see now that he was little older than the teens, but not by much. “Who are you?”

  “I heard there were illegal brimstone dealings going on around here,” I said, not answering his question. I was trying to imply that I was a Watcher without outright lying.

  The teens stared openly at me, or more accurately, at my sword. No wonder. Here I was, a woman who stood five-seven, wearing jeans and a leather jacket and holding a sword like I’d stepped out of a video game.

  The man in the hood hesitated, watching me warily as he clutched the backpack full of precious brimstone. The figure behind him didn’t hesitate at all. A ball of green light appeared in their hand and came hurtling toward me. I ducked and the spell hit the pavement behind me, blowing open a pothole the size of a dinner plate.

  The teens screamed.

  I blinked, righting myself, my mind racing to catch up. A mage had just thrown an explosive ball of magic at my head. Given the sloppiness of this transaction, I’d expected young witches to be the buyers (and, frankly, the sellers), not someone with real fire power. Another ball of light came flying at my face. Instinctively, I threw myself sideways, behind the picnic table.

  Two of the teens fled down the bike path but one remained, locked in a game of tug-of-war with the hooded man, who was yanking on the straps of his backpack.

  “Deal’s off,” the teen hissed, pulling the handle on top of his backpack. I admired his gumption. Kid was a waif and barely sixteen, but he was holding his own even after witnessing a magical attack. It was more than I’d expect from most mundane humans.

  I edged around the picnic table. The mage behind Hoodie was the main threat. Or so I thought. But then the hooded man raised a hand and a ball of green magic appeared in his palm. I swore under my breath. It made sense that they were both mages—magical sorts tend to cluster together in packs—but I’d hoped otherwise. I could take one with my sword, but two? That was a tall order.

  I leapt up and rushed forward, swinging my sword at the backpack’s straps. The blade sliced through them like butter. The kid tugging on the bag fell backward with his backpack against his chest. I aimed my sword at the mage, who still held a glowing ball of green magic.

  “Drop it or you’re under arrest,” I lied.
I didn’t have the authority to arrest anybody, but he didn’t need to know that.

  He complied, the magic dissolving into a puff of green smoke. He glanced over his shoulder at where his friend should have been. I followed his gaze and sucked in a breath. The second guy was gone.

  “You don’t look like a Watcher,” he said, nodding at my jeans and sneakers. Watchers tended to dress in a gray uniform, and even in street clothes, they’d never be caught dead in Sketchers with purple laces. They also didn’t have to shop for shoes on the clearance rack.

  “Buying brimstone is a high offense.”

  “Sound like one, though,” he muttered.

  “Get out of here before I arrest you,” I said as gruffly as I could manage. I thought I did a pretty convincing job.

  “No Watcher would let someone with demonic contraband go.” The voice oozed like oil behind me. I turned in time to see a ball of green magic coming toward me. I swore and hit the ground, barely keeping a grip on my sword. The second mage, the one who’d been in the shadows, came closer. He had a green mohawk and was dressed like he thought he was an extra in an 1980s music video, complete with torn denim jacket decorated with skulls.

  I got to my feet but another ball of magic was already hurtling toward me. I ducked and rolled, careful of my sword, but he shot another ball of magic rapid-fire. It smacked into pavement to my left, tossing up bits of concrete as it exploded.

  I jumped up and charged toward him, swinging my sword at his hands. The blade nicked the tip of his forefinger and it went flying. My blade was enchanted to be preternaturally sharp and could cut through bone as easily as butter.

  The mage screeched—there was no other word for that high-pitched sound—and gathered more magical fire. His friend in the hood finally got his act together because a green ball of heat flew at me from behind and grazed my ear.

  I swung my sword at the first mage but he was careful not to let his limbs get near my blade again. He cradled his injured hand near his torso and shot more magic at me with his left hand.

  The teen screamed and I spun around to see the hooded man looming over him, magic poised on his fingers. I couldn’t let these mages get the brimstone, and more importantly, I couldn’t let them hurt the kid. I swung again at Mohawk, who danced out of the way, and then I ran toward Hoodie, jumping the last few feet, sword in the air and positioned to come down on his hooded head and split his skull in two.

  The air thickened and I crashed to the ground. There was no other way to explain it. One minute, I was leaping toward my target and the next, the air became a wall and I dropped like a brick. I’d never seen magic like that before.

  I dropped my sword and it clattered to the ground several feet away. I landed hard on my side, my arm scrapping against the rough pavement. Breathing heavily, I tried to get up. Another ball of magic came flying at me and I rolled over, narrowly dodging it. Bits of pavement flew up as it hit, showering my jeans and jacket like tiny bits of shrapnel.

  “Get the backpack and let’s go,” Mohawk hissed.

  Sore and in pain, I reached for my sword. The hilt was just inches from my fingers but I couldn’t reach it. My shoulder burned. My fingers itched with magic.

  Hoodie conjured a ball of energy in front of the teen, who scrambled backward until he hit the picnic table. He hugged the backpack to his chest as stared, helpless, at the man about to throw the equivalent of a magic electric shock at him. It might not be enough to kill him. Then again…

  I managed to sit up, but it was no small effort. One of my hands was bloody from slamming into the rough pavement.

  “Hand it over, kid,” Hoodie said, magic dancing menacingly on his fingers.

  The kid clutched his backpack tighter, probably more out of sheer terror than actual defiance. But that didn’t mean it wouldn’t get him killed.

  Demon magic was highly illegal and I, Dani Warren, was a witch who had no business having it. But I did have it. I could be arrested or even put to death if that was discovered by the Council so I avoided using it at all costs. But I obviously couldn’t take out both of these mages with my sword alone.

  I conjured a blue ball of demonic fire and tossed it at Hoodie. He saw it in time to duck but it singed his hair as it passed over his head. He swore and patted at his head. Demonic fire slammed into the grass behind him and scorched the earth.

  Mohawk stared at me like I’d grown a second head. “What the hell are you?” he demanded.

  I conjured more fire and threw it at him in answer. It hit him in the chest and threw him backward, setting his denim jacket on fire. I pulled more magic from my veins until blue flames danced in my palm and held it up for Hood to see. He turned and ran. Mohawk got the fire out and bolted behind his friend. I turned back and saw the teen had slipped away in the chaos.

  I swore, glancing from side to side in hopes of catching sight of him hiding in the trees. There was no sign of him.

  I let the flame extinguish in my hand and surveyed the park. Gaping holes now covered the edge of the parking lot, where the mage’s magic had blown them open, and there was a circle of scorched grass beyond the picnic table.

  Whatever the mortal authorities made of this mess, they’d never guess the real cause was a magical fistfight. If I worked for the Watchers, I’d probably call in a cleanup crew. But I didn’t.

  So instead I decided to go find a drink.

  Chapter 2

  On my drive back to my building, I kept thinking about Mohawk’s magic. Mages usually didn’t have that much power. They could throw two, maybe three, electric balls of doom in an hour on a good day. He’d thrown more than that and at a rapid-fire speed.

  And what the heck was that wall of magic I’d slammed into? That was definitely new.

  I pulled into the small underground lot beneath my building. I locked the car and shoved the keys in my pocket. The car belonged to my landlord, a vampire who actually had six different cars in the small garage, leaving exactly one space free for a tenant to use. Since there were only two tenants, me and Penelope, Pen parked her black mustang in that last spot but it was gone at the moment.

  I ran up to my apartment on the third floor. My building was an older one near downtown Everett, about midway between the freeway and the Waterfront. It was a washed-out gray building that often matched the rainy skies above.

  Businesses, including my PI office, a laundromat, and a small market run by a mundane man, took up the ground floor. There were four apartments each on the second and third stories, but only two units had tenants. The others were shrines to my vampire landlord’s very real hoarding problem.

  I opened the door to my small, shabby apartment and left my sword propped by the door. The wooden floors were scuffed and scratched from years of wear and tear. The walls had been repainted before I moved in a few years ago but could probably use a fresh coat now. The front door opened into a “cozy” living area that bled into the kitchen behind it, with my bedroom and a bathroom off to the right. My bedroom was more of a glorified closet with my queen mattress wedged between the walls. It wasn’t much but it was home sweet home.

  I peeled off my leather coat, dropping it on my worn blue sofa, and went straight to the bathroom mirror to assess any damage. My left arm, the one I’d fallen on, was scrapped up where the leather hadn’t protected it and a yellow bruise was flowering on my shoulder. I scrubbed my face and tied up my long, brown hair into a messy ponytail.

  I changed out of my t-shirt, put on a blue tank top, and did another coat of deodorant. That was about as fashionable as I got these days.

  I went down the block to New Moon Tavern, a tiny hole-in-the wall dive bar that I favored for its sheer proximity to my apartment, although the copious amount of fried food on their menu didn’t hurt. Magic took resources which left me ravenous. Demon magic doubly so.

  Witch magic, the stuff I’d grown up doing, could wipe me out, but not as quickly. Of course, casting spells or brewing potions took a heck of a lot longer and usually re
lied on ingredients, incantations, and even power from an open circle to do the heavy lifting. With my demon magic, it all came from somewhere inside me and therefore could deplete me pretty fast. Demons themselves never ran out of power, but as a human witch wielding the stuff, I had a finite amount of juice at my disposal.

  I took a seat at the end of the crowded bar. It was eleven o’clock and most of the bars regulars were present and accounted for: there was Jim, the affable drunk who sucked down whiskey and cokes while doodling in his journal; the ladies who worked at the nearby Mexican restaurant and often came in post-shift to bitch about their manager and compete to see who’d served the worst customer of the night; and Kerry, a guy who haunted the back booth like it was his job nursing the same basket of fries all night while draining pitchers of beer he shared with random folks who couldn’t get space at the bar. These were mundane mortals with human problems, and it was a stark relief to spend time in their company.

  “Usual?” Riley, the bartender, asked, setting a coaster in front of me.

  “Yes, please.”

  I was ready to drown my sorrows in beer and fried food. I was irritated I’d lost the brimstone thanks to those punk mages. I could try and do a tracking spell to hunt down the teen but because I hadn’t gotten so much as a first name, it wasn’t likely to work.

  Riley poured an India Pale Ale from the tap and set the pint down in front of me with a menu, which was purely perfunctory: I already knew every greasy inch of it by heart. “I’ll have the cheeseburger and a side of fried pickles.”

  Riley nodded and went to the put in the order. He was a handsome guy in his early thirties who wore t-shirts that showed off his gym-going physique but he wasn’t my type. Mainly because he was a human and believed vampires, witches, and demons were the stuff of horror films. I was a witch with secret demon magic. I didn’t see that working out long-term