by H. D. Gordon
And the smell. That awful, awful smell.
It was nearly paralyzing indeed, but when another demon whipped its head toward her, fiery eyes flashing and sharp claws raised, its throat issuing that ear-clenching screech, she snapped out of her reverie and slid into battle mode. It was not difficult. Death was the only thing in life Surah knew to be a certainty, and as much as she had faced it, she also dealt it. If not for the worry of her father, who was currently fighting off a demon of his own, and moving not quite as fast as he used to, she thought she might enjoy this. Killing demons was not something she’d had the opportunity to do for ages.
She gripped her weapons, the ends of which were black with rotted blood, dripping ropes of it. Her cloak fluttered with her movements, dancing around her as she moved through the room and battled the demons, like an angel dancing on storm clouds. Beside her Theodine Gray danced with his sword as well, and slid its blade across the throat of another demon, its shrieks of anger and agony filling the room.
But Syrian was moving too slowly. Just her glimpses of him, his movement stiff, his eyes bulging and the vein in his forehead standing out, told her they were in serious trouble here. They were too far outnumbered.
And more were coming out of the hearth. Ugly, black creatures with glowing red eyes, their bodies nothing but bone and rotted muscle. Their hands were claws and their feet hooves. Horns protruded from their skulls, beneath which sat faces from nightmares. Bat-like wings flapped at their backs, stirring the hot air and pushing the scent of decay and death around the room in rank waves. Surah had to close the portal they were coming through, or at least try. Gods only knew how long they could hold the demons off.
“Samson,” she said, her voice sounding strange in the unintelligible chaos of the room. Small somehow. Out of place.
The tiger’s huge head whipped toward her. He moved to her side immediately, leaping into the air again and severing the body of a demon with his powerful jaws in mid-flight. He landed on his paws in front of her, black blood marring his fur and teeth, and shook his head, whipping a piece of rotted demon flesh against the wall where it splattered like a bug on a windshield and slid down to the floor in a nasty pool.
Surah clutched the stone at her throat and closed her eyes, knowing Samson would protect her while she did this. She ran through the spell Syris had taught her for closing portals, hoping she would get it right. She had only ever performed it once in training with her brother, and he’d had to help a good deal.
She recited the words, her brow furrowing in concentration, doing her best to ignore the growls of her tiger and the cries of the damned, the pure wrongness in the room. Sweat trickled down her back as she clenched her hands into fists and recited faster, the stone squeezed in the palm of her hand burning now. Her head grew light with the effort, the power washing through her and sweeping her away. She planted her feet and continued, her breath coming short and heart pounding like a death toll.
She felt it when it worked, like a puzzle piece snapping into place, and all sound seemed momentarily sucked out of the room. The wonderful feeling that accompanied successful Magic swept through her, and her eyes snapped open and propelled her back to the scene. She looked first to the stone fireplace, and breathed a huge breath as no more demons came out of it. A screech issued to her left and her head whipped around to see Theo removing the head of one of the remaining demons, his left hand gripping the demon’s large horn as he ran his blade across the thing’s throat, his lips moving swiftly in a banishing spell, the small Head Hunter’s stone around his neck glowing red. Then to her right, where her father was sending two more demons away in noxious clouds of black smoke, his big chest heaving in a way that made more worry spiral in Surah’s stomach. Samson sat at her side, licking black blood from his paws and teeth, his eyes narrowed to slits and powerful shoulders relaxed, as though he’d just finished dinner rather than killing demons.
At last it was done.
Four Hunters came rushing through the double doors of the study, way too late to the party, and stood staring at the scene in the room with slightly wide eyes, the only indication of their alarm. Surah looked down at herself, eyeing the rank black demon blood that marred her cloak and gloves. She felt a trickle of something roll down her neck and reached up to wipe at it, repressing a gag when she saw that it was more of the nasty blood.
She ran her hands down the air in front of her, reciting a spell to clean away the mess, and allowed herself to just breathe after she’d set herself to rights. Her father and Theo cleaned themselves off as well, and the three stood looking at each other not knowing at all what to say.
It was Theo who broke the silence. He slid his sword into the back of his cloak and his jaw clenched. “I better go check on the prisoner,” he said.
CHAPTER 17
When Charlie’s brother entered the room, Jude Flyer happened to be in the bathroom. Something in the lunch he bought must not have sat right with him, because he’d been gone for almost twenty minutes. Charlie sat on the bed, thinking about the message he’d received an hour earlier.
And then out of nowhere, Black Heart appeared.
Charlie didn’t start out of his reclined position, didn’t cringe as so many would in Black Heart’s presence. He only sat staring at him, his hands folded in his lap, and his brother stared back.
Michael looked different now, so different than Charlie remembered. It was a wonder what a century could do, how much it could change a person. Michael had aged, and not just a little, but a lot, looking to be in his forties rather than his twenties, like Charlie, even though he was only a couple of years older. His dark hair was long and pulled back into a severe ponytail, his skin pallid and white. The lines of his face were harder, all angry angles and slashes. He wore a fine black cloak made of velvet, the hood pulled up and hands tucked underneath. His eyes, the same jade color as Charlie’s, floated inside of it, but those too were colder than Charlie remembered.
“Brother,” Black Heart said, his arms opening beneath his cloak.
Charlie stood from the bed and embraced his brother, a mixture of love and disappointment washing over him. No matter what Michael had become, Charlie could not find it in his heart not to love him. Michael had taken care of him when their parents died, had raised him, taught him how to hunt and use Magic. Despite what most people thought, Charlie knew there was good in his big brother, it just had been slowly buried over time.
“It is so good to see you, Charlie Boy.”
Charlie stepped back and ran a hand over his jaw. “S’good to see you too, Mikey.”
Black Heart laughed heartily, and Charlie found that different too. Almost sinister. He clapped Charlie on the shoulder. “No one has called me that in over a century, little brother,” he said, a wide grin revealing very white teeth. He squeezed Charlie’s shoulder, the way he used to do when they were boys. “I have missed you.”
I’ve missed you too, Charlie thought. The real you. He nodded at his brother, his stomach twisting. “Been a long time,” he said.
Black Heart’s smile widened, but fell into a deep frown as he looked around the small room. “How long have they been holding you here, brother?”
Charlie’s heart began to beat a little faster as the surprise of seeing his brother gave way to the possibilities of the consequences of his brother being here. “You must be crazy comin here,” he said. “You know what they’ll do to you if they catch you?”
Black Heart put a finger to his chin. “Oh, I can imagine,” he said, “but that’s if they could catch me, little brother, which they can’t. Did you read my message? Will you come with me?”
Charlie never had time to consider the answer, because at that moment, Theodine Gray and Surah Stormsong popped into the room. Charlie only had time to see the princess’s eyes widen a little and to feel the sharp dread circle his chest once before Black Heart took his hand and teleported them out of there.
Charlie had been wrong. He hadn’t been neck-dee
p in shit before.
But he was now.
CHAPTER 18
Her heart didn’t sink. She didn’t know him well enough for her heart to sink, but it tilted. She examined the emotion as they stood there in silence, staring at the spot where Charlie Redmine and Black Heart had been just a moment ago. It was just a beat of time, but in it she acknowledged that she felt a little disappointed at this new development, at what she’d just seen. It was then she realized she’d really wanted Charlie to be innocent, to come out of this unscathed.
But the moment passed on a single bated breath, and she wiped the thoughts away as one might chalk from a blackboard. Why should she be disappointed? They had only met once before, when they had just barely been teenagers, and she had been a grieving, scared young girl. She wished now she could go back to that moment beside the lake, when she’d given her sister’s stone to the common boy with the dark hair and jade-colored eyes. But it was far too late to be worrying about such things now.
Theo broke the silence, which he seemed to be doing a lot lately. His voice was hard and deep. “Can you perform a Tracker spell, my lady?” he asked.
Surah nodded, her head curiously light on her shoulders. She kept trying to shove thoughts of Charlie away, and found the name kept coming back, along with the tropical ocean color of his eyes, the calmness and control that radiated from them. His eyes were the only things that were the same as she remembered, but she couldn’t remember having this reaction to him before. Surely she was too old to be as vain as to be spellbound by just his appearance, though she had to admit said appearance had become rather spellbinding. There was no denying that; he was a good-looking man. A quite, reserved, good-looking man. But so what? If you asked most people, so was Theodine Gray. It meant nothing. Or at least, it shouldn’t.
“How long will it take you to prepare?” Theo asked yanking her out of her troublesome thoughts.
Surah’s mouth felt a little dry. She licked her lips. “Half an hour,” she said, “and I’ll need to consult with Bassil first.”
Theo nodded and opened the door that led out into the hallway. Surah stepped through and he followed, shutting the door behind him. “I’ll have the Shaman sent to your quarters.”
Surah forced herself to look up into Theo’s gray eyes and smile. She may not be too fond of him, but at least he wasn’t a traitor. She refused to recognize the twist of her stomach that came with that thought. “Thank you,” she said. Then she snapped her fingers and teleported back to her chambers to prepare the spell that might track down Charlie Redmine and his brother.
She couldn’t say for certain if she hoped it would work or not.
***
Bottles clanked together and flew from the shelf inside the cabinet, floating on the air and settling on the counter in a neat row. Surah walked in front of them and read the labels, her posture stiff and rigid, placing the ones she needed in a pile off to the side without even touching them. Her father would have thought it a useless application of Magic, but Surah was on edge and she didn’t particularly care what her father would say right now. He’d forced this work on her, shoving her into being Keeper, and she would complete the tasks in the manner she pleased, because backing out now was not an option.
Bassil stood behind her, motionless, watching. His hands were tucked into the sleeves of his cloak where he crossed his huge arms over his chest. Surah turned her head to the side, looking up at him from the corner of her eye. “Quit staring at me like that, Bassil.” She smiled a little. “It’s creepy.”
Bassil laughed, a deep, rich laugh that seemed to match the dark tone of his skin. His white teeth glinted behind a wide smile. His voice was slightly accented by the Northlands, even after all these years. He turned on his heel, making his multi-colored patchwork cloak flip around his legs, and went over to the window to sit by Samson. He stroked the tiger’s head. Samson lay unmoving, his huge head resting on his paws, amber eyes watching his mistress. He didn’t lean into the touch. He would let Bassil and a select few others pet him, but he only responded to Surah’s hands.
“As you wish, my lady,” Bassil said. “You just go on and keep flinging bottles off the shelf like a worried housewife.”
Surah spun around on her heel, the smile gone from her face, her voice flat, her princess-etiquette momentarily discarded. “The Black Stone is missing, Shaman. A Highborn lady is dead. Demons just flew out of my father’s fireplace and tried to kill him. How is it you think I should be acting?”
Bassil clasped his hands together in front of him and smiled humbly. “Ah, a real reaction from the princess. You are getting better at showing your emotions, my lady.”
Surah’s head tilted back, a mischievous glint in her eye, and she flung a bottle of purple potion at the Shaman with her Magic. Bassil laughed and his hand shot up, halting the bottle mid-flight. He moved his hand to the side and the vial settled on Surah’s dresser. Surah relaxed a little, taking comfort in the interaction. She had grown up with Bassil. He had been her mentor since she was a little girl, and this was a normal exchange between them.
“You still throw like a princess, I see,” he said.
Surah rolled her eyes and continued picking out bottles for the spell. “I thought you were here to help me,” she said. “Isn’t there something you should be setting up? What do we pay you for?”
Bassil laughed again. “My wise council, of course, and you seem to be doing a fair job of it yourself, my lady.”
Surah inventoried her selections so far, turning her back to Bassil and replacing the unneeded bottles. “Maybe I should tell Samson to bite you,” she said. Her head turned to the side again. “He likes dark meat, you know.”
Bassil looked down to see the tiger looking at him with those golden eyes, and took a step away from the window where Samson was perched. He knew Surah wasn’t serious, but the tiger had been listening, and now he could practically see the idea playing out in the Beast’s head. “Very funny, my lady,” he said.
Surah smiled and gathered the bottles, moving over to the table by the window and placing them on top before taking a seat in the chair there. Bassil took a seat across from her, eyeing the ingredients. “This would work better with eagle’s blood,” he said.
Surah’s purple eyes lifted to the Shaman’s face, her hands pausing over the small bowl she was arranging at the center of the table. “Perhaps,” she said, “but that’s Black Magic. You know this, Bassil.”
The Shaman nodded once. “True, but you’re searching for darkness. It lays on the horizon, princess, rolling toward the land as we speak. Black Magic killed Merin Nightborn and allowed demons to enter your father’s chamber. Black Magic may be the only way to face the things ahead.”
Surah’s teeth clenched a little. A terribly cold shiver had walked its way up her spine. Bassil’s voice had taken on that haunting tone she’d learned to both trust and fear over the years. She gave him a level stare, restraining a reaction that would give away her unease, retaining her manners. “I’ll try this way first,” she said.
The Shaman spread his hands. “Of course, my lady.”
She spent the next thirty minutes attempting the spell, staring into the mixture of potions in the bowl, concentrating until sweat rolled down her neck, saying the incantations over and over again, until finally, she sat back and blew out a heavy breath. She brought her gloved hands up and rubbed her forehead, squeezing her eyes shut.
Bassil raised an eyebrow. “No luck?”
Surah opened her eyes and gave him a droll look.
The Shaman smiled. “I see.”
Just then, there was a knock at the door to her room. Silence fell over them as they stared at each other, unmoving. A second knock sounded, and Surah dragged her eyes over to the door. Samson had lifted his head from his paws, his ears swiveling and perking. Surah took a deep breath and flicked her wrist, opening the door.
Theodine Gray stood there. Of course he did.
His appearances were routine lat
ely. And by the look on his face Surah could tell he did not have good news to share. Why would he? Things were on that kind of track lately, and she knew from experience that bad times had a way of proceeding worse, like sliding down a slope slicked with oil. Black oil. The ball of life just rolled that way, right on forward through the messes, through the rough skies, and she felt the truth of the Shaman’s prediction in that moment, all the way down to her bones, as the Head Hunter delivered the word.
Another Highborn woman was dead.
Yes, darkness was indeed coming, rolling in like storm clouds.
CHAPTER 19
The first thing he heard was the call of the birds. Charlie blinked, a little dazed from the trip. He was not used to teleporting places, as most common people weren’t, and his stomach jumped up to his throat. He bent over, clutching his knees, his hands gripping the faded denim of his jeans, rasping in breath. The air here was warm, thick and humid. He stared down at the jungle green vines that snaked around his boots, wondering where he was. A hand fell on his back.
“Sorry about that, little brother,” Black Heart said, patting Charlie’s back, making him start a little in surprise. “Traveling that quickly can unsettle your stomach. It’ll pass.”
Charlie straightened, taking in the scene around him slowly, bit by bit. They stood beneath a canopy of trees so thick and green that the sky was scarcely visible, and only fragments of sunshine penetrated. Red flowers with black centers crawled up enormous brown tree trunks, and leaves rustled and branches swayed where unseen creatures crept through them. He drew in a sharp breath. “Where did you bring me?”
