As frightened as I’d been before, it seemed like nothing compared to the nervous dread now wracking my body. I tripped on the hem of my dress, almost pitching into the counter. The coins in my apron pouch jingled.
“Be careful, Miss Callaway.” The man’s smooth voice was eerily terrifying. “A pretty young woman’s marriage prospects could be easily damaged from falling the wrong way.”
A cold realization settled upon my shoulders: I’d made the wrong damn choice.
“I’m fine.” I straightened my posture and headed behind the counter without further incident. “You haven’t answered my question.”
“You have a certain reputation, Miss Callaway.” The man pressed his long fingers against his ill-fitting uniform. Even in the dim light, I saw blood beneath the cuticles.
“I wasn’t aware of that.”
“I meant your shop,” the man said with a joyless smile. “Liberty Printworks.”
“It was my grandfather’s.”
“Legacy is sacred,” the man said, voice growing wistful, as if discussing another matter entirely. His hand rose and passed idly through the dying candle, pausing right in the flame.
He held it there until the skin started to smoke.
Or should have.
But nothing happened. With a knowing look, he removed his hand and shoved it back in his pocket. “An old trick, from childhood. My mother always said I was a show-off.”
“If you just could tell me what this is about. I have an early day—”
“Yes, your bedtime awaits.” His eyes flashed. There was no way he could have heard the conversation between myself and the other watchman. Could he? Unless…my stomach tightened.
I opened my mouth, finding I had little to say.
He watched me and finally said, “You saw the flyer?”
“Subpar work,” I said. “Off-skew typing, poor print reproduction.”
He laughed sharply, almost blowing the candle out. “I know he’s here, Miss Callaway.”
My blood turned to ice, and the next word, to my eternal chagrin, popped out like a squeak. “What?”
I tried to look around his broad form, at the other watchmen, but he seemed to take up the entire shop. Taking a step back, I tried to glare, but couldn’t summon the necessary anger. All my emotional energy was distilled into the purest fear.
“I can smell your terror.” He nodded, as if this was a common problem. “Worry not. I only want Mr. Aeon.”
Feeling the vein in my neck throb in and out, I said, “I’m—I’m not afraid.”
The shaking words didn’t do me many favors.
“Not as frightened as most,” the man said, with what I thought might even be respect. “The half-demon. It will be as if neither he nor I were ever here.”
“And the dog?” I asked, before I could help myself. Oh, well. He already knew Kalos was here. His posture and eyes told me that much.
“Keep the worthless thing,” the man replied with an eye roll. “A perpetual whiner and coward.”
“You’re—Albin.” The name came to me with a start. Thirteen centuries. He looked only a few years older than me.
“Guilty as charged, ma’am.” He flashed his teeth. Even though his form was human, they glimmered like fangs. I imagined them tearing at the flesh of my neck and I shuddered. “I’d ask that you don’t get in my way.”
“Why ask at all?” Surely this was how I died. My fingers reached out behind me, finding nothing but solid wood columns and spent paper. Besides, from what I’d read, they’d be of little use against a werewolf.
Especially one over thirteen centuries old.
My fear began melting away in the face of inevitability. If I were to die, it wouldn’t be as a coward, a damsel weeping in the corner.
“I ask because, unlike Mr. Aeon, I’m a gentleman.”
“He asks,” came a voice from the other room, through the thin door, “because he needs your permission to enter your territory. Otherwise you could beat his sad ass back outside with a broom handle.”
Albin bristled, his shoulders stiffening. His thick brown hair seemed to stand on end, resembling fur more than something human.
“Kalos.” The name came out as little more than a feral growl. His eyes changed colors to a deep, cold shade of sapphire. “I do not need permission for anything.”
He attempted to step around the counter, but an invisible force rebuffed him. Unleashing a pained snarl, he leapt across the wood, straight over the candle. But his head bounced off the air, thrown to the ground as if he’d encountered a wall of iron.
Tentatively, I stood on tiptoe and craned my neck over the counter. No unseen force assaulted me. But Albin lay on the ground, bleeding and cursing, spittle frothing at the corner of his mouth. His companions huddled nearby, trying to help their leader.
He looked ready to tear them apart at any moment.
“Back here,” Kalos said, his voice strained.
I followed the instruction without question. My experience with demons and magical dogs had, thus far, been vastly superior to the one with werewolves. Granted, neither had been great, but I was in a bad spot. Beggars waiting for better options wound up dead.
I pushed the creaky door open, finding Kalos hunched on the floor, blood staining the tile nearby. Argos rubbed his snout across the demon’s chest, imperfectly smearing herbs over the wound. My father’s collection of medicinal ointments and tonics was scattered across the room, like a small zephyr had descended upon the print shop.
“What the hell did you do?”
“Careful,” Kalos said with a mischievous smile. “You could get in trouble, talking like that.”
“Everything’s ruined!”
“Sorry, no thumbs.” Argos looked up and sneezed. “And you disappeared to let in a goddamn wolf.”
In the front room, I heard Albin snarl an order.
“They came for you,” I said, jabbing my finger at the demon’s nose. He stared at it coolly, wincing as he breathed in and out.
“And I paid for a healer and got an amateur,” Kalos said. “We don’t always get what we want.”
“You should’ve been a philosopher instead of an asshole.”
“Guess we both missed our calling.” He tried to stand, but his leg buckled. Blood and crushed herbs dripped from the messy gash raking his torso. “They’re coming.”
“But the werewolf—”
“Will find a way through, with enough grit and pain.” He planted his knuckles against the stone and pushed. “Or he’ll just get someone human to do the job.”
As if to drive the point home, the door flung open, one of the watchmen standing in the threshold, framed by candlelight. His flintlock pistol was already drawn, leveled straight at my head.
I’d heard the things were inaccurate, but at a distance of about three yards, it still made me nervous.
“You made a mistake, little lady,” the man said. He looked short, insubstantial in comparison to Albin or the flyer-carrier. Clearly human. I heard the wolves continue their struggle against the invisible barrier.
“Should’ve just handed me over, right?” Kalos casually reached for the herbs from the dog’s mouth and, with a grimace, stuffed them into his own jaw. The pungent aroma of pine needles and moldy linens filled the surrounding air. “Yeah, it wasn’t like you guys would’ve killed her anyway.”
“We woulda let her die quick, at least,” he said with a short laugh. The man moved the flintlock pistol’s sights over to the demon and cocked the hammer. “Woden’s Spear, ya dumb son of a bitch. Where is it?”
“Quick sounds good to me.” The words were muffled by the herbs. Then, in a whisper, Kalos said, “Firus ignites.”
And I watched, in horror, as the man’s body burst into a towering pyre of flame. The orange tendrils leapt to the wooden structure as he ran about, waving hi
s hands.
I felt an arm grasp mine, roughly pulling me toward the exit. “Unless you want to burn, Rebecca Callaway, I suggest you come with me.”
My hands passed over an emergency kit, one of the few supply caches left untouched by the dog, and the volume on werewolf bites. I tucked them snugly beneath my arm, clinging to them like a favorite stuffed toy.
And then, I stumbled out the back, into the fresh, cool air of the alley, running behind a wounded demon and his loyal talking dog as the only life I knew was devoured by flame.
4
The demon—half-demon, I had to continually remind myself—possessed a longer stride than my own, being at least six foot two, and so it took considerable effort for me to match his pace. From the way he moved, neither he nor his irritating dog had required my services in the least.
Coins jangled happily in my apron as I ran, reminding me of my idiocy. No demons, Rebecca. I heard the admonishment with every step, even as I tried to outrun the horror. The smell of singed hair and burnt flesh clung to the insides of my nostrils, no matter how much I blew my nose on the sleeve of my dress. It was unbecoming, yes, but rude manners were preferable to the stench.
As we rounded the corner of the cobblestone street, Kalos turned, his eyes flaring.
“Stop that.”
I clutched the book I’d saved from the flames like a shield.
There were about a thousand things I could’ve done or said in that moment. Liberty Printworks, more than five decades old, was now reduced to ash. The extent of my criminality had once been limited to scolding but impermanent reprimands from my schoolteachers; now I was wanted by the town watchmen.
Yes, I could’ve done a lot. But I settled for something simple.
I launched a hard kick right at his shin, connecting with full force. To his credit, Kalos didn’t scream or yell. But he did crumple to one knee, panting heavily.
“As far as I’m concerned, I have a free pass with you from now until eternity.”
“I saved your life,” he said through gritted teeth.
“The only reason my life was in danger was because of you.”
“I’m surprised your family lasted this long,” Kalos said, spitting a spray of blood into the gray stones. I felt bad for a moment, but then I remembered that my entire life had been destroyed in the span of thirty minutes. It took all my self-control not to knee him in the face.
“Probably because we never worked with demons. Until tonight.” Father had explained the rules for a reason. Mistakes had been made in the past so that I wouldn’t repeat them.
But instead, I’d thrown everything away, disrespected my birthright.
“You think you’re the only supernatural apothecary in this city?” Kalos pressed his hand against the uneven cobbles and pushed himself to his feet.
“I—yes?”
“You’re the first one that let me in the door,” Kalos said. “But you were about the tenth stop on the list.”
I furrowed my brow and glared. “You’re saying what, exactly?”
“I’m saying your old man was a hack.” Kalos caught my hand deftly, and held it there without hurting me. “The testimonials weren’t exactly golden.”
His reflexes made me think that the kick to the shin had been a freebie. Like he felt bad.
“Don’t talk about my father like you knew him.”
“Yeah, well, the truth always stings a little,” Kalos said. “And Albin, the guy playing lawman, probably made the same nine stops we did.”
I searched his eyes for the rest. “And you’re saying…”
“I’m sure they’re all dead as that tree.” Kalos pointed at the one sad-looking shrub on the street. “And I doubt it was quick, because he was searching for me.”
He kicked at the cobbles, hanging his head.
“But I guess I’m partially responsible. You poke the hornet’s next and you tend to get stung.” His shoulders slumped—curiously forlorn for a demon. “And other people get stung, too.”
Argos’ nails scratched against the hard stone as he pattered over and sat down between us. With an aristocratic throat clear, he cocked his head upward and said, “This conversation is quite lovely, really, but may I suggest we continue our flight?”
“Where can I go?” I said, looking back at the horizon. I couldn’t see Liberty Printworks from here, but the smoke was like a signal flare pointing to where it had once been. Even with the city’s volunteer fire department, and the design of the grid to prevent the spread of flame, everything inside would be as good as gone.
Or it wouldn’t. I swallowed hard and glanced between my two companions.
“What if they find Father’s books?”
“Oh, they’ll probably think you’re a witch,” Kalos said, far too casually for my liking.
“A witch?”
He shrugged. “There are worse things. Like being dead.”
“I can never go back,” I said, the realization making me dizzy.
“Wouldn’t recommend it, no.”
I scratched at my hair, loosening the knots in the braid. I kept it that way when I worked the printing press, to avoid it getting caught in the ink. But now, my life had changed. The brown strands swept over my shoulders, fluttering past my eyes in the gentle breeze.
“And your wound?” Kalos’ long leather jacket lay unbuttoned, his torn linen shirt fully displaying the nasty bite.
“We’ll have to deal with that, too.”
“We?”
“Well, you can hack it on your own,” Kalos said, peering down the darkened street. “But you’ll probably die faster that way.”
“How refreshing.” I weighed my complete lack of options and wrinkled my nose. “And what happens if we don’t deal with your situation?”
“I’ll turn into something that no one will like very much.”
“Oh, I doubt that’s possible.”
His stern gaze told me that he found my sarcasm unamusing. Pointing toward the moon, he said, “About five miles east of the city, there’s a farmhouse where I’ve been living.”
“Why?”
“Because the world needed one less asshole.” The leather crinkled softly as he began walking, his long strides outstripping my shorter ones. Argos had it toughest of all, though. The poor border collie legs were a blur alongside his master’s as he tried to keep up.
Unlike most dogs, he didn’t seem to enjoy the physical exertion.
“You’re not that asshole, are you?” I thought to my mother, her threatening me with soap.
“Depends who you ask,” Kalos said cryptically.
I looked up at the moon. It was more than three-quarters full. I didn’t know much about werewolves, but I did know one thing.
Once it filled out, I would have a much bigger problem on my hands than a burned print shop or a witch hunt. As far as I could tell, I would be the first person in history to witness a demon-wolf. And, very likely, the last.
Yet, somehow, that was my best chance of survival, because a vindictive, bloodthirsty alpha werewolf was prowling the streets of Philadelphia. My chest burned as I kept pace with Kalos’ rhythmic, quiet footsteps.
Someone should have told fate that I could only deal with one major problem at a time.
Because a nagging voice told me that I wasn’t prepared for the coming hours.
Not even a little bit.
5
Argos stared at the moon, the glare illuminating the bloody specks dotting his muzzle. I thought he might howl, but then he shifted his gaze toward me.
“He’s getting worse,” I said.
“We don’t have much time,” he said. “A day.”
I listened to Kalos pant inside the barn. Whatever mix of herbs Argos had fed and smeared on him in the back room had long since worn off. The final two-mile leg of our journey
had been arduous. My shoulder burned hotter than the print shop in August.
“Don’t feel bad,” Argos said, nodding sagely. “You wouldn’t have been able to cure the bite anyway.”
This was news to me. I had more studying to do than expected. “Then why’d you come?”
“A healing salve,” Argos said. “Just to get him back in the fight.”
“And why the hell would you want to fight that thing again?”
“Because the cure is made from the blood and ground teeth of the wolf.” He raised his eyebrow and paused for a beat. “Hair of the dog.”
I think I was expected to laugh, but instead an image of Albin flashed through my mind. The inhuman smoothness of his gait. How it drew attention to a primal power. His feral rage, hurling himself into the invisible territorial block.
“You mean we have to find Albin?”
“Well I don’t think Kal’s gonna do it,” Argos said, his eyes narrowing.
“Maybe if I get him patched up with the emergency kit—”
“We’re beyond patching.” The border collie shook his head and let out a somber whine. “Any temporary fixes powerful enough to fix that are likely to kill him.”
“But we got him out here.”
“Everyone has their limits.”
A sleepy groan floated from the derelict barn.
“Aren’t demons immortal?” I asked.
“Look who went to Sunday school.”
“I wasn’t a very good student.”
“We noticed.” Argos stared into the distance. The white paint peeled from the side of the barn, flaking off into the soil. The structure’s roof sagged in the middle. I could see how it made for a good place to hide. The nearest road was more than half a mile away, and totally overgrown. It seemed unlikely that anyone would come out here for quite some time.
Which was why I was alarmed when Argos said, “We can’t stay for long.”
“We’re miles from anything.”
“I can smell Kal’s blood,” Argos said. “Albin will be able to smell him further.”
“How far are we talking?”
“We left a trail through the city, with the shape he’s in.” Argos shook his head. “Might take the wolf a day to figure it out. Could be less.”
Bone Realm Page 2
