by L. L. McNeil
Seila walked in silence. All it meant to her, was that they preferred Lady Tress and her skills over her own. She was just, “the Phantom.” Another demon hunter. Nothing more. Tress was royalty. Her life was worth more. She brought more to the Kouzlo—though what, Seila couldn’t tell.
Her thoughts rolled around in her mind, spilling over one another and growing like a tumour.
What was the only thing keeping her there, now? She’d absorbed the power of the Prowler, had strengthened herself to be able to take on more than she could before.
Did she need Fallow’s promises? Would she be able to find her soul without the Enchantress?
Why limit herself to playing by the Kouzlo’s rules?
She shoved her hands in her pockets to keep her fingers from trembling. Thankfully, Ashante was too distracted to pick up on her anger. Or if Ashante was aware of it, she didn’t comment. Seila huffed quietly. The Enchantress was in Fallow’s pocket. Claes was in Fallow’s pocket. And while he was being praised—like a puppy—Damon was in Fallow’s pocket, too.
Seila might as well go back to being by herself.
Just as she reached the decision, Seila’s wings materialised, her feathers ruffling in the cool evening breeze. There was no point for a lengthy goodbye. No need to tell them what she was doing.
She stopped walking, bent her knees slightly, and was about to leap into the air when a sudden, booming voice burned through her mind.
‘Free.’
Ashante froze in place, a handful of footsteps further ahead.
Even Claes and Damon, who as far as Seila knew had no ability to hear demons, stopped.
‘What on earth was that?’ Damon asked, rubbing his arms as if he’d been taken by a sudden chill.
Ashante licked her lips and glanced around, her eyes wide.
Seila wasn’t sure she knew, and didn’t trust herself to answer him.
Claes looked unsure, and ignited his fingertips as though expecting something to leap out and attack them.
Seila knew that was foolish. The voice, for all its power, was nowhere near them.
Ashante must have known, for she quickly regained her composure. She swallowed thickly and raised a hand, pointing over the treeline in the distance. ‘There.’
Seila followed her gesture and gasped. On the horizon, perhaps five or six miles away, a pillar of purple light towered up into the heavens.
18
Seila didn’t bother sitting in the car, this time. She assumed everyone for fifty miles would be able to see the pillar of light that had materialised from thin air.
Getting to it first was also a benefit. She’d be able to draw her own conclusions without Ashante or Claes muddying the waters. It had been too good to be true that they’d had such a good night, of course. Prowler slain. Mirage sealed. No injuries. Everything nice and easy.
Why was nothing simple anymore?
And the demon’s voice. It hadn’t been interested in feeding or killing. It had been elated that it was free.
That was worrying. What on earth did it mean?
Although the Kouzlo were the world’s organised, underground demon hunters, she’d been a demon hunter all her life. She wanted to know what new phenomenon they faced, what it meant for her, the demons, and if it impacted her soul.
Her wings carried her quickly, still boosted by absorbing the Prowler’s power. Her senses had sharpened, her mind on edge and alert for any threat. But as she drew closer, she couldn’t hear or smell anything that gave away the presence of a demon. Its voice had long since disappeared, leaving nought but an echo in her mind.
Even the purple pillar of light was beginning to fade, like a rainbow after a storm.
Houses were dotted across the fields that she flew over, and the thought of demons being so close to people made Seila’s blood boil.
Funny how much she’d changed in just a few short weeks.
As the trees grew thicker, Seila lowered her altitude. The light was still there, faintly, and she used its brightness to guide her in the night. She slipped through the thick canopy and landed on a bed of pine needles and dried leaves. It crunched under her feet, but right now, she didn’t care about being stealthy. She needed to act quickly to figure out this new phenomenon—before it was too late.
It was even darker under the trees—moonlight failed to reach the forest floor—but Seila used the remnants of the purple light as a beacon through the trees. She could sense a demon, now. Or at least, one who had passed through here not too long ago. It reminded her of how Sekki’s jewellery shop felt—stale and stagnant, with some power still lurking just out of sight in some unexplained way.
In the far distance, she heard Tej’s Mustang, and she knew it wouldn’t be long before Damon and the others would catch up to her.
Seila wrinkled her nose at the lingering smell of demons and made her way along the treeline to the bottom of the pillar of light, her sword clutched tightly all the while.
She was deep in the unknown, now.
When she rounded a tree and came to where the light had touched the ground, Seila found nothing. There were no sights, sounds, or smells that were out of the ordinary.
Eyes narrowed, she walked into a small clearing, the tip of her sword swaying gently from side to side. She spooked a young fox from the undergrowth, who bolted immediately, its russet coat lost in the darkness of the trees.
Seila cursed her luck. There had definitely been a light here, and she had definitely heard a demon’s voice. She glanced around, looked across the roots of trees where they poked up above ground, under the leaf litter, and even in the muddy brook that trickled along. But there was nothing.
She cast her mind back, tried to think of any demons she’d encountered before that could disappear. But demons seemed mostly the same. Stingers and Leeches. Prowlers and Marauders. Dragora. None of them—save perhaps those that came from other worlds, and even that was a guess—could turn invisible. Whether they were winged or ambush hunters, parasites or predators, there wasn’t much that demons could do. They were simple creatures that lived to feed and little else.
Turning invisible just wasn’t in their repertoire.
Seila flapped her wings several times and stirred up the dried leaves and twigs. She sent a small whirlwind of debris flying, and revealed the dry soil underneath. Crouching, she scooped up a handful, let it fall between her fingers.
Not even a hint of demon blood.
Had she imagined it? Had she been so on edge following the death of the Prowler that she’d simply heard a demon from halfway across the country?
If Ashante hadn’t also reacted, Seila might have been inclined to admit it. After all, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d absorbed as much energy as that Prowler. She’d almost been overwhelmed by it, and her vision had whited out for several seconds. That had never happened before.
Seila was still pondering what it all meant when Ashante arrived, Damon and Claes trailing behind her, their footsteps crunching loudly through the undergrowth.
As to be expected, they checked for demons, used all their abilities and powers, magic and experience, but could see nothing. There was simply no trace of a demon, despite the voice she’d heard.
‘Was it just some offshoot of sealing the Mirage? Some strange magic?’ Seila asked, once they’d spend the better part of an hour scouring the clearing and surrounding trees for clues. ‘There’s definitely not a demon here.’
Claes folded his arms across his broad chest. ‘I’ve been sealing Mirages longer than he’s been alive,’ he gestured to Damon with his chin, ‘and I’ve never seen anything like that before.’
‘It was very unusual,’ Ashante said. She’d crouched by the trunk of a tree, one hand resting against the thick bark, eyes closed as if she were listening to it breathe. ‘Was it a coincidence? Was there really nothing? We were close to a Mirage being sealed. That’s manipulating the very fabric of the dimension...’
Damon shook his head. ‘But�
��we heard…’
‘I heard a demon. I’d bet my life on that,’ Seila said. But she hadn’t heard one as loud as that, hadn’t had a demon disappear on her, and had never seen that strange purple light before. Other than Delgo’s magic, of course, but the Djinni was miles away, back in Caramond House. ‘It said, “free,” I’m sure of it.’
Claes frowned. ‘It may be a demon, it may not be. But there isn’t one here. Not now, anyway. We’re wasting our time by looking for something that isn’t here.’
As much as the mystery bothered Seila, she had to agree with him. Their goal was Gorath. Although she’d happily slay any demon that unwittingly crossed her path, tracking down random demons was no longer the best use of her time. The Elite Demon needed to be put down, first and foremost. Any other hunts could wait until that challenge was overcome.
And she’d do it with or without Tress.
Seila leaned against a tree, and Damon sat on a flat boulder that jutted out from the ground. They both watched as Ashante and Claes carried out their own assessments of the situation.
‘I’ll bet Fallow knows what it was,’ Damon said, his voice still cheerful.
It grated on Seila. ‘Well, Fallow does seem to know everything, doesn’t she?’
‘Exactly.’ Damon had completely missed the sarcasm in Seila’s tone. ‘She’ll be pleased with what we did tonight, I’m sure. I tell ya, I was terrified of Gorath after the attack on the house. But now? Now, I feel like we got a fighting chance, y’know?’
Seila nodded. She felt the same way. But it was clear that Damon needed little encouragement to remain upbeat. And it was strangely comforting to know that she hadn’t been the only one scared of the new Elite Demon.
‘No. I can’t feel it,’ Ashante said, her voice clipped. She straightened up and approached them. ‘It’s like I’m blind. I can feel something, like seeing the ripples in water after something’s passed by, but I don’t know what. And I’m just getting frustrated.’ The Enchantress held up a large scrap of bark and a handful of leaf litter. ‘I’ll bring these back with me, study them once I’ve had something to eat and drink.’
‘Good idea,’ Damon said, his grin ever-present.
Seila didn’t know what good it would do to study the soil after something might or might not have crossed it, but Ashante was the Enchantress and tracker, not her.
An owl hooted, and Seila glanced up to see Sierra perched in a tree. The owl looked down at them with large, unblinking eyes.
‘All is well?’ Claes asked Sierra, who ruffled her feathers and yawned wide.
‘Does that mean everything’s okay?’ Damon asked.
Claes raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, nothing is bad. Let’s get back to Caramond House. We will need to plan our attack on Gorath. You will need some more runes that might help.’
Damon’s shoulders drooped, but he didn’t argue.
Ashante carefully added her sample to a large glass bottle—Seila hadn’t realised she carried so many of them—then tucked her coat in. ‘I’m ready to go.’
Claes nodded. ‘Good. Damon. Lead the way.’
Seila sighed. Even Damon was allowed to lead demon attacks and take point when Claes was there—and yet she was passed over in favour of Tress. Having lived alone for so long, she’d never before encountered insecurity, the loneliness of being ignored, or the jealousy of others. And she found it very much against her taste.
‘I’ll see you back at the house. I’m going to fly.’
The others nodded their approval, and Damon even waved, but Seila didn’t much care. Her wings materialised and she leapt skywards, carefully navigating the trees and leaves until she reached the open night above. At least she knew how to get back to Caramond House from here, and she’d have the stars and moon overhead for company instead of two Elementals and an Enchantress who saw her as little more than a pest exterminator.
Below her, Sierra hooted again, and then took to the air on silent, white wings.
19
‘I want to go!’
Tress’s voice carried through the hallways and walls of Caramond House. Seila could hear the assassin even in the Orangery, at the edge of the house. Tress had been out of the infirmary for less than a day, and she’d already dressed herself, armoured herself, and was once again set on marching out against Gorath by herself.
If she did, Seila had no intention of rescuing her again, even if Fallow commanded her to.
Seila knew Tress was far from fighting fit. Being able to walk unaided was one thing, but taking on an Elite Demon was quite something else.
Besides, Seila wanted the killing blow.
And after taking down the Prowler, she felt ready and able to take on anything else the world threw at her.
‘You aren’t ready!’
Fallow’s answering voice was just as strong as Tress’s, and a shiver went up Seila’s spine at the Enchantress’s words.
The quarreling voices moved from what Seila presumed was the infirmary, down the hall, and towards the Orangery. It was the quickest way to the gardens of Caramond House, and Seila braced herself to witness a full blown row between the two stubborn women.
Tej burst into the Orangery first, his arm still in a sling, his face flushed. ‘Might wanna get out the way! Tress is on the warpath!’
Seila smirked. ‘I can hear that. I’m sure Fallow will have her under control?’
Tej glanced back at the door and a bead of sweat dripped down his temple. ‘Actually, I’m not sure about that, this time.’
Seila shifted her position. She’d been dozing on one of the soft, heavily cushioned chairs. When Fallow wasn’t playing the piano in here, the sunlight made the room warm and comfortable, and Seila often relaxed in the warmth.
Footsteps stomped down the hall towards the open door.
‘If you sealed his Mirage, his power is halved! Why wait to strike?’ Tress snapped.
As much as Seila disliked the assassin, she had to agree. She never saw the point in waiting when you could attack.
‘You need to rest and recover,’ Fallow repeated, her voice tight.
The two of them stormed into the room, Tress’s boots echoing off the wooden floor. She’d attached her axes to her hips, had tied her hair back out of the way, and looked every bit as ready to march into battle as she sounded.
Fallow wore her usual silks, but had colour back into her cheeks, where she’d looked gaunt before.
‘I want my soul back. If anything, I should get the killing blow,’ Seila interjected.
Tress paused and looked her over. ‘You, again.’
‘I’m after my soul. If I lose it, it’s gone forever. You just want Gorath dead. Does it really matter who kills him?’ Seila arched an eyebrow.
‘Of course it matters, you stupid Phantom!’ Tress all but roared, spittle flying from her lips. ‘And I’d have done it by now if it weren’t for you!’
Seila narrowed her eyes. That certainly wasn’t how she remembered it. If she’d left Tress to fight, the woman would have been ripped apart by Gorath or his demons. But she was so prideful that she was blinded.
Or just ignorant.
‘There are plenty of demons for you to hunt!’ Tress continued, rage fuelling her. ‘This whole world is infested! Go and hunt those, and keep out of my way!’
Seila stood up. She would not be spoken to like that. ‘Tress, I know it’s embarrassing when you’re not able to fight. Look at Tej!’ She glanced at the sling around his arm. ‘I’m not your enemy.’
Tress snorted and glared. ‘You Phantoms are a disease. A ticking time bomb just waiting to explode.’
‘I don’t know what sort of Phantoms you’ve met, but—’
Tress picked one of her axes—Malsiador. ‘Get out of my way and stay away from Gorath.’
‘Lady Tress!’ Fallow tried, but the assassin was past the point of listening.
Seila held out her clasped hand, eyes locked on Tress as her Sieken Blade appeared. ‘You’ll regret it if you challen
ge me.’
Tress took a step closer to Seila, faltered as her strength failed, and sank to one knee. She stopped herself from toppling over with her axe, and sweat beaded on her forehead.
Seila didn’t even need to fight to know she’d won. Tress was in no fit state, regardless of what she claimed, or what she wanted. ‘You should listen to Fallow and rest. Gorath won’t be going anywhere. You’ve hunted him for years, what difference will a few more days make?’
‘Be quiet!’ Tress shrieked. But she didn’t have the strength to stand again. She remained knelt on the floor as though she was offering Seila fealty. Her fingers trembled where they clutched the axe shaft.
Seila had no idea how Fallow managed a Kouzlo when it had people like Tress within it, but remembered that the assassin came and went as she pleased. She supposed Fallow had to put up with her in small doses.
‘I told you. You need rest,’ Fallow said, more gently. She offered Tress her bejewelled hand, but the assassin ignored her.
Seila saw her eyes were tinged red, and wondered whether her pride was hurt more than her body at being weaker than a Phantom—and the demon she’d sworn to kill. Another ripple of pity coursed through her, but Seila squashed it away. She didn’t reply, didn’t want to rile Tress any further while Fallow stood there. At this point, Tress was making it easy, anyway.
When Tress refused to take Fallow’s hand, the Enchantress simply flicked her wrist in a simple gesture, and pulled Tress to her feet using magic. Shaky, Tress whirled around to Fallow, but said nothing to the Kouzlo leader.
‘If you don’t wish to stay in the infirmary, that’s fine. You can rest in the library, or I can have one of the reception rooms turned into your room so you don’t need to deal with the stairs.’ Fallow was all business, and ignored Tress’s angry stare.
‘I’m...I’m not sick!’ Tress could hardly form the words.
‘No. You’re one of my Kouzlo—at least while you’re here—and your health is my primary concern. Now, do you want the library or do you want one of the lower reception rooms?’
