Slaying Monsters for the Feeble: The Guild Codex: Demonized / Two

by Marie, Annette

  “Zylas,” I whispered, pressing my hand to his face. “Please wake up.”

  A flicker deep in his eyes.

  With a crash, Uncle Jack’s demon collapsed, the three vampires pinning it to the floor as they attempted to bite through its scaled skin.

  I leaned down and touched my forehead to Zylas’s, eyes squeezed closed and terror quivering through my limbs. Zylas, help us.

  Amalia was screaming, her voice piercing my ears.

  A quiet rasp sounded in Zylas’s throat. His cool fingers fumbled against my wrist, then closed tight. I looked into his dark eyes, our foreheads still touching.

  Drādah.

  An image formed in my mind. Spiky red runes, tangled lines and circles. An arching spell in his glowing magic burned brightly inside my head. I recognized it—the same explosive spell he’d cast in the tower basement. His fingers tightened around my wrist and he pushed my hand off his face, raising it above us.

  I didn’t know why, but I opened my fingers, spreading them wide.

  My fingertips tingled. Heat grew—inside my hand, inside my chest. The image of the spell seared my mind. All around me, the room darkened. The temperature dropped.

  Cast it.

  I closed my eyes, my face pressed to his. Hotter and hotter, my chest burned. The fire was in my arm, in my hand. The spell was inside my head but it was outside my head too. It arched over us in glowing lines, demonic runes, and deadly spirals of power. The air crackled, hissed.

  The vampires were coming for us. They were rushing forward, fangs bared, rings in their eyes glowing scarlet with fury and hunger.

  But my eyes were closed, so how could I see that?

  Zylas’s other hand was curled over the back of my neck, palm against my cheek, his shallow breath warm on my skin. I could feel his touch, his physical closeness—and I could feel more than that. I could feel him. A fierce presence inside my mind, bright crimson with an inky black core.

  Finish it!

  My eyes flew open and for an instant, I saw the crimson power lighting my hand, the twisting veins crawling up my arm, glowing through my sleeve. I saw the spell arching over us and the vampires lunging toward it, claw-like fingers reaching for my exposed back.

  “Evashvā vīsh!”

  As my voice rang out, I heard his voice in my head, speaking the same alien words. Scorching heat rushed through my body—and the room exploded.

  Zylas pulled me down on top of him, arms wrapped over my head, my face crushed against the side of his neck. Light blazed through my eyelids, the roar deafening, arctic cold stabbing my skin in a frigid gust. Crashing, shattering—then a second detonation.

  A fireball erupted from the kitchen. Zylas pushed off the floor, flipping our bodies, covering me. The roaring inferno blasted outward—and cold swept in to consume it. The heat and light sucked into Zylas’s body as he pulled in the power.

  A wave of shrinking fire danced across us, then faded. The acrid stench of burnt plastic singed my nose.

  Zylas braced his elbows on either side of me and raised his head. Our stares met, inches between our faces. Bright, hot power glowed in his eyes, replenished by the flames.

  My eyes were wide, my lips parted in disbelief. I didn’t remember moving my hand, but my fingertips were resting against his jaw.

  I could feel him. He was there, inside my head, a shadowy presence that tasted of everything he was—power and brutality, cunning and intelligence, resolve and breathtaking intensity. A steely will. The tang of his sharp humor. And a quiet, hollow despair.

  “What …” I breathed, awed and terrified.

  “You always could hear me, drādah.” His husky whisper sounded in my ears and in my mind at the same time. “You were not listening.”

  A hoarse wail broke into my confusion. Zylas pushed himself up and sat on my legs, scanning the room. The furniture was no more than shredded fabric and splintered wood. The kitchen had been demolished, its remains burnt black and the gas range a twisted husk. Uncle Jack’s demon stood unmoving amid the destruction, but the five vampires lay dead on the shattered floor.

  “Dad,” Amalia rasped, her voice quavering from behind the heavy dining table, lying on its side and peppered with shrapnel. I pulled my feet from under Zylas and clambered up. Breathing hard as though I’d run a mile, I stumbled toward the table. The feeling of Zylas inside my mind faded.

  Sheltered behind the table, Amalia knelt beside her father, hands pressed to his stomach. He lay on his back, his mouth open in pain and horror. Blood flowed over Amalia’s hands and pooled around him. The wounds from a vampire’s claws raked his belly.

  “Dad,” Amalia choked. “Hold on, Dad.”

  The strength left my legs and I sank to my knees, gripping the edge of the overturned table, still on the wrong side of it. Uncle Jack panted for air, his hands weakly grasping Amalia’s. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her face contorted.

  “Don’t leave me, Dad,” she whispered. “Please. Please don’t.”

  Suffocating pain rose in my chest. Grief, sharp and fresh, pierced me—anguish for my lost parents, reawakened, and anguish for Amalia, who was about to lose the only parent she had left.

  She pushed on Uncle Jack’s stomach, trying desperately to stop the bleeding. A sob shook her body, high-pitched and agonized.

  With a soft scuff of a footstep, Zylas appeared beside me. He gazed down at the dying man, expressionless. I bowed my head, unable to watch, my heart breaking for Amalia.

  A brush against my arm—Zylas moving. My head came up as he stepped over the barrier of the table. He stood for a moment, then crouched beside Uncle Jack, narrowed eyes watching his summoner, the man who’d torn him from his home, imprisoned him, and tried to enslave him.

  The demon’s gaze shifted to Amalia’s tear-streaked face, to mine, and back to Uncle Jack.

  “Zh’ūltis,” he muttered.

  Then he placed his hand on Uncle Jack’s chest and crimson magic streaked up his arm.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Zylas’s power faded. As his luminescent spell dissolved, the demon lifted his hand from Uncle Jack’s chest. Wrinkling his nose, he wiped his bloody palm on the man’s pant leg.

  Uncle Jack drew in a trembling breath and released it. Amalia clutched her father’s hand, but her disbelieving stare was on Zylas.

  “You healed him,” she whispered hoarsely.

  Zylas rose to his full height, tail snapping irritably, and hopped over the table. Catching my elbow, he swung me off my feet. I yelped in surprise as I thudded against his back, automatically clamping my arms and legs around him.

  “What—” I began.

  He leaped the length of the living room, nearly dumping me off his back, and sprang out the broken window. Thudding down on the deck, he paused, head swiveling as he scented the breeze.

  “Zylas,” I tried again, “what—”

  “This is not over. Hold on.”

  As I squeezed my legs more tightly around his waist, he shot to the end of the deck and launched off it. He hit the ground and dashed into the forest. Towering spruce trees flashed past, snow swirling down and the icy wind cutting through my shirt.

  He ran at full demon speed—fast enough to outstrip the best human sprinter. Tail lashing for balance, he cut past trees, branches whipping against our sides. The ground sloped down, the mountainside sweeping for miles to the city below. I had no idea where he was going or what he was chasing.

  Then I saw the flare of crimson light through the trees.

  Zylas slowed to a slinking prowl, his steps silent on the snowy leaf litter. The forest opened into a wide swath of dirt and pebbles—an old rock slide. At the edge of the trees, he stopped.

  Vasilii stood in the center of the clearing, the grimoire held casually in one hand.

  Claude’s demon stood ten paces from the darkfae, his reddish-brown skin contrasting with the dusting of snow. Wings curled against his back, tail snaking across the ground, dark hair tied back from his sharp-feat
ured face. His magma-red eyes glowed with power.

  Vasilii slowly canted his head to the right—toward Zylas and me. He returned his attention to Claude’s demon.

  “My ability to track my prey surpasses that of even my fae brethren,” he said in his slow, dry voice. “I did not expect you to possess similar skills, Nazhivēr. How did you arrive here so soon after me?”

  Claude’s demon smiled coldly. “You have underestimated us from the beginning.”

  I shuddered at his deep, rumbling growl. His English wasn’t as heavily accented as Zylas’s but the guttural inflection was the same.

  “Have I?” Vasilii whispered. “I ascribed your master only the intelligence he has displayed. He thought me a mere vampire. He thought, by peddling your blood to my nest, he could win their loyalty. He thought me too simple a creature to discover what he searched for, or to seek it myself.”

  The demon flicked his tail across the ground, an angry tic that Zylas possessed too.

  “Such great boons have come to me, Nazhivēr. Did you know I came here seeking a druid? Instead, I found his territory abandoned.”

  I gripped Zylas’s shoulders. A druid? I’d never heard of a druid in Vancouver.

  “An unprotected hunting ground,” Vasilii continued, “which I have now claimed. No sooner did I draw the city’s vampires under my control than you and your master so freely handed me even greater power.” Vasilii caressed the grimoire’s leather cover. “And now I have claimed this as well.”

  “You think we did not see your betrayal well before you acted?” Nazhivēr rumbled, satisfaction pulling at his dusky lips. “What you have done is save us a great deal of time.”

  “You presume to take this from me?” Vasilii mused. “I see. Take it, then, demon. With but one hand, I will slay you.”

  The darkfae cradled the grimoire safely against his chest and raised his other hand, fingers casually curled. The slender digits darkened to black and extended into rigid claws.

  Nazhivēr raised his hands in turn, scarlet glowing across his wrists and up his arms. Before the demon’s talons could finish forming on his fingers, Vasilii vanished.

  Blood sprayed and Nazhivēr lurched backward, his chest raked with wounds. Vasilii slashed again and the demon darted sideways, scarcely evading. As Nazhivēr swung his glowing talons, Vasilii reappeared behind the demon. Blood splattered the ground.

  Vasilii was so fast I couldn’t follow him. So fast he seemed to disappear as he moved.

  Zylas pushed on my legs and I dropped off his back. Deepening his stance, he cast me a silent, commanding look—stay there—then slunk into the clearing. Motions blurring, Claude’s demon and the vampiric darkfae circled and slashed. Only Nazhivēr bled.

  Cautiously, Zylas closed in, and when Vasilii blurred beyond my vision, Zylas launched forward. His glowing talons struck Vasilii’s lower back, tearing through his dark shirt and ripping deep into the fae’s flesh.

  Zylas leaped sideways, evading Vasilii’s counterstrike, and Nazhivēr smashed his fist into Vasilii’s stomach. The darkfae flew backward, landed on his feet in a graceful skid, and straightened.

  He gazed emotionlessly at the two demons, standing side by side as though they’d planned to ally against him all along. He blinked his charcoal eyes and lifted the ragged bottom of his shirt.

  Zylas’s talons had torn deep, revealing dark, inhuman flesh beneath his humanlike skin—but the bloodless wounds were shrinking. The skin drew back together, the injury melting away. As the slices disappeared, the fae’s skin dimmed. His flesh grew darker and darker—and as it blackened, his body changed.

  Limbs lengthened as though stretching out, thin and wiry. His spine stretched up, tattered shirt rising above his waist to reveal black skin clinging to prominent bones and rangy muscle. His face sunk in, inky eyes largening until they dominated his face. His bulky jaw opened, gaping wider than it should’ve, to reveal inch-long fangs.

  With that horrifying grin, the seven-foot-tall darkfae vaulted toward the demons.

  Zylas and Nazhivēr split, spun, and came at Vasilii from opposite sides. The three adversaries flashed across the clearing, too much speed and agility for my human eyes and slow human brain to comprehend. Crimson magic flashed in brief spurts, but even Zylas’s swift demonic magic required a few uninterrupted seconds to cast.

  Vasilii was so swift that neither demon could produce a powerful spell. None of their attacks, even the ones that connected, slowed the fae—while bleeding gashes marred both demons. The fae’s long limbs, despite their fragile appearance, struck with crushing power, and through it all, he held the grimoire to his chest like a mother cradling an infant.

  Zylas broke free of the lethal dance, skittering sideways on nimble feet.

  “Adināathē izh,” he barked. “Ittā rēsh!”

  Nazhivēr lunged in. His tail caught Vasilii’s legs, interrupting his movements for the barest instant, and his fist struck the fae’s head.

  Zylas angled across the clearing, opening a space between him and his enemy. Crimson power raced up his arms. Runes formed across his limbs in their wake and spell circles surrounded him like satellites orbiting a planet.

  Vasilii broke away from Nazhivēr and whirled toward Zylas, the length of the clearing separating them. Nazhivēr grabbed his arm, halting him—and Vasilii rammed his claws into the demon’s gut, sinking them six inches deep.

  Crimson light blazed.

  Vasilii tore away from the wounded demon and flashed toward Zylas, inconceivably swift.

  The rune circles spun around Zylas, all six aligning atop one another, facing the oncoming fae. Before Vasilii could change course, a fiery beam exploded from the spell, struck the fae, and hurled him backward. Vasilii flew thirty feet and smashed into a tree trunk, shaking the fifty-foot hemlock. Pine needles rained down as Vasilii slumped to the dirt, his left hand empty—the grimoire gone from his hold.

  Silence fell, broken only by gusts of wind whining through the trees and my pulse thundering in my ears.

  Nazhivēr, one hand pressed to his punctured gut, walked forward. He stopped in the center of the clearing. From out of the snow, he lifted the grimoire.

  A quiet scrape. Vasilii raised his head, then pushed off the ground, clothes torn and smoking. The wounds in his black flesh shrank to nothing. In the time it took him to straighten, his injuries had healed.

  He craned his head one way then the other, rolling his narrow shoulders as though working out a mild cramp. His ebony eyes found Nazhivēr.

  The demon spread his wings and leaped skyward. As he took flight, he tore open the belt that held the grimoire closed. The loose pages containing my mother’s translations fluttered down.

  In a flash, Vasilii leaped after the flighted demon. The fae grabbed Nazhivēr’s legs and shoved his talons through the demon’s knee.

  Nazhivēr flung the grimoire away.

  It flew end over end, arcing through the air—and Zylas caught it. Vasilii released the winged demon and dropped back to the ground. Wings pumping, Nazhivēr soared above the treetops and disappeared from sight, fleeing the indestructible fae—which left Zylas to battle Vasilii alone.

  Zylas took one wide-eyed look at the grimoire he held, then tossed it high into the branches of the nearest tree. He’d barely completed the motion before Vasilii slammed into him.

  Tearing free with a splatter of blood, Zylas skittered sideways with rapid steps. Vasilii paused, gazing up into the tree where the grimoire was caught on a branch, then pivoted to face Zylas. He opened his other hand, the one with which he’d been holding the book, and his fingers morphed into long, rigid claws. Now both hands were deadly weapons instead of just one.

  Zylas took a slow, cautious step backward—and I realized he was afraid. He’d taught me not to step backward, and he’d only do it himself if he wasn’t thinking clearly.

  The darkfae vanished—and reappeared in a blur, already striking. Zylas whirled away, but blood misted the air as those claws shredded his a
rm. He and Nazhivēr together couldn’t stop the fae. Alone, Zylas had no chance.

  But he wasn’t alone. I was still here—but what could I do?

  Vasilii slashed again, his long reach far greater than the demon’s. His claws tore across Zylas’s thigh. The demon staggered and caught the fae’s next strike on his armored left forearm. His glowing talons struck the fae’s right hip, tearing deep, but the wounds healed immediately.

  Was Vasilii truly unkillable? Did he have a weakness? He must have a weakness! I tried to think. Vampires. Fae. I must know something. My brain was full of useless facts, stories, and ancient legends.

  Vasilii sank his claws into Zylas’s upper arm. The demon ripped free with another splatter of blood, crimson magic shooting up his other arm.

  Vampires. Vasilii wasn’t a true vampire, but maybe he had the same weaknesses. What had I read? Sunlight—stake through the heart—beheading—garlic? No, that was a stupid myth. What else?

  Zylas fell, his cast interrupted. Rolling, he shot to his feet again, tail whipping out. Vasilii smiled.

  Holy water? No. Silver? Maybe. Was there anything else? In the story of the famous vampire hunters who’d exterminated hundreds of vampires, how had they done it? A sorcerer and a—

  Vasilii grabbed Zylas and pulled the demon into his chest like a passionate lover.

  —and a heliomage.

  Crushing Zylas against him, Vasilii opened his deformed jaw, fangs gleaming. Fear flashed across Zylas’s face. One touch of those fangs and he’d be paralyzed.

  I flung myself out of the trees and sprinted toward the fae and demon.

  “A shame,” Vasilii whispered, “to waste such a delicacy.”

  He brought his mouth down, fangs reaching hungrily for Zylas’s shoulder.

  I leaped into them, my arm thrust out as I screamed, “Indura.”

  Vasilii’s teeth met my arm with bruising pain—but no piercing agony. His long fangs were caught on my shirt, the fabric patterned with Amalia’s careful hexes.