Demon Prints (Infernal Inheritance Book 1)

by Nazri Noor

  I waved my hand. “Sure, why not? We can sell them.”

  Crystal pushed her fork around her plate, her eyes still locked on my face in a way that I felt was meant to deliberately make me uncomfortable. “Shame. Would’ve loved to see some of your collection.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “You seem to be pretty curious about magical foci. And familiars, for that matter. You were wondering about my cat last night, and let’s not forget you picking up my book – er, Dantaleon – without my permission.”

  She rolled her eyes, spearing a bit of egg, then letting her fork clatter onto her plate. “Oh, come on. No harm done. He didn’t burn me to death, and your kitty’s harmless.” She bent down to scratch Mr. Wrinkles on the belly. He reciprocated with an ingratiating meow. Traitor. “I’m just the kind of witch who doesn’t mind getting a little outside help. That’s all. It’s how it is with the craft, working with tools and whatnot.”

  I stiffened, my body and mind automatically snapping back to what Dantaleon had drilled into my very core over the years: that a mage, ultimately, should strive for freedom from all implements. A true master practitioner of the art can call storms with the blink of an eye, kill with a thought, shatter reality with a single breath.

  “But that’s all they are,” I said, hardening my voice, pushing away my uncertainty. “Tools are just that, a temporary means of building up your own strength.” I couldn’t believe I’d said that with a straight face, considering how I felt so very, very naked without direct access to any of my precious books.

  “Yeah, what he said. Tools.” Pierce nodded sagely. “It’s like gym equipment. Or training wheels.”

  Crystal frowned and threw her hands up. “But you’re a magus. Your whole thing is books, isn’t it? Like, my whole life, I’ve been looking for the right artifact to bolster my magic. Who would say no to the right focus, the right fetish? A wand, for example. A crystal ball. How can you be so blasé about not having your tomes with you when they’re the things that make you so powerful?”

  It was bothering me, how it almost felt like she was reading my mind, how she was targeting my own insecurities about magic so accurately. And she didn’t even know about Inscription yet. I was far happier imagining that she wouldn’t find out about it, ever. But that was the exact frustration. Dantaleon, hell, even Mother always said that I needed to wean myself of dependence on my books, which never made sense given how much flexibility and raw arcane might they gave me.

  And here I was, stuck penniless and functionally homeless out in some meadow, cut off from the very source of my power.

  “I don’t need the books,” I said, my fingers digging into the surface of the table. “Don’t need them. Don’t need anyone. Don’t need anything.” I couldn’t help myself. My muscles were straining to contain my anger, but my nails were still drawing slender grooves into the wood. Pierce, I noticed, had gone dead quiet. But Crystal clearly had more to say.

  “Hold up,” she said. “I don’t even know if we’re talking about magical tools anymore. All I’m saying is that I’m the kind of girl who’ll take help where I can get it. I had one artifact within my grasp – just, it was right there.” She clasped her hands around an invisible object, reaching for it with clawed fingers, then exhaled in disappointment. “But it just vanished. The one that got away. I’m not afraid to admit I can use a little magical boost here and there. Couldn’t the same be said for you?” She tilted her head, squinting. “What is this really about?”

  “None of your concern,” I snapped. But was she right? Was this really about Asmodeus, the Repository, about everything and nothing?

  She held her hands up, palms out, whistling. “Okay. Clearly touched a nerve there. I’ll stop pressing.”

  I shook my head slowly, to clear it. I knew that it wasn’t in our best interest to have our host simmering with resentment the entire time we stayed, plotting our murder, but I couldn’t help myself. Who could say how long we’d need her help for? A week? A month? No. Surely not a year?

  We had to behave our best. Check that. I had to. And if there’s one skill you develop from growing up the son of a demon prince, it’s lying through your teeth. You tell enough lies, you start believing them yourself, until it all sounds like the truth.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, making my words a little stilted, a little clipped. “It’s been hard dealing without my things. You’re right. I need my books more than I care to admit.”

  See? It already sounded like the truth.

  She shook her hand at me, scoffing. “Whatever, man. I was just asking questions, one mage to another. Maybe it’s morning moodiness. Have some more coffee, maybe you’ll quit being so damn grumpy.”

  I lowered my head slightly, trying to make myself look contrite. Fine, okay, so I really was sorry, at least a little. “About that,” I said, meaning to shift the mood at the table. “How are you keeping these eggs fresh? How is that toaster running, or that stove, for that matter?”

  Yes, granted, I knew embarrassingly little of how the human world worked, but if there was any power in the building, we wouldn’t have had to resort to warming ourselves around a campfire the night before.

  Crystal snapped her fingers. Three tiny orbs appeared in the palm of her hand, spinning in a neat little orbit: one blue, one yellow, one red. “I’m a dabbler. Little bit of this, little bit of that. And it doesn’t take a lot of elemental magic to keep a carton of eggs at forty degrees, you know? Same with the toast. A little heat is all you need. And for minor electrical applications, say, charging my phone?” She picked up the tiny yellow orb, a small bit of ball lightning, and rolled it like a marble between her fingers. “You just gotta get the voltage right.”

  I spent a few extra seconds actually biting the side of my tongue, genuinely impressed. And truthfully, pretty jealous, too. Thankfully, Pierce spoke up for the both of us.

  “That’s really cool that you can do all that. Right, Quill?”

  I made a noncommittal grunt from somewhere inside my throat.

  Crystal shrugged. “I’m a dabbler, like I said. Curses, hexes, some small-time elemental magic. Aren’t you a dabbler, too?”

  I shrugged back. “Mostly fire magic, and some defensive spells.” I laced my fingers around my wrist, staring at the back of my hand. “I know I could diversify some, but it’s tough when you find what works for you, you know?”

  She nodded. “Relatable. But it’s nice to have a little versatility, to be honest. I’ve learned just enough about ice magic to cool the place down, too. It’s not as horrible here in the summer as you might think.”

  Pierce rested the side of his head in his palm, watching her curiously. “I’ve been meaning to ask, actually. How’d you end up here? Why are you on your own?”

  She shook her head, a thin smile on her lips. “Bit of a long story, honestly.” She folded her arms, shivering slightly.

  Pierce reared back and cleared his throat. “It’s honestly no big deal if you don’t want to talk about it.”

  Crystal shivered again. “It’s not that. It’s just – did it just get really cold in here?”

  She was right. The temperature had dropped a couple of degrees. Mr. Wrinkles bolted out of the kitchen, darting straight into the pile of blankets we’d used for a bed. Why was the sky outside darkening so quickly?

  And why was frost forming on the windows?

  19

  “Okay, Miss Dabbler,” I said, clasping Crystal by the shoulder. “Defensive spells. How good are you with those?”

  She wrenched herself away, scowling at me. “What the hell are you talking about? Defensive spells? What for? Don’t be so paranoid. That cold? The wind picked up, is all.”

  “Quill’s right,” Pierce said, almost knocking over his chair as he stood up, feeling at his waist for his blades. “Wind doesn’t do that,” he added, nodding at the windows.

  She looked, then gasped. They weren’t just frosting over anymore. The glass was cracking. They were back, those two ba
stard angels. It had to be them.

  “The doors,” I said, rushing towards the entrance. “We have to barricade the doors.”

  Dantaleon floated out towards me, finally getting involved in the conversation now that he had an opportunity to exert authority over me. “No. We do not hide like rabbits in a hole. We fight them, whoever our adversaries are.”

  I glowered at him. “Then you can sense them,” I said. “You know it’s not just the weather turning itself upside down.”

  Dantaleon’s pages rustled, the air around him wavering as he bristled with energy. “Angels. I can smell them in the air. We do not fear angels, Quilliam. No. We savor the opportunity to slaughter them.”

  My fists tightened. Who said anything about fear? This was about self-preservation. Having access to the Repository meant that I could still be on equal footing. But without my books? Without the gift of Inscription? Describing myself as a sitting duck didn’t quite cut it.

  I strained against the tug on my arm, turning to find a very distraught Crystal glaring at me, her expression a mix of anger and fear. “Will someone explain what the fuck is going on here? What are you talking about? Barricade? Slaughter? What’s even out there?”

  She flinched as Pierce streaked ahead of us, her first time, I realized, seeing him move at his strange, preternatural pace. “Angels,” he said simply, stepping out into the sunlight even as he shivered against the chill.

  “Damn it,” I grunted, following him. “Always too gung-ho. You’re going to get yourself killed one of these days.”

  But Pierce, being Pierce, just lifted his chin and ignored me, his chest puffed out as he searched the grounds for our attackers. He didn’t have to search very far.

  There they were, the twin angels of hail and frost, one blond, one black-haired. The grass froze into blades of ice where their feet touched the earth, their hair rippling in a shearing wind of their own making.

  Metal sang as Pierce unsheathed one of his blades. He pointed it at Nuriel, the blond one, the one that liked to smile. “What the hell are you two buzzards doing here? Didn’t we kick your asses hard enough the last time?”

  Nuriel’s laughter tinkled like shards of ice in the clearest water. “Trust a demon to be so profane. Do you kiss your mother with that mouth, incubus? That is, assuming you’ve ever met her.”

  Pierce flinched, stunned into silence. I was disconcerted, too, not exactly by the insult, which had an unfortunate ring of truth to it due to Pierce never actually having met his mother. No, the fact that this Nuriel knew exactly the type of demon he was – that was going to be a problem.

  “You appear to have us confused for common vermin,” said Baradiel. “A stake through the heart doesn’t kill angels.” He unbuttoned his shirt, smirking as he exposed unblemished, uninjured skin where the broken plank had run him completely through.

  Crystal wrestled her way between me and Pierce, coming in for a closer look, but also, it seemed, eager to get involved in the fight. “Will someone explain to me what’s going on here?” She cast her finger out, pointing at the brothers. “Who the hell are these assholes?”

  “Angels,” I said, after deliberating how to distill the essence of the threat. “Dangerous ones. I speared that one in the chest and it’s still walking.”

  Baradiel’s laughter was darker than his brother’s, more mocking and menacing. “Surely you know well enough of how things work with regards to the heavenly host. You cannot kill us so easily.” He made a shallow, taunting bow, giving an exaggerated flourish with his hand. “And we fully acknowledge that the same applies to you, heir of Asmodeus.”

  Fuck.

  Crystal shook me by the arm, her eyes huge as she demanded an answer. “Excuse me. Hello? Did he say heir of Asmodeus? You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, mister.”

  “Later,” I growled, curling my fingers as I prepared what little magic I still had left. “If we survive.”

  Nuriel cocked an eyebrow. “Oh? If you survive? Did you hear that, brother? One wonders if the princeling’s mixed heritage makes him, how to put it – more vulnerable to terminal conditions.”

  Pierce adjusted his grip on his daggers as we exchanged uncertain glances. Not to boast, but we were that good at our jobs. We’d never had to resort to the shame of a common demon goon, of having our mortal husks killed and our essences returned to one of the prime hells, waiting to re-form. But things were different now.

  Dantaleon’s voice boomed over us all. “My charges will come to no harm at your hands, little birds.” He joined our midst, his pages suffused with wisps of pale light. “But do not let my presence concern you. The princeling and his vassal are talented enough on their own to eviscerate the pair of you.”

  I stared at him in awe, shocked at his rare, once-in-a-millennium utterance of an actual compliment. Crystal made a noise of frustration as she threw her hands out. “Princeling? Vassal? Are you guys serious? Why was I feeding you beans if you’re all so rich? And who is this book supposed to be, anyways?”

  As one, Pierce, Dantaleon, and I hissed at her. “Later.”

  She bared her teeth at us, annoyed, but evidently more concerned with the presence of the celestials. “Fine,” she said, her fingers curling with plumes of amethyst flame. “But you jerks are paying me back, and then some.”

  “So much argumentation,” Nuriel said, his smile as bright as the sky. “Such chaos. Very much expected from you barbaric infernal types, no?”

  Pierce drew a second blade. “Tell us why you’re here so we can spill your guts and toss your corpses in the river.”

  “Retribution,” Baradiel said quickly. “You destroyed our base of operations, and it only feels correct to return the favor.” He cocked his head at an angle, sizing up the abandoned building that I’d only just accepted as our new home. “Considering the state of this place, though, it doesn’t seem as if we’ll need to do much to raze it to its foundations.”

  From beside me, Crystal made a sound very much like low growling.

  “You were leading those humans on,” I said, “planting one of your own among them. What is the Thirteenth Choir, anyway? A cult? And where is your other brother?”

  Nuriel’s smile dropped, and he shook his head. “Poor Adriel, once an angel of death, now nothing more than a grounded bird. Our brother lost his wings, but he serves the cause by staying with our followers, by being our voice, and their beacon. And how we tend to our flock is, similarly, something that will forever remain beyond your understanding. The Thirteenth Choir is merely an assembly of poor farmers eager to see fair weather throughout the seasons. Baradiel and I ensure that this is made reality, that no snow or hail comes to freeze or kill anything before it is time for harvest. It is an exchange of acts of service. Nothing more. An exchange of faith and love.”

  Pierce scoffed. “So this is a vanity project?”

  “No,” I said. “It’s blackmail. You want them to worship you, and in return, you won’t blight their crops with inclement weather.”

  Baradiel gave a loud, clipped guffaw. “Then the princeling is not so stupid as he looks.”

  “Last thing I am is stupid,” I said, raising my chin at him, relishing the idea of scorching his face with my bare hands. “Going around the countryside and looking for your own worshippers hardly sounds like angelic behavior, boys. Very sacrilegious, in fact. No, the two of you just want the worship for yourselves.”

  Nuriel smiled. “We are still in service of heaven’s prime directive. Are we not made in the Creator’s image, after all? I fail to see the problem. The source or form of worship does not matter in the least.”

  “Your whole deal is to blast the countryside with chilling winter if your pet cult doesn’t show you enough adoration. If you fail to see how messed up that is, then the two of you are justifiably insane.”

  Nuriel’s smile stretched even wider, the grin of someone convinced of his own righteousness. “Believe what you will, heathen. We are only here to ensure that you and your f
riends will no longer have the opportunity to interfere in our mission. Baradiel?”

  The black-haired angel nodded. “We kill the demons. We confiscate the book. And the girl?”

  “She is not beyond redemption,” Nuriel said.

  Crystal chuckled. “You can both go to hell.”

  She thrust her arms forward, a hazy globe of violet energy shooting from her hands like a cannonball. The brothers hardly flinched as the globe landed between them, exploding into a cloud of powder, then settling into a fine, purple mist.

  “Poison gas,” she said to me and Pierce. “Don’t inhale it. You’re welcome.”

  “Give ’em hell,” I said. Pierce nodded at me, brows furrowed, resolute, before vanishing in a blur.

  Two streaks of silver bolted across the field, his daggers thrown at each of the brothers. Pierce’s aim was true: Nuriel and Baradiel glanced down at their chests, then at each other, laughing piteously, reveling in how they weren’t vampires. Of course they weren’t. Vampires didn’t breathe. Fortunately, angels still did.

  Pierce’s assault bought enough time for Crystal’s gaseous cloud to work its horrible magics. The angels coughed, then retched, blood spilling from their mouths as they fell to their knees, clawing at the grass. Being so low on the ground meant that they were even more exposed to whatever witchy toxin she’d used. Perfect.

  Then I noticed Baradiel’s lips moving, his hand wiping shakily against his mouth as he staggered to his feet. I shuddered as a cold wind rushed through the field, whipping at the grass – but also stirring the gas.

  “Uh-oh,” Crystal said.

  We couldn’t afford the risk. I held my hand out, aiming for the ground the angels were standing on, and, therefore, the quickly moving swirl of purple.

  “Ignis.”

  The bolt of flame that ejected from my palm was smaller, certainly weaker than what I was used to magicking, but it served its purpose. Nuriel and Baradiel screamed as the cloud of gas erupted at their feet, searing their skin, burning their clothes. But these were, of course, angels. They stepped out of the flames, skin already regenerating, wounds repairing.