Magic Undying (Dragon's Gift: The Seeker Book 1)

by Linsey Hall

  I flinched, guilt streaking through me. I’d let that demon escape. Using powers I didn’t understand. I didn’t love that the Order was so suspicious of unknown magic, but they had a good reason. I hadn’t even intended to cause problems with mine, but look where it’d gotten us.

  Roarke finished his beer and stood. “All right. Let’s get out of here.”

  “How?” I polished off the last few sips of my own ale and hopped off the barstool, wincing when I hit the ground.

  “I’ll create an Underpath entry.” He glanced around, his hand still pressed to his side. “I find I’m keen to return home.”

  “Nuh-uh,” I said. “No way I’m going back to the Underworld with you.”

  “My home isn’t in the Underworld. I live outside Magic’s Bend. On the river.”

  A memory tugged at my mind. “Wait, you mean the house near the portal in the woods?”

  “Yes. I commute to the Underworld for work.”

  That was way less creepy than I’d thought. “I still don’t want to go there. I don’t know you. I’m not going to a strange dude’s house. I’m going home. Tomorrow, once we’ve recovered, we’ll start the search again.”

  Understanding lit his gaze, and he nodded sharply and turned for the door. I followed him out into the dark night, both of us limping slightly. He walked to the edge of the building.

  Tombstones stuck up out of the uneven ground within a small, fenced area. A graveyard.

  “Is there an Underpath entrance here?” I asked.

  “Not yet.” He held out his hand, and I took it, trying to ignore the shiver that ran up my arm.

  The wind whipped across the moor, blowing my hair away from my face. This time, when Roarke held out his hand to create the passage, the magic that surged from him almost made me stumble. It was stronger than before, probably because there hadn’t already been a portal here.

  He reared his arm back, then punched the air. His fist stopped dead, like it was hitting a wall, and a burst of light exploded as he ripped into the ether. The air glowed with light, and Roarke tugged me forward. I stepped in behind him, immediately caught by the rushing train feeling of the Underpath. Gravity disappeared and my head spun as we were sucked through space. I squeezed Roarke’s hand. He squeezed back.

  Seconds or hours later—I couldn’t tell—Roarke tugged me out onto a dark city street. I blinked until my vision cleared, leaning on Roarke’s arm.

  “That went better,” I said, though I was still a bit queasy. At least we were back in Magic’s Bend in the gross alley near Mad Mordecai’s. “Thanks for bringing me here.”

  “No problem.”

  We left the alley and exited onto the bustling street. It was night here, too. We needed to stop hopping from continent to continent and avoiding daylight.

  On the way to the car, Roarke moved more slowly, his limp more pronounced.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Fine.” His voice was gruff.

  Hmmm. Doubtful. He’d expended a lot of magical energy creating the Underpath entrance—I’d felt it. If I had to bet, he’d weakened himself temporarily.

  All supernaturals, except for my deirfiúr Cass, had a limited amount of magical power. Some had more than others, and I’d bet Roarke had a lot, but once it was used up, even he would likely have to wait a while for it to regenerate. The waiting time was different for everyone depending on their strength. That must be why he went through Mad Mordecai’s—to preserve his power for whatever battle waited on the other end of the Underpath.

  By the time we made it to the car, I was dragging too. This had been a long day.

  It didn’t take long to drive back to Factory Row, and we made it in silence.

  When I climbed out of the car, Roarke grabbed a small duffle bag from the back and followed.

  “You’re just walking me to my door, right?” Like this had been some weird, violent date?

  “Something like that.”

  Hmmm. I reached the green door, withdrew the key from my pocket, then let myself in. I turned to say goodbye to Roarke, but he stepped through the door, crowding me.

  “Um, goodbye,” I said.

  “No.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “I’m staying. No way I’m letting you out of my sight.”

  “I promised to help you tomorrow. You’re not coming up.”

  “We aren’t partners, Del.” His voice was firm. “You’re still a fugitive. I’ve put that on hold so that we can catch the Ubilaz demon, but once we have, you’re coming back to the Underworld with me. I’ve never let a fugitive escape, and I’m not about to start now.”

  My heart thundered. “I don’t belong there.”

  “Then how did you end up there? There’s only one way to get to the Underworld, and that’s death.”

  My brain stutter-stepped. I didn’t have an answer that would convince him to let me stay free, so I said, “Fine. But you’re sleeping on the couch.”

  He nodded, satisfied for now. But as I climbed the stairs, my skin chilled. I’d started to like him. To think that maybe he liked me, too, and that he wouldn’t make me go back to the Underworld.

  Apparently I’d been wrong.

  Chapter Seven

  I let myself into my apartment, then held open the door to Roarke. I couldn’t help but scowl as he entered. He just grinned.

  “You’re a pain in the ass.” I wearily dragged a hand through my hair.

  He grinned wider, then winced when his side nudged the doorknob.

  “How’s the wound in your side?” I asked.

  “Delightful. But really, I’ll be fine.”

  “Suit yourself. I’m going to take a shower.” I nodded toward the kitchen. “Food’s in there. Help yourself. Don’t go in the bedroom.”

  He nodded, then headed toward the kitchen, looking far too big in my tiny apartment. I watched him disappear into the small space, then turned and headed toward the bathroom. On my way there, I pulled the bedroom door shut. He wouldn’t be able to find my trove because there was no visible door, but no reason to invite his curiosity.

  I flinched at the sight of myself in the mirror. Burns on my neck and the side of my face stood out starkly against my pale skin. Fortunately, they looked to be just first degree. They’d fade soon enough. The rest of me was filthy. Dirt in my hair and all over my clothes. Demon blood speckled over my shirt and jacket and a bit on my neck.

  Ew.

  At least my face was mostly clean. And it really had been a good thing that pub in Dartmoor had been run by supernaturals. Walking into a human pub like this wouldn’t have gone well for me.

  As I turned toward the shower, I caught sight of a weird lump on my head right under my hair. I reached up and poked it, then almost yelped.

  A horn.

  I was starting to grow horns. And my face wasn’t just pale from exhaustion. It was turning slightly gray.

  My stomach dropped to the floor and a cold sweat broke out over my skin. No, no, no, no, no.

  My heart started to thud, pounding in my ears like drums. With a shaking hand, I dug into my pocket for one of the vials of potion that Connor had given me. The one I pulled out was dark green, but I squinted at the tiny, handwritten label to make sure.

  Temp. Ubilaz Antidote.

  Bottoms up.

  I knocked on my head, avoiding my horns, and drank the foul-tasting stuff. Please work, please work, please work.

  I stared hard at myself in the mirror, almost collapsing with relief when the bumps on my head receded. I poked them, grateful to find only my normal scalp. My skin even looked a tiny bit pink.

  Oh, thank fates. A reprieve.

  My muscles were shaky as I turned on the water to the shower. I made quick work of cleaning up, because frankly, it felt like hell. Hot water was too warm on my burns, and cold just felt miserable on the rest of me. By the time I made it out of the shower, I was aching and starving.

  With the towel wrapped around me, I darted from t
he bathroom to the bedroom and changed into PJs decorated with penguins, then made my way to the kitchen.

  The sight inside made my jaw drop.

  Roarke stood in front of the stove, a spatula in his hand, looking as domestic as June Cleaver.

  He turned to look at me. “Nice pants.”

  I glanced down at the dancing penguins. “I’m not all black leather.” In fact, I had a serious fondness for cartoon pajamas. “What are you doing?”

  He turned. “Making dinner.”

  “I just figured you’d pop a frozen pizza in the oven or something.”

  He shrugged. “You looked pretty beat. I thought you could use a decent meal.”

  He was making me dinner? While wounded?

  Huh.

  That was really nice of him. But the guy was gonna give me whiplash. One second, it was all I’m going to drag you back to hell, and the next it was like Here’s a nice, home-cooked meal.

  He was strong, deadly, mostly silent, and… domestic? He’d make sure I followed the rules of the Underworld, but he’d take care of me while doing it.

  “Thanks,” I said. “What is it?”

  “Stir-fry.”

  “Like, with vegetables? Where’d you find those?” I was a beige vegetarian, sticking primarily to the easier, less healthy veggie options like cheese pizza and pasta.

  “Back of the freezer. A mixed bag.”

  Huh. Who knew? Not my usual thing, but I’d been on a few failed health kicks over the last few years.

  I sniffed, getting a hint of soy sauce and garlic. I hadn’t expected that whatever he scavenged from my kitchen could smell so good.

  “So, you’re kind of a good cook?” I asked.

  “Not bad. I needed a hobby. Life can’t be all managing the Underworld.” He picked up a sweating brown beer bottle that had been sitting near the stove and took a sip.

  Just the sight made me thirsty, so I grabbed a chipped coffee mug and headed to the fridge. I kept the beer on hand for when I visited Cass at her place, but I always had boxed red wine on hand. Cheap and tasty.

  As I was filling my coffee mug from the box in the fridge, Roarke spoke. “I just want you to know, however this works out, I’m not sending you back to hell.”

  I stood and glanced at him, surprised. “You’re not?”

  “Not to hell.” His gaze met mine, unwavering. “But you do have to go back to the Underworld. You shouldn’t be in hell, though. You’re obviously not a bad person. There will be a decent place in one of the heavens for you.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair, looking weary. “But I didn’t want you to worry about ending up in a shitty place like hell.”

  So he was worried about me? But not enough to spare me. “Uh, that’s not exactly what I’m looking for. I belong on Earth. With my friends.”

  His gaze turned dark, almost tormented. “There are rules, Del. Good rules for good reasons. Following them keeps the Underworlds in line. I can’t make exceptions.”

  There was something on his face, both sad and terrible. “Did you once? Make an exception for someone you shouldn’t have?”

  His face closed off, but I had him. I totally did. Roarke, the consummate rule follower, had once broken the rules for someone.

  And been hurt because of it. Or hurt someone. Had it been the brother that Nix had mentioned?

  Whoever it had been, it seemed that now he wasn’t going to break the rules for anyone else. From the pain on his face, I’d guess he was bound by the rules as strictly as I was bound by my secrecy.

  My stomach growled, but I ignored it and studied him as he did something chef-like with the veggies in the skillet. Roarke was stiff as a board, and not from his injury. He clearly didn’t like where this conversation had gone.

  So I’d save my questions for later. I could be patient if it suited my end-goal. Though it made me twitchy.

  But something had really been bothering me about where I’d ended up in the Underworld.

  “Why did I end up in hell, if I’m not a bad person?” I asked.

  “It wasn’t really hell. It was an abandoned part of the Underworld that’s been used to temporarily hold souls who don’t go straight to a specific Underworld. Some souls automatically go to an Underworld, particularly if they adhered to a religion on Earth.”

  “So, ancient Romans go to Elysium, and the Vikings went to Valhalla? Modern Christians go to heaven or hell? That kind of thing.”

  “Exactly. But if you didn’t practice a certain religion, you might end up in a holding Underworld before you’re sent to a permanent Underworld. That’s where you’d end up. There’s good parts to it as well.”

  I remembered flashes of the beautiful meadow that had appeared through the haze. And his garden at his Underworld fortress. Ugh. I didn’t like this subject.

  “How’s the food coming?” I asked. “I’m famished.”

  Roarke turned back to the stove and poked the contents of the skillet with the spatula. “Looks about done.”

  “It smells great.”

  He smiled, and my stupid heart beat faster. When he turned back and started dishing up the food, I pinched myself.

  Get it together. This guy was dangerous. No liking his food. No getting swoony over his smile or his muscles. Definitely no falling for him.

  When he turned to me and handed me a bowl, I tried to smile like a normal person. I think it came out pretty weird, but my voice sounded mostly normal at least. “Thanks.”

  “No problem. Hope it’s decent.”

  “I have a feeling it will be.”

  The smell made my mouth water. I went to the tiny table pushed into the corner of the kitchen nook. Roarke sat across from me, his legs bumping mine. I ignored the awareness that prickled along my skin. But there was no way to ignore him. He was way too big for my place.

  I tucked into the food, shoving a giant bite of broccoli and carrots into my mouth.

  “This is great,” I mumbled around the mouthful.

  “Glad you like it.”

  “Love it.” I spent the next several minutes scarfing down the food. When I finished, I took a sip of wine and met his gaze. It dropped to my bowl and then back up to me.

  “Impressed?” I asked.

  “Very.”

  “I’m even faster with ice cream.”

  “I’d like to see that.”

  “Um.” Did he mean, like, we go on a date and get ice cream? Because that was real date material. Nah, I was probably reaching. “So, how did you end up as Warden of the Underworld? And I hear you’re rich as Croesus?”

  Nicely done. Distract him with rudeness. I might not remember my past, but I would bet big money it hadn’t involved any kind of finishing school.

  “Worked my way up, like any job.”

  I laughed. “It’s not exactly any job. You’re like the boss of millions of people.”

  “Dead people. And demons.” He ate a bit of stir-fry, much more elegantly than I had. “At this point, it doesn’t involve much work. I laid the groundwork with intimidation, and now everyone pretty much follows the rules.”

  “You love rules.”

  “I do. Keeps things running smoothly. Most people like rules, or at least, the calm that they provide. Except for Rogue demons like the Ubilaz and his fire-throwing friends. That’s one loophole I’m working on closing.”

  I leaned back in my chair. “Hang on—let me get this straight. The only folks in the Underworld who don’t follow your rules are the Rogues? Even the Kings of Hell do what you say?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “How?”

  He shrugged. “When I figured out what my powers were, I realized two things. One was that I could use them for good. Ten years ago, many of the Underworlds were at war. The hells primarily, which is no surprise.”

  “But you didn’t like that.”

  “Not particularly.” He looked around my apartment, but I had a feeling he was seeing more than the tiny space. “I like Earth. But I don’t fit here. I also don
’t really fit in the Underworlds.”

  “Because you’re half demon, half Were.”

  “Exactly. An anomaly. I needed to find a place for myself. Given my half-demon parentage and my ability to cross between the Underworlds and Earth, I realized there was a space for me there to do good.”

  Huh. Roarke was a good guy. Who would throw me back in the Underworld. Just like he’d turned his brother in. I wanted to ask about that, but it wasn’t the time. “You said you realized two things. What was the other?”

  “The Order of the Magica and the Alpha Council don’t like anomalies. Not powerful ones, at least. We’re wildcards who could wreak havoc or alert humans to our presence.”

  “I never thought you’d be at risk.”

  “Of course I was. No one has ever seen a Were-demon before. I’ve seen how the government treats the unknown.”

  Like FireSouls. They tossed us right into the Prison for Magical Miscreants. “So what’d you do?”

  “I realized that if there was nowhere I fit, I had no choice but to make a place…try to straddle the bridge between the afterlife and this one. But I needed a position of power so strong that the Order of the Magica and the Alpha Council couldn’t threaten me. They had to need me.”

  “So you stopped the wars in the Underworld.”

  “Pretty much. It took me a few years, but the result was worth it.”

  “Just peace for peace’s sake?”

  “That’s a worthy goal. But no. What’s valuable to the Order and the Council is that I keep the Kings of Hell in line. The hells aren’t great places. There are revolts. People and demons try to escape and return to Earth through portals or magic.”

  “How can you keep a handle on that?”

  “I don’t have to keep an eye on everyone. Just the Kings of Hell. I stopped the wars by going to each king individually and scaring the shit out of them. My ability to access the Underpath meant that I could get straight into their inner chambers.”

  “Even though they might not be built on graveyards or haunted places.”

  “Yeah. It just takes more power.”

  Like I’d thought. He had been weakened by creating the new portal earlier tonight. “Then what?”