Spellbound

by Kelley Armstrong

  The original picture quality wasn't great--technology has come a long way in fifteen years--but it was decent enough for me to scan onto my laptop. As we drove the rental car to Arizona, I fussed with the photo, making it sharper, then sent it to our phones.

  "It's getting too late to make any headway in Phoenix," Adam said. "I say we swing over to New Mexico instead and pay Walter Alston a visit tonight."

  I looked over at him. He changed lanes to pass a truck, his gaze fixed on the highway.

  "Thank you."

  He shrugged. "We need to check out this 'Free the Supernaturals' movement, and we're in the area already . . ."

  "Which is not why we're going."

  He drove another mile in silence, then said, "I want to find out what happened to your powers, Savannah. It's not my top priority right now but . . ."

  He glanced over, then away, shrugging again.

  But it's yours. That was the part he didn't say.

  I knew his top priority was keeping me safe. There was a weird sort of comfort in that.

  "Think you can drive for a while?" he asked.

  "Hmm?"

  "I could use a break. Let's grab some burgers, then you can drive to Albuquerque if you're up to it."

  I pulled off the interstate in Albuquerque and followed the GPS directions to Walter Alston's address. I'd bought a navigation app for Adam's iPhone last Christmas, after we'd had one too many arguments over directions. Now we could argue with the GPS instead.

  "So are you going to call your dad and tell him we're visiting his archenemy?" I grinned over at Adam. "Sorry, that just sounds hilarious. I really can't imagine your dad having an archenemy."

  "He doesn't. Any rivalry exists purely in Walter's head, which is how these things usually go. The student rebels. Makes bad choices. The teacher is disappointed. That's it. Just disappointed."

  "So, now that you don't need to be circumspect in front of Holly, how nasty is this guy?"

  "He can summon just about any demon you care to deal with. And for the right price, he will."

  That was what made Walter Alston a bad guy, not the ability to summon, but the willingness to do it for a price. When supernaturals want to bargain with demons, they pick foot soldiers. That's not because they can't summon the officers and generals, but because with every step up the demon hierarchy, you increase your risk of ending up flayed or filleted. Powerful demons became powerful for a reason. They're smart--smarter than mortals, meaning they'll find a way out of any bargain. And, being powerful, they'll kick your ass faster and harder than their underlings. So the rule of thumb is to always summon the lowest demon who can do the job.

  You only summon a high-ranking demon when you want something big, something that isn't going to win you Citizen of the Year. Which made me wonder what exactly these "activists" had wanted from Walter Alston . . . and how I was going to persuade him to tell me when I didn't have my spells.

  One look at Walter Alston's house confirmed that he didn't help supernaturals as a public service. It was on the city's outskirts, in an oasis of money where residents cultivated lush lawns and gardens, thumbing their nose at Mother Nature.

  Alston didn't follow the pack, which I suspected was more a matter of obstinacy than humility. He embraced the desert, leaving his property looking like an angry red scar slicing through his neighbors' manicured perfection. They'd retaliated by erecting ten-foot solid fences against him.

  "I'm liking the fences," Adam said as we idled a few doors down. "Should make it easy to pay Walter a surprise visit."

  "Are you sure that's such a good idea?" I said. "If you called, he'd probably be curious enough to agree to meet you."

  "Right. Skip the break-in. Make an appointment first." He laughed. Then he realized I wasn't laughing and peered at me in the darkened car. "You're serious?"

  "Did you forget I don't have my powers? No unlock spells. No blur spells. No cover spells. No defense spells."

  "So? His half-demon power is vision. Mid-grade power. He's got nothing against my fire. All we need to do is get in the door. I can do that without an unlock spell."

  "Would you go in if you were alone?"

  "Hell, yeah."

  "Then that'll be our criteria from now on. If you'd do it alone, we'll go for it, because with me out of commission, you are alone."

  "You're not--" He stopped himself. "All right. Park down the road and let's move."

  Not being a spellcaster, Alston was stuck using human security methods. Strategically placed floodlights and cameras, a gated drive, and a dog kennel beside the house suggested he took his privacy seriously. Like door locks, though, they worked best to deter a casual thief, who'd take one look and choose the place next door instead. For someone determined to get in, they posed only inconvenient obstacles.

  We breached the gate by sneaking into his less security-conscious neighbor's yard and scaling the fence. That took care of the floodlights and cameras, too--those concentrated on the front, and left gaps elsewhere.

  There was no sign of the dog--either the kennel was for show or the pooch was more of a pet, taken inside for the night.

  I wished I had my sensing spell, though. Kept wishing it until I tripped over a stone and started wishing instead that I had my light ball. A flashlight--like the one in Adam's hand--would work, too.

  We reached one of the side windows. Adam pulled an alarm sensor from his kit.

  "It's armed," he said. "You want to handle this?"

  "Go ahead."

  He glanced over his shoulder at me. "You don't need spells to disarm it."

  "I'm good."

  His lips compressed and he slapped his tool kit into my hand.

  "Disarm the damned window, Savannah."

  "Hey!"

  "Don't hey me," he said, his whisper harsh. "Remember when you broke your foot riding? Laid on the couch for a week, sulking and making everyone run around for you?"

  "Don't talk to me like I'm fifteen, Adam."

  "I'm not. When you were fifteen, I let you lie on the couch until you got bored. But you're not fifteen anymore, and you're no more disabled now than you were then."

  I scowled.

  "Don't scowl at me either," he said. "You've had your sulking time. Either you get back on the damned horse or I take you someplace safe and chase down leads on my own, because if you're not helping, you're dead weight."

  I wanted to smack him with an energy bolt. Or at least scream and stamp my feet. Yes, I wasn't feeling very mature right now. Wasn't acting very mature either.

  So I disarmed the window. Then I cut out the pane of glass and checked inside for a motion detector. Nothing. I crawled through. Adam followed.

  We crouched on the floor, looking and listening. When all stayed quiet, Adam whispered, "Head upstairs. You lead. I'll cover."

  In the entry hall, I noticed a glimmer of silver. A dog's leash hung by the front door. I pointed it out to Adam. He cocked his head, listening for a dog, but the house stayed still.

  That's when I noticed the deadbolt on the front door. Adam did, too, and let out a quiet curse.

  The bolt was unlocked. Beside the door, a security panel flashed. A row of red lights, and one green. Adam shone the flashlight on it.

  "Front door's disarmed," he whispered.

  Down the hall from us, a door was partly open. I could see papers scattered in the room beyond it.

  I started toward it, moving slowly along the hardwood floor, Adam at my back. As I neared the door, I tucked myself against the wall, then sidled along until I could peer through the doorway. Inside was an office. A man sat at a chair, his back to us as he gazed out the window.

  I motioned to Adam. He took over, creeping into the office, up behind the man, then--

  "Shit," he whispered.

  He grasped the man's shoulder, spinning the chair around, then falling back with a shocked grunt.

  The man was tied hand and foot to the chair. His legs were bent wrong, kneecaps bashed in. His eyes were
empty, bloody holes. Dried blood covered his hands and chin. His teeth and fingertips sat in a line on the edge of the desk. Adam looked at those and rubbed his mouth, gaze darting to the doorway, as if wondering where the bathroom was, should he need it. After a couple of deep breaths, he turned his back on the desk.

  He glanced at me. Had it been Paige or Lucas, I'd have feigned a look of horror. With Adam, that wasn't necessary. He just checked, making sure I was okay, but knowing I would be, and not thinking any less of me for it.

  What did I feel when I looked on this mutilated, tortured body? Disgust. Whoever did this had enjoyed inflicting pain way too much--if you didn't get what you wanted after half as much effort, then there was nothing to get.

  Why didn't I feel more? I can't say it was my upbringing. My mom certainly never let me see anything like this.

  I know that if this man had been a friend, I'd have seethed with grief and rage, and vowed to avenge him. As it was . . . well, I didn't know the guy, and though I was pretty sure he hadn't done anything to deserve such an awful death, it wasn't really my call.

  "Do you know if that's . . . ?" I began.

  "It's Walter Alston."

  I looked around the office. Papers littered the floor. Books had been yanked from shelves and tossed aside. Cables on the desk led to nothing.

  "Searched his files. Rifled his books. Stole his laptop. This was someone nasty. Which, given the guy's clientele, probably doesn't narrow it down."

  "It doesn't." Adam knelt beside a pile of papers and thumbed through them. "If he was as careful as Holly said, we aren't going to find clues about those two activists or what they wanted. And this"--he waved at Alston's corpse--"isn't our business. But now that we've been here, we can't just leave him sitting there."

  In other words, we had to dispose of the body. Since this was almost certainly a supernatural crime, as tempting as it was to walk away, we couldn't.

  "I'll check for a basement," I said. "If there is one, I'll see whether there's a place down there we can stash him long enough to decompose." Not an ideal solution, but a lot safer than smuggling him out of the house.

  Adam started to stand, as if ready to come with me. Then he hesitated and said, "You're good?"

  I picked up the flashlight he'd set down on the desk. "I'm good. I may need to consider investing in an actual weapon, though. And learning how to use it."

  "We'll get you a really big flashlight."

  "Thanks."

  I was almost into the kitchen, searching for a basement door, when a skritch-skritch sounded behind me. I stopped. A low growl reverberated through the hall.

  We'd forgotten about the damned dog.

  nine

  I turned slowly. A Rottweiler stood ten feet away, growling. Bloody froth dripped from its open mouth.

  Great. Confronted by a rabid dog the size of a lion, while I'm armed with . . . I looked down. A pocket light.

  "Um, Adam?" I called, as loud as I dared.

  He stepped from the office. "Shit."

  That about summed it up.

  "Hey, pooch," he called lifting his glowing fingers. "How about you come play with me instead?"

  The dog took two lurching steps my way. Adam started forward, then stopped.

  "If I come after it, it might charge you," he said.

  "Then don't come after it. Please."

  "Okay. Remember how Lucas taught you to handle dogs?"

  "With a knockback spell."

  "If you don't have a knockback spell?"

  When I didn't answer, Adam said, "Okay, rule one, and this is going to be really tough for you: Act submissive. Keep the dog in your line of vision, but don't make direct eye contact. Then put your hands in your pockets and in a firm voice, say no."

  "No?"

  "A little firmer."

  I glowered, then did as he said. The dog seemed satisfied . . . that I'd make an easy, nonthreatening target, and staggered toward me, bloody drool trailing behind. I realized then that this pooch wasn't rabid.

  "Um, Adam?"

  Creeping up behind the dog, he motioned me to silence. "Those survival tips. Do they work with zombie dogs, too?"

  "Zombie . . . Shit!"

  The dog spun. Or it tried to, scrabbling awkwardly as it turned around to face Adam. He lifted his glowing fingertips. The dog lunged at him. I dove at it. Adam stepped to the side. The dog kept going, stumbling past him into the office.

  We stood in the hall, listening to claws scraping the hardwood, then a thump. The office chair squeaked.

  "Think zombie pup's hungry?" I whispered, thinking of Alston's bloodied body.

  "I hadn't . . . until you mentioned it. Thanks."

  I slipped past him to peek into the office. I saw the dog, lying in a heap on the floor. Then Walter Alston lifted his head.

  "That's better," rumbled a voice. The corpse's head turned, eyeless sockets scanning the room. "Better being a relative term." It turned toward me. "I don't suppose you'd care to untie me?"

  "Walter Alston?" Adam said, striding past me.

  I followed. Even from ten feet away, we could feel heat radiating from the corpse.

  "Not Walter Alston," I said. "And we are so not untying you, demon."

  "A wise choice. I might crawl over and bite your ankles. In case you haven't noticed, child of Balaam, this body lacks working knees, which is why I inhabited the dog. If I wanted to hurt you, I could simply return to that form. Right now, I would prefer the power of speech."

  "You're a demon," I said. "You don't need working knees to move. And you don't need me to untie you."

  "Demi-demon," Adam whispered.

  Right. Possessing the living is beyond the powers of most demi-demons. Some can take over corpses, though.

  "I'll untie you if you give me your name and liege," Adam said.

  The demi-demon cocked his head, lips pursing. It wasn't as simple a request as it seemed. His name could be used to call him again. I was surprised that he seemed to be considering it. Even more surprised when he said, "Kimerion, under Andromaulius."

  Adam keyed the name into the database on his phone, then passed it over to me. When I read the entry, I was a lot less surprised.

  Andromaulius was a demon duke in the court of the lord demon Asmondai. Adam's father. Either this demon couldn't refuse Adam or he feared it might insult his liege's lord.

  Adam knelt beside Alston's corpse and untied his arms. The demi-demon lifted his bloodied hands and flexed them, then folded them into his lap.

  "If you're here to carry through on a bargain Alston brokered, you're going to have to go straight to the source," I said. "Unless it's your part that hasn't been completed, in which case you can probably use his death as an excuse for breaking the deal."

  Kimerion smiled, cracking the dried blood on Alston's cheeks. "You know all the loopholes, I see. Your mother taught you well. I'm not here to fulfill a bargain. I'm a confederate of Walter Alston. I helped him negotiate his deals in return for certain considerations. A very satisfactory partnership that has now, apparently, come to an end. He tried to summon me, without the proper ritual material, and I only heard him as his spirit was winging its way to the other side." His sightless eyes traveled across the room. "He did not go easily, it seems. Or painlessly."

  It was a reflection made without pity for his former partner. But no regret either, that he'd missed out on the chaos feast of the death. That was a big deal--demons feed on chaos, particularly the negative variety. So this was a respectful reflection, which was the best eulogy one could expect from a demi-demon.

  "You'll be investigating this, then? You and that . . ." He gave a dismissive wave. "Council."

  "Do you have any idea who killed him?" Adam asked.

  "Oh, I know exactly who killed him. I arrived as they were leaving. I found the dog's corpse--the beast had been poisoned--but by the time I possessed it, Walter's killers were gone."

  "Did you recognize them? Had they done business with him before?"


  "That was the problem--they didn't do business with him before. They'd asked him to summon a demon, to aid their cause, and he refused. They came back to see if he'd changed his mind."

  "So Alston gets a visit from this 'Free the Supernaturals' movement. He refuses to help them. Then the guys come back and do this--?" I waved at Alston's mutilated corpse.

  "Not guys. It was a guy and a girl, to use the vernacular. Or, more precisely, a man and a woman, both being past the age of adulthood."

  "Bullshit."

  "No, I'm certain they were adults. Not much older than you, but adults nonetheless."

  "I mean the part about his killers being activists. People like that don't do things like this."

  The possessed Alston pursed his lips. "You have a point. Those who argue for their version of a better world never do anything violent. Animal rights activists never bomb buildings. Antiabortionists never murder doctors . . ."

  "Check it out. He's not just a demon. He's a keen observer of the human condition. So fine, it's possible these activists would torture and kill Walter Alston. That could be in their nature. But I know what's in your nature. A serious hard-on for chaos. What better way to stir things up than to set the council on these guys."

  I glanced at Adam for support.

  Adam hesitated, then said, "True, but if chaos is his goal, there's more to be gained from letting their campaign continue. And even more if it succeeds." He looked at Kimerion. "Why, then, put us on their trail? You might want Walter Alston's killers caught, but that chaos snack isn't worth sacrificing the upcoming buffet."

  Kimerion smiled. "You've inherited Asmondai's head for politics. He must be pleased. Yes, the exposure of supernaturals would cause trouble. But there's trouble, and then there's trouble. If all demons would love to see it happen, it would have happened already."

  "So you're voting nay?" I said.

  "Asmondai is."

  "And you don't disagree enough to vote against your party platform."

  "It's not so much a matter of party politics as personal politics," Adam interceded. "You have more to gain personally by helping me stop a campaign that Asmondai would like to see stopped. Which brings us right back to Savannah's original point. You have something to gain by setting us on the trail of these people. So why should we believe you?"