Shadow Demon

by Judith Post

  They stopped walking. Hecate tilted her head and pointed. “A branch is calling to me from that direction. Andre, come with me to search for it.” She and her Were disappeared into the shadows.

  Luna frowned, putting up a hand and turning in a slow circle. “Mine’s over there. I feel it.”

  “Mine too,” Aidann said. “I’ll go with you.”

  They set off in the direction of Wedge’s camp, and Reece knew they meant to find Banafrit, as well as their staffs.

  Damian stood silently, watching Reece. She closed her eyes and waited. Finally, she said, “Mine’s a good walk from here, but it’s calling to me.” He took his place at her side and they set off.

  They only went a short distance before Reece stopped and called back, “What about you, Sylwan? Can you find yours?”

  “It’s back by the stream. I think I might be a river witch.”

  “A river witch?” Reece thought witches controlled all parts of nature—fire, water, air, and earth.

  Sylwan tried to explain. “We each have our specialties. We can control all of the elements, but we’re better at some than others. Mine must be water.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a staff.” Sylwan turned to walk back to the meandering stream.

  “I’ll help you.” Whitey fell into step beside her to retrace their path.

  “You should have a staff, too,” Reece called to him. “You could easily be caught in our battle.”

  When Whitey just gaped, Sylwan put a hand on his arm. “I’ll see to it. Don’t worry.”

  Reece started in the direction of her branch, and Damian joined her. “What’s your specialty?” he asked.

  “I didn’t know I had one.” Reece pursed her lips, considering. “Maybe the earth?”

  “You’re awfully good with air. You can call up breezes and chase clouds away.”

  “I haven’t tried fire.”

  Damian glanced at her, alarmed. “That might be a good thing.”

  “Do you think a witch needs her staff to know what her talent is?”

  “Maybe. Or maybe you got lucky and have two or three instead of just one.”

  “Can a witch do that?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Now, she was excited about finding the branch that called to her. She walked faster, anxious to feel it in her hands—its weight and energy. The closer she got, the stronger its pull, until finally, she stopped abruptly in front of a tree with a narrow trunk, its succulent, green boughs wide at the bottom, narrow at the top, in a tear drop shape. A branch lay on the ground beneath it and she grabbed for it.

  “Wait!”

  Damian’s warning came too late. She yanked her hand away. “Ouch!”

  Damian shook his head. “Holly leaves have spines at the points—prickly like you.”

  "Is that so?" She glared at him, then the branch. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

  “Pick it up—carefully.”

  He wasn’t talking to a first grader. She could have figured that out for herself. She reached between slender twigs. When she lifted the branch, heat rushed up and down its length. The leaves glowed and fell to the ground. As each touched the earth, a new sprig sprang up.

  Reece bit her bottom lip. The wood pulsed in her hand. The bark peeled from it, revealing dense, whitish flesh. She ran her hands over it, and the pendant on her ankle bracelet glowed. Her moonstone throbbed. Energy flowed from her heels through her hands and out the staff. A blast of white, hot heat shot skyward. She loosened her grip.

  Damian stepped slightly behind her, out of the way. “I’d say you found the right branch.”

  “It was just showing off,” Reece told him. “It wanted to let me know it was mine.”

  “And it’s happy now? If I walk beside you, I won’t get zapped?”

  Reece felt the warm glow of the wood and smiled. “It’s mine now. We’re one.”

  He still didn’t sound assured. “You can control yourself and the wood, right?”

  “Unless you keep asking annoying questions!”

  He grinned.

  “You need a staff, too. We have to find your tree.”

  Damian looked surprised. “I’m not a witch.”

  “But you have magic of your own, and you’re working with us. There’s a wood out there that’s meant for you. Can you feel it?”

  He tilted his head to the side, closed his eyes, and raised his face to the heavens. Merciful heavens! What a profile. Reece swallowed hard, forcing herself to wait. He opened his eyes and looked at her. “No.”

  "No pull?"

  "Nothing."

  Reece frowned. How did a gargoyle find his staff if the wood didn't call to him? Then she beamed. “Hold my staff. It'll tell you.”

  Damian eyed it skeptically. “What if it doesn’t like me?”

  “I like you, so it will.”

  “That’s what some owners say about their dogs…right before they bite you.”

  Reece pushed the staff toward him. “Just take it!”

  Damian reached for it gingerly. Energy shot up his arm, and he dropped it. “Is that what your magic feels like?”

  “Like lightning shooting through your veins?”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “Did it show you where your branch is?”

  He sighed. “Gargoyles don’t need staffs.”

  “It showed you, didn’t it?”

  He made no effort to move. “Will my staff throb like that?”

  “We’re finding yours. You’ll thank me someday. Where is it?”

  He sighed again—the sound of a put-upon gargoyle, then tromped off toward a small rise in the land. A tree with multiple trunks grew there. He picked up a branch that had fallen to the ground and jerked with surprise. “It’s humming.” He pushed it toward Reece.

  She touched it. “Nothing.”

  “I tell you it tingles to the touch.”

  “To your touch. It called you, not me.” She pushed it back to him.

  He kept it reluctantly, held it a minute, then relaxed. “No sparks.”

  Reece stilled and listened to it. “It will focus your energy and inspire you.”

  “Inspire me?” The bark had peeled off, as hers had, and he looked at the bare wood with suspicion.

  “It’s a hazel, sacred to Mercury and Thor.”

  “I know. I’ve studied myths. I wouldn’t guess you’d be interested in them.”

  She snorted. “I’m not. But it told me. The Celtics consider it their tree of knowledge.”

  “I know.” He raised an eyebrow. “Why give me a hazel? Doesn’t your magic think I’m smart enough? It thinks I need help?”

  She smiled. She enjoyed seeing him tiffed. It rarely happened. “You’ve heard of nuts of wisdom? That’s the hazel nut. It’s the symbol of your strength, not what you lack.”

  “If you say so.” But now he looked fairly pleased with the branch. He tucked it under his arm and reached for her hand. “Let’s go see how the others are doing.”

  When they returned, Sylwan and Whitey were waiting for them.

  “Well?” Sylwan asked.

  Reece held up her dense, slender walking stick. “When I touched it, its leaves and bark fell off. The longer I hold it, the more symbols etch themselves into it.”

  “The magic you’ve already claimed,” Sylwan said.

  “What type of wood is it?” Luna called. She and Aidann led Banafrit to them.

  “It’s from a holly tree.”

  Aidann came to stand directly in front of her. He pointed at the top of the staff. “Those symbols are the unicorn and the flaming spear.”

  “Is that good?” Reece hadn’t really studied them yet.

  “Ruled by Gaia, Ceres, and Persephone,” Luna said.

  “And Danu,” Aidann added, “the old religions—goddesses of the Earth.”

  So she was an earth witch, as she’d suspected. Reece looked at the branches her friends held.
“What about your staffs? What are they made of?”

  Sylwan raised hers. “Mine’s ash, ruled by the planet Neptune and Poseidon.”

  Luna gave a slow smile. “That suits you—a water sign. For the Celts, ash symbolized a dual aspect—both vulnerable and pragmatic.”

  Andre looked at Hecate. “What about you? Does your wood suit you?”

  “She’s oak,” Luna said. “For vision and truth.”

  Andre gave a quick nod. “And you?” he asked Luna.

  “The alder tree, like Aidann.”

  “Both of you?” Sylwan gaped. “Alders are powerful and like to do things their own way.”

  Luna grinned. “Probably why the only thing we can agree on is how to fight, but we make great allies.”

  Sylwan turned to Banafrit. “And you?”

  “The willow tree.” Banafrit didn’t sound impressed. “That’s why I never replaced my staff. Willows are known for passive tenacity and shrewdness. Sort of lame, don’t you think?”

  Aidann answered. “Tenacity is never lame, whatever it’s form.”

  “Did you find a branch, Andre?” Reece's fellow witches knew more about the old ways than she did. Someday, she’d ask them about it, but this wasn’t the time.

  “I have one,” the Were admitted. “From a hawthorn tree, and if that’s bad, I’m throwing it away.”

  Luna laughed. “Dear Were, it symbolizes people who are multi-talented and who adapt easily to change.”

  Reece blinked in surprise. Each wood was a perfect fit for the person it chose.

  That made her wonder. “Does Nen have a staff?”

  “Oh, yes, he wields it like a thunderbolt,” Banafrit said.

  “What’s his tree?” Reece braced herself for something powerful. Maybe a sequoia? A redwood? Something with huge thorns?

  “The reed.”

  Reece stared. "A plant? Like grass?"

  Luna shook her head. “That’s Pluto’s sign with the symbols of the white dog or the stone.”

  Sylwan's voice hushed. “A stone means power."

  “And the right for a king to rule his people." Banafrit ran her hand over her staff and more etchings appeared. "My son loves power. He believes he should rule over everyone.”

  “And reeds grow in water.” Reece followed Banafrit’s example and rubbed her staff. Soon, etchings interlaced with each other, some deep grooves and others more shallow.

  “Arthur's sign," Hecate said. "He has to descend into the watery abyss to rescue mortals trapped there.”

  Reece stared. What was Hecate talking about? “King Arthur? From Camelot?”

  “He symbolized a lot more than Camelot to Celts,” Aidann told her. “Originally, he was an ancient solar deity.”

  Reece meant to ask why a solar deity would dive into deep water, but Banafrit cut her off. Her voice brittle, she said, “Every sign has its light and dark side. People can use or abuse power. My son’s chosen every dark aspect he can.”

  They all grew quiet, thinking of Nen’s strengths, what they were up against.

  Finally, Aidann cleared his throat. He glanced at the sky. The moon had traveled to the far side of the meadow. “We’ve done everything we came to do,” he told the others, stressing the word everything. Reece assumed that meant that Banafrit, Luna, and he had put an obscuring spell on Wedge’s campsite. “Let’s call it quits and go back to the lodge.”

  Sylwan covered her mouth as she yawned. “It’s been a big day. I’m tired.”

  “Me, too.” Reece reached for Damian’s hand. “I’m ready for sleep.”

  They turned as one and followed Whitey and Sylwan along the side of the stream. When Reece’s steps slowed, Damian placed an arm around her waist to steady her. “When we get back, it’s straight to bed for you,” he said. She grinned, but he shook his head. “And sleep.”

  She didn’t argue. Tomorrow was going to be here sooner than she wanted, and who knew what that would bring? Her head was filled with visions of unicorns, white dogs, and sea horses, all swirling in confusion. She’d never thought of Celtic trees and symbols before, but her moonstone knew them. Her dreams might be strange tonight. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was a soft bed, a pillow, and sleep.

  Chapter 28

  Reece woke late the next morning. Damian was already up. Her gargoyle didn’t need sleep and could only lie beside her a few hours before he grew restless. She pushed out of bed and was pulling on jeans and a T-shirt when her necklace and ankle bracelet began to glow. Quickly, she yanked her hair into its usual ponytail, shoved her feet into her moccasins, and raced down the stairs.

  Hecate, Luna, and Aidann paced restlessly. Andre went to an open window and sniffed the air.

  His fingernails grew and curled. “Witches are coming. They’ll be here soon.”

  Sylwan stumbled out of the den, blinking to wake herself. Her honey-blond hair was mussed, and she tugged at the waist of her long, flowing skirt to straighten it. “What is it?”

  Damian plummeted from the sky onto the back patio, folding his wings to enter the lodge. “A coven’s on its way here—six warlocks and seven witches.”

  “Six warlocks?” Luna gaped.

  Sylwan’s fair skin turned deathly pale. “Was their leader a tall man with dark-auburn hair?”

  Damian nodded.

  “Brennus. My old coven.” Sylwan reached for her staff to steady herself.

  “They turned to the dark arts.” Aidann gripped his staff, too. “Nen knew who to call.”

  “They know me, my strengths and weaknesses.”

  “You’re not the young witch you used to be.” Luna turned to lock eyes with Sylwan. “You’re smarter, stronger. They have no hold on you.”

  Sylwan gave a nervous nod. She took a deep breath. “What do we do?”

  “We move. Now. How much time do we have, Damian?”

  “Enough. They’re following the stream.”

  Hecate grabbed her staff and ran out the French doors. “We’ll try to surprise them. Thank goddess, there’s a breeze. We’ll stay downwind.”

  Andre shifted as he hurried after her—bigger than any wolf, deadlier than any natural predator. The rest followed. They made it to the tree line and ducked behind thick trunks, obscuring themselves against the bark. Then they waited. It took a while, but Reece heard a branch crack nearby, snapping under someone’s foot. No one moved, and soon, the coven passed so close to them, Reece could see the pock marks on Brennus’s cheeks. She saw the freckles sprinkled across the nose of one of the witches.

  When all thirteen witches passed by them, Hecate stepped out from behind her tree, leveled her staff, and shot energy at the warlock closest to her. The white ball of heat hit him squarely in the middle of the back. He screamed, arched in a strange angle, and fell. When he tried to rise, she shot him in the center of his forehead.

  The other twelve witches turned on their heels, arms raised for battle. Andre sprang from behind a tree and ripped out the throat of the witch with freckles. Bolts of magic shot toward Andre, but he was already gone—swift with the speed of a Were. Reece chose a tall, fierce-looking warlock to aim at. His energy shot forward at the same time hers did, and they met in the middle. He was older than Reece, and his energy stank of blood and pain. He gave her a cold smile and raised his eyebrows. He licked his lips. Disgusting.

  She stomped the ground, and the earth heaved beneath his feet. When he stumbled, Reece skewered his throat with a crisp line of power. It shot through his skin and out the back of his neck. But he was still alive. She moved her staff sideways. His head fell to the ground, his body following it.

  Brennus immediately looked for Sylwan. He locked power with hers. “We’ve missed you, my pretty one!” he called. “So has Nen.”

  Brennus had no staff, but a black aura danced around his body, evil and threatening. Sylwan’s staff helped her focus her magic, but she was losing ground. Reece raised her staff to fight Brennus, too, when two bolts of energy flew at her from different directions,
two witches working together.

  Reece raised her hands and easily reflected the white, hot balls. Too easily. The witches weren’t nearly as strong as the warlocks, but they'd practiced just as long. Then she understood. The men must siphon most of the coven's power, keeping it for themselves. That worked in Reece’s favor.

  She whispered a chant for wind. It picked up the witch on her left and slammed her against a tree. It was so easy to defeat her, Reece suspected the warlocks even usurped some of the witches’ personal powers. How greedy were the warlocks?

  The second witch straightened her shoulders and fought harder. A streak of magic grazed Reece’s cheek. The wound itched and burned. What a nuisance! Reece placed both hands on her staff to use it as a cannon. A giant ball of white heat blasted from its tip. It engulfed her opponent. The witch’s skin blistered, her hair caught on fire, and flames consumed her until she fell to the ground as ashes.

  Reece blinked. How had she done that? But her necklace was so hot, it was uncomfortable to wear. So was her ankle bracelet. Scorch lines marked her flesh. Sylwan gave a small yelp, and Reece jerked to help her. No need. Whitey sprang from behind a tree and mutilated the arm Brennus held forward. Brennus blasted a ball of magic with his other hand, hitting Whitey in the shoulder. The force of the blow knocked Whitey several feet away. Brennus aimed again, but Andre ran from his other side and sank his teeth into his wrist. When Brennus whirled on him, Sylwan aimed her staff at the warlock.

  Brennus laughed. “Do you really have the balls to kill me, white witch?”

  “I hate your filthy kind!” A flash shot from Sylwan’s staff, blasting a hole through Brennus’s body. His eyes opened wide in surprise for one second before he sagged to the ground. Sylwan ran to Whitey and knelt beside him. The Were couldn’t prop himself onto his elbows, so Sylwan slammed her palms against his chest and pumped healing energy into him. Reece sighed with relief. Whitey would be okay.

  A crack made Reece whirl. Bark flew off a nearby tree. The last three warlocks and two remaining witches faced Luna and Aidann. The stench of the three warlocks almost gagged Reece. Even the energy they shot was tinged with black. Damian dipped out of the sky, grabbed one of them from behind, and lifted him into the air. Then he dropped him. The warlock called for a wind to stop his fall, but Wedge was waiting below him. Before his feet touched the earth, Wedge slashed sharp fangs across his throat and stabbed razor claws through his chest.