Touched by Fire: Magic Wars (Demons of New Chicago Book 1)

by Kel Carpenter

  “I stand by what I said before. I’m a dead woman by myself. I could help you, though.”

  Her face was an open book. Easy to read. It was an odd thing for a witch. They were almost as cold as the fae.

  “I don’t like witches,” I told her.

  “Neither do I,” she responded immediately.

  “I don’t like magic. I don’t like supernaturals. I’m used to working alone because I don’t play nice with others. I’m an asshole—and I’m telling you all this because if you give me any reason at all to think you betrayed me—putting a bullet in you will be the least that I will do.”

  “What made you change your mind?” she asked, instead of answering.

  “I have three days. I’m good. Really good. But I can’t find and kill the remaining members of the Antares Coven in three days on my own. Let alone a demon.”

  I let the words sink in. She lifted both eyebrows and let out a slow exhale.

  “They expect you to kill the demon?”

  I nodded. “Does that scare you?”

  “Yes,” she answered instantly. “But it doesn’t change my answer. I’ve been a Le Fay for twenty-two years. I’ve seen a lot in that time. Not once have I seen someone take on a full coven like you did. Killing a demon might be impossible, but I’m willing to gamble my life on it if you’re who I’m working with.”

  I strode around the chair and came up behind her. Pulling the knife from the table beside me. I moved slowly, letting her see and contemplate her response.

  When I pressed the blade to her neck, she swallowed hard, but she didn’t try to curse me.

  I dropped the blade to her wrists and cut the bindings restraining her.

  Air hissed between her teeth as she slowly moved her hands around in front of her and began rubbing at them.

  “One chance. That’s all you get with me.” I stepped around to the front of her chair and knelt down, cutting the rope holding each of her legs to the wooden pegs.

  “I won’t waste it,” she vowed. Raising her bloodshot eyes to meet my own.

  “We’ll see.” I shrugged, stepping back.

  Whoever this witch was, her life meant little to me. It was only because of my own shit situation and her intriguing honesty that I was even entertaining this.

  “What happens at the end of the three days if we fail?” she asked.

  My expression didn’t change as I said, “Every bounty hunter in the city will be after me, and if you’ve lived that long—you too.”

  She swallowed hard and nodded. “I guess we should get to work, then.”

  A smile threatened to break through because part of me was starting to like her. Despite her heritage. Despite our differences. If we were both human, we would have made good friends.

  But neither of us were.

  “There are towels in the bathroom. Get yourself cleaned up. I’ll find you clean clothes and medicine.”

  I was already moving toward my bedroom once more when the witch said, “I’m Nathalie, but my friends call me Nat. What’s your name?”

  I didn’t pause in my stride. My hand reached for the bedroom doorknob and twisted it open. “Piper,” I said. “Piper Fallon.”

  9

  Twenty minutes later, she stood in my living room, dripping water from her shoulder-length brown hair. A ratty yellow towel was tucked under both her arms, and while her eyes looked clearer, her nose was still red.

  I held out a stack of clothes. “You’re shorter than me, but these should be a close fit.”

  She took them, muttering her thanks, and returned to the bathroom. What I didn’t tell her was that the clothes weren’t mine. I’d gone into the second bedroom of my apartment while she was showering and rummaged through the drawers until I’d found something that looked both warm enough and the right size.

  Several minutes later she stepped back out. A long olive-green shirt hugged tightly to the curve of her breasts but fit loose in the waist. The dark skinny jeans from an era long gone were snug, but not enough to make me go look for a different pair. Underneath the sickness, she was a pretty girl, not that she seemed to notice. I didn’t comment as I stepped around the counter that separated the living room from the kitchen. I gathered all the fruit on the counter and pulled out a cutting board. Nowadays, anything fresh was hard to come by. When I did get it, it was so expensive I could only afford it after it was past its prime, and the rich people no longer wanted it.

  “What type of magic do you have?” I asked, cutting the inedible pieces away from the fruit. Nathalie came around the edge of the counter and crossed her arms over her chest, then leaned her hip against it.

  There were three types of magic that witches and warlocks possessed.

  White. Black. Gray.

  None of them were better or worse than others, contrary to what some white magic users may have claimed. They didn’t decide your power level, it merely guided in the realm of what you were good at.

  White magic excelled in healing, potions, and most nature magic. In short, they specialized at harmony. Their magic naturally gravitated toward it. They worked well with others. Their magic played ‘nice’.

  Black did not. It was explosive. Aggressive. True black magic witches were rarer than white. They were inclined to attempt summonings and necromancy because their magic was more of a parasite than anything. It sought control.

  Gray was somewhere in the middle.

  In truth, it didn’t matter what she was, but if I was going to be working with her, I needed to have some concept of what she was capable of, beyond the information she could provide about the Antares Coven.

  “Gray,” she answered. “But it’s weak.”

  “Define weak.” I tossed the fruit in a blender and added a splash of water. The grinding took all of thirty seconds. She waited patiently, only speaking once I turned it off.

  “Le Fay is largely a black magic line. One of the few still around. Because I’m gray, that was viewed as flexible. My family thought I had the potential to be good at both, if not great—and that was acceptable.” As she spoke, I pulled two plastic cups out and topped them both with the fruit smoothie. I slid one across the counter and took a rather large gulp of the other. “At least until I proved abysmal at all of it. I can’t draw on nature. I’m a terrible healer. When I partook in a summoning to raise an aunt that died in the Magic Wars, I managed to raise her body and banish her spirit . . .” She shook her head at the memory. “My magic doesn’t play nicely with others, but spells still go awry when I work alone.”

  I took another long swallow from my smoothie and then lifted my eyes to her.

  “You managed to bind me in the alley,” I pointed out.

  She sniffed. “That was mostly Nathan, he was my mentor in the Antares Coven. My parents had me paired with him because he was good with fighting incantations, and they hoped he’d grow to like me.”

  “Hoping to pawn you off for marriage?”

  “Yup.”

  “He’s probably dead, you know,” I said, then took another long drink of liquid fruit. “And if he’s not, I have to hunt him down. You can’t stop me.”

  “I won’t,” she said solemnly. “I know you might find this hard to believe, but I don’t care if they die. Maybe that makes me a traitor. Maybe I deserve to be excommunicated over it . . .” She ran her long nails over the plastic countertop. “But it’s a dog-eat-dog world, you know? Everyone for themselves. As long as you have my back, I don’t really give a damn what happens to the rest of Antares. The world’s probably better off without them, anyway.”

  I dipped my head in acknowledgement.

  “So, if you suck at all magic, what are you good at?”

  “Remembering things. I have an eidetic memory, and thanks to my family’s interesting version of an education, I do know most spells, curses, hexes, potions—you name it.”

  “So, knowledge, in essence?” I asked. No judgement in my voice, though she clearly expected it.

  “Yes . . .�
� Her voice trailed. “I know it’s probably not what you were hoping for.”

  “Yes and no,” I replied, turning away to rummage through my cabinets for food. “You having some sort of magic could be useful. More than dead weight. That said, I don’t trust magic, or magic users. You start flinging around curses like a dick in a locker room and I’m bound to get a little twitchy.”

  “I may not be kickass in a fight, but I am crafty. I know how to hold my own around witches and warlocks,” she said, slightly defensive.

  “That’s good, because if you expect me to save you from everything, you won’t last long.” When all I could find was stale crackers and moldy bread, I let out a sigh. Giving up on my search for food, I pulled one of my kitchen drawers open and rummaged through it.

  I popped two pills from a plastic package and held my hand out.

  To her credit, she didn’t question me after her show of trust. She simply took the two pills and swallowed them down, along with the rest of her smoothie.

  “Got any food?” she asked, her stomach letting out a loud gurgle in protest.

  “Unfortunately, no. We’re going to need to go out for that. The medicine should help dry you up, though,” I said as she sniffled.

  “Thank you for that.”

  My only response was to retreat into my bedroom and close the door behind me. I strapped on several more weapons and donned a baggy windbreaker to deal with the wind and rain. Stuffing my feet in my now dry boots and grabbing an extra jacket, I stepped back into the living room.

  Nathalie was wearing her own pair of leather boots. At the sight of the jacket in my hand, her face brightened.

  I handed it over to her silently and then motioned for her to walk ahead of me.

  She went for the door and paused, looking at me for approval.

  I cursed under my breath. “This isn’t going to work if you have to ask me permission for every fucking thing you do.”

  Her mouth opened, then closed, as she grasped the handle and stepped into the hall.

  Her eyes automatically went to the pool of blood Anders had left on my doorstep.

  “Is that—”

  “Yes,” I replied, closing the door behind me. I heard the audible whir as the latch clicked and the locking mechanism on my door activated once more.

  “Should we clean it up—”

  “Leave it,” I said, putting a hand on her shoulder and pushing toward the stairs. “It reminds my neighbors to mind their own damn business in case any of them ever thinks about getting nosy.”

  She seemed to consider that as we started down the stairs. Our steps echoed all the way to the ground floor.

  “You’re a strange woman, Piper.”

  One corner of my mouth curled up in a cold grin as we stepped out into the alleyway.

  “You don’t even know the half of it.”

  The diner smelled like a heart attack and bad life choices. I sat across from Nathalie in the dingy booth. Grime lined the edge of the table from where they’d been too lazy to use a little elbow grease over the years. The floor was checkered, and the barstools were rusted.

  Our waitress walked up and dropped our food off without two words. Her too tight shirt tugging at the second button where her breasts pulled at it. She wore leggings and an apron that served little more than to further cinch her waist. Judging by the other clientele loitering about, her tips were better for it. I couldn’t fault a woman for doing what she had to do to make ends meet.

  I took a swig of my water and then started in on my food.

  “So,” Nathalie drawled, picking at her own dish. “Do I get to ask what Kenneth did for you to be after him all these years?”

  “Not a chance in Hell.” I mashed my over easy eggs up with the cheesy hash browns. Nathalie didn’t say anything, but the twitch of her lip told me she didn’t think it looked very appetizing.

  “Thought so,” she muttered, taking a bite of her pancakes. I could tell the food wasn’t to her liking, but she didn’t complain. Being a Le Fay, she probably grew up with a silver spoon in her mouth. Families like hers could afford real food that was actually good for a person. The rest of us normals had to make do with what was left, though, and while the diner atmosphere was shit, the eggs and hash browns were real. I wished I could say the same about the cheese. The slight powdery texture always gave it away.

  “Do you know where to find the rest of your coven?”

  “Most of them. We’ll want to go after Greta McArthur first. She’s got the best chance of being in contact with Kenneth, and as soon as he knows you made it out alive, he’ll go underground.”

  I nodded. “Capturing him is priority number one. Taking out the rest of your coven is number two.”

  “And the demon?” she asked softly, lowering her voice.

  “I’ve yet to decide what’s worse. Going after him, or dealing with my boss.”

  I ate every morsel of food on my plate within three minutes. I wasn’t trying to be fast. I was just efficient at not wasting time. Nathalie was halfway through her pancakes when I pushed my plate away and got to my feet.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To get the check,” I replied. Several eyes turned my way as I started for the cashier at the end of the diner. Some of their eyes were trained on my face, others were scanning my body. Not much of my form was on display, but several of my weapons were.

  I didn’t come here often, but it was often enough that most of the regulars recognized me. They weren’t the ones to worry about. It was the stragglers I’d never seen before who could prove to be problematic.

  I got to the end of the counter and held up my wallet.

  “Thirty-seven dollars and sixteen cents,” my waitress said without lifting her eyes.

  “Add a seven-dollar tip,” I said, already typing the new number into my wallet. I held it out, pressing my thumb to the scanner. She lifted the one connected to the cashier stand and did the same. The tips flashed from red to green, signaling the transfer went through.

  “Pleasure, sweetness,” she said, adding a little zing now that she knew I wasn’t a complete asswipe.

  “No need to lay it on for me. Save the sweetness for your clients that like it.” I approached the table once more and was pleased to find her pancakes were nearly gone. “Ready?”

  Nathalie took a long swig of her coffee, emptying the mug. It clapped down on the plastic table, and she moved to stand.

  The door jingled as another party stepped in.

  I lifted my head and one look told me there was going to be trouble. Thinking quick, I spun around. My hand locked on Nathalie’s forearm as I debated going out the back.

  Apparently, luck was not in my cards this evening.

  “Piper? That you?” a southern drawl called out. I froze, cursing under my breath.

  “Flint.” My tone said it all. Unlike his that implied familiarity, mine was cold. Closed off. In other words, professional.

  “I haven’t seen you around, darlin’.” His eyes roamed my form, and if he was disappointed, he didn’t look it. “Where’ve you been?”

  “Oh, you know. Here and there,” I muttered, running my nails alongside the shitty table surface.

  The sound of his boots as he came toward me made the rest of the diner fade. I needed to get out of here. Now wasn’t the time for a trip down memory lane.

  “You always did love the chase,” Flint said, coming to stand before me. His pale blue eyes and light blonde hair were too clean, too polished for the diner.

  I scoffed under my breath. “I’ve been busy. You know how it is.”

  Cold fingers touched my cheek, skimming down to my chin. I slapped his hand away, and my heart rate started to pick up.

  Fuck no. This was not happening here.

  A chuckle slid from his lips. “I’ve missed you, Pip.”

  I nudged Nathalie, telling her to start walking. “Afraid I can’t say the same, Flint.”

  I moved to step around him and those cold
fingers wrapped around my shoulder. “I heard there was an incident the other night. Your boss ain’t so happy.”

  “Fuck off, Flint. It’s none of your business.”

  The hand on my shoulder tightened. My heart rate picked up once more.

  There was a fine line where one went from adrenaline junky to what I was. The faster my heart beat, the closer it was to stopping, and that couldn’t happen.

  If not for the fact that I’d kept my secret for ten years, then because I couldn’t afford for that sort of incident in a diner full of supes and humans alike. While I had no problems with killing, mass murdering innocents wasn’t my style.

  “You’re in trouble, Pip. I can help.”

  Yeah right. More like he wanted a chance to fuck me again. Maybe more.

  “You can help by keeping your nose, and your department, out of it. I left human patrol years ago, and I have no intention of going back. Now remove your hand from my shoulder.”

  I stared straight in his eyes and let him see I wasn’t fucking around.

  The fingers clamped around my shoulder slid away.

  “I’m not giving up just yet,” he said softly.

  I didn’t dignify that with a response as I followed Nathalie out of the diner, moving past several men I’d once worked with without so much of a hello.

  We were a block away when Nathalie decided it was safe to pry.

  “So,” she drawled. “Who was that?”

  “Old friend.”

  “By your own admission, you don’t have friends.”

  I snorted. “Old fuck buddy,” I corrected.

  “He share that definition of you?” she replied.

  “Doesn’t matter. He’s not our problem.”

  “That was Flint Daniels. He’s head of human patrol. Been working there for a decade. He rose faster in the ranks than any other member has managed to.”

  I glanced at her out of the side of my eye. “You wanna tell me how you know that?”

  She tapped her head with her index finger. “I’m a witch with an eidetic memory. More often than not, human patrol traps supes because said supes don’t know who they’re dealing with. They get ambushed thinking they’re taking home some drunk human, and it turns out to be a hunter. Harder to be trapped by one if you know who they are.” She breathed a little harder as the wind blew, whipping the still damp strands of her hair around. “I suppose I should say rose faster than all with the exception of one.”