“I wondered how long it would be before you fell asleep,” a voice said behind me. It was shadows and night. Winter skies and mercury. The sting of a knife pressed intimately to skin.
“Why are you here?” I asked, without turning to face him. I didn’t want to look this time, cowardly as it may have been. Looking at him did things to me. It was painful and pleasurable, and I wanted no part.
“I told you last time,” he said. I sensed him walking around the edge of the circle. Drawing near. Was he in it? Or outside of it? I wasn’t sure.
“I didn’t ask how you were here,” I said, looking at the ceiling. “I asked why.” It wasn’t stained glass, but instead a painting. Or rather, many of them. Pictures of Christ and his angels. Of Mother Mary.
The world as we knew it didn’t believe in a singular religion. That changed the day the president was killed by a witch on live television. All the faith in the world couldn’t have saved him from it. The Secret Service was wiped out at the same time. One by one, supes became known, and before long, we learned that all these ancient deities were just supes that envisioned themselves as gods at some point in history.
Some still clung to faith, per se, but it had changed. They hoped if they worshipped these beings of magic, that perhaps they’d be spared from the cost.
Why did it always come down to the price?
“This was where you changed, was it not?” Ronan asked me, pulling me from my thoughts.
“That’s a mild way to describe the life-altering event that occurred beneath these lifeless eyes,” I said, both greedily and guiltily taking in every feature of the cathedral, including the portrait of Jesus I’d stared at when it happened. I had prayed then. Only a different god answered.
“How would you rather I say it?”
“I’d rather we didn’t speak of it at all,” I replied firmly.
He stepped into my periphery, still wearing a suit. His black hair had been pulled back into a low ponytail. Those swirling mists of chaos focused on me.
“Then why did you bring us here?” he asked softly.
“I didn’t bring us anywhere,” I replied, voice hard.
“On the contrary, this is your dream. When you sleep, the blood-exchange pulls me to you. I have no control over the location. So I ask you again, Atma, why did you bring us here if you’d rather we not speak of it?”
My mouth felt dry as I said, “Don’t call me that.”
“It’s what you are.”
He said it with conviction, as if he stated that the sky was blue and the mountains tall. If I were any less obstinate, I might have crumbled.
But I was Piper Fallon.
I did not crumble, buckle, or bend. Certainly not for a demon.
“Do you have to come to me when I sleep?” I asked him, changing directions. If he could tell I was deflecting, he didn’t say anything.
“No.”
“Then why do you?”
He moved directly in front of me, and I pointedly didn’t look him in the face, instead opting to stare at his chest. “You know why.”
I swallowed hard. “Enlighten me.”
He leaned forward, lips brushing the very edge of my ear ever so softly. “Because I want to.”
“But why?” I asked in a breath. “Why come to me at all if you can’t have me? Why chase? You believe me to be your atma, but I reject that. I reject you. So why do you continue?”
Two fingers curved under my chin and lifted my face to meet his. I didn’t want to look into his eyes. To stare at perfection so beautiful it hurt. The kind of beauty he had wasn’t soft or kind. It was brutal. Honest. Cutting.
“Do you know what an atma is?” he asked me.
“A soulmate.”
His full lips curved upward, and my heart stuttered. “Do you know what a soul is?”
“The concept that our true form is inside us somehow, but it isn’t a physical being,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him.
“Magic,” he said simply. “Demons are beings made of magic. Once we were angels, but over time all magic corrupts. It slowly drives us to insanity. To darkness. Unless we find and bond with our atma.” He brought his thumb down, sweeping it across my bottom lip. His pupils dilated at the movement, and a shudder ran through me. “I have waited thousands of years for you. I don’t plan to wait another second. So if the only way I can see you right now is in your sleep, then I will. I’ll take any time I can get, but one day you will be mine in every sense of the word.”
He was staring at my lips too much. The tension was too thick. My throat felt full, and I swallowed hard, then looked away.
Just like last time, he let me. But he didn’t move.
“That’s a beautiful story, really, so touching,” I said sarcastically. “There’s only one problem with it. I’m not a demon.”
“You weren’t born one. That doesn’t mean you aren’t one.” One of his hands wrapped around my forearm. The slight pressure of his fingers burned through me. My heart sped up.
“I stole the magic from one, that’s not the same—”
“Actually,” he said, “it is. The magic and the soul are the same. Your magic calls to me, just as mine calls to you. Doesn’t it, Atma?” His fingers on my arm loosened, sweeping up and over my shoulder, past my collarbone, to my neck.
“I told you not to call me that,” I snapped at him, trying to step away. His fingers dipped inside the turtleneck I wore, even though it was a dream.
“Why does it bother you?” he asked, tilting his head.
“Because it’s not my name.”
“Liar,” Ronan said. “You’ve never cared what people called you. Kenneth du Lac used the wrong name for two months before the summoning. You never corrected him once.”
“Maybe I was scared.”
“You? Scared?” He chuckled and leaned forward. “You were never scared. There’s a reason the demon you called forth from the nether was one of rage. You called one that was well-met. She would have sensed your likeness and come to you willingly, except instead of crossing into the plane, you both collided. Aeshma was thousands of years old. One of the oldest, and she met her match in a sixteen-year-old child. Yet you want me to believe you were scared?” He laughed, but it wasn’t kind or joyful. “You don’t get scared. You get angry.”
“Maybe it makes me angry, then,” I said, heart beating faster. He was goading me, and I knew it, but didn’t know how to stop.
“Why?” he said, taking another step forward. I mirrored him and took one back. His hand tightened around my throat, but not to crush it. The hold was possessive. Feral. “Is it because of your own prejudice?”
“Yes,” I hissed.
He stared at me with black fire in his eyes. I wondered if my own did the same.
“No,” he said. “You’re still lying.” Ronan leaned forward, and my breath slowed as my heart continued to speed up. I wondered if it would happen here. In my dreams. Would it bleed into the real world? Would I burn the cabin down?
“How would you know?”
“Because,” he breathed, our faces only inches apart. “I can feel it.”
His lips brushed against mine, and all rational thought came to a complete standstill.
It was soft, but not hesitant. The hold on my throat made me acutely aware of his every movement. Heat suffused me. Fire writhed. Conflicting emotions pulled taut within me, but there was one that won out above all.
Ronan pulled away, though it clearly took restraint for him to do so. He pressed his lips to the hollow of my ear and whispered. “Guilt. That’s why we’re here. That’s why you hate being called my atma. That’s why you’d see us both destroy each other.” I tore myself away, working hard to control my breathing. Ronan took a step back and gave me a knowing look. “You picked this place as a reminder to yourself,” he said, motioning to it. “And only you can tell yourself why.”
His gaze looked through me, past my turtleneck and tight jeans. Past skin and muscle and bone. That thing he spo
ke of? It was there, and he stared it right in the face with unmasked longing and desire.
Then he gave me a cruel smirk and disappeared.
The dream faded into nothingness right before my eyes popped open.
The first stray rays of dawn peeked through the drapes. Gray, muted light replaced the heaviness of the cathedral.
I sat up, letting the sheet pool at my waist, and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. The dream sat on my chest like a brick weighing me down.
Because he was right.
Ronan was right.
Some people were driven by power and some by ambition and some by glory.
I was driven by guilt. Unending, all-consuming guilt.
Acknowledging it didn’t change it. Talking about it didn’t change it.
I made choices, and now I had to live with them.
Even if it destroyed me.
17
“Wouldn’t it be more believable if I drove?” Nathalie mused from the passenger seat beside me. She had the window rolled down halfway, her long nails tapping on the roof softly.
“You’re what? Twenty-two? Do you even know how to drive?” I asked skeptically.
Nathalie shrugged. “Can’t be that hard. What’s that phrase you’re so fond of? I’ll just ‘figure it out’,” she said with air quotes.
I snorted once. “Even if you managed to ‘figure it out’ well enough that we didn’t crash—no one would buy that you apprehended me and then drove me to the casino. I’m human, not a dumbass. I’d just jump out.”
It was her turn to snort. “And if someone sees us with you driving me around? You think that’s more believable?”
“No one is going to be looking for me in a car. I think it’s safe to say you’re fine,” I said tepidly, as I turned onto a back road on the far side of town. It was still early morning, and few people were out on the streets. Mostly hookers and homeless. I really hoped my car wasn’t stolen or jacked. I was going to need it to get back to Bree when this was all over.
If I could end it . . . I pushed the thought aside. Doubts wouldn’t help me now.
We’d formulated a plan. All we had to do was play it out.
I pulled into a back lot that was deserted. Everything in it was broken down and trashed. The Honda with its cloaking device on would fit right in.
Quiet settled over us, followed by the screech of wind as I cut the engine.
“Are you sure you can do this?” I asked her quietly. “Because if you can’t—”
“Piper, you said it yourself, I know how to lie and manipulate. I don’t like doing it, but because of the family I grew up in, I learned from the best. I can get you in there. You’re the one that’s gotta hold on after that.” Her brown eyes were serious. I saw that glint of amber again. It was only a sparkle for a fraction of a second, then it disappeared. “What?” she asked when I didn’t respond.
“Nothing.” I shook my head and reached for the door. “Let’s do this.”
The wind caught the door part way and flung it open. Cold hit me in the face. Crisp and clarifying. I hated the cold. At least it wasn’t wet too.
With a dark look at the sky, as if tempting to open up and piss me off, I stepped out of the car and closed the door behind me. My windbreaker only helped so much as I walked around to the back and got slammed by gust after gust.
Windy City indeed, I thought, as I knelt down and felt under the grill for the device. My fingers skimmed the plastic edges, and I tapped the code, pressing each of them against it for just the right amount of time. The air rippled before the spell took effect. Spray paint appeared, and the paint began peeling. The tires deflated, and the glass shattered. The cushions ripped themselves on their own accord, and the steering wheel whined as the metal twisted and snapped.
I looked around, but no one was there to watch the transformation except me and Nathalie. My chest loosened a fraction as I got to my feet and held out a hand.
She blinked. “You just said driving you there wasn’t an option.”
“You’re not driving,” I replied. “You’re holding the keys. I highly doubt they won’t search me, and I don’t want anyone finding them. That car is the only way back to my sister. If this shitshow goes south . . .” I didn’t finish the sentence. Fear wouldn’t help me now. Neither would guilt.
Cold fingers brushed against mine as she took the keys. “It’s going to be fine,” she said so serenely I almost believed her . . . if I hadn’t known by her own admission that she was a capable liar. One half of her pink mouth curved up and twisted in a smirk. “And if it’s not, I trust your ability to figure it out.”
I groaned, the tension dissipating. “Are you ever going to let that go?”
“Hmm,” she said, touching the side of her mouth like she was thinking. “Probably not.” She shrugged, turning on her heel.
“It’s a viable plan.”
“In so much as you can call it a plan.”
I rolled my eyes, following after. I could disagree until I was blue in the face, but neither of us were yielding. Arguing wouldn’t change that. All it would do was draw unneeded attention to us.
I stepped up to her side, and we fell into an easy rhythm, taking the back alleys through the streets until we reached a more populated part of the city. While supernaturals were more often than not creatures of the night, humans still did most of their dealings during the day. It was safer, especially when there was no one to stop bad things from happening anymore. Not since the government collapsed, and with it, all support systems, including the police. Unless a human had to work with the supernatural directly, they were better off when most supes were sleeping and had strength in numbers. Or so the theory went. Realistically, numbers were a moot point when a werewolf or vampire could slaughter dozens in a minute flat. Human patrol existed to prevent that, or rather to deal with the aftermath when it did. Nothing brought those people back, though, and often the hunters working for patrol died at an early age. It wasn’t an easy job when the cards were stacked in favor of the supe every time. That was half the reason we were doing this in the morning. Less competent bounty hunters that might try to steal me off of Nathalie. With most of the supes asleep, I felt confident she could probably fend off any humans without much of an issue.
“You should make the catch here. It’s only twenty minutes from the casino.”
We looked down the empty street. There was an L station not far, probably only three or four minutes if I jogged. Around the corner, a little pizza place that survived the Magic Wars because the owner’s granddaughters were half-fae. A convenience store that wasn’t so lucky sat across from it. The windows were shattered, and the store emptied of anything remotely edible long ago. Balconies lined the buildings five or six stories tall, which meant this was largely a residential section where more fortunate humans lived. The not-lucky ones got the street or were sold into slavery.
“So how do you want to do this?” Nathalie asked. “Do you just start running and I chase you, or what—”
I slapped a pair of handcuffs in her loose fingers and then punched her in the gut. The air left her lungs as she hunched over. Her watery eyes went wide with shock, then narrowed. “Seriously?” she hissed.
“Now I run,” I said, then turned on my heel and took off down the street. The wind roared in my ears, and my heart rate picked up as I heard footsteps behind me. She was going to have a hard time catching me if I ran too far. I had a solid six inches more in height and twice as much muscle from doing this job for a decade.
I turned at the corner where the convenience store had been and jogged toward the park. A place filled with rusted and spray-painted assortments of playground equipment looked like the perfect place for this. Public enough, but not many people.
The footsteps behind me gained speed, and I slowed just a fraction to let her eat up ground. I crossed from the grass to the more cushioned rubber pavement and jumped over a plastic unicorn that rocked back and forth on a giant spring.
; The breath hissed between her teeth, and a low muttering of words were only just reaching me as the monkey bars broke apart in front of me. Their metal hands reached, trying to bind my own. I turned and lifted an eyebrow at Nathalie, my jaw locked tight, as if to ask her, really? Magic?
She lifted her shoulders in the slightest shrug as if responding, you wanted this to be believable, didn’t you?
I did, and I didn’t.
It was not even twenty-four hours ago I’d accused her of being a spy, and now here we were, her playing bounty hunter to hand me over. If that wasn’t ironic, I didn’t know what was.
“You won’t catch me,” I said, taunting her.
“I already have.” She grinned. I shot to the side, prepared to fend off the moving metal pipes reaching for me. Instead of circling my hands, though, they went for my feet. I jumped, trying to avoid their creeping grasp, but one I didn’t see came around to hook my ankle. It snagged. I went down.
The bar tried to tighten, and I shook my leg, a real panic beginning to sink in.
This is Nathalie, I reminded myself. She’s lived with you for a week and saved your ass again and again.
The cold metal wrapped around me, climbing my leg like a live vine.
I pulled my pistol and aimed it at her.
A small, not very rational part of me was tempted to shoot. She looked the part of a hunter, her face filled with impassioned arrogance as she stood over me. At seeing the gun pointed right between her eyes, her mask cracked, just a fraction.
She let me see her concern and silently seemed to ask me if I’d changed my mind.
My body went slack. I lowered the gun just enough to hold the ruse while letting her know to keep it up.
Another bar shot for my wrist, then froze. It quivered midair in front of me. Nathalie frowned. Then it began turning in on itself. The metal twisting and twining, retreating.
I could tell from the look on her face that wasn’t supposed to happen.
She muttered again. The bar paused. Quivered. Then completely disintegrated. All of them did. Including the one around my ankle.
Touched by Fire: Magic Wars (Demons of New Chicago Book 1) Page 12
