The Shadows and Sorcery Collection

by Heather Marie Adkins

  I let myself believe the lie. I let myself believe we were safe, that all was well. Nothing more than a minor issue with the snow above, dragging down walls older than me.

  But my dream of survival vanished when a stair creaked right outside.

  I jumped away from the door and whipped an arrow from my sheath, aiming it at the flimsy piece of wood standing between us and certain death.

  “Hide!” I hissed over my shoulder to the kid.

  She promptly obeyed, slipping beneath the metal desk. She pulled the chair in after her, tucking her long limbs into the dark hollow under the table.

  My heart pounded. These weren’t dumbass ice demons. Nymphs couldn’t be destroyed by sheer strength or smarts. Fifty years of living here under Belias’s rule, and I’d never heard of anyone besting a nymph in battle.

  If the nymphs came for you, you were as good as dead.

  The door handle turned.

  5

  I tightened my grip on my bow and sighted on the door, where I imagined one of those faceless, horned beasts waited on the other side. I pictured the smooth, featureless face, the strong, muscular body, the cold-as-ice intent. Evil cast in stone and ice.

  My heart skittered like a frightened bird. I couldn’t protect Liliya. Not against them.

  The shitty lock broke easily—putty in the nymph’s hand. The door swung open.

  I loosed my arrow, and it flew straight into the nymph’s neck. I took a gamble that they had the same flaw in design as ice demons. But I was wrong. My arrow glanced off her deceptively smooth skin and embedded in the wall, feathers ruffling.

  Real, uncut fear struck me. I was powerless. Sixty years ago, I could have killed them all with a single command from God and watched their unnatural bodies fall like dominoes, pieces of half-demon trash littering the floor. But now, all I had were my arrows.

  Which were apparently useless.

  Three nymphs swarmed into the room. I marveled at their supernatural speed and the fluidity of their limbs—I’d never seen the display so up close and personal. The blank spaces where they should have worn faces gave nothing away. No emotion, no language, just the niggling sensation they appraised you in ways you couldn’t fully comprehend. Despite the horns growing from their heads, they seemed delicate and otherworldly; feminine curves covered by nothing more than strips of leather, claws like a bear, and an overall demeanor of power.

  The first pounced.

  Unlike the ice demons, she didn’t weigh the same as a boulder falling from a canyon wall. But her hands were strong, and when joined by two of her companions, I found myself immobilized on the dusty floor.

  I struggled against them to no avail. Surprisingly, their attention wasn’t on me. Shit—they hadn’t even pierced my skin with those viciously sharp claws.

  The three hovered over me, an impenetrable barrier of smooth, gray skin and icy magic. Their magic, I’d always heard, could stun a man into immobility. Like the effect of an aphrodisiac: the magic made you pliable, able to be manipulated and controlled.

  Liliya’s sharp scream pierced the room.

  I bucked against the nymphs, overcome by terror in my desperation to get to her. But the beasts remained steadfast, unmoved by the wild pitching of my body or the deep bellow of Liliya’s name on my lips. I couldn’t shift my head. I couldn’t turn to her, seek her out, which was maybe for the best.

  Watching one innocent child die is enough in a man’s lifetime, even an abnormally long lifespan such as mine.

  “Gad!” Liliya screamed, her scream farther away now.

  As if they were carrying her off.

  My name sounded so much like “Dad,” as if Gretchen were screaming for me, that my heart seized, then shook into a thousand tiny shards at my inability to save her.

  “Liliya!” I roared, struggling to get free of the nymphs.

  All I heard in response were muffled sobs, growing fainter.

  I screamed her name, over and over, still fighting the nymphs. My muscles burned and my throat ached. Their hands felt like fire on my body.

  Then suddenly, the three nymphs released me as one. All six hands darted away, and they left the basement office.

  I stumbled to my feet, fighting past the fog of magic the nymphs had left behind. My ears and eyes felt dull. I could no longer hear Liliya, could barely feel the ground beneath my feet.

  I ran into the doorframe, and again into the wall outside in the hall, before I found my feet and raced up the stairs.

  I burst into the black of night and the whiteout of a blizzard. Rapidly disappearing footprints led away from the warehouse and pointed due north to the Square. I followed the footsteps, emboldened by the obvious trouble Liliya had given them as they dragged her into the storm, her scuffles like gashes in the freshly fallen snow.

  Ten feet from the old warehouse, the footsteps vanished—erased completely by the blizzard. No sign of the nymphs. No sign of Liliya.

  Just…gone.

  I fell to my knees. Cold, wet snow piled on my nose and eyelashes as I stared toward the Kremlin. I barely noticed the tingling in my fingertips or the wet seeping through my blue jeans. All I could remember was Liliya’s scared voice screaming my name as the nymphs carried her away.

  To where? To Belias? Over stolen food?

  Belias was known to skewer a few eyeballs when she was displeased, even over something as small as bringing her the wrong glass of wine. But dragging a kid into the Kremlin over stealing food seemed…off.

  Why? Why take the girl and leave me?

  I became aware of a presence behind me: not because he emanated power and majesty like a fucking king of angels, but because of the warmth. The snow on my neck melted, turning to lukewarm trickles on my exposed skin. Falling snowflakes didn’t dare come near Raphael.

  “They took her,” I told him, even though I was sure he had been keeping tabs on me since we spoke that morning.

  Raphael didn’t respond.

  “Is she dead?” I croaked the words. I didn’t want to know. But I wanted to know. Funny how I lived in this constant tug-of-war between blissful ignorance and stark reality.

  “No,” Raphael finally said, easing my fears minutely. “They’ll take her to Belias. Belias will hate her for her youth and beauty, but she’ll like her fire. She may keep her alive to make her a nymph. Or she may murder her. Fate skews both ways until it is decided. You know this.”

  “Can I save her?”

  “I don’t know. Can you?”

  I stood and turned to face him, drawing an arrow at his stupid face. “Did you do this?”

  Raphael took a step back as if I’d punched him. “Why would I do such a thing? The child stole from the market. You made a ruckus and destroyed five of Belias’s ice demons saving that girl. You know as well as I do that the demon queen knows everything that happens in this city. Belias sent the nymphs to gather the child and bring her to the palace as an example to you.”

  I let the bow sink to my side. “I did this?”

  “Don’t punish yourself for your instincts, Gadreel. You may no longer have wings, but you still carry the goodness of God within you. It is in your very nature to help others, and to protect humans. You cannot fault yourself for so beautiful a quality.”

  “I can when it might kill an eleven-year-old girl,” I snapped, shoving the arrow back into my sheath. “So what now? I take your suicide mission to defeat Belias and save the kid?”

  “You take the mission to save the Circle and all who reside within it,” Raphael corrected. “You were meant for this, Gadreel.”

  “I was meant to be left alone.” I turned my back on him, horrified by the heat in my eyes and the tight ache rising in my throat. It was easy to blame the emotions on Liliya, the way she’d reminded me of Gretchen, dredging up those memories, making me feel…normal again.

  But I knew it wasn’t all that kid who’d awakened the long forgotten father in me. It was my insecurities, my weaknesses.

  I didn’t believe in
myself anymore. And if I were being honest—I was afraid.

  Raphael tutted. “The Gadreel I knew a hundred years ago would have stopped at nothing to protect his home.”

  “I lost that will when God took my wife and child.”

  “God didn’t take them. The demons did.”

  I shifted on my feet, floored by the seemingly logical statement. I’d spent half a century blaming God for Catie’s and Gretchen’s deaths. But Raphael was right—God didn’t pull the trigger. Or rain hellfire upon the earth, as it were.

  I returned my gaze to the Seraphim. My tears dried but my doubts remained.

  “Belias took over, and your family perished,” Raphael went on. I could tell by the glint in his eye that he knew he had me on the ledge. He was just waiting for me to jump. And if I didn’t, he would push me without regret. “So what are you going to do about it?”

  I sighed. I could bend over and take it. If I died, who lost? Nobody. Not even me. We lived in this fucked-up, wasteful world, where Belias destroyed everything that used to be beautiful about life on earth. Ironic, really, considering how vain she was about beauty.

  I thought of Liliya’s quick wit and feral bravery. She threw snowballs at the ice demons, for fuck’s sake. Would anyone notice her absence now? Was there anyone left to mourn her if she died in the Kremlin?

  I would. I would mourn her.

  No one would mourn me if I died saving the Circle.

  As if deeply attuned to my thoughts, Raphael extended a hand. His wings shimmered like gold dust in the night. He was an endless source of heat and light in a world of cold and darkness. “Do we have an accord?”

  I extended my hand.

  6

  I half expected to return to my cabin and find it had been burned to the ground in some kind of twisted vengeance from the nymphs. But the small, familiar structure remained steadfast, a dying fire in the grate and Lacy curled on the rug before the flames.

  I changed into some clean, dry clothes and refilled my quiver as Raphael walked around the one-room cabin. He touched everything in sight: a browning aloe plant, the playing cards Liliya and I had left scattered across the scarred pine table, even Lacy, who purred traitorously beneath his fingers.

  I filled several bowls with food and water for Lacy, and cracked the window just wide enough for her to be able to navigate in and out. I didn’t know how long I would be gone; hell, I didn’t know if I’d come back. Thankfully, she was the self-sufficient type, which is probably why we got along so well. Regardless, the thought of my cat being on her own bothered me. She had become my family in the years we shared a home.

  I could only hope she’d stay safe until I returned.

  I swiped the playing cards into a pile and shoved them back in the drawer where I wouldn’t have to see them and be reminded of the kid. Then I slumped into a chair at the table with a mug of strong, kettle-brewed coffee.

  I didn’t bother offering the Seraph any—he had no need for human food or drink. One of the major downsides to divinity, if you asked me. He hovered by the mantel, illuminated by the fire as he appraised my only remaining photographs of Catie and Gretchen, dusty in their frames.

  “Sit down. You’re making me nervous,” I said, my tone sharper than I meant it to be.

  Raphael lifted an eyebrow at me but said nothing. He sat primly in the other chair, his large, golden wings folding behind him.

  “What’s the plan?”

  “There isn’t a plan, per se.” Raphael extracted a yellowing sheet of parchment paper from his shirt pocket and smoothed it out on the tabletop.

  I leaned forward over the fragrant steam of my coffee to eye the paper. A series of nearly unreadable glyphs stretched across the page in fading blue ink.

  “A code?” I asked, baffled.

  Raphael shook his head. “Magic. Magic older than time itself. I don’t even fully understand it.”

  “Well, neither do I. It’s gibberish,” I remarked, shoving the sheet back to the Seraph. “What the hell am I supposed to do with that, Raph? Wave it at Belias’s face? Abracadabra, bitch?”

  The Seraph’s eye twitched. He could equally have been fighting laughter or fighting the urge to punch me for being a jackass.

  “You cannot read this, Gad. I know. You’re not supposed to. You have to find someone who can.” Raphael placed his hand on the sheet, his gaze steady on mine. “This is an ancient magical cipher. You must find an elder witch who can read this and help you perform the spell necessary to contain Belias.”

  “A witch?” I scoffed. “Are you insane?”

  “It is the only way.”

  “Because witches are so accessible in Kremlin Circle.”

  Raphael sighed. “They may not live in the eye of society, but they do exist. You yourself know of one in particular.”

  I glowered. “I haven’t spoken to Yulian in years.”

  “And why is that?” Raphael nearly purred with knowing. “Pride goeth before the fall, Gadreel.”

  “It has nothing to do with pride.” Weariness trickled from my veins and into my voice. “He just reminds me too much of Catie.”

  “For good reason. He is her family, after all.”

  “Right. So I can’t—”

  “If you’re serious about fulfilling this mission, you must set aside your personal issues and fight together for the common good. Yulian is your key to solving this puzzle.” Raphael tapped a long, elegant finger on the ancient cipher.

  An interminable standoff passed. Logs in the fireplace crackled, and Lacy flicked her tail, eyes shut but attention clearly on us, as if waiting for me to give in.

  “Why is nothing ever easy with you heavenly assholes?” I grumbled as I picked up the cipher.

  “We don’t strive to be complicated, Gad.”

  I grunted. “Are you sure? I think you like the mystery of it all.”

  Raphael chuckled. “Even the Seraphim cannot read this spell. It is so archaic, so old and forgotten, that it predates even us. This is magic in its purest form. In its most dangerous state. That kind of magic is never easy.” He paused, then added offhand, “Or safe.”

  I folded the paper in half, then folded it in half again, taking a tiny bit of pleasure in the hmm of dissatisfaction from Raphael. I shoved the ancient spell in my pocket.

  “So. Guess I’m headed into the wilds of witch country. Any hints on where that might be?” I asked.

  Raphael smiled, entirely too pleased with his answer: “Not a clue.”

  An uneasy truce existed between the demons and the humans.

  Let’s be real: humans couldn’t stand a chance against demons. The first two years of Belias’s reign saw more genocide than any other time since, because people fought back against her evil.

  Fighting back, however, meant a quick and violent death for the humans.

  Witches, on the other hand, had a leg up on the demon queen. They could fight back with magic, and there was little she could do to stop them. She launched a campaign against them, eradicating anyone who even breathed the word “magic.” So over the course of ten years, fifteen years, the witches vanished as completely as if they’d gone extinct.

  I certainly wasn’t dumb enough to think they were gone forever. Before their disappearing trick, rumor had it they were working together to find a means to destroy Belias. I imagined wherever they were now, they were still working towards that same foolish goal.

  And here I was, headed into the witchcraft snake pit, ready to take up arms in the battle.

  Easier said than done.

  Despite the small, concentrated existence of Kremlin Circle, our population had begun to die off in recent years. Not just with the witches damn near invisible, or with the constant assault of demons on humans, but many people opted against procreation. What kind of world was this for a kid? If the child grew up to be beautiful, they’d be condemned to the tithe, tucked away unseen, their blood more important than their happiness.

  So there were parts of the city that
lay bare and empty. Chances were, the witches had gone to hibernate somewhere in those dark corners. Didn’t mean they would make it easy to find them. I didn’t exactly have the means to see past glamours and shit. But they were there. Somewhere.

  If I just searched hard enough.

  Two days passed. I searched the warehouse district first, because I was semi-familiar with the grounds, having lived so close to it for years. I had explored those streets before, on days when my heart felt broken and my soul crawled from my fragile skin, and I needed a distraction. But that also meant I didn’t actually think I’d find what I was looking for there.

  So I ventured farther, into the East District and the poor, impoverished human neighborhoods. I hadn’t had much reason to spend time in these areas, but a huge percentage of Kremlin Circle’s population lived in the east—which indicated to me an unlikelihood the witches had gone to roost there.

  The weather worsened over the days I searched. The air grew more frigid, and the snow seemed never-ending. I returned home to eat and sleep after the first night, to the wary, worried glare of my cat. But the second night found me shivering on the floor of an empty business as a blizzard raged outside busted, broken windows. I slept fitfully, curled in on myself in a back room, nothing in my stomach but a few handfuls of melted snow.

  In the morning, it seemed as if the snow had eased. I’d survived the freak storm, and I knew Lacy had what she needed in my absence, so I stretched the kinks out of my body and headed farther north.

  If I’d ever walked the affluent streets of the North District, I couldn’t remember it. The elite of Kremlin Circle lived in bigger houses this far north, with central heating instead of fireplaces and running water instead of snow barrels. They sat in their comfortable homes on floors built from the blood of everyone they’d handed over to Belias in an effort to secure their status and wealth.