Haunted by Shadows: Magic Wars: Demons of New Chicago Book Two

by Carpenter, Kel

  The rest of me, the part that didn’t shy away from truth, needed to understand why.

  “You sound like you care about him.”

  “I do,” she said, without hesitation. “I love him. We both do, Sasha and I . . .” She trailed off, looking at the four concrete walls that surrounded me. “But he’s not ours, and he never has been. Not truly. Lucifer cares about us, but he isn’t attached. He doesn’t love. We were passing fancies to him. But you, you were the real deal. If you could have looked past your own prejudice.”

  I fisted the fabric in my hand and glared at her.

  “Judge all you want, but you don’t know me, and I don’t know you. We’re just two people that have lived two shitty lives in the same city.” I turned away to unfold the garment. It was an exact replica of the dress Sienna had me wear that night at the Seventh Circle. I frowned.

  “You’re wrong,” Sienna said.

  “What?”

  “My life hasn’t been shitty. Unconventional? Sure. Lonely at times, and unstable? Absolutely. But I have Sasha, and for a while I had Lucifer. I was protected from the real monsters out there—”

  “Look, you said yourself, all I ever saw of him was the devil. If there was a man under the mask, don’t blame me for not noticing. He took me against my will. He almost killed my—” I stopped short. My what? What was Nathalie to me, exactly? Best friend had been the words on my lips, but that felt too intimate for how little time had passed. Was friend more accurate? “My friend. He got what was coming. I have a lot to feel bad about, but I won’t let you add that to the pile.”

  “The witch,” she nodded. “She broke his rules, you betrayed his trust. Maybe that makes us even . . .”

  “No,” I said, stopping her short. Her cat tail flicked side to side, and her ears twitched. “Not even close. I was paid help. A bounty hunter. He hired me for a job that I didn’t complete, and then he put a price on my head only to kidnap me instead. I simply made a deal with you. You didn’t tell him what I was, and in return, I tried to kill him. These aren’t remotely similar.”

  Sienna shrugged. “I never actually told him. He already knew. You still tried, and in a roundabout way, probably killed him. The way I see it, you need me—”

  “I don’t need anyone,” I replied harshly. “Certainly not you. I got myself in this mess, and I’ll find a way to get myself out. And since you’re clearly so desperate to try to manipulate me into helping you—I’m not interested. You burned that bridge already.”

  She blinked and then stepped back. Her face turned neutral and detached, like a cat.

  “I see,” Sienna murmured. “In that case, I’ll remind you that most people don’t know what you are. Including the Morrigan.”

  Ah, blackmail. We were becoming old friends.

  Misery did love company.

  “What do you want, exactly?” I asked through gritted teeth.

  “The same thing as you,” she said softly. “A way out. We’re both prisoners here now, just different kinds. Maybe we can be friends. Help each other out. Friends don’t tell other friends secrets,” she mused, lifting both her eyebrows.

  I blew out a harsh breath. “I fell for that once, and you fucked me over.”

  She gave me a sad sort of smile. “I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not. I would do anything for Lucifer, which is why I need your help. Sasha and I can’t get out of here alone. But maybe if we find a way to work together, we all can—”

  “You’re forgetting the part where I can’t trust you. How do I know that you won’t just run off to the Morrigan, anyway? Or that you haven’t already?” I crossed my arms over my chest and tilted my head, waiting for the next bullshit answer to fall out of her mouth.

  “You can’t,” she replied with a shrug. “I lied to you. Like I said, you’d be stupid to trust me now. But the thing is, you don’t really have a choice, now, do you? If I’m lying, you’re already screwed, but if I’m not, well . . . it could make the difference between all of us getting out of here or finding out whatever the Morrigan will do to you.” She gave me a satisfied smile, because she knew she had me. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. But it was better the devil you know. “So what’s it going to be, Piper? Are we friends?”

  She extended her hand in a very old, antiquated tradition. It was a human gesture, not a supernatural one. I wondered if she used it to appeal to me then. As if I could forget the black cat ears, and fluffy tail swishing side to side with a mind of its own.

  “Fine,” I snapped, taking her hand in mine. I squeezed a little harder than necessary as we shook once, and the bite of her cat claws in the back of my hand conveyed her own warning. “But fuck me over again, and I’ll end Sasha—and then you.”

  Her slitted eyes dilated for a moment as the threat hit its mark.

  “You’re a cold woman,” she murmured, releasing my hand first.

  “And you’ve been talking to Anders,” I replied. “He end up mixed up in this too?”

  She opened her mouth to reply when a fist pounded twice on the door.

  “Where’s the Witch Hunter?” a raspy male voice called.

  “Almost ready,” she called back without lifting her eyes from me. “Get dressed. Your first match is any minute now. If you survive, we’ll continue this conversation then.”

  The starkness of her statement didn’t do much to warm me. I pressed my lips together and stripped out of my sopping wet clothes that had begun to stiffen from the cold. They hit the concrete floor in wet smacks. When the last of it dropped away, I slipped on the skimpy dress.

  “Do I get any shoes?” I asked her, trying to stop the tremble in my chin where my teeth were beginning to chatter.

  Sienna silently pointed to a pair of strappy heels at the end of my cot. I scowled at them.

  “Not happening.”

  She sighed. “The Morrigan—”

  “Can kiss my ass. I’d rather her curse me than wear those damn things,” I said stubbornly. “If I’m fighting, I’m fighting on my own two feet.”

  “Be careful what you wish for,” Sienna said sarcastically, as she stepped aside and motioned for me to go to the door.

  I reached for the handle, and a zap of electricity shot up my arm.

  I jumped back, holding my hand to my chest.

  “What the hell was that?”

  “A spell. If you try to leave, the door will stop you. The Morrigan had it done specifically for you. The voltage increases with every attempt. As your friend, I’d strongly advise you don’t attempt an escape plan alone.” Her voice wasn’t gloating, but there was an edge to it. Like she was making her point about working together being the only option.

  Little did she know, it wasn’t.

  It was just the only one that wouldn’t land me in stasis.

  For now.

  “Duly noted,” I muttered, as she reached past me and opened it with ease. The metal hinges squealed, and the big, burly man at the door stepped back to allow me a foot of space to squeeze through. His face was squashed like he’d taken one too many hits and they didn’t heal right. The nose was bent at an angle, and his left eye drooped. His cheekbones were different heights, and his hair was buzzed short. He wore plain clothes, the tight t-shirt showing off his broad muscled chest. Even if the face wasn’t much to look at, he was clearly built for this sort of thing.

  “Move,” he growled. The rumble of his voice resonated deeply, and I suspected he had some werewolf in him. As much as it killed me to turn my back on a supe, I stepped through the door and started down the hallway.

  The hairs on the back of my neck lifted as footsteps followed close behind.

  I could have run and possibly gotten away—if I knew where I was going. But the concrete walls, floors, and ceiling boxed it all in. Faint light bulbs flickered every fifty feet, illuminating just enough to point the way. Hallways branched off, and other metal doors lined the walls. My roommates. I peered through one of the cells a moment too long, and a hiss came from the
inside before a hand shoved me hard in the back.

  “Keep walking.”

  Not needing to be told twice, I did.

  After five minutes of being directed around in what I was fairly certain was a circle meant to keep me from knowing the way, we came across a set of stairs. They went up.

  My bare feet slapped the concrete as I started climbing. At the top, a set of double doors stood directly in front of me. To either side it was open hallways with a few other supes milling about. They cast me curious and cautious glances while I stood there.

  Behind me, my jailor muttered, “All ready here.”

  He must have had an earpiece of some sort because the next second the double doors opened.

  Rough hands shoved me from behind and I stumbled forward, temporarily blinded by the light from the arena. My eyes watered as particles of sand hit them, but I stayed on my own two feet.

  Weaponless.

  Near powerless.

  Without decent clothing or shoes or much of anything at all, I faced the pits.

  Trenton McArthur, the fuck boy, was the last person I expected to see.

  17

  He wasn’t the same rich, pretty boy he had been a month and a half ago when I’d nabbed him and turned him in for a bounty. His hair was streaked with gray, and scars lined the parts of his body I could see beneath the leather and dirty linen clothes he wore. While his eyes were the same, they held a dark contempt within them that should have scared me. Especially when I was without my guns and not supposed to use my magic.

  “Well, well, well, look what we have here. The Witch Hunter. Lucifer’s toy. A mere human girl whose reputation is whispered in fear as though she were a legend . . . I have to say, I’m disappointed,” a lilting voice said. Deep and raspy. Full of seduction and madness in equal parts.

  The Morrigan.

  I angled my body sideways so I could look at her without taking my eyes off Trenton. He might be a fuck boy, but he was still a warlock—and a moderately powerful one with a grudge against me.

  My eyes swept up, but despite the packed stands, I saw her right where I’d expected. Sitting in Lucifer’s chair like a queen. She didn’t wear a crown, but the dark purple wisps of magic wafting off her bony fingers were meant to intimidate all the same. She was interesting to look at, in an odd kind of way. Striking, but not quite beautiful. Her red hair was deep and shiny, like a ruby. Her skin was porcelain pale and appeared near white against the dark chair and stands. The black dress with intricate beads and jewelry sewn in lightened her complexion further. Her nose was too thin, and her bottom lip too full. But the most startling thing—the one that made me stare—was her eyes.

  Even fifty yards away I could tell that they were the same exact shape and shade of light brown as Nathalie’s.

  I shivered.

  “What?” she asked, narrowing her eyes shrewdly. “No words? No sharp barbs? For one that’s slain so many of my kind, you’re awfully quiet without your weapons or Lucifer protecting you.”

  I tilted my head. There was something about the second half of her statement that stuck. Lucifer . . . protecting me. It’s not that I didn’t believe it now, but more the acidic tone she used while saying it. She almost sounded . . . jealous.

  Ah, shit.

  “Maybe I don’t have anything to say because I know it won’t make a difference,” I pointed out, straightening my spine, only to shrug in feigned nonchalance.

  Meanwhile, my pulse was the sound of a ticking time bomb echoing in my ears.

  I held my shit together through an exploding dinner boat, being attacked in an alley, and even being subdued by the darkest black magic witches on the planet.

  I could handle Morgan Le Fay.

  I’d have to, or this whole place would go up in flames. Any chance of rescuing Nathalie and stopping her family from whatever they had planned for Lucifer would burn alongside it.

  “It won’t,” she agreed after a moment. “My children only consented to hand you over if I made sure you suffered. But . . . suffer too much, and it’s no fun. You’re only human, and I want to play with you as long as I can.” Her voice started to trail, like she was talking more to herself than me. She muttered low in a language I didn’t understand, but I was fairly certain it was Gaelic, or one of its sister languages.

  She went on for a few minutes. The crowd started to stir, both growing bored and uneasy. One of the warlocks a few feet behind her throne stepped up.

  “My lady,” he began.

  She stopped. The mist seemed to clear, and in its place was a vindictive glint in her eyes. She waved her hand. “Not now, Jebediah.”

  The warlock stepped back, a deep frown marring his features.

  That didn’t bode well for me.

  Morgan Le Fay uncrossed her legs and stood. She walked to the edge of the platform that overlooked the pit. Her bare feet padding quietly, the beaded hem of her dress scraping the concrete were the only sounds . . . apart from everyone’s tense breathing, whispering echoes in the whole damned underground arena.

  “Show me what Lucifer saw in you, Piper Fallon,” she commanded in a single breath, then smiled with a hint of insanity. “Show me . . . or die.”

  A ball of fire missed my face by inches.

  I stepped back, and my neck cracked when I whipped around to find Trenton. He was muttering quietly, and while I could read lips, I wasn’t that good. The second ball of fire in his hand was fairly telling, however.

  I jumped to the side as it came flying at me. My breath hitched at the acrid air. My muscles weren’t as limber. The cold, and lack of food and water, were taking its toll.

  “Is that the best you’ve got?” I called, as his fireball hit the cold sand where I’d been standing only a moment before. It disintegrated, the spot turning shiny as the top layer melted and solidified into glass.

  Trenton narrowed his eyes but didn’t pause in his casting.

  So much for that plan working. I’d just have to try harder.

  I started running to the side, and the stiffness in my body eased even as my feet started to slip on the loose sand. Two more fireballs missed me.

  The third grazed my bare calf.

  “Motherfucker,” I grunted. My next step faltered as pain lanced through the muscle where the fire touched.

  I wanted to pause and take a look, but this wasn’t the time or place. Not with Trenton aiming to kill. I needed to end this, but I had no magic and no weapon. I was barely clothed and trying to avoid the dress going up in flames. My feet were bare, and glass littered the pit with each new attack—

  That thought stopped me mid-stride. I pivoted, and instead of running around the edge of the circular cement wall, I slowly worked my way closer.

  Not exactly easy. The closer proximity meant less chance of him missing.

  Still, I rounded him once more and managed to evade another three fireballs before miscalculating where I stepped, taking a shard of glass straight to the heel of my foot. My knee buckled, and I dropped.

  A hiss escaped my lips as Trenton started walking toward me.

  The fireball forming between his palms was growing bigger and bigger with every second. Twenty feet. Ten. Six.

  I bent forward and lowered my head. Cold sweat dripped from my brow. The sticky strands of my hair tangled around my neck and face. Sharp, cutting pain took precedence over the burn in my calf. My blood pulsed. My heart pounded.

  I had moments at most, and only three choices.

  Surrender, then die.

  Give in to the magic—kill Trenton, the Morrigan, and probably some other fuckers that deserved it—and still possibly die.

  Or the third.

  Scuffed black boots came into my view. Shadows darkened, and the heat of the fire between his palms actually calmed me in a way. The cold was what hurt. Warmth . . . that was what I knew. Heat was rage. Fire was fury.

  “You threw me in this hellhole,” Trenton said, finally pausing in his casting. “I was excommunicated because of you
. Shunned from my coven. Now I’m going to earn my freedom with—”

  He didn’t see the grin that curved its way around my lips as my fist clenched.

  But he choked on his words when I threw that handful of sand at him—straight through that dying fire.

  The particles turned to glass. Some hit him, some fell, and some crossed that barrier of his parted lips. His hands convulsed, and he grabbed for his throat.

  While the glass was fragile and weak, it was still glass—and swallowing it would have hurt like a bitch.

  He tried to let out a garbled curse. To use some magic—whether to save himself or kill me, I wasn’t sure. All I knew was his little show was about to come to an end.

  I launched myself up, using my good foot. My right elbow twisted with me, coming up to slam into the side of his face.

  Blood splattered the sand.

  Trenton wavered on his feet.

  I brought up my other leg to nail him in the crotch with my knee.

  He bent at the waist and rasped in pain.

  I brought my left elbow down on the back of his neck where it met his skull.

  His body shuddered as he slumped to the ground. Two weak coughs racked his whole body; salty tears mixed with blood and snot as he cried.

  “Rule number one of surviving: don’t talk shit before the deal is done,” I said under my breath. I lifted my head and twisted around to look at Morgan Le Fay.

  She stood at the railing, a slight smile on her lips, and bloodlust in her eyes.

  I didn’t say anything, but the silent question was there.

  For all the time the pits had run, there were only two rules. No outside interference, and the fight was only over when one contestant was dead.

  Not long ago, I wouldn’t have questioned it. I wouldn’t have paused and lifted my head, waiting for an answer.

  I would have killed him and been done with it.

  But I didn’t.

  “The rules haven’t changed,” Morgan said.

  I licked my upper lip, tasting blood on it. “Very well,” I replied in a deep, scratchy voice.

  I turned around and hissed from the sting that ran through my left foot. Trenton wasn’t unconscious, but the vacant look in his eyes said he wasn’t far from it.