Nathalie seated herself on the edge of the bed and crossed her legs, picking at a piece of lint on her pants that wasn’t there. “My magic,” she said. “Or rather, my ability to manipulate it.” I frowned but didn’t say anything as I took another sip.
“She’s a chaos witch,” Ronan said. I nearly spat my tea out, but the sharp look on Nat’s face told me to swallow it down, surprised or not. At two grand a cup, the poor person in me really didn’t want to waste it on principle.
“Chaos witches aren’t real,” I said. “They’re a fairytale. A fiction—”
“Well, you’re looking at one,” Nat said. “Apparently my parents knew my whole life. They just let me think I was a crappy witch when in reality, my magic was completely different. It’s comparing apples to oranges or—”
“A gray witch to chaos?” I added. She nodded. “Hmm. Well, we knew you were weird. I suppose it makes some sense. You suck at spells but can do magic without words.”
“Thanks,” she said sarcastically.
“You’re welcome,” I replied with saccharine sweetness. My next sip of the tea went down the wrong pipe and I spluttered a cough. My shoulders shook and eyes watered.
“That’s what you get,” Nathalie said with a twist of her lips, hiding a smile.
“For?” I rasped, taking quick breaths to clear my throat.
“Being an asshole. As always.”
I snorted, took another sip to soothe the scratchy feeling, and then took a long slow breath. “Why would they need a chaos witch to open a portal? I didn’t even think they’re real, so I don’t imagine they’re common. There couldn’t have been one when I summoned Aeshma . . .”
“Because they weren’t simply trying to open a portal,” Ronan said. “A portal, as you know it, is a one-way door that a demon can choose to enter and cross to this side. They wanted to create a corridor for them to cross through into hell. A tear, such as a portal, takes a modicum of magic, but a corridor that allows passage back and forth? That would have taken considerably more, something that only a true demon would be powerful enough for. Because Lucifer was severely depleted of his magic, he wasn’t able to maintain it. His magic burned out, and when a demon's magic is gone, so are they.”
“While that explains more about Lucifer, that doesn’t explain why they needed Nat specifically. They went through a great deal of trouble to get her when it sounds like they only needed Lucifer. I don’t understand . . .”
“Chaos is the fifth magic. It consists of all four magics: desire, spirit, death, and the one you’re most familiar with, rage. Because of that, chaos witches can control the magic around them,” Nathalie said on a heavy sigh. “It’s the reason I was able to kill Dara Lightseeker in the pits. I returned her magic lightning back to her. They needed me to control Lucifer’s magic and make the corridor. A black witch can do many things, but they can’t control the magic of a demon, especially not one that was the source for their power.”
“His blood made them witches,” I said. “He could control them because of it. Clearly, they found a way around it, though.”
“They did,” she said. “Or rather, the Morrigan did. She created a spell that could block Lucifer from reading her mind or influencing her. Throughout the last couple hundred years, she’s been slowly testing and integrating it into the black witch lines that follow her. It’s the reason Barry claimed to have helped them. They told him if he betrayed me, they could free him from Ronan’s control over him—so he would have gotten the power he bargained for but wouldn’t have to pay the price. The block allowed all of them to conceal their true intentions so that Lucifer didn’t know all these years—and Ronan couldn’t learn the truth from Barry before they had a chance to open the corridor. Either way, they needed me because my magic doesn’t come from Lucifer like theirs. Which meant whatever sway he could have over them, he couldn’t over me.”
“If the chaos doesn’t come from him, where does it come from?”
“Magic itself,” Ronan said. “The magic Lucifer passed on through blood was desire. The magic you took from Aeshma was rage. The woman you call the Morrigan mentioned Crom Cruach and Dagda. If they are the demons I believe them to be, that explains the presence of death and spirit magic in this world. However, chaos does not pass through the blood. When a supernatural is born or created, they have the same magic as their parents—unless chaos intervenes and chooses them, just as it does in Hell.”
Hell. Where demons came from. Where magic came from.
“So there are chaos demons?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“But she didn’t get this magic from them?”
“No,” he answered solemnly. “Somehow, some way . . . the magic chose her. Despite coming from a line of mostly death and desire magic, she didn’t end up with one or the other as nearly everyone does. Even demons born from two parents of different magics only ever end up as one. Except when chaos comes into play. It makes her magic utterly different because she can control all of them. She’s not even a true witch in the same sense. More of a conduit for something greater. They needed her to open the corridor because she’s likely the only one in the world that could.”
I watched Nathalie while he spoke. While she didn’t seem surprised by this knowledge, she also didn’t seem pleased. Something told me there was more going on with her than I currently knew about. Ronan’s face didn’t reveal much of anything, but Nathalie’s wasn’t flat. Behind the many masks she wore, I saw an inkling of something she wasn’t trying to show.
Guilt.
But what she felt guilty about, I couldn’t say. Surely, it wasn’t Lucifer’s death? I wasn’t sure what there was to feel guilty about, although the thought of it gave me mixed feelings. With all that I knew, part of me did mourn him. I mourned the loss of New Chicago having someone to look out for it. Someone that wasn’t afraid to be the monster; to keep the other monsters in line. I mourned for the small piece of me that was in him, and him in me.
But I didn’t mourn him on a deeper level. I didn’t know him or even like him. I simply couldn’t.
So why was it she seemed guilty?
“Is there something you two aren’t telling me?” I asked them eventually.
Their shared look told me a great deal, as did their silence.
The worst thoughts came to mind.
I lurched forward. “Is it Bree—” My eyes flew to the door out of instinct. The hand on my knee tightened, holding it in place as I started to move my legs to get out of bed.
“It’s not Bree,” Ronan said. “She’s perfectly safe, just as you left her.”
I breathed out, letting go of my initial panic. “Then what is it?” I demanded, running my free hand through my hair. I regretted it almost instantly. I may have been alive, but they clearly hadn’t washed my hair in some time. It felt gross.
“A lot happened that night. Things I did. Things you did. New Chicago isn’t the same.” Nathalie spoke like she was trying to tell me something while still not saying it.
“Well, Lucifer’s dead, so I imagine it’s not. He’s ruled it unofficially for as long as—”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” Nathalie said a little sharper than I think she intended. I lifted my eyebrows, silently telling her to go on. “Yes, Lucifer died. But his death had implications.”
“Such as?” I prompted, trying to pull the truth from her.
“The Underworld burned down,” Ronan said without remorse or much feeling at all. “And every supernatural whose power came from Lucifer died, or was otherwise severely impaired by the loss of magic.”
I opened my mouth, but suddenly didn’t know what to say. Did I ask about what burned down the Underworld? I already knew the answer. That place was made of concrete and steel. No normal fire would have burned it all. No . . . I did.
These were the repercussions. I’d assumed Nathalie and Bree’s death were the only ones, but that wasn’t true. They were just the only ones I couldn’t face.
&nb
sp; “How many people?” I asked.
“Over five thousand died in the fire,” Ronan said softly.
Five thousand.
That number was crushing. Suffocating.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think.
How many were human?
How many were slaves?
How many didn’t deserve it—
“Four hundred thousand is the current estimate that have died as a result of Lucifer’s death in New Chicago alone. Outside sources are reporting millions throughout the country, and millions more that are crippled by health issues. Those who took blood from him directly or were supernaturally long-lived died instantly. Mixed blooded humans seemed to have stood a greater chance, depending on age and how much magic they carried. There’s still a lot unknown, and I’ll be honest that I didn’t pay much attention to it in the early weeks. I was preoccupied by you still being in stasis.” Ronan’s words washed over me, but it wasn’t his attention that I sought. For all his years, his power, he lacked in empathy and understanding toward emotions that were very real to me. Perhaps he didn’t feel them anymore because ten thousand years had hardened him. Perhaps he never did. But I looked at Nathalie and I just knew she understood. As great a debt as that five thousand felt, it was nothing compared to the look in her eyes.
“I couldn’t save him,” Nat whispered. “I couldn’t save the devil, and millions of people are dead because of it.”
“It’s not your fault,” I told her as I reached for her hand.
“I know,” she said. “Just like the fire wasn’t yours. It was my family's fault. They took him. They made me do the siphoning and open the corridor. They made me kill him, not intentionally, but they did. It’s their fault, and I know that, but . . .”
“You still feel the guilt,” I said.
She nodded once, then swallowed hard. Her eyes didn’t water, and her mouth didn’t quiver, but her fingers wrapped around mine and we both held tight.
Five thousand was too large a number to really comprehend them all.
Millions were infinitely beyond that.
It felt like a void of despair. Worse than the worst deed. More wicked than anything I had ever done.
She spoke the truth. Neither of us were at fault, but we both contributed.
We both made decisions that led us to this juncture.
And we both would have to live with the consequences.
27
Hot water scalded my flesh. I scrubbed my arms and legs raw, then tackled my mass of hair. If it wasn’t so easy to braid back, I might have hacked it all off. My arms were sore by the time I finished shampooing and conditioning it. My fingers shook, struggling to grip when I turned the silver handle. The water stopped running. Droplets fell from my skin onto the decorative stone floors.
I stood in the large walk-in shower, breathing harder as the exhaustion caught up. While I was truly immortal now, it seemed that five weeks of lying in a bed still affected me. I was pitifully weak. My muscles exhausted after so little effort.
I spent years honing my body into a weapon to fight the damned, but five stupid weeks was all it took to lose it.
Bitterness sat heavy on my tongue, traced with a melancholy that refused to lift.
I stumbled forward, pushing at the glass door. It swung open easily. Droplets of water scattered, running streaks through the fogged glass. I reached out with an unsteady hand to wipe at the mirror. It wasn’t clear through the condensation still clinging to it, but my own warbled reflection looked back.
My eyes were blue as the day I was born, but the subtlest shade of violet tinged them. I frowned at myself, standing there dripping water all over the place.
My hand swung out and rubbed lower, where my chest and abdomen were. The black brands were stark as ever against my skin. Pieces of my past were literally imprinted there. My beginning. My first kill. My first loss of control. My first friend.
I looked at that one. It was Nathalie’s brand. She still didn’t know about it.
Then I turned and looked over my shoulder at my lower back.
That one was new. It appeared when I made the decision to kill the Morrigan and leave my future in Ronan’s hands.
It was the moment I decided I trusted him, more than he seemed to trust himself.
While I had said I was okay dying, part of me believed I’d make it through. Ronan wouldn’t let me die, and he didn’t. He even went for Nat, just as I’d asked.
He didn’t burn my world.
I did that all on my own.
Perhaps it was all the more fitting that a blazing star of black fire was now etched into my lower back. Not necessarily a brand for him, but for the change in me. In who I was. While I was still a creature made of muscle and bone, something deeper had changed that night on a fundamental level.
I brushed my fingers over the marks.
A gentle knock at the door made me jump.
The door cracked before I could tell her to go away.
“You’ve been in here a long time,” Nat said, stepping inside. I moved to put an arm over my tits, and she snorted, grabbing a towel off the shelf over the toilet and throwing it at me.
“You forget, I’m the one that dressed you when we escaped from the Underworld that night. It’s not like I haven’t seen your boobs before.”
I didn’t stop glaring at her even as I wrapped the towel around myself, tucking it in under the arm. She picked up another, but instead of throwing it at me, she pointed at the toilet. I lifted an eyebrow.
“Sit. You’re barely staying on your feet. I’ll brush your hair.”
Warmth ran through my chest, followed by an uncomfortable sensation. I frowned to myself as I shuffled toward the toilet and took a seat.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I grumbled, feeling the need to take a shot at her because this felt too intimate. Too genuine. It felt like . . . something I hadn’t had in a long time. Something I felt guilty in having with her.
“Ah, the asshole has resurfaced. I figured it wouldn’t be too long now.” She patted at my hair with the dry towel, drawing out the excess water. “You don’t like it when people get close, and it bothers you that I’ve slipped past all those pesky barriers you surround yourself with.”
An ugly truth if there ever was one.
“Caring about people is a weakness, and that’s assuming they deserve it. Look at what happened with you and Barry,” I pointed out.
Her hands stilled. For a moment I thought I had gone too far, then she continued patting my hair down a second later.
“They can be,” she agreed. “Barry and I were very close growing up. I should have realized sooner that they’d eventually find a way to use that against us. He always wanted acceptance with his family. He would have seen a spot in the Pleiades Coven as a way to be recognized, and he would have traded anything for it, even me.”
Well, now I really felt like an asshole.
“He said he did it because of Ronan—for the block—to be free of him.”
“Excuses,” she said, but her voice wasn’t bitter. “I asked Ronan what he bargained for to begin with. He bargained for power. That bargain is the only reason the Morrigan was able to confine Ronan in chains, though. She was able to use that tiny bit of magic he gave Barry to create chains that could contain him. Lucifer might not have died if he hadn’t done that. You wouldn’t have lost control. The corridor wouldn’t have been opened . . . he made a choice that contributed to millions of deaths, and he’ll have to live with it.”
Her voice sounded so sure. So steady. In more ways than one, she was wise beyond her twenty-two years.
“He survived?” I asked softly.
She picked up a damp lock of my hair and rubbed it in the towel. “He did. Barry was half fae and half witch. He got the fae half. Spirit magic, not Lucifer’s desire magic. Combine that with the tiny bit of magic Ronan put in him . . .Barry survived. I saw him run when he knew the corridor was collapsing.”
“Are
you going to go after him?”
“No,” she answered firmly. “He betrayed me . . . but what we had was good before that. His friendship was what kept me sane through most of my childhood. One really shitty thing doesn’t undo who he was to me then, even if we’ll never be the same again.”
“That’s very mature of you,” I said, wondering if I would be the same. It was something I was probably better off never knowing. “Ronan will probably hunt him down, though. His actions also led to me being in the pit. He doesn’t seem to take kindly to people endangering me.”
“He won’t,” she said. I frowned at the certainty in her voice.
“How do you know?”
She set the towel down and picked up the hairbrush off the counter. “Because I made a bargain with Ronan.” My hands flexed. I opened then closed my mouth, considering my response. She didn’t wait for it. “He found us that night coming back from the Underworld. We were halfway down the hall when he stepped out of the elevator behind us. Instead of taking you from me, we made a deal.” My hand whipped out to grip the back of the toilet to keep me from doing something stupid. Namely strangling her.
“Why would you do that? Why are you telling me this?” Words fell from my mouth then.
“Because Barry betrayed me for power, and I don’t want you to ever think I did the same to you.” She brushed out the ends of my hair, slowly working up with complete calm and utter confidence. I didn’t share it. “Ronan could have taken you and killed me in a second. I knew that. So when he offered a bargain instead, I took it. Except I didn’t bargain for power. I asked for a favor because I had a feeling I’d need it one day if I was going to stick with you. I used that favor to spare Barry because I want him to live with the consequences.”
“You lied to me,” I snapped. “You told me demons couldn’t find us there. That nothing could penetrate the wards.”
“Nothing can,” she replied. “Now. Ronan reinforced them. That’s why my family couldn’t enter my building, let alone my apartment, and just take me. He reinforced them and left you with me because he knew you wouldn’t accept him. In return, I had to periodically inform him where you were and that you were safe. It was a good deal, all things considered.” She tugged at a particularly wicked snarl in my hair, making me wince.
Haunted by Shadows: Magic Wars: Demons of New Chicago Book Two Page 18