Dark Angel

by Kim Richardson

  “Are you going to help us, witch?” growled Tyrius, his eyes gleaming with barely controlled hatred for the dark witch. Obviously, the kitty was still harboring some dark feelings towards the one who’d put a collar on him.

  My gut unclenched as it grew quiet, the sound of Danto’s ragged breath barely audible over the pounding of my heart in my ears. I was desperate and angry. Desperate enough to walk over to that table against the far wall where I’d seen a grimoire lying open in an invitation to take it and try out a few healing spells on my own.

  Evanora followed my gaze and made a disapproving sound in her throat. I stiffened, and for a moment, I thought she was going to curse me. But then, slowly the witch moved past me, staggering to the center of her shop. I grimaced at the smell of vinegar and unwashed body. Damn the witch was vile. But I was willing to take on buckets of her disgusting, filthy stinking smell if she could save my friend. Her shapeless earth-colored gown dragged behind her as she shuffled forward, her cane thumping loudly on the wood floor as she came to a stop over the vampire. She gazed down at him. Then, grunting with great effort, she lowered herself next to Danto, her knees popping like the crackling of a fire.

  At a loss for to what to do, I moved to stand next to the witch, Tyrius right behind me.

  “Who did this?” asked the witch as she bent over the vampire, her one good eye inches from his face as she continued to inspect him. Her lips nearly brushed his face. He would not have appreciated that if he was conscious.

  “You’ve got your fairytales screwed up, witch. This isn’t Sleeping Beauty,” mocked the cat. “I don’t think he’ll wake up from your kiss. I think that might actually kill him.”

  “Tyrius. Please.” I glared at the cat. “That’s not helping.”

  “Neither is being that close to a dark witch,” he grumbled. “That has to be toxic.”

  Ignoring the cat, I turned to the witch and sighed. “Remember that archdemon gift you tried to help me get rid of? Well, the bastard who gave it to me took it back and gave it to someone else.”

  “Layla,” interjected Tyrius, loudly. “He gave it to Layla. Remember her? She’s one of your test-tube babies.”

  Evanora’s face took on a severe cast. Her attention moved to Tyrius, and I didn’t like the way she was looking at him. Maybe it was because her lips were moving in a possibly soundless curse. “Evanora has a new student in need of a familiar. Maybe Evanora will give her you .”

  Tyrius leaped in the air and hissed. “Like hell you will. Rowyn. Did you hear that? Do something.”

  “Just leave it alone, Tyrius.” I was going to kick the cat if he didn’t shut up. “The archdemon gave his gift of power to Layla,” I told the witch. “And,” I took a deep breath, “she did this to the vampire with it.”

  Whereas I had tried to keep the darkness at bay, never surrendering to it, Layla had done the exact opposite. She’d accepted it. All of it. She’d succumbed to the darkness, to its seductive power. She was already becoming something else. She was changing.

  Worry tightened my chest, and my gaze went to Tyrius, his tail flicking behind him with a frown on his face. This had to work. It had to.

  The witch turned her attention back to Danto. Evanora’s lips were still moving, and I could hear a faint mumbling from her. Fingers gnarled with severe arthritis shook as she reached out and put them on the vampire’s forehead.

  “He should not have survived,” said the witch, her tone curious. And then she peeled off a flake of his burned skin and brought it closer to her face, examining it. I nearly vomited when she popped it into her mouth.

  “Great, the dark witch is a freaking cannibal,” exclaimed Tyrius, looking like he was about to blow chunks of his own. “She stinks. And she pops flesh into her mouth like it was a bag of Doritos. Can she get anymore disgusting?”

  “Hmmm. There is light where there should not be,” said the witch, confusing me all the more.

  “What?”

  I watched horrified as Evanora reached out and took another piece of burned skin from Danto’s face before I could protest. With a Herculean effort, she pushed herself up with the help of her cane and waddled over to the table with the grimoire, the piece of Danto’s skin still clutched in her gnarled fingers.

  Curious, I followed her. Six candles were lit across the table with puddles of wax spattered like blood, and in the middle lay the grimoire. But she wasn’t turning to the old book. Instead, she stood above one of the burning candles and dropped the piece of skin into the flames.

  “Invoco tenebrarum. Essentia revelare in sanguine huius,” she chanted. I recognized the Latin, though I had no idea what she was saying.

  At first, nothing happened as we clustered around the flame, breathing in the scent of burning candles. I felt kinda weird standing so close to the witch without trying to strangle her or something. When she pulled back, I released the breath I was holding. Trust me, if you were me, you’d hold your breath too.

  Tyrius made a burst of frustrated noise and climbed upon a chair for a better view. “This is just great,” he snickered. “How about we all hold hands and sing Kumbaya.”

  “Hush, Tyrius,” I snapped.

  “Nothing’s happening,” echoed the cat. “Giant waste of time.”

  But then something did happen. The yellow-orange flame turned white.

  Tyrius cursed. “Demon balls. Now that’s not something you see every day.”

  Very true. And also very cool. I smiled. I couldn’t help it. I was drawn to magic. Excitement pounded through me to match my rising blood pressure. “What does that mean? White is good, right? Black would be bad?” I had no idea what I was saying.

  Evanora’s white eye settled on me, totally freaking me out. “Has the vampire tasted the blood of angels?”

  My lips parted. “What?” Oh. Shit. Yes of course he did. But not an angel. My blood. It was my blood. The memory of Danto drinking my blood after he was attacked by the fae queen’s Dark Arrows came flooding back. He was dying, and I had given him my blood.

  “No, but he drank some of Rowyn’s,” answered the cat for me. “You think that’s why the flame turned white?”

  Evanora hadn’t stopped looking at me. “Yes. You have angel essence in your blood. It is why the flame burned white, the light of the angels.”

  “So what does that mean?” I asked, a sense of relief creeping up on me. Maybe he’d heal in a few days? Thank the souls. My blood had saved him, and now it was saving him again.

  “It means,” said the witch, her eyes narrowing at the hopeful tone in my voice, “that your blood saved him from instant death when he was touched by the curse. But it will not heal him. He will die.”

  I whirled on her. “What?” My voice rose dangerously, and I reached out and grabbed the edges of the table before I did something really stupid, like punch the witch. “But… can’t you heal him? You must have hundreds of healing spells in that grimoire.” Panic was making my throat tight. “Please. I’ll give you anything you want. I swear it. Just help him. Please.”

  The witch looked at me and said, “This is beyond Evanora’s healing abilities.”

  I bit my lip, listening to my pulse in my ears and feeling all hope for Danto evaporating. I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. I felt sick. My face twisted, and I forced the bitter emotion away.

  Tyrius hung his head, looking lost for words and making me feel worse.

  “You need the elf’s magic,” said Evanora suddenly, making me start.

  My stomach did a somersault. “Gareth? You believe he can save him?” My voice quivered as I strained to keep my composure.

  The witch nodded her head, flakes of white dandruff falling to her shoulders. “You must find the elf if you want to save the vampire.”

  My heart jackhammering, I sent my gaze to Tyrius, my hope matched by a huge grin on the cat’s face.

  “Calling him now.” I yanked out my phone and dialed Gareth’s number. “Damn it,” I cursed, finding myself sweating as I le
aned on the table for support. “He’s still not picking up.”

  “Try again,” encouraged Tyrius, shifting around on the chair. “Does he have a different number for the store?”

  “Yes.” I tried that one too, but it just rang. “Nothing. He’s not picking up there either. Where the hell is he?” My heart was thudding, and I backed up, sharing a terrified look with Tyrius.

  The cat let out an exasperated breath. “Then there’s only one thing left to do. We need to find that elf and bring his ass here.”

  I turned my attention to Danto. “What about him?”

  “You can leave him here,” said the witch, surprising me. “Evanora will look after him.”

  Why was she being so nice? Oh, yeah. I had offered her buckets of my blood. That was like gold to this old witch. I would give it her, like I said I would, but only when I got back with an elf.

  Strangely enough, I believed her. I trusted the old witch when she said she would look after my friend while I was gone.

  “You must hurry if you want to save your friend,” said the old witch. “The vampire’s aura is very thin. Death is near. Your blood will keep him alive, but not for long.”

  My eyes fell back on the vampire and I felt myself tense. “How long?”

  “Maybe a day,” answered the witch. “Maybe less.”

  I swallowed hard. “Then we’ve already wasted too much time.” A pulse of adrenaline lit through me. “Let’s go.”

  8

  Tyrius made a noise in his throat. “I’m glad we’re going to see the elf,” muttered the cat. “Gareth will talk some sense into you about the grimoire. Oh, and by the way. Kudos for not trying to steal it while the old witch was trying to save your friend’s ass.”

  I pursed my lips. “He can talk… but it doesn’t mean I’m going to listen.”

  Tyrius glared at me. I knew my furry friend was only worried for me. Okay, so we’d lost Layla to Lucian, but it didn’t mean I should roll over and die. I could still stop whatever he was planning. But not alone. And not without the help of the angels.

  And if that meant summoning another angel, then so be it. I was going to make the Legion listen to me, no matter what. But first, we needed to save Danto.

  I glanced at my phone on the seat. “I just wish he would answer his phone so we didn’t have to drive all the way there and waste precious time.”

  “His phone’s not glued to his hip like a lot of mortals these days,” mewed the cat. “Some of them can’t even take a piss without taking their phones with them.” He gave a shake of his head. “I’ll never understand mortals.”

  I pulled my car over to the curb in front of an old white farmhouse with a small front porch and a black metal roof. Somehow, it made the dark street comforting. A sign in painted black letters embellished with stars read TWILIGHT NATURAL MEDICINE. Gareth’s shop.

  I sat for a moment staring at the white batten board siding, my pulse racing. I knew there was a chance, a big one, that Gareth might refuse to ask Evanora for her grimoire. He might think it too dangerous. I would deal with that later.

  I killed the engine and got out. Tyrius jumped out of the car and landed on the cement sidewalk next to me. The street was empty, but I heard the mumbles of cars in the distance. The sun had set a while ago, leaving the sky a dark navy. The only light came from the hissing lampposts making yellow puddles of light on the street and sidewalks.

  Together, we made for the front door seeing the CLOSED sign on the window. The lights were off on the first floor, but I could see soft yellow light spilling from the second-floor windows.

  “If he’s in there and not dying, he’s going to wish he was.”

  Tyrius chuckled. “Just make sure he can still use his fingers to heal Danto. He doesn’t need the other parts.” With his tail high in the air, he looked at the door. “Is it locked?”

  “Doesn’t matter. I have a key.” My set of keys jingled as I pulled them out, trying to ignore the smug smile on Tyrius’s face. I tried the handle just in case, but it was locked. I slid the key inside the lock, turned the handle and pushed the door open.

  “So, does the elf have a set of keys to your place?” Inquired the cat, an impish smile on his face. “You know what that means, right? If he gave you keys… it’s freaking serious.”

  I tried to keep my face from showing any emotions, but the curling from the corners of my mouth betrayed me. “Just get in, will you.”

  Tyrius slipped past my legs and bounded inside the small shop, his tail in the air and laughing.

  “Tyrius, one day I swear I’m going to kick you.”

  The cat laughed harder.

  I shut the door behind me and followed him in. The lights were off, but there was still good enough light pouring in from the outside street lights through the two front windows to light the entire place in a soft yellow glow.

  The shop was small, about the size of my living room, cramped with rows of shelves stacked with hundreds of glass jars, all neatly arranged alphabetically. The air drifted with the scent of ginger and mint. And with it, the soft traces of sulfur and lavender, the scent of elves.

  “He’s here all right,” mewed the cat, next to me. “It stinks of elf.”

  But there was something else in the air. It was faint and cold, but I recognized it nonetheless—the familiar pull of demon magic, pullomancy.

  My elf stone necklace pulsed, as though in recognition.

  “This place is so clean, it’s sickening,” said the baal demon. He halted suddenly, sat on the floor, and began to scratch excessively.

  “Uh… what are you doing?” I questioned as I crossed the room, knowing that baals couldn’t have fleas because their demon blood was toxic to insects.

  “Just adding a little dander and hair is all,” answered the cat. He stood up and shook his body, sending more cat hair and dander into the air and onto Gareth’s spotless floor. His blue eyes met mine and he beamed. “It’s going to drive Gareth mad as hell. You’re welcome.”

  Rolling my eyes, I made for the small back door next to the counter that led to the elf’s apartment on the upper floor of the shop. The counter was packed with an assortment of books, candles, and more glass jars. Just as I moved past the counter I halted.

  “Gareth’s phone,” I said as I picked it up. I swiped the screen. Thirty missed calls. All from me. Damn. I was a stalker.

  “At least you know now why he didn’t pick up,” said the cat.

  With his phone in my hand, I slipped through the door with Tyrius at my heels and climbed the steps.

  Boots clunking, I headed for the door to Gareth’s apartment, Tyrius going before me in bounds of cheerful curses and grunts. My heart beat in time to my steps, but I tried to stay positive. He’d better have a good excuse. If he was in there with someone else… I was going to castrate him.

  The closer I got to the door at the top of the stairs, the faster my pulse throbbed.

  I didn’t bother to knock as I turned the handle and opened the door, nor did I pay any attention at first to the strong sulfur scent mixed with lavender. But then it pulled my head up.

  Heart throbbing, I halted mid-step, my hand still on the doorknob as I took in the scene before me.

  Gareth’s kitchen table was crowded with ceramic bowls, dishes, bottles, boxes, vials, flasks, tins and every other kind of small container imaginable. Individual glass containers were labeled with black marker. It was like he’d brought up an entire month’s supply from his store. Large pots were brewing on his stove, coating his apartment with exotic scents I wasn’t familiar with.

  His kitchen was transformed into his own lab. I’d always wondered where he prepared his elf magic, his pullomancy. I just never expected it to be in a place so mundane as his kitchen.

  Tyrius brushed my legs as he skipped past me into the room.

  The elf looked up from the kitchen table. “Rowyn? Tyrius? What are you doing here? What’s happened?”

  He was wearing a white lab coat stained wi
th green, yellow and pink spots. But it did nothing to hide his broad shoulders and trim arms and thick chest. His dark eyes found me and my heart did a flip inside my ribcage. I was digging the sexy scientist look.

  “What’s happened is that you should keep your phone on you. Always.” I closed the door and crossed the room. I dropped his phone on a spot on the table that wasn’t covered in jars, bowls or elf dust.

  The elf gave me an impish smile. “Sorry. Pullomancy is a tricky business. I’ve been working all day. Measuring, mixing up ingredients, stirring, simmering, and waiting. Guess I lost track of time.”

  He was lucky he was so damn cute in his lab coat. Otherwise I might have punched him. I moved over to the kitchen, my hip bumping against the counter as I leaned over his stove.

  “Is this how you do it?” Every burner was occupied by large brewing pots. My nose was tickled by the scent of bubble gum and the strong smell of cinnamon.

  “It is,” answered the elf. “I was running low on my dust.”

  I raised my brow. “I never imagined you had to brew it first.”

  “Like those damn witches with their cauldrons,” offered Tyrius as he jumped up on one of the empty kitchen chairs, his nose in one of the bowls. “Dude,” he added in a whisper. “You got any love potions?”

  Gareth smiled. “I can arrange that for you.”

  Tyrius sat back, his features complacent and looking way too happy. I was going to ask him about that later.

  Gareth pushed back his chair and came to stand next to the stove, seemingly happy I showed some interest. “Each ingredient is different for each and every potion, and for each person who makes them. You need water as a base, and then you add your ingredients. Your solids, to engage your senses and your spirit.”

  I gagged as one of the potions in the pot exploded into puffs of orange smoke that smelled of rotten eggs and began to froth.

  I leaned back. “So if I were to do one, it would be weaker than if you did it.”