by Jenn Stark
Stefan’s jaw dropped. “Their shot? Are you nuts? You can’t seriously be thinking of bringing those guys in here—”
“It is done,” Dahlia intoned.
Stefan flinched, but for a long moment, nothing happened. There was a high whistling, the rush of underground trains as the subway system rolled and raced by, but no one came racing into the room from the varied and many tunnels. No one attacked from the sewers. No one—
Then the entire chamber exploded with blinding light.
“Hold.” The order came high and clear from the mouths of many at once, and Stefan braced himself, unable to tear his hands from the compelled hold of the witches. Roiling in the center of the space were more demons than he’d seen in any one place since he’d gotten back from spring break in Cancun. They burst forth and battered against the hold of their little witch circle, a circle that wasn’t going to survive with so few master spell casters, Stefan didn’t care how strong the Scepter Coven secret handshake was or how powerful their pentagram.
“Hold!” demanded the joined voices once more. Cressida’s voice carried clearly this time but there was something wrong. A different entity was coming through the energy of the demons as if they’d been a mask, a beard for something worse. Sort of like the three ancient lieutenants of Ahriman had been in Storm Court. Stefan shot a glare at Zeneschiah across the floor. The minion of Ahriman stood with his face alight in half horror, half ecstasy, his body caught up in a burst of energy that he clearly was not directing. He was as much a puppet in this as all of them, which made it all the worse when the cluster of demons split in two and out stepped a creature of so much power that Stefan blinked in surprise. Not Ahriman, he thought, but still…impressive.
Even more intriguingly, this was a female demon, a fearsome gold-plated dragon straight out of a thirteen-year-old human’s most fervent high-fantasy fantasy, complete with flaring nostrils, flapping wings, and fiery breath. The demoness turned, then turned again, her scream loud and long, as if she was as startled as the rest of them at her summons.
This—was going to be bad.
Stefan lurched forward, turning as quickly as he could to release himself from the circle and lock it down once more, protecting the coven from their own foolishness.
But by the time he turned again, it was too late.
Cressida was gone.
Chapter Twenty
This demon wasn’t Ahriman, Cressida was certain. Which was good. Ahriman shouldn’t be able to be summoned without Cressida being involved. The sacred grimoire was clear on that point.
Unfortunately, other than it not being Ahriman, Cressida didn’t know who in the seven hells this demon was.
That was bad.
As outlined by Marcus and totally approved by Cressida and the lawgivers, tonight’s summons of the Scepter Coven was supposed to call only those demons in the immediate vicinity that had begun amassing because of Ahriman’s impending arrival—then order them back to wherever they came from. No death, no sending them to the other side of the veil, merely a quick return-to-sender to clear the city of unnecessary distractions. Simple. Easy.
This demon’s appearance was anything but simple and easy.
She was a dragon of almost mythical perfection, large and coiled and scaled in gold, her wings arched tight over her body. Cressida stepped into the center of the pentagram, pulling from the strength of the witches’ circle—a circle that had significantly weakened at exactly the same time that the ancient demon had taken form. But the demon wasn’t looking at her—she was looking at Stefan.
“You,” she ground out, with such fury that Cressida found herself glancing back to Stefan—who couldn’t see either one of them. The demon might be a Syx, but he couldn’t reach her in this circle while she invoked the highest level of protections that she and Marcus had spelled into existence. The circle was holding in part because of Stefan’s strength, but the witches of the Scepter Coven still held the power. And, as head of the Scepter Coven, Cressida knew their powers were hers.
She lifted her chin along with her voice. “You were not summoned here,” she announced, and the demon whirled to face her. “You will go.”
The demon sneered. “A baby witch. You don’t even know enough to fear me, do you?”
“I fear no demon.”
“Well, you should,” the creature hissed, edging closer. “You’ve attracted far too much attention for one so small and weak. With one command, I could call upon the demons surrounding this hovel to attack your entire coven. You really want me to do that?”
“You brought those demons?”
“Not brought them. They came of their own volition, tipped off by the Scepter Coven’s summons of so many demons in one place. I was bored, so I decided to tag along. You don’t know the powers you’re dealing with, do you, in your pathetic attack on Ahriman?”
Cressida narrowed her eyes. “How do you know anything about that?”
The demon laughed, a low, scornful sound. “You witches are all alike. You think that the universe was created on your watch, that no one stronger has ever come before you, and surely no one stronger will ever come after. Do you truly believe that your precious coven has never attempted what you are attempting now?”
Cressida stiffened. Stefan had said much the same thing, in only a slightly less scathing voice. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about your history, baby witch. The old saying never does go out of style. Those who control the present, control the past. Those who control the future…”
“You’re saying that others have attempted to overthrow Ahriman before me. And that records of their attempts have been erased?” She’d feared as much when she’d learned of the missing passages in the sacred grimoire. What else was being systematically hidden from her—from her, and from the entire coven?
“Well, it’s not such an unlikely scenario, is it?” the demon mocked. “Think about it. Your attack on Ahriman was motivated by what? Power? Did they promise you control of the coven if you’re able to succeed? Because that’s the usual gambit. But it’s not the only reason that’s made a witch step up and be counted. Sometimes it’s as simple as life or death. That always makes for a vigorous attempt. Other times, it’s money. On the rare occasion, it’s love. But by far, power and control of the coven is the easiest carrot to dangle in front of a baby witch too stupid to realize she’s being duped.”
“You’re lying,” Cressida said, squaring her shoulders. She could feel the strength of the demon before her, but she had strength too. “You’re a demon. Your entire purpose in life is to confuse and manipulate and deceive. Why should I listen to you?”
The demon hissed a low, challenging chuckle. “Ordinarily? You shouldn’t. Especially now that I know you have a Syx in your midst, particularly that one. That means I was lied to…and I don’t like being lied to.” The demon swung her gaze to regard Stefan, who remained staring at the pentagram as if he could explode its secrets with the sheer intensity of his gaze. “But I’ve been watching you, baby witch. I can feel your hunger and your flaws. You seek to strike, but you don’t know what you’re doing. With the shift in magic that’s taken place over the last several weeks…it’s a dangerous time to be a witch.”
Cressida narrowed her eyes. “No more dangerous than it’s ever been. And certainly no more dangerous than it is to be a demon, no matter the era.”
“You see, that’s where you’re wrong,” clucked the demon. “This new influx of magic hasn’t just upgraded you puny humans, and it hasn’t merely added more of the horde to our numbers. It’s reinvigorated the horde. We didn’t need any amplification to our magical abilities, our strength. But you could say that we needed a little boost of confidence. Mortals have grown so much stronger over the millennia, especially those who follow the witch’s path. Your circles have improved, your techniques of control have grown more complex. While the horde? We don’t change. We are as God first made us all t
hose millennia ago. There are no new demons, did you realize that? I mean, yes, there are an awful lot more of the horde walking the earth than there used to be, but they weren’t created out of dust. They’re merely breathing different air now. Much more pleasant air for many of them, though not for all, it should be noted. Not for all.”
Cressida frowned, trying to follow the path of logic the female demon was taking. In some respects, she reminded her of Fraya, presenting a circuitous pass to her ultimate destination, drawing Cressida along with her. As if she didn’t want to outright say what she was getting at. For the head lawgiver, this was because she wanted to develop Cressida’s abilities to discern and solve problems. But what was the demon’s goal here?
Something else didn’t add up. Demons didn’t work with witches of their own volition. They were summoned. They were coerced.
Almost without realizing it, Cressida tapped into her newfound well of power and reached out to the ancient being, rifling through her thoughts. This demoness, for all her ancient might, had breached the pentagram of a Scepter Coven witch. In this pentagram, Cressida held more power than the demon perhaps fully understood. So she reached out, and she rifled, and she learned the piece she most needed to know. The demon’s name.
“Who summoned you here, Belessunu?” she murmured. She didn’t have to speak loudly. The sound of the demon’s name could reach it across any length of land or water, any patch of sky, even all the way to the other side of the veil. The sound traversing the mere feet between them was barely more than a whisper, but it served the purpose.
Belessunu curved her supple neck until her dark gaze once more rested on Cressida’s face. Her smile turned into an approving grin. “There you go, baby witch, reaching beyond your grasp. But I like it, I like it. What you need to understand is that nobody summoned me here today. I came of my own volition, by the rights accorded me through your own sacred grimoire. Your defenses are nowhere near as strong as you think, not when it comes to the coven. Your strength does not lie in their strength, no matter what you tell yourself, no matter what others would like you to believe. I come because to all things there are seasons, even for demons. And I would warn you, since you have set upon the path to attack Ahriman, that you should choose your friends more carefully. The Syx is no ally to you. He is a force unto himself, not to be trusted.”
Cressida lifted her brows as she watched the ancient demoness. The beast’s attention had returned to Stefan, but she wasn’t watching him with anger so much as interest. As if she’d been told something she’d always believed but now wasn’t quite so sure.
“What do you know about the Syx?” Cressida asked.
The demon answered without hesitation. She was compelled to do so. “Probably the same as what they told you. I do not lie, not in the traditional sense. They were told a fantasy shortly after they committed their sin, a fantasy they held on to with such fervor that their unit was born. A fantasy that was carefully cultivated and maintained and enhanced by the Archangel Michael.” The demon’s lips twisted. “The sword of God himself.”
“How do you know it’s a fantasy?” Cressida demanded. “What is it they believe?”
“I know because the very nature of what they want is a flawed premise,” the demon retorted. “Redemption. And the archangel holds it out like a carrot on a string. They’ve become his enforcing hand, yet in all the years of their service, they have come no closer to their precious redemption. They’re being used, as you’re being used. That in and of itself would not be so much a problem, except that they refused to acknowledge it. They refuse to see the lies they’re telling themselves.”
“Or it could be you who are telling lies.”
“To you? No. I don’t need to tell you lies. You’ve been fed a steady diet of lies since you were very small. I’m here to tell you a singular truth. You are stronger than you know, Cressida Frain. Not because you’re special, and not because you’ve learned more and better than anyone around you. You’re quite depressingly average, now that I’ve met you.”
Cressida rolled her eyes. “That means a lot, coming from you.”
“But what sets you apart is not who you are, but what you’ve done. This earth was created in the service of God’s children, and all they have to do is ask and receive. But they do not ask. They remember the mud from which they were formed far more than the stardust. I’m told it’s human nature.”
Her glance shifted to Cressida. “But it’s not your nature. You were born to shine. For the first two years of your life, years you can no longer remember, you were told that every day. It was only after that you forgot it.”
“After what?” Cressida asked sharply. “After I was abandoned?”
The demon’s lips curled back from her fangs. “That’s not mine to say, baby witch. But you are right, in the end. I was asked to come here.”
Cressida frowned. “I thought you said you came at your own volition.”
“I said I was asked, not summoned. I was asked to come here and rip you limb from limb.”
“Asked by who?”
“Ah…but that would be no fun to share. Know that I wasn’t the first. The hell spawn visited upon you were also a special request.” Before Cressida could interrupt the demoness continued. “It was a sudden invitation, an unexpected one, but one I couldn’t resist. Still, I would’ve rather enjoyed seeing you confront Ahriman. There’s an energy to you that almost makes me believe you could have pulled it off.”
“You speak as if I won’t,” Cressida said. “I’m here to tell you that I will.”
“You won’t, baby witch. You can’t. You’ll be dead.”
Then she stepped back, and chaos filled the room.
The flurry of demons that poured into the coven’s circle was unlike anything Cressida had ever experienced before. Even the influx of summoned demons in the Storm Court club was nothing like this. Those demons had come in with an express purpose, culled from the pack by their strength and sophistication, all part of Cressida and the coven’s spell. This was different. These demons were wild, untamed, practically feral, and she realized in a heartbeat this was what had been visited upon the earth with the recent opening of the veil to allow in more members of the horde. This primal hatred of all things human, of all things born in and blessed by God. These demons hadn’t acclimated to the point of the understanding that marked demons that had walked upon the earth for thousands of years. Though they’d been hatched at the dawn of time, they’d not truly taken their first steps until now. It was as if they’d been held in stasis, an experiment gone wrong, frozen in place until such time as they could be released into the natural environment.
And now they were.
For all that they were chaos, however, they weren’t strong, Cressida realized. Once again because of their inexperience among mortals. They were raw and terrifying, particularly to the uninitiated. But they weren’t powerful.
There was something here she should be understanding, she thought. Something important. Belessunu was nowhere to be found, however, and as Cressida moved forward, her hands up, spells falling from her lips like a spray of gunfire, she lost that understanding. It slipped away as swiftly as it had almost come to her. She didn’t have time to mourn its loss either.
Because the circle of power was broken.
The screams of the witches around her suddenly penetrated Cressida’s fog. She turned, realizing that her own coven was staring at her with horror-struck eyes, and she was no longer alone. A ring of defenders stood around her, facing out, hands up and weapons at the ready—the three demons and the human. Marcus, however, was gone.
“Attack!” She commanded her own cadre of demons without hesitation, and Boltar reacted first. He launched into the melee and started hurling demons right and left. Zeneschiah was right there with him, his glamour slipping away to allow his fire drake persona to rush the floor. Every demon he struck burst into flames and then bubbling goop as they returned back b
eyond the veil. Stefan and Jim Granger worked side by side, the Syx teeing up demons for the sole purpose of helping the exorcist to strike them with his mighty cross, like a baseball bat over the top of the plate. Over and over again, the demons struck, and over and over again, Cressida and the others fought back, each time gaining ground, but not without paying a price. As she had with the demon spawn, she suffered more injuries than she expected she would—fire scorched her hands and blackened her skin, huge gashes were torn in her thighs, her arms, instantly cauterized by the heat radiating from the battling demons. Small blessings, she supposed, but blessings nonetheless.
And then, so suddenly that it took her breath away, it was done.
She gaped around her, swaying. As the smoke cleared, no other figures remained upright in the circle, other than herself, Stefan, Zeneschiah, and Boltar. Jim Granger was out cold on the floor, Marcus leaning over him, and Cressida blinked. When had he joined the battle? She honestly couldn’t remember.
The witches of the Scepter Coven stood at the fringes and stared at her with wide eyes—too wide. She risked a glance down at herself in dismay. Her beautiful clothes! She’d had them all of a few hours, and they’d been ripped to tatters, the luxurious silk stained red with the blood of demons…
Wait.
Demons didn’t bleed red.
She stumbled forward, her sight dimming as a roar reached her across the open space.
“Cressida!” Stefan howled.
Chapter Twenty-One
Stefan blew forward in such a rush of panic that he was already half-vaporized by the time he connected with Cressida. She was injured—mortally injured—he could tell immediately. These weren’t like the simple cuts and burns from the hellspawn. The demons that’d been drawn into the Scepter Coven’s stronghold tonight had meant business. Their job had been to weaken the high priestess, if not kill her outright, and they’d clearly cared a lot about doing their job well.