Charms & Demons

by Kim Richardson

  I remembered the higher demons and how powerless I’d been. I’d just bumped shoulders with death.

  I’d pissed off the Greater demon Vorkol by killing her husband. I’d be pissed too if someone had killed my husband. But he’d started it.

  Adrenaline pounded through me, feeding off my fear. I let out a breath and clenched my fists, trying to stop them from shaking but failing. The realization of what I’d just agreed to dawned on me, my knee bobbing up and down.

  I was purposely sitting by myself in the park at night, hoping the ancient, witch-killing vampire found me. Yeah. I was insane.

  I leaned back and flicked my gaze around the park, enjoying the familiar smells and noises. Nothing was out of place, if the bizarre and the unusual was your sort of thing. It was mine.

  Across from me, I spotted Logan leaning on the pub’s brick wall, arms crossed over his chest and his face in a grimace, looking pissed. He was staring at the ground. Either that, or he liked the way his boots flickered in the pub’s light.

  Faris, well, he sat at the table out front, a female vampire on his lap while another stood behind him, massaging his shoulders. The third female vampire was leaning on the table across from him, and even from a distance I could see the hunger in her eyes. She looked like she was about to jump him right there. Damn, that demon was good.

  He caught me staring, winked, and lifted his glass in a toast. I gave him a smile. I couldn’t help it. He must have demon-spelled them.

  I flicked my gaze away and checked behind me, breathing deeply for the distinctive scent of vampire but getting nothing except the smell of trees and pavement. The sound of wings hit me as Poe landed on the fountain.

  He shrugged and said, “All clear. No higher demons and no creepy old vampire either.”

  “Thanks, Poe,” I answered, not liking the relief I heard in my own voice.

  Minutes went by and still no sign of the old vampire. Nothing. Nada. Soon, minutes turned to an hour, and still nothing. Still no vampire. And no higher demons. The only thing I had was a numb butt from sitting on the hard bench.

  “Sunrise is in less than two minutes,” said Poe.

  I pulled out my phone and checked the time. “Yeah. Well, I better let Faris know before things start to get too hot for him.”

  “Nothing’s ever too hot for me.” I looked up from my phone to find Faris walking towards me with Logan next to him.

  I stood up and stretched, noticing that his vamp girls were gone. “Looks like the higher demons are a no show.” I cast my gaze around the street. “I don’t think the vampire’s coming either.”

  “You sure?” asked Logan.

  “The murders were all committed at night,” I said, feeling like a fool and having had witnesses to my shame. I’d been certain he’d come. “He’s not coming.”

  Faris clamped his hands together. “Well, I really must be going. Let’s do this again sometime. Not really.” He gestured grandly. “But do let me know how you fare with this vampire.”

  A haze of blackness rose around the mid-demon. “Later, darling,” he said, and with a wicked smile, he vanished.

  Faris disappeared just as a row of pinks painted the horizon.

  Logan yawned, and I had to clamp my jaw shut so I wouldn’t join him. Only then did I notice how exhausted I was too.

  “If you don’t need me to stick around,” said the angel-born, “I think I’ll go too.”

  “Sure, you should get some sleep,” I answered, knowing part of him had stuck around just to keep an eye on Faris.

  “I’ll come by later and check on you,” declared the angel-born as he turned around and strolled down the street to whatever curb he’d park his car next to.

  “Did he just invite himself over?” asked Poe.

  Damn. I watched his shoulders sway as he walked away and turned down Odin Boulevard. “Yeah. He did.”

  “Well,” said the raven as he shook his feathers. “I’m starving. Mind if I go and catch my breakfast down on Blood Drive? I hear the rats are as big as cats.”

  I grimaced, trying not to imagine Poe eating a rat. “Go ahead. I’m going home to bed,” I said, too tired to care. Besides, he needed to eat and I hadn’t packed anything for us in my bag.

  “Later.” And with that, my familiar took to the air, banked to the right, and vanished behind a three-story building.

  I sighed through my nose. This had been a huge waste of time.

  Feeling like an idiot, I wrapped the strap of my messenger bag over my shoulder and hit the street.

  The sun was arching toward the horizon, painting the rooftops in Mystic Quarter in pinks and yellows as I headed for Witches Row, my district. The sky was a mixture of deep pinks and violets. It was going to be a gorgeous day. But even the idea of a glorious day ahead did nothing to lift my spirits.

  A vampire was hunting witches, and I’d failed to catch him.

  I needed to come up with a better plan. This had been a total bust. My only other option was to go to the vampire court and see if I could get a name out of them. Probably not. If a vampire from their court was killing off witches, they wouldn’t tell me a thing. Instead, they’d go off and deal with him on their own. Plus, the witch court had forbidden me to tell anyone.

  Shoulders hunched, my boots clanked heavily on the pavement like they were cement blocks. I yawned. God, I was so tired I could barely lift my feet. Shadows loomed. The soft light from the sun hadn’t reached high enough over the tall buildings and the majestic oak trees, leaving me in the dark.

  The air around me suddenly shot down ten degrees cooler, and I halted.

  A flicker of something cold and dark rippled in the air. It tugged inside my chest as an icy shudder ran through me.

  A black mist rose and leaked between a row of parked cars, heading south on Grim Avenue. And there, moving with it, was a hunched silhouette of a man with short, calculated strides.

  The vampire.

  Gotcha, you son of a bitch.

  With my heart thrashing wildly, I sprinted after him. I wouldn’t let him kill anyone else. He was mine.

  I ran down Grim Avenue, just as the vampire disappeared around the corner. I reached the end of the block and turned the corner.

  By the time I saw it coming out of the corner of my eye, it was already too late.

  My instincts kicked in and I pitched to the side as fast and far as I could, but I barely had time to register the movement as I lunged.

  The higher demon came at me in a blur of rustling, guttural whispers, carrying the scent of rotten fruit, blood and carrion. I blinked at the undulating black hole looming behind him, rippling like black water. A Rift. A demon portal, a doorway into the Netherworld.

  My heart jumped, and I gasped, unable to cry out.

  The higher demon grabbed me by the throat and pulled me into the Rift with him.

  15

  Have you ever wondered what Hell truly looked like? Have you really taken the time to imagine what the realm of demons and other unruly creatures looked like? Really looked like?

  Well, scratch that.

  Take your worst nightmare and the scariest movie you’ve ever seen. Multiply that by a thousand and you might be close to what the Netherworld resembled.

  And I was there.

  I, Samantha Beaumont, dark witch extraordinaire was in the Netherworld. The freaking Netherworld!

  I knew I was in the demon realm. I felt it in my thoughts and my bones, and in the primitive, skin-crawling part of me at the base of my brain. I was in a different world than my own.

  But why was I there? And how was this even possible?

  I sat on my cage’s floor. The metal was a dull black and reeked of sulfur. Through the metal bars, scattered around my line of vision, was a world of smoke and blood and ash—and cages.

  Everywhere I looked was another cage, the same size as mine, occupied by twisted creatures, demons, or what I believed had once been humans. It was impossible to count them all. Ten thousand? A hundred
thousand?

  And just like them, I was a prisoner.

  The cages hung above a dirt-packed ground by thick chains made of the same black metal, hundreds of feet in the air, to a distant ceiling out of sight in the darkness overhead that was lost in shadow. It was dimly lit by growing flames from a few wall torches. A cave maybe?

  It was cold, and I wrapped my arms about myself as an acidic wind pushed the hair from my face. My bag was missing. Either I had dropped it when I was grabbed or the higher demons had taken it. All I had were my rings. As soon as I had opened my eyes and realized where I was, I’d tried to tap into my rings to bust out of this cage.

  But my rings were cold and dull. Their magic wouldn’t come.

  And then I saw why. Etched along the bars of my cage were winding spirals of demonic symbols and runes—wards to keep whoever was in the cage from using magic. Great.

  I licked my dry lips and took a breath, wincing at the burning in my lungs as though I was breathing the fumes of a mixture of bleach and ammonia. It was toxic. The Netherworld was toxic to mortals.

  So how was it possible that I was here breathing their air? It shouldn’t be possible, yet here I was, sitting in a damn cage. I knew I wasn’t dead. If I were, I wouldn’t feel pain. Pain was my only indication that I was, in fact, still very much alive.

  I had no idea how long I’d been in this cage. One minute I was being strangled by the higher demon and then everything went black. The next thing I remembered was waking up in this cage, in the Netherworld.

  I could hear screams drifting through the interior of this place. I’d heard rumors that the Netherworld was similar to our world, perhaps even like a mirrored version, only twisted and perverse. I guessed I was in some dungeon or prison. The constant cacophony of cries and moans made it very clear. This was a bad place.

  The cries grew louder and then the sound of a heavy door opening and closing reached me. I heard sounds of a heavy tread and the crunch of dirt and gravel. Fighting a dizzy spell, I wiped the tears from my eyes and peeked through the bars to the ground below. With the constant wind and acidic air, it was hard to see, but I could make out a shape. Big. Grizzly bear big. My vision cleared and I saw dark gray fur and horns, a thick chest with a great sword strapped to his back, and strong human legs. A minotaur demon.

  My heart jumped to my throat. I knew that demon. Hell, I’d summoned him. He was one of the seventy-two demons in the Ars Goetia.

  Andromalius.

  He was a mighty great earl of the Netherworld, and as evil as evil got. Swell. He had been one of my first successful demon conjurings. And by successful, I mean only that I had conjured him and he didn’t escape the triangle to kill me. Though, he tried. Many, many times. It had scared the shit out of me.

  Andromalius walked over to a raised platform to a metal contraption. He pulled on a lever and then pushed it back. The squeal of metal grinding metal pierced over the loud howls and screams, followed by the rattling of a chain. A metal cage only twenty feet from me dropped to the ground like a rock in a pond.

  The cage rattled on impact. There was an instant yelp of pain, and then a green body jerked itself back to the edge of the cage followed by a whimper.

  From a series of keys around his waist, Andromalius unlocked the cage’s door, yanked it open, and pulled out a small, green, humanoid-looking creature with large bat ears.

  The creature fell to the ground, its ribs showing through its thin skin. It knelt on the ground, its clawed hands up in surrender, pleading in some demonic language. I had no idea what it was saying, but it was obvious the demon was pleading for its life.

  Andromalius focused its eyes on the skinny demon. Then he pulled out his sword, and with a mighty swing, decapitated the demon in a spray of flying bits of bone, a head, and a mist of black blood.

  A mixture of screams and shouts erupted in the cave. I couldn’t tell if they were screaming in fear or excitement. Maybe a little bit of both.

  A chill that had nothing to do with the icy air scuttled up my spine. This wasn’t a prison. This was death row.

  The sound of the door opening and closing again reached me, followed by the sounds of many feet. I stared as a mob of squat, flat-nosed, sallow-skinned creatures with wide mouths and glowing red eyes pushed a wheelbarrow the size of a small car. Thick, leather-like gray skin covered their repulsive hairless bodies. Imps. Horrid little bastards.

  They scuttled to the body of the dead demon. Their red, evil eyes crinkled with amusement, and the sound of wet, chuckles rose from their throats. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. The smallest of the group waddled over to the head and kicked it like a soccer ball. It hit the side of the wheelbarrow, and the imps let out a howl of laughter.

  I hated these little freaks.

  A deep growl escaped from Andromalius’s throat, causing the imps to jump up in a panic and scurry around the dead demon’s body. They picked up the head and body, dumped them in the wheelbarrow, and then were off again.

  It was all over in less than two minutes.

  I watched, horrified, as Andromalius went back to the platform and wrapped his hand around one of the levers, pulled, and pushed it back.

  I barely had time to register as my own cage rattled. It plummeted towards the ground like an elevator from the tenth floor whose cables had snapped.

  Cauldron help me.

  I screamed all the way down—which lasted a mere two seconds—and hit the ground.

  Ouch.

  My right arm, shoulder and hip screamed in pain, as my body smashed to the ground a few seconds behind the metal cage. My head was tucked in against my chest, and my instincts to do that had probably saved my life.

  The rattle of keys reached me and I jerked my head up. I blinked as a thick hand grabbed me by the throat and hauled me out of the cage. Andromalius released me and I fell hard on the dirt floor.

  I knew I had seconds before he swung that sword at me. Rolling to my knees, I took a steadying breath—and coughed. Not a good idea. The air was as foul as though I’d breathed in Satan’s astray.

  Now that I was out of my cage, I tapped into the magic of my rings. A small tug answered, but at the same moment, an overwhelming feeling of nausea hit me and I stumbled to my knees, losing my focus.

  If I couldn’t use my magic, I’d have to use my next best skill. I had to talk my way to survival.

  Footsteps neared and I blinked through my tears. “Andromalius! Wait!” I cried, my voice harsh and low, sounding like I’d just swallowed acid.

  The minotaur halted at the sound of his name.

  I knew one of two things was about to happen—one, the demon would recognize me and decide not to kill me because I was pretty; or two, he would recognize me and proceed to cut my head off. I was hoping for the first.

  The minotaur demon stood facing me and adjusted the key at his waist. Old, faint scars marred his face, adding another level of badass to his appearance. He was naked, save for a tan leather loincloth that barely concealed his hairy malehood.

  His sword was still sheathed. So far so good. Maybe I would live to see my world again. A fetid smell of decay, manure, and worse flooded out from him. He’d smelled awful when I’d summoned him, but this was way worse. Being in the Netherworld, his lovely stench was magnified a hundredfold.

  With a herculean effort, I got to my feet. The pain in my shoulder and hip were still white-hot, threatening to make me pass out.

  I gave him a little wave with my gloved hand, knowing I was probably the only witch who had ever summoned him. “Hey there. You remember me?” Damn, he was a big sonofabitch. He had to be at least seven feet tall. How could I have forgotten that?

  Andromalius’s eye twitched, his nightmarish canines lengthening as his lips peeled away from his teeth into a snarl.

  I took that as a yes. “I was a junior witch when we first met. So you see... I can’t be responsible for any... mishaps that happened. I mean, you did return to your world in one piece. Right?”
/>   The minotaur’s yellow eyes blinked.

  I pulled my face into a smile. “No hard feelings, eh?”

  Andromalius’s nostrils flared, and a deep growl escaped from the demon’s throat.

  “Okay, then. Good talk.”

  Please don’t kill me. Think, Sam, think! If only I could hit him with a sleeping spell. Would my magic even work in this world? I had no freaking idea.

  I braced myself for something horrible but...

  “Follow me, witch,” said Andromalius in a heavily accented but clear and deep voice. I nearly fainted.

  “You can speak English!” I stared stupidly into the demon’s face, all of it—the hideous asymmetries of the minotaur’s bull head, his large bulging yellow eyes, his repulsive, wet muzzle, the curve of his sharp, deadly horns. “You never spoke to me before. At least, not when I summoned you.” The minotaur demon flared his nostrils and I saw him make an effort to stay calm. I took a careful step back. “Please don’t eat me,” I said, swallowing back the bile that rose in the back of my throat. “Aren’t cows herbivores?”

  Andromalius breathed through his nose and said again, “Follow me, witch.”

  He wasn’t going to kill me. Interesting. But it also scared the crap out of me. There were worse things than suffering a clean, instant death. Try torture. Being tortured for hours. Being tortured for years.

  Still, out of this place was a plus. Maybe the air would be cleaner wherever he was taking me.

  “Lead the way, cowboy,” I wheezed, my mood brightening a smidgen. Maybe there was still a way to get out of Hell.

  Screams of protest shouted from above, and things I didn’t want to admit I saw hit the ground at my feet in stinky bombs.

  So, what’s a witch to do? Give them the finger, of course. So I did.

  Holding my breath, I moved closer to Andromalius and walked alongside him, straining to match his speed even though every step sent jarring pain through my spine. Anywhere was better than this shithole, literally.

  We walked in silence across what I could now see was a gargantuan cave, the size of a football field—less the cages. Lights played in soft colors on the walls, mostly shifting in reds and yellows. The cave was made of black rock, and the walls were jagged and sharp like razor blades. I made a mental note to not touch the walls if I didn’t want to lose a finger.