Charms & Demons

by Kim Richardson

  I let out a shaky breath and looked down at my cold cuts, turkey from the smell of them. I was still ravenous, but somehow, it didn’t feel right to eat them.

  Resolute, I folded up the remaining food in the cloth along with the rest of my water bottle. Still holding on to it, I stuck my arm through the bars towards my neighbor.

  “Here,” I said, dangling the bundle before him. “Take it.”

  The gaunt demon jerked back, surprise flashing on his face, and his bottom lip shook.

  “Sam? What are you doing?” hissed Faris. “Don’t give him any food. He’s going to die anyway. You’re going to waste that on a dead demon?”

  “I am.”

  “Do you know how many souls I had to trade for that?” he added, clearly pissed.

  “I don’t care.” I met the scrawny demon’s blue eyes. “Take it,” I urged him, ignoring Faris’s cry of outrage. “It’s okay. You can have it.”

  In a blur, the demon snatched up the bundle, faster than I would have thought possible in his miserable state, sat in the corner of his cage and began to eat. I sighed. Poor little bastard.

  “You do realize he would have probably killed you for it,” said Faris, his tone dry and accusing. “You have no idea what you’ve just done.”

  “I just gave a little bit of food to someone who really needed it.” Maybe Faris was right, but I was too tired to care. I sat back and wiggled to a comfortable position, if you consider having metal bars pressed up against your ass and back comfortable. “You should go, Faris. The minotaur will be back. You don’t want to end up like us.”

  “I’d kill myself,” stated Faris, his face squished up in disgust as he took in the other cage tenants’ ragged physiques and dirt-smeared cages. His eyes found mine. “I’ll get you out, Sam,” he said. “I promise.”

  “I thought demons didn’t make promises,” I said, watching the scrawny demon eat his meal with shaking, gnarled hands. “Not unless it was a promise to kill you.”

  “I’ll get you out.”

  I flicked my gaze back at the sound of determination in Faris’s voice. I almost believed him. But if what he said about Vorkol was true, he was wasting his breath. I was never getting out.

  And with that, the mid-demon, dressed in his finest, turned on his heel and left.

  I watched him go with a heavy heart. He was the only demon I knew in the Netherworld.

  Now I felt truly alone and utterly hopeless.

  18

  I woke to the sound of my cage bars rattling.

  And then I was falling. With me still in the cage.

  Great. Here we go again.

  Together we hit the ground. I’d barely had time to register the pain of impact before the minotaur opened my cage’s door and pulled me out.

  Andromalius tossed me on the dirt-packed ground like a used cloth. I spat the dirt from my mouth just as a chaos of shouts and cries erupted above me. The cave was filled with screams as the other prison guests shouted their outrage at me being out of my confinement again. But I wasn’t stupid enough to think this was a good thing. I knew being out of the cage was bad. Really bad.

  Vorkol was going to question me again, and when I didn’t answer, she would take more of my soul. It was hard to keep from shivering, and I had the sudden insane impulsive thought to make a run for it.

  But where would I go? A Rift. I needed to find a Rift.

  “Up,” roared the minotaur demon.

  Grimacing in pain, I did what I was told and staggered to my feet. If Faris hadn’t given me any food and water, I don’t think I could have stood, not with the constant burn of the acidic air.

  “Move,” ordered Andromalius, his yellow eyes gleaming with contempt and his nostrils flaring.

  He didn’t have to tell me twice.

  I walked towards the steel door, the only exit I could see in the giant cave. I stole a covert glance over at Andromalius, but his dark fur, retracted muzzle and permanent scowl gave me no indication of what was about to happen to me. Except perhaps, more pain.

  The minotaur pulled open the door. Behind the threshold more of the dark mist fell, but all I could make out was simply darkness. I followed him and stepped through to the other side. Darkness and demonic magic were a heavy cloak around me. My core rang with demonic power, dark and cold like a malevolent intent spilling over me, telling me I didn’t belong. I held my breath and padded forward in the thick shadows.

  As soon as the darkness lifted, I gasped.

  I blinked. And then I blinked again, waiting for my brain to acknowledge what I was staring at. I was not standing in a ballroom.

  I was standing in an arena the size of a hockey ring, oval-shaped, with circular rows of seats on the upper levels. Double steel doors stood across from me on the ground level. A hot wind that smelled of rotten flesh fluttered across the golden sand. Black flags mounted on high poles rippled, displaying a black serpent within a red circle. I could see a white, flour-like line had been drawn on the sand. One step outside of that ring and I’d be disqualified, or dead.

  Fantastic.

  Okay. So, Vorkol had some heavy-duty magic. I thought only gods and goddesses could change realities. Boy, was I wrong.

  The rows of seats were filling up, and across from me, on the upper levels, lay a small balcony. And on a throne-like chair sat Vorkol.

  She’d ditched her Marie-Antoinette guise for a tight, red pant suit that showed off her lean frame, complete with red shirt and tie. Her hair was blonde, now that the wig was gone, and slicked back into a tight low bun. She finished her look with ruby red lipstick that matched her six-inch red pumps. She looked more like a colorful lawyer than a demon.

  Pillows, cushions, thick woven carpets, and low, narrow tables were positioned on the balcony. A mix of six male and female demons lounged on the balcony floor amongst the cushions. They all had something in common. Fake smiles marred their faces, and their eyes were locked on to me, cementing my belief that I was the entertainment.

  The demon Duvali stood behind Vorkol. His white suit only made his pale, pasty skin whiter, but it did nothing to remove that gangly, gaunt scarecrow look about him. Damn, he was vile.

  My gaze slipped over Vorkol’s face, and her red eyes stared into mine. Her lips curled into the kind of knowing smile a psychopath would give right before slicing someone’s throat.

  My heart threw itself backward and clung to the bars of my ribcage.

  This was no ordinary arena. It was a fighting pit.

  I’d seen my share of fighting pits in the werewolf community. The only difference was this one was enormous, and in the Netherworld.

  When Faris had told me Vorkol enjoyed playing games, I had no idea he’d meant it literally.

  I threw my gaze around the rows of seats. The noise of the crowds rose in excitement—the high-pitched laughter of the females and the hoarse cries of the male demons calling out each other with what looked like bets. Great. They were betting on me—or against me.

  The reassuring weight of my sigil rings was gone, so I had nothing.

  A lone figure stood in the first row of the seated demons. Faris. Our eyes met, and only then did he seat himself, his eyes never leaving mine. He sat between two pretty demon females. Both were blondes, leggy, and with enough boobs to have the average college boy drooling.

  The only thing out of place was his face. Faris wasn’t smiling, despite the voluptuous females who were practically sitting on his lap. Thin-lipped, the mid-demon’s frown had my pulse rising. His expression said it all. This was going to get ugly.

  He said he would get me out, but would it even matter if I didn’t survive this? Whatever this was?

  Nausea gripped me, but Andromalius took me by the elbow and escorted me to the far end of the pit.

  He let me go and I turned and looked up at him. “No rest for the wicked, eh?”

  The large minotaur’s nostrils flared as he looked me over and then walked away.

  “Nice talking to you,” I grumbl
ed as I watched him disappear through another set of doors. Then I heard the sound of a latch closing.

  Heart thrashing, I looked around the arena and cringed. I hated being the center of attention, and now I had hundreds, possibly thousands of demon eyes on me. Worse, I recognized two demons I’d summoned before sitting in the seats—Paimon and Barbatos, both in their human forms. Their angry expressions told me they were anxiously waiting for me to get what I deserved.

  I had no idea what that would be, but when the steel doors burst open and flew off their hinges, I knew.

  A low, loud bellow erupted from inside the lower level of the arena, and then a tiger-size spider came scuttling out of the doorway.

  “Oh, crap,” I breathed, goose bumps riddling my skin. I hated spiders. Especially really big, hairy ones that looked like they could bite my head off.

  Thick black hair and bristles covered its body, except for its eight legs. They were covered in red hair, and each ended with a sharp claw. Fangs the size of my arm dripped with yellow venom. Two large yellow eyes sat in the middle of its head framed by three smaller ones on each side.

  The spider stopped inside the white outline across from me. Its head shook from side to side, and it looked really pissed off and hungry. It had to weigh at least five hundred pounds, maybe more. Though this demon wasn’t part of the seventy-two demons listed in the Ars Goetia, I knew what it was.

  It was an igumo.

  A giant spider demon. One of the more deadly of the lesser demon species, they were wild. No one could really control an igumo. They were too stupid. They were programmed to kill and then eat.

  Every part of my body and brain told me to run. Run away and hide. I couldn’t fight this demon, not with my bare hands. My legs trembled from the rush of adrenaline, yet my feet wouldn’t move. My eyes found Faris. He leaned forward in his seat looking pale—almost as pale as I felt.

  My stomach twisted on itself. How was I supposed to fight this thing without my magic rings?

  I flicked my gaze back to Vorkol. Seeing her smile at me made me want to scream.

  “Can I at least get a wand?” I called out to the Greater demon. “Harry Potter was allowed a wand when he was dueling.”

  Vorkol stared at me like I was nuts. Hey, I had to try.

  No wand. No weapon. No rings. Now what?

  A lump of dread dropped in my belly as a wicked, contriving smile spread over Vorkol’s face. “What seems to be the problem? Aren’t you a powerful witch, Samantha Beaumont?” she said as she crossed her legs. “You killed a Greater demon. The igumo should be nothing to you.”

  My gaze flicked to the igumo’s fangs, sharp as razors. Fear settled into me, debilitating. Panicked, I rummaged through my mind for clues on how I could kill it but came up with nothing. My mind was as empty as a blank sheet of paper. I was so screwed.

  I licked my lips. “What about a weapon?” I doubted she’d give me anything, but it was worth a shot.

  Vorkol never lost her smile. “You can use anything you find in the arena.”

  Your head? Jaw gritted, I glanced around the arena. The first row of seats was too high for me to reach, so borrowing any kind of magic was out of the question.

  Movement caught my attention, and I turned my gaze to find something flat and dark gray spinning towards me in the air. It landed in the sand with a light thud.

  Blinking, I stared at a small dagger, half buried in the sand five feet away from me.

  I looked up in time to see Faris lowering himself in his seat. From Vorkol’s dark expression, she’d seen him throw it.

  I waited to see if she’d object. After five more seconds, I reached down and picked up the small dagger, seeing as Vorkol hadn’t said a word. It was obvious she was pissed, but she’d said it herself. I could use anything I found in the arena.

  I glanced down a the small pocket knife. Why did Faris throw me something so small? What would it do against a gargantuan-sized spider? The chorus of laughter and whistles that followed sent my face flaming.

  I glared at Faris. “A sword would have been better.”

  The mid-demon said nothing as he leaned back in his seat, a satisfied though worried expression marring his face. He almost looked relieved that I had this puny knife while facing a giant opponent. Was he mad? Maybe he wanted me to die.

  He watched me with the same content expression, as though that tiny weapon was my salvation and the answer to my gigantic spider problem. Like I was supposed to know what to do with the knife.

  I grasped the tiny knife firmly in my hand. It was better than nothing. Maybe I could poke one of its eyes out, not that it would change anything.

  “What are the rules?” I cried out, hating that my voice shook, but there was nothing I could do about it now. Every demon in this godforsaken arena could see and probably smell my fear. I was the witch who had exercised some of them, and now they were getting payback.

  The Greater demon smiled without teeth. “No rules. Except there can only be one winner. The one who survives the duel is the winner.”

  “And if I win,” I said, my voice hoarse. “What happens then? Will you let me go home? Back to my world?” It was a longshot, but it was worth the try, especially with all the demon witnesses.

  Vorkol’s smile was surreal, hard and cold like a mannequin. “If you win the duel, you may return to your home world,” she answered, her expression blank except for the strange smile that never left.

  I’d take that. “So, anything goes? No rules, right?”

  Vorkol lifted her arms in a gesture of acquiescence. “This is the Netherworld. And anything goes.”

  Okay, then. I swallowed hard, my head pounding from the hours of the acidic air poisoning my lungs and body.

  I knew Faris was watching me. But I couldn’t look at him now. The fear that showed on his face would probably ruin any hope I had of surviving this. Maybe I wasn’t meant to survive. Maybe this was how I’d die.

  The silence around the arena was thick, frighteningly profound, and my pulse quickened.

  Vorkol clapped her hands once.

  And then the igumo charged.

  19

  Have you ever had a giant spider chase you? Me neither.

  And what’s the first thing you do when you do have a giant spider chase you? You run. Well, you scream first—and then you run like hell.

  Legs pumping with sweet adrenaline, I ran as fast as they would take me with lack of food and water, which wasn’t fast. It was more the equivalent of a heavy smoker trying to run a block while coughing up his lungs. Yeah. I was a spectacle to watch.

  Why did Faris toss me a puny knife?

  I was glad I had an audience to see me like this. The roar of laughter reached me, but soon all I heard was the thrashing of my heart in my chest. There was only me, that gargantuan killer spider, and a puny knife.

  Why had Faris looked at me like he’d just solved all my problems? Like I should know what to do with the knife?

  Thank the cauldron the igumo wasn’t a great sprinter. I’d run around the arena once now, and the demon spider was still behind me. But I wasn’t an idiot, I couldn’t run around like this for much longer. If the spider was smart, all it had to do was wait for my energy to run out. Then I was its meal.

  But I couldn’t stop now. Stopping meant death. I didn’t want to imagine what it would feel like to have its hairy, disgusting legs touch me or its fangs sinking into my skin. I might vomit.

  If I was allowed anything at all, why would Faris toss me such a small thing?

  Small knives were good for cutting and slicing.

  And then it hit me.

  The knife wasn’t for the spider. It was for me. He intended me to use it on me.

  With my heart in my throat, I spun around. Seeing that the igumo was halfway across from me, I pulled off my left glove, pocketed it, and gripped the knife in my right hand. I slashed it across my left palm, and dark red blood pooled in my palm, lots of it. I needed lots.

  Gasp
s and cries of outrage slammed into the silence, but I didn’t dare look at any of them. Especially not Vorkol.

  I had power in my blood. Blood was power. All witches had it, some more than others. Blood magic was complicated, and I had never really gotten into it. It was messy. All that blood. Also I could never truly swallow the killing and sacrificing of small animals—sometimes humans, but they were bad humans. I didn’t want to go that route with my magic. Having demons do my bidding was easier, and I didn’t have to kill a squirrel or a rat for it.

  Still, I was in the Netherworld. The balance of magic and all things supernatural was different here. And yet, Faris had tossed me a knife. That meant he knew my blood magic would work. I had to believe it. I had to trust him. He’d just risked exposing himself now. Vorkol had seen him. Things would be different for Faris now.

  I fell to my knees, my focus clear, which was surprising under the giant-killer-spider demon circumstances.

  The igumo halted about a hundred feet from me and cocked it head, seemingly catching a whiff of my blood. It was still for a moment, and then its body shook. A horrible wailing sound erupted from it—a sound a normal spider shouldn’t make. This was no ordinary spider.

  And then its fur changed from black to red—blood red, as though it were mimicking my blood and anticipating tasting it. Yikes.

  I knew I had seconds before the spider attacked.

  Here goes nothing.

  Squeezing my left hand, I drew a triangle-shaped sigil using my own blood in the sand before me. With my heart pounding in my ears, I squeezed more blood out of my hand and added a circle next to the triangle. I wrote the name Sabnock in Latin in the center of the circle.

  I looked up to find Faris’s dark eyes locked on mine. He gave a small nod of encouragement. He knew exactly what I was doing. It had to work. It had to.

  Then came the part where I had no idea if it was going to work.

  By the cauldron, let me be right.

  Taking a deep breath of acidic air, instead of stepping inside the circle, I stepped into the triangle.