Charms & Demons

by Kim Richardson

  “Damnit.” Carefully, I pulled off my glove. Blood oozed from my cut, and the wound hadn’t even started to cauterize yet.

  The cage rattled and swung as Logan shifted around and came to sit next to me. O-o-o-kay.

  “Let me take a look,” he said, surprising me. But I was more surprised when his thigh brushed mine.

  Gently, he held up my hand. “You’re going to need stitches,” he said, and let it go.

  “No shit.”

  With his hands, he ripped the bottom part of his t-shirt into a long strip and wrapped it around my hand with expert precision.

  “I see you’ve done this before,” I said, marveling at how his big hands could be so gentle.

  Logan gave me a tight smile. “I have.” He made a knot next to my wrist. “It should hold until we can get you some stitches when we get out of here.”

  “When we get out of here,” I repeated, hearing the certainty in my own voice. We had to get out. There was no other way. Not if we wanted to live.

  “So,” said Logan as he leaned next to me, our shoulders brushing. I could smell his musky scent over the sulfur in the air. It was nice. “Any bright ideas on how to get out of this place?”

  I pulled the glove over my left hand. “The only way out I see is the same way we got in.”

  “You mean through a Rift?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And you know where to find one?”

  I looked around at the metal bars. “If I can get out of this cage I might.”

  Logan made a sound in his throat. “Even if we find one, you think it’ll work?”

  “If I’m right,” I said, a bit of excitement fluttering in my stomach. “We both were stabbed by death blades, which allowed us passage. Right? So, it makes sense to think we can use that same logic to go through them again to go home.”

  Logan’s shoulders tensed. “Maybe. I just hope we can survive the trip. It wasn’t exactly a fun ride.”

  There was that. Our health was diminishing rapidly, and a trip through a Rift was a risk. Logan was right. We might not even make it out alive.

  “And where do you suppose we find one of these Rifts?” he asked.

  A thought occurred to me. “Faris is going to help.” I perked up. “He said he would. He’s going to help us find a way home.” Knowing I had at least one friend in this hell hole gave me a new sense of hope.

  “Maybe.” Logan shifted his body, and his shoulder brushed up against mine, sending tiny tingles over my skin. He was so close I could feel his hot breath on my face. He didn’t move away. Neither did I.

  “But maybe Vorkol killed him,” he added.

  I jerked and hit my head on the bars. “Why would you say that?” I asked, rubbing my head.

  Logan raised his brows. “He helped you by giving you that dagger. I don’t think Vorkol’s going to let that slide. He screwed himself.”

  “By helping me.” My throat tightened, and I leaned forward to get a better look at his face. “I’ve killed him too.”

  “Not necessarily,” said Logan. “He’s very resourceful. If any demon can get out of this sticky situation, Faris can. Don’t worry. He’ll be fine.”

  I peered at the angel-born, curious. “I thought you didn’t like him.”

  Logan shrugged. “I don’t. I just don’t think he deserves to die. Not after he helped you.”

  I leaned against the bars, realizing at that moment how much I liked talking with Logan. He was an angel-born and I was a witch. Yet it felt natural, right, and I didn’t want it to end.

  I met his eyes again and was shocked to find him grinning at me, more than a hint of attraction in his dark gaze.

  My heart did five summersaults, two jumping jacks, and a backflip for the finale. Damn, those were some fine eyes... and those lips...

  My pulse quickened, and my breath came and went.

  Logan exhaled. “You’re the craziest witch I’ve ever met.”

  “How sweet of you to say.”

  “And I also think you’re pretty amazing.”

  My mouth fell open. “You just gave me a compliment. Do you realize you just gave me a compliment? You, an angel-born, complimenting a dark witch?”

  Logan laughed, and the sound sent my heart thrashing in my chest. “I guess I did.”

  “You did.” A smile crept along my face.

  “We might die tonight,” said Logan, shifting his body and causing his thigh to rub against mine again. Those were some nice, tight, muscled thighs. I couldn’t help but picture him naked again. I was a seriously demented witch.

  “We might,” I agreed, the truth of his words hitting me hard. His face was so very close to mine...

  So, what does one do when staring death in the face?

  Something stupid, of course.

  I grabbed his face between my hands and crushed my lips against his.

  Logan flinched in surprise, his eyes wide in a shocked expression, but then he grabbed the back of my head and pulled me closer, kissing me back—slow at first and then harder. A quick hint of his tongue sent a spike of desire to my core.

  Damn, he was a good kisser. Even better than I’d remembered.

  My breath left me in a moan as I eased against him, one arm wrapped around his neck and the other in his hair, feeling his muscles tighten. His grip on my shoulders was firm with desire and it was all I could do to keep from ripping off his clothes.

  Pulse fast, I pulled away, sucking on his bottom lip one last time.

  “What was that for?” asked Logan. His eyes flashed, and his lips were red from my abuse.

  I shrugged. “You said we might die.” And I wanted to kiss you one last time, you fool. To see if I was still into you. Hell yeah.

  A wicked grin spread over Logan’s face. Desire flashed in his eyes, which had my pulse rising again. “We might die,” he said again, eyebrows high, expectant.

  I smiled. Naughty boy.

  I couldn’t look away from his eyes as I grabbed his face again and crushed my lips onto his. Yup, I was a dirty little witch.

  His lips pushed aggressively against mine, tasting of salt. Logan shifted his weight, pressing me into him as he pulled me onto his lap. His hands moved under my shirt, and the roughness of his calluses sent my skin riddling in goose bumps. Sensing my desire, his touch became aggressive, and hot ribbons of anticipation spiraled through my core.

  We couldn’t do this. It was too much. I wasn’t thinking clearly. It was too damn good.

  I pulled away again before things got out of hand and we were both naked, our bodies clunking in the cage. Yes, I wanted it to happen, just not here. I didn’t want to have sex with Logan in a damn cage in the Netherworld.

  “We can’t do this now,” I panted, still sitting on his lap and facing him.

  “I know,” he answered, his hands around my waist. “But it was nice—”

  The sound of wrenching metal pierced the air, and our cage started shuddering. I whipped my gaze through the metal bars and my heart sank.

  Andromalius stood on the platform, his thick hand on a lever.

  Damn. I’d never even heard the minotaur enter the cave.

  Then our cage shifted and fell.

  23

  “How did you kill Vargal?” Vorkol’s voice echoed up through the arena. Her tone was demanding and expectant, the voice of a queen. “Tell me now, and you and your... friend can go home.” There was an evil delight to her voice, cementing my anger. She was really enjoying this.

  She’d tossed her red pant suit for a light silver one. Straight, black hair hung from her head to her shoulders with straight bangs cut in the Cleopatra style. Probably another wig.

  “What will it be, little bird?” Vorkol said, testing the words on her tongue. “You promised me an answer.”

  “I didn’t,” I answered, making sure my voice rang out for everyone to hear and glad it was even. The fever in me ran higher every minute, and I didn’t know how much longer I could withstand the poisonous air. We needed
to get out of here, and soon.

  Vorkol sighed and ran her hand over the arm of her chair. “I would have thought you would have learned your lesson by now.”

  “School was never my thing.”

  Logan snorted next to me, too low for anyone else but me to hear. Having him with me, fighting alongside one another, gave me a new sense of courage, but it also doubled my sense of urgency. I was responsible for him. He was here because of me, and I needed to get him out.

  The plan was to fight off whatever she’d throw at us, keep her entertained, stay alive one more day, and hope Faris could help us find a Rift—and get the hell out of this place.

  Yeah. It wasn’t the best plan, but it was the only one we had. We needed to stay alive for as long as we could.

  “What happened to your rings?” asked Logan, his eyes on my hands. The question heightened his expression, having only just noticed them missing.

  My gaze flicked back to the Greater demon. Duvali was whispering something in her ear. “She destroyed them.” My jaw clenched in sudden hatred. I could always make new ones, but I happened to really like that pair.

  Logan hesitated. “Can you do your blood magic again?”

  I looked down at my left hand. “I better,” I said, and pulled off my left glove. “Because it’s all I have.”

  Now that I knew I could use my blood magic, I could use some of my spells, though I didn’t know how effective they would be, never having used them with blood magic before.

  “Give it here,” said Logan. He took my glove and slipped it in his jean pocket.

  I quickly undid Logan’s makeshift bandage and squeezed my palm. Dark blood pooled out freely. Next, I dipped my right index finger in my blood and drew the fire sigil on my left arm. Just below that, I drew the sigil for wind.

  I wasn’t even sure they would work in the Netherworld, but I was about to find out.

  I yanked Faris’s dagger out of my pocket “Here, take it,” I said. “You probably know how to use it better than I do.” The fact that the minotaur had let us keep it wasn’t a good sign.

  Logan grabbed the dagger in his right hand. “Thanks.”

  Adrenaline stabbed through me as my gaze flicked across the arena and the crowds of assembled demons, wondering if these were the same demons as before. It was impossible to tell. Everyone was clad in rich, colorful clothing, made of fine silk and embroidered with golds and silvers and reds. Dispersed among them were lesser demons, but not many. The demons burst into a sudden noise of conversation. Two male demons sitting in Vorkol’s balcony were arguing vehemently.

  My eyes scanned over the crowd of demons for Faris, but I didn’t find him.

  My chest tightened, and I swallowed the lump in my throat.

  “You look awful, little bird,” said Vorkol, and my gaze flicked back to her. “I can keep doing this, day after day, night after night,” she purred. “But soon your bodies will diminish. Soon, you’ll be nothing more than ash.”

  I believed her, but I wasn’t planning on staying much longer.

  Vorkol leaned forward. “But it doesn’t have to be this way. Tell me what I want, and it all goes away.”

  I stood my ground. “I’ve already told you. We fought. I won.”

  Her eyes settled on Logan, and I didn’t like what I saw there. “You know,” Vorkol mused, leaning against an arm of her throne-like chair. “Maybe I’ll let you fight in the pit and take him instead.” She ran an eye over Logan. Her smile widened at what she saw on my face. “Yes. Perhaps I’ll have different plans for him. He is... quite lovely to look at. Isn’t he? I can tell, just by looking into his eyes. I know he’s a passionate lover. Isn’t he?”

  Oh, hell no. This was not happening.

  “I’m not for sale,” growled Logan, pulling the words right out of my mouth.

  Vorkol’s smile was feline with lots of teeth. “Everything’s for sale.”

  I’d had enough. “It hurts. Doesn’t it?”

  The Greater demon lifted her brows. “What does?”

  “To be rejected.” Now it was my turn to smile. “You can’t have everything. And it’s killing you.”

  Vorkol’s face contorted with pride and anger. “You are mistaken. I have everything I want. Everything I desire.”

  “You don’t,” I said flatly. “You don’t know how I killed Vargal.” I watched the twitch of her smile, the furrowing of her delicate brows. “And it’s killing you. Isn’t it? Because you knew he was keeping secrets from you. You knew something was up with him, but you didn’t know what. He didn’t want you to know. Isn’t that right?”

  Vorkol forced a laugh, her expression one of warning. “You are clearly delusional.”

  “Sam, what are you doing?” cautioned Logan.

  But once the words were flowing, I couldn’t stop. “Did you know he was trying to raise a god? Oh. Look at your face. Damn. You didn’t know. Did you? Well, he was. All so the god would give him power.”

  Vorkol’s face twisted in disbelief as she bared her teeth and said, “You’ll say anything to save your soul, you pathetic little witch.”

  “It’s the truth,” I said, my voice rising at her visible discomfort. “And you had no idea what he was doing behind your back. That’s freaking priceless. If I were to guess, I’d say he was tired of living in your shadow. Vargal wanted power of his own. He wanted more than yours. And knowing him a little—since we shared a few battles—I would also go ahead and say that if he had succeeded, he would have killed you.”

  “That’s just great, Sam,” grumbled Logan, but I barely heard him.

  Vorkol’s features twisted into a scowl. The realization of my words hitting her showed in the stiffness of her posture and the tension along her expression. She believed me.

  It was a small victory, but I enjoyed every moment of it.

  Suck it, Cleopatra.

  Vorkol leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs at the knee. “If you’re inclined to play games, little bird, I suppose I must oblige.”

  She snapped her fingers. The steel doors across from us burst open, and through them charged a horde of shuffling, twitching humans of every shape and size—at least a dozen of them.

  But when they neared I could see their empty eyes staring in hollow, dead faces.

  Zombies.

  “Fuck me,” I grumbled.

  “Right back at ya,” echoed Logan.

  Great. I had as much love for zombies as I did a tick. And if you’d imagined zombies as in the Hollywood versions, you’d be right. They nailed it.

  Zombies were nothing more than soulless human meat suits, risen from the dead by powerful demonic magic or necromancy magic and forced to obey their master, or whomever created them. Vorkol would get my vote. They existed to kill and to eat flesh, any flesh, to maintain their decomposing bodies.

  I hated zombies.

  A collective cheer went up from the assembled demons, and then they began applauding enthusiastically. Seemed like the demons loved them. No surprise there.

  The zombies advanced, chanting and moaning mindless gibberish, for very few of them had functioning mouths. Their decayed legs thrust forward in a steady, slow rhythm that had bile rising in the back of my throat. The grisly sound of bone on bone and the rustle of decomposed flesh replaced the assembled demons’ chatter.

  “Here we go,” said Logan, Faris’s small pocket knife gripped firmly in his hand.

  My heart thumped as I pulled the energy from my blood sigils. “Have you ever killed a zombie?”

  Logan flashed me a smile that would have gotten me into trouble if we weren’t in the Netherworld about to fight a horde of zombies. “Only in video games.” He crouched down in an attack stance, the dagger brandished before him.

  “Get the brain,” I told him. Yeah. Hollywood had that right too. You could burn them too, but a shot to the brain usually did it.

  However, the zombie virus was all Hollywood. You didn’t turn into a zombie if you were bitten, but they did have a mean
bite, equipped with everlasting strength. They could rip you apart, and started to munch on your flesh while you were still alive. Yeah. I hated zombies.

  The frenzied gurgle-moaning rose in volume. The stench of carrion followed, so intense my eyes watered and I could hardly breathe. I shook off the feeling and focused.

  My pulse skyrocketed as the first wave of zombies hit. Damn, they were nasty.

  The nearest zombie, a black female, with its lower jaw and parts of its forehead missing, saw me and charged. Feet planted, I channeled my magic, but Logan got there first.

  With a burst of speed, he twisted around the zombie, got behind it, and sank his knife right into top of the zombie’s head. He pushed the knife down into its brain with a soft thud. The zombie twitched once but then was still. Grimacing, Logan yanked the blade from its head, sending a spatter of dark blood onto his face. The zombie collapsed to the ground in a pile of rotten flesh and cloth.

  I had to admit, the angel-born had moves. But I wasn’t here to stand and watch his handsome dance of death. I had some killing to do.

  A flicker of movement appeared in my line of sight.

  My turn.

  A male zombie came at me, its arms flailing wildly and striking blindly with heavy sweeps of its arms. Its eyes flashed with hunger.

  Channeling the blood sigils, and praying they would work, I let the energy wake in me and shouted, “Feurantis!”

  A pulse of energy lit through me, burning, as the fire sigil on my arm flashed with an orange light. My blood kindled the spell fully. My teeth clenched at the scorching pain as the blood magic soared through my veins.

  A ball of fire rose from my palm, and then I flung it at the oncoming zombie. It hit it right in the chest. The zombie screamed and fell to its knees, writhing madly. With a final screech, it stopped thrashing and was still.

  My ears rang and I staggered, feeling drained. My vision blurred and I blinked as I strained to see clearly, the pain of using my blood magic hitting hard. My limbs were stiff, and I felt as though I’d been hit by a bus. This was not good.

  It had worked. But it also hurt like hell and had cost me dearly.