Charms & Demons

by Kim Richardson

  My vision cleared just as another zombie rushed toward me, a thrashing stick-figure with ribbons of rotten flesh. Naked, it was an angry-looking monster. Its mouth was open, sporting two rows of jagged, brown-coated teeth.

  Why do I always get the naked ones?

  I willed my blood magic to come, lifted my left arm and shouted, “Feurantis!”

  As I stifled the pain, another ball of fire soared in the air and hit the zombie in the head. The fire exploded on impact, covering the wailing undead in sheets of yellow and oranges flames. It hit the ground—

  I cried out as my right shoulder flamed with pain. The overwhelming scent of carrion hit me, just as the weight of another body pulled me down from behind. Strong hands pinned my arms to my sides. I nearly vomited at the feel of its teeth sinking into my flesh, its rotten tongue tasting my blood. Panic overwhelmed my concentration, and breaking my left arm free, I reached over and jabbed the zombie in the eye with my thumb. The tightness in my shoulder released. I whirled and grabbed its arm as I spun and pulled it off of me.

  The trouble was, the arm came right off with a sickening suction noise.

  Now, I nearly vomited.

  That was one of the problems with zombies. They never stayed in one piece.

  I stared at the arm, which was mostly just bone with strings of rotten flesh that hung in my hand. “Oh. That’s just wrong.”

  The one-armed zombie howled, most likely pissed that I’d taken its arm without asking, and came at me again in a shuffle of oozing, peeling skin and tattered clothes.

  What does one do with a zombie arm? Use it a weapon.

  The zombie neared, and I hit it right across the head with its detached arm. The force took its head right off, like I’d hit a ball with a baseball bat. The zombie fell like a dead tree.

  I stood for a moment, shocked and a little impressed at my zombie-killing skills.

  The amount of blood that spilled down from my shoulder to my chest sobered me right up.

  “Look out!” came Logan’s cry.

  Moving on instinct, I spun around, clutching the zombie arm, and swung it as hard as I could.

  I felt a sudden jolt as the arm hit something solid, followed by a thud. Then came the sound of tearing flesh as the arm-weapon decapitated another zombie’s head, sending showers of blood and rotten flesh everywhere.

  And a forearm. Oops.

  I looked down at what was left of my zombie-arm weapon. The bone was shattered and had severed at the elbow.

  I tossed it and turned in time to see Logan moving around a cluster of zombies in an unreal grace, slicing and dicing as he spun around them. Zombies landed at his feet. Even with a small knife, he was beating them. I hated that he looked better than me at this, even showered in zombie blood and guts. Some people had it all.

  Behind me, the sound of a deep growl neared. I whirled my head around in time to see an enormous wolf running towards me. No, not a wolf, a zombie-wolf.

  The giant zombie-wolf had fangs the size of Faris’s dagger and white, shark-like eyes. Totally creepy. Totally not fair. Demons never played by the rules.

  My bowels turned watery. Crap. Why do I always get stuck with the big ones?

  White bones protruded from rotten flesh. I could see part of its ribcage and the meat that bounced around inside. One ear was torn off, and half its nose was missing. The wolf was practically hairless, except for a few tuffs of gray hair. Its lips were pulled back, and it looked angry as hell. I would be too if I was brought back from the dead.

  I felt eyes on me and looked up at the balcony to find a triumphant smile on Vorkol’s pale face, but her red eyes were full of hatred. Hatred for me. I had a feeling the zombie-wolf was payback for what I’d said about Vargal. The mutt was overkill but proof I was right.

  Still, I should have kept my big mouth shut.

  The zombie-wolf slammed into two zombies, its white eyes never leaving me as it galloped forward in great bounds. Bones snapped as the zombies were crushed into the sand by the zombie-wolf’s sheer weight, their heads squished like a beaten cheery pies.

  “Good doggie,” I said, pulling on the energy of my blood sigils and pushing down the sick feeling in my gut at the same time.

  The zombie-wolf growled and leaped—

  Mouth dry, I channeled the magic from my blood sigils, flung out my hand and shouted, “Feurantis!”

  A ball of fire shot from my outstretched hand and hit the zombie-wolf in the chest. Howling, it pitched to the side, rolling on the sand, over and over, as it howled until the fire was extinguished.

  “Bad dog,” I expressed, amazed and scared at the same time. “Very bad dog.” A smart zombie-wolf? Vorkol was playing hardball.

  I winced as waves of pain washed through me, the blood magic settling and taking payment. I took a breath and steadied myself, wrinkling my nose at the stench of wet dog and burnt hair.

  I moved my eyes around at the remaining human zombies. They were giving us a wide berth. I was grateful for it, but it also meant Logan would soon be faced with all of them.

  My eyes found him through the wall of zombies that stood between us. He was still fighting well, but he was also only fighting off two zombies. Ice licked up my spine. The other four remaining were making their way towards him. He would never be able to fight them all off alone. They were going to kill him. They were going to eat him alive because that’s what zombies did.

  Damnit. I needed to get to him!

  “Screw this.” I made to move towards Logan.

  The zombie-wolf stood in my way. Its skin still sizzled and popped like an overcooked chicken, black smoke coiling from its rotten corpse.

  “And you need to be put on a leash,” I declared.

  The zombie-wolf snarled, its sharp teeth riddled in decay, with strips of flesh from its last victim still stuck in between its teeth. Nice.

  The rotting wolf let out a vicious, spitting growl and then leaped.

  Heart racing, I willed my blood magic to come, and it sputtered and spat, the energy not fully rising to the surface. It was like trying to start an old car. The energy rose—and then fell.

  Oh. Shit.

  The zombie-wolf flew at me.

  I threw myself down, sliding and rolling over the sand while getting some in my mouth and eyes. I pushed myself up—

  The zombie-wolf clamped its jaw over my leg. I cried out as its teeth sank into my flesh, dragging me back. I nearly passed out as surges of pain soared through me, all the way up to my skull. But I took a breath, pushing the pain away before I succumbed to it.

  A guttural sound escaped me—a mix of pain and determination. I wouldn’t die like this. I wouldn’t let this undead thing rip me apart for all the demons to see because I was sure they’d enjoy it. Vorkol most of all.

  Adrenaline surged painfully, and I kicked out as hard as I could.

  My boot came into contact with its head. There was a snap, and the wolf let go.

  My breath came in a ragged gasp as I whirled around and pushed myself up, gritting my teeth as agony sang through me. My left leg throbbed where it had bitten, and every nerve ending pulsed into a burn. The zombie-wolf licked its lips, fresh blood staining them as it lowered itself in an attack crouch.

  I limped to a standing pose, a growing sense of fear and desperation giving my legs a Jell-O-like feeling.

  Laughter went through the arena, and I looked back to see the demons, their heads falling back with laughter at my pain, at me. Vorkol’s mouth spread into a slow, vicious smile, which in turn became a high, rolling laugh. And then Duvali joined in with her.

  I felt my face burn. Not with embarrassment but with pure, hot, delicious fury.

  And then I lost it.

  The zombie-wolf ran toward me.

  But I was ready.

  Teeth bared, I tapped into my will, pulling the magic from the blood sigils on my arm and molding it to my will. The pulse of magic hit, sending me staggering as it answered.

  The zombie-wolf let out
a horrible, deep howl—the cry of a beast about to make a kill—and lunged.

  Blood magic throbbed through me like adrenaline, only a thousand times stronger. I planted my feet and really let loose as I shouted, “Vento!” at the top of my lungs.

  I unleashed everything I had into it. A blast of energy shot through me, and I staggered.

  An unseen force hit the zombie-wolf, lifted it from its feet and sent it back with a violent burst of wind. The zombie-wolf soared backwards high across the arena in a blur of limbs and dead flesh. Its limbs thrashed as it came down fast.

  And impaled on a flag’s metal post.

  The dead thing slid down to the bottom, the post perforating through its mouth like a skewered pig and leaving a trail of dark blood on the metal.

  Heart pounding, my body shook from the spent magic, and I let the agony of the blood magic roll through me. I stood, staring at the wolf for a moment and wondering if it was truly dead. Or would it simply cough up the metal post and spring back on its legs? Stranger things had happened.

  But the wolf did not move again.

  Only then did I notice the laughter had died. The arena was quiet. Too quiet.

  Until I heard Logan’s cry from behind me, a scream of utter terror and pain.

  24

  My heart stopped. And then a new fear settled in my gut.

  Panicked, I spun and saw Logan on the ground, two zombies on top of him. The other four lay in crumpled piles of dead bones and flesh on the ground, dark blood seeping from their skulls.

  “Logan!”

  My own pain forgotten, I ran as fast as my injured leg could take me without tripping. The sand pulled at my boots with each step, making it harder and slowing the process. It was like running through quicksand.

  The harsh sound of Logan screaming continued, and then it just stopped.

  No!

  My eyes focused on Logan. From where I was, the two zombies obscured my view of him. I couldn’t see his face, only a scrap of his jeans showing from under the pile of zombies. I couldn’t see if he was still alive.

  Bastards.

  I growled in rage, arms pumping and spindling the blood magic in me until I burned with fever and all I saw was red and death and destruction.

  The two zombies looked up at the sound of my approach, their jaws open with driblets of blood spilling from their mouths. Logan’s blood.

  My pulse hammered, and the feeling of fury burned, feeding my blood magic with the added power of emotions and giving my magic a mega boost. Pain pulled me, and I felt like I was going to be split in two. Blood magic sucked. But it was all I had.

  The adrenaline rushed through me, wild and mindless. I wanted to kill them.

  My blood magic soared to the surface, and power rushed out of my palms.

  “Vento!” I howled and flung out my hands.

  A rush of invisible force caught the zombies and propelled them back. Their limbs thrashed wildly and frantically as they flew in the air.

  With my heart thrashing I shouted, “Feurantis!”

  Twin fireballs shot out of my outstretched hands and caught the two zombies midair. An explosion of yellow and orange light was followed by howls of agony as the undead ignited in flames as though they’d been dosed in gasoline.

  I watched as the two smoldering zombies flew like flaming cannonballs and hit the far wall of the arena with a horrible crunch. They slid to the ground in heaps of jumbled limbs and charred flesh.

  And then I was moving again.

  My knees shook and I let myself fall next to Logan. My lips parted and a moan escaped me.

  He was a mess of blood.

  His jeans were torn and soaked in blood from ankle to thigh. Teeth marks stabbed his right collar bone, where the zombies had bitten him but had not managed to take away chunks of flesh. His shirt was ripped, revealing a series of long wounds that ran the width of his stomach, just above his belly button, as though the claws from a werewolf had sliced him. My stomach churned, and I looked away. The sand beneath him was scarlet.

  Damn. His face was pale and pasty with a large red bruise just above his left eyebrow. His jaw shook as he tried to hide the pain from his face, but it was there.

  He was alive, but he was going to bleed out if I couldn’t get him to an angel-born hospital, or any damn human hospital, soon.

  His eyes met mine and a smile twitched on his lips. “You should see the other guy,” he said, his voice forced and laced with pain. His right hand was still clutched around the small knife.

  I swallowed hard, trying to keep it together. “Damnit, Logan. You should have called for help.”

  His features twisted, and he showed me a weary smile for a moment. “While you were fighting that zombie dog? No way,” he said, his tone quiet and rough.

  “You need a doctor.”

  Logan blinked up at me. “That bad, huh?”

  “Yeah, that bad.” I let out a breath and raised my hand towards his face. Then I thought better of it and instead let it fall in my lap. “We’re going home. We’ve won. We’re going to get you fixed up.”

  Vorkol had better let us go, or I was going to kill her next.

  Sure enough, when I looked up, the Greater demon was watching me, her red eyes laced with a pure hatred that matched my own. So, we had something in common after all. Good.

  “Game over,” I said, my voice loud over the enraged mumblings of the assembled demons. “We’ve won. We’ve killed your zombies. It’s time for you to live up to your end of the deal.”

  I knew it was a longshot—part of me had always known she’d lied—but I had to try. For Logan’s sake. I had to get him out of here. He wasn’t going to make it.

  “Deal?” mocked Vorkol, her delicate brows rising in question. “I don’t make deals with little birds,” she said, and Duvali laughed behind her on cue like a good dog.

  Heat rose from my neck to my face. “You gave me your word!” I shouted, my heart pounding in my throat, my body shaking with the spent adrenaline and blood magic.

  Vorkol gave me a liquid smile, her expression condescending. “I lied,” she said, and an echo of laughter from the demons ran along the arena, amplifying her words. “No demon or mortal ever goes free, silly bird.” She bared her teeth and said, “put the bird back in her cage. Let her rot to the end of her days. I’ve no more use for her.”

  With a bored expression, she turned back to Duvali and the other demons assembled on the balcony. And just like that, I was forgotten. She’d gotten all the fun she’d wanted from me, and now I was discarded like one of her old costumes.

  Then I understood. Vorkol had seemingly dropped all matters pertaining to Vargal. She didn’t want anyone talking about it anymore. She knew the truth now. Perhaps she was a little embarrassed. Perhaps she didn’t care. The name Vargal meant nothing to her anymore—just like I held no more interest in her eyes.

  The sound of scrambling feet jerked my attention, and I looked up as some demons started to get up and leave.

  The show was over.

  My insides dropped to my feet. No. It couldn’t be. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. I had to get out of here. I had to get Logan to a hospital.

  “He needs a doctor,” I shouted, my anger flaming. “Hey! He needs a doctor, damnit! I’m talking to you!” I waited to get Vorkol’s attention, but she was deep in conversation with a female demon sporting a shaved head in a white kimono-looking dress.

  I knew she heard me. And yet, she couldn’t be bothered with me anymore.

  There was only one thing left for me to do, only one thing I’d sworn never to do, never to tell. It was the only thing that could save Logan. She’d listen to me then.

  My lips parted—

  “Don’t,” wheezed Logan, and my gaze flicked to him. “Don’t tell her.”

  I frowned at his perceptiveness. “Damnit, Logan,” I hissed, and feeling nauseated, I added, “I don’t care anymore. If I don’t tell her, you’ll die. I need to get you to a hospital. It’s
the only way.”

  His face twisted in pain, and he tried to smile. “I was dead anyway.” He swallowed and added, “You were right. She was never going to let us go. You can’t tell her.”

  “Shut up.” My heart thrashed, his words ringing true, but I refused to accept them. “Come on. I’m getting us out.”

  With whatever remaining strength I had, I managed to pull Logan up and wrapped his left arm around my shoulder. Supporting most of his weight, I stood and dragged him with me. My legs shook under his weight, but with his help, we managed to stay in a vertical position. I took the knife from his hand and slipped it into my back pocket.

  “Are we going to walk out?” came Logan’s voice next to my ear. The laughter in his voice almost made me smile.

  “Something like that.” Why not. No one was paying any attention.

  My plan worked for about three seconds, and then the minotaur appeared in my line of sight.

  Andromalius approached us, his muscular shoulders swaying. “What of the male?” he called out, when he reached us, his sword pointed at Logan. He looked over his shoulder to his mistress.

  I frowned. “His name is Logan,” I said darkly. Not that it mattered.

  The minotaur demon flared his nostrils at me, and a guttural growl rumbled from his throat, a sound of pure hostility and death that would have terrified me a few days ago. Now, I was just too tired.

  Andromalius stood calmly and steadily, his sword’s tip in the sand with his hands folded over the weighted pommel, awaiting her instruction.

  “I have no more use for the mortal if he can’t fight,” Vorkol said finally, a quick glance in our general direction before returning her attention to the demon in the white kimono. She snapped her fingers again. “Give him to the hounds. Mortal flesh is always best when it’s still warm.”

  My lips parted, and real fear hit hard. I couldn’t get any of that damned, acidic air into my lungs. My knees wobbled, and I cried out as Logan’s weight crushed me. I strained to keep from falling over.

  Andromalius’s feet moved toward us.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  Cold terror rose, sudden and complete, and I braced myself as my heart lurched in panic.