I whistled. “Nifty. They just give them out to Watchers?”
He shrugged. “Knowledge is a powerful tool.”
Conor turned sideways and spit on the paper to activate the spell, giving me a sheepish look after doing so. Then he pressed it to the metal above the lock. The glow around the door turned red and there was a pop!
The door opened to reveal a dimly lit entry way with a velvet rope across it and a sign that said, “Back at Midnight.”
“Not creepy at all,” I said, and headed inside.
Conor followed. The door shut behind us. There was a magical pop! that indicated the magic had snapped back into place. “It’s not creepy. It’s well-designed magic.”
“If you say so.” I poked the sign. It swayed in its gold stand. “Hello?” I called.
“The sign says—” Conor started.
I shot him a look. “I can read. But seriously, no one is here until midnight? What’s that about?”
Conor shrugged. “It’s a magical museum that exists due to a decade-old peace accord. I’m sure the operating budget is lacking.”
I groaned. There went magical bureaucracy ruining the party again.
The Museum of Magical Artifacts had been formed by an agreement between all supernaturals of the Pacific Northwest—including the fae, who rarely deigned to join into agreements. The idea was that magical artifacts—pieces of magical history—should be kept in a safe space so they might be preserved for future generations. Witch groups, such as the Magic Council, had always tried to hold onto history but the Museum was more than that. It would hold powerful or once powerful objects that had immense magical significance. Objects that, if they got into the wrong hands, might be used for nefarious purposes. Hence the security and magical keys.
“Seems stupid not to have someone posted here at all times,” I said.
“If we’d gone to the Council to get a key, they would have informed us of the current operating hours,” Conor continued. “As a Watcher, I should have checked before entering.”
I gave another hard look at the velvet rope. It didn’t appear to be enchanted but it was hard to tell for sure. “I guess we can come back later.”
Conor cleared his throat. I glanced back at him. His expression was fraught.
“What?”
“I don’t have another key. We’re issued one and then when we use it, we need to explain why and fill out a report before we’re issued another.”
I groaned. That meant if we left, we weren’t getting back in any time soon. Conor would get a new key, but it might take the Council weeks to issue it. I checked the time on my phone. It wasn’t even seven o’clock. I was not standing around for hours waiting for some museum curator to get his butt to work.
I took a deep breath and conjured a small ball of demon fire in my palm. Conor started to protest. I ignored him and extended my fire-holding hand over the rope. If there was some kind of magical barrier, the fire would react to it. It didn’t. I let the fire go out in a puff of blue smoke and, careful of my midsection, stepped over the rope.
Nothing happened.
“Seems fine,” I said. I immediately wished I hadn’t. Saying things like that was a good way to jinx yourself.
Conor grunted but after a second, he stepped over the rope to join me.
The Museum of Artifacts looked a lot like a human museum. Artifacts were displayed in glass cases, the larger ones in rooms with glass windows allowing viewers to see in. The glass buzzed with magical enchantments that meant breaking it would be difficult and probably alert someone. Not that I had any desire to steal anything.
I’d come here for answers. I’d hoped a museum curator might be able to tell me what connection might exist between a dragon’s dagger and a mage’s ceremonial chalice. If I could figure out what the mage wanted them for, I might be able to guess his next target and catch him in the act.
Conor stopped in front of a case. Inside was a rotating velvet cushion that held a gnarly black rock. I bent closer to get a better look. Something about it felt off so I blinked into my shadow sight and sucked in a breath. Demon shadows clung to the object, so dark they looked like gaps in the world.
“It’s a demon’s finger,” Conor said.
“What’s that? Some kind of ancient spell?”
Conor gave me a sidelong look. “It’s literally a demon’s finger, cut off in battle.”
I swallowed uneasily and backed away. “Gross,” I said, trying to act casual. “Why is it here?”
“It’s rare to get a piece of a corporeal demon. Most don’t manifest physically, as you know. When one does…” He shrugged.
I got it. Big corporeal demons were rare. Smaller demons could manifest corporeal bodies: demons the size of bats, say, or small rodents. Anything larger could usually only exist in our world in spirit form unless they possessed someone else’s body. Still, keeping a finger like that, black and shriveled, felt a little gauche.
I moved on, pausing to glance at some of the other exhibits: an enchanted dandelion that held a faerie curse, an old wooden bowl used in mage ceremonies in the 1700s, a knife enchanted to follow voice commands from its master.
I froze in front of a large stone plate. It was the diameter of a dinner plate and, from what I could see behind the glass, maybe an inch thick. On its surface were carvings that looked like some kind of maze, and then around the edges were what appeared to be words in an alien language. My pulse raced and a wave of nausea washed over me.
After a moment, I realized why. It reminded me of the demon stone I’d found months back in the tent of a demon-worshiper. Demon stones were carved from obsidian from the Underworld and used to summon demons. But the one I’d found had been pocket-sized. This thing was huge in comparison.
Conor came up beside me. “There’s a reason they keep this place locked down,” he said, when he saw my expression. I probably looked horrified.
“Is it a super big demon stone?” The label on the glass said it was a “ritual stone” used in now-illegal magic. It did not specify what kind but it didn’t take a genius to guess.
“It’s similar, only more powerful.” He traced the lines of the maze on the glass. “It requires a lot more blood, for one thing. And supposedly it can summon a corporeal demon.”
I shuddered and then gasped as a bit of pain spiked in my middle. The pain pills were helping dull the effect but my ribs still hurt if I moved wrong. Or too much. Gods help me if I laughed.
I glanced at the time again. It had been fifteen minutes.
“All right, let’s go.”
Conor tilted his head in question. “I thought you wanted to speak with a curator.”
“I do. But I’m not standing in here for the next five hours to do it.” I smirked. “Besides, I don’t need to be in the museum to speak to the curator. I just have to find them elsewhere.”
Conor smiled faintly. “Always circumventing the system.”
“It’s not my fault the system is always in my way.” I stepped back over the rope, careful not to knock over the “Back Soon” sign. Conor did the same and I pulled the door open.
The green ball of energy flew at me so fast I barely had time to duck. Conor hit the ground behind me. I glanced up to see a figure in a hood and jacket.
The mage.
Ice rushed into my veins.
I conjured a ball of demon fire in my fist. Another ball of green energy magic came hurtling toward me. I rolled out of the way and jumped to my feet. I tossed my own fire back at the mage, who dodged. In my periphery, I saw Conor pull out his shield wand.
I conjured more demon fire, straining to make the fireball as large as a basketball. The mage decided to fight fire with fire. He tossed a red fireball at me. I danced out of the way and it slammed into the velvet rope. The rope went up in magical flame.
I tossed my big fireball back. He tried to dodge but the edge of the fireball caught his sleeve. His jacket ignited. He dropped the spell he’d been conjuring and shrugged t
he jacket off. In doing so, his sweatshirt hood came off. He was a young man with sandy hair and sharp features. I didn’t recognize him.
And at the moment, I didn’t care who he was. Blood pounded in my ears. I threw more fire at him. He jumped out of the way, his coat still burning on the stained white floor of the school hall.
Conor rushed toward him, ready to cuff him. He threw another red fireball at Conor, who raised his shield to block the blow.
The mage conjured green energy balls in each hand and grinned at me. “Thanks,” he said.
I was gathering blue flame in my hand but his comment caught me off guard. I stopped, the fireball about the size of my fist. “For what?”
“Opening the door,” he said, and flung the energy balls at Conor and I.
I swore, jumping out of the way. The attack caught me in the leg and knocked me off balance. I hit the ground at a funny angle. My ribs exploded in pain. I screamed. Conor, who’d narrowly avoided being hit, jumped from the ground where he’d hit and came running toward me.
My vision went white—a nice change from the total darkness, but not really better—and came back in time for me to see the mage running deeper into the Museum. The rope had been burned to ash but he knocked the gold sign over as he passed.
I gritted my teeth and willed the pain to ebb. Conor reached me, bending down to assess my injuries. I gestured toward the mage, who’d already disappeared into the museum.
“Were you hit?”
“I’ll survive,” I said. “Get him!”
Conor nodded and rose to his feet. The sound of glass shattering echoed down the hall. I swore. Conor leapt into action, running into the museum. I forced myself to sit up. Sitting hurt, so I got to my feet. My head swam but I managed to stave off nausea.
Magic exploded inside the museum. Colorful lights like fireworks dancing down the hall. I started toward it. I heard Conor shout and then grunt. Footsteps came pounding toward me. One arm around my middle, I bit my lip and let the pain fuel my magic. I conjured a big, blue ball of demon fire in my other hand.
The mage came racing back toward me. He was running as fast as he could but his speed was hindered by the gigantic stone tablet he carried.
He held the extra-large demon stone. My pulse raced. I threw the fireball as he passed by but he managed to use the stone as a shield. The fire didn’t even bounce off it. It just sort of melted into the slab of stone.
The mage was through the door before I could conjure more fire to throw. By the time I reached the door myself, he was long gone. A lone teacher had come out and peered down the hall and see what the commotion was.
I had no idea what he saw. He paled and quickly shut his classroom door.
I leaned against the doorway and swore. Conor came jogging up beside me. His gray uniform was scorched on one sleeve, black soot covering the fabric, and his palms were scrapped and bloody. I stared at them, pain still pulsing in my midsection. He held his shield wand, but it had been snapped in two.
“He got away,” I said, panting. “And he took the giant demon stone.”
“I know,” Conor said. He wiped his mouth and swallowed uneasily. “I’ll call the Watchers and put out an alert so everyone is looking for him.”
My breath felt too shallow. Cold pricked at my skin. I tried to take a deep breath but my vision narrowed. “That can’t be good,” I said. I meant the mage having the giant demon stone. But before I could clarify, everything went black and silent.
Chapter 10
Light and sound rushed back in, bright and loud against the silent dark.
Nausea washed over me. I tried to walk. Realized I was sitting. Frowned.
Conor was next to me, head bent close. I was seated on the floor of the Museum. He must have caught me and eased me to the ground because I didn’t feel any worse than I had before the blackout. Of course, it was hard to be sure.
The door still yawned open into the school hallway, which was mercifully still devoid of onlookers. I couldn’t have been out for long or Conor would have shut the door.
“I’m fine.” I said it almost automatically. I was trying to convince myself more than Conor. These blackouts sucked and they made me feel helpless. Conor gave me a hard once-over and then nodded sharply.
He stood and then reached down to help me up. I got to my feet slowly, trying not to do any more damage to my middle than I already had. I was going to need to swing by the infirmary to get more of that blue healing goop.
“I fucked up,” I said.
Conor winced. “The blackouts aren’t your fault.”
I shook my head, which still felt watery and weird. “The mage. I let him in. That’s probably all he wanted.”
The ceremonial mage chalice was next to useless to anyone who wasn’t doing that particular ceremony and the dragon’s dagger was valuable and cool but also not worth risking your neck for. Both could be sold to the right collector for a good price, but so could plenty of mundane artifacts. So why steal those specific items and get on the radar of mages and a vengeful dragon? The items didn’t work together. They wouldn’t aid in any ceremony or spell together as far as I knew, at least no more than similar objects might.
The only outcome was that the thefts had gotten me to open the door to the Museum, a door the mage couldn’t magic his own way into. And now I suspected that had been his plan all along.
“He certainly took the opportunity,” Conor said, voice gruff. He sounded as irritated as I felt that the bastard had gotten away.
“He made the opportunity. He stole random magical stuff. He must have been following me around, waiting for me to come here for answers.” I wrung my hands. I’d been tricked and that made me feel stupid. “It was pretty damn clever. Now he has a giant demon stone.”
I had no idea what he wanted with that nightmare of an artifact, but given what it was made for—summoning big demons in corporeal form—it wasn’t anything good.
“He had no way of knowing you’d come here.” Conor reached out toward me, maybe to pat my shoulder or help me shuffle along. Either way, he reconsidered and dropped his hand.
I licked my lips. They were dry and cracked.
I limped to the door. “I’ve come here before. Last year, someone stole a couple of goblin artifacts and this was one of my first stops. The faerie I was working for let me in.” I touched my midsection. It was still sore and hurt, but it wasn’t any worse than it had been. Another few doses of blue goop and I should be much better, if not fully healed.
“Still. It’d be a long shot to hope you’d get on the case…” Conor started.
I gave him a hard look. He’d stolen from the mages and then a dragon I’d been known to work for, a great way to ensure I’d be hired. “Well, whether it was his master plan or not, he has the big demon stone. We should…”
My vision swam. Blackness crept into the edges and nausea washed over me again. I grabbed the door and held on for dear life. The blackness retreated but I remained still, panting and unsteady, until I was sure it had passed.
Conor stared at me, his lips pressed together in a tight line. “We should get your condition taken care of before we do anything.” I opened my mouth to argue. Conor held up a hand. “You can’t stop this guy if you’re blacking out every two minutes.”
I couldn’t argue with that. It was hard to fend off attacks and stop an evil mage if I kept passing out at random. And worse, the attacks seemed to be getting more frequent and more intense.
“And how do you propose we do that?” I asked.
“The ritual Pete talked about.” Conor’s eyes bored into me like laser beams.
“The dangerous scary one that might kill me to get the mark off? No thanks,” I said, ignoring the disapproval in Conor’s frown. “We’ll just have to kill the demon.”
Conor shook his head. “Killing a demon for good isn’t easy. We have to summon it and then destroy it completely, which means being in the circle with it.”
If you collapsed a circle
from the outside, it sent the demon back to the Underworld, which was all well and good if your goal was simply to get rid of them. But in order to kill a demon, you had to be in close proximity to it. Close enough that it had the opportunity to kill you in turn.
“I know.” I swallowed uneasily as I remembered Ashraith’s vicious voice and the control he’d had over me for three days. The thought of intentionally getting close to him was terrifying, not least because I hadn’t been able to kill him last time. “What’s a sure fire way to kill a demon?”
“Run them through with an obsidian blade,” Conor said without hesitation. Sometimes I forgot that, despite his gray uniform and commitment to bureaucracy, Conor was a skilled demon hunter.
“Then let’s get us a big obsidian sword and summon ourselves a demon.”
Getting the sword was the easy part. Conor had access to the Watchers’ armory. He checked out one obsidian sword, saying that he’d spotted a demon running around downtown Everett. Because killing demons who ran amok was his job, they didn’t ask too many questions.
The hard part, beyond finding an empty space to summon the demon in, was going to be actually killing him. Ashraith was clever and dangerous. Getting close enough to kill him meant he’d be close enough to kill me. Or worse, possess me again.
I shuddered at the thought. Being possessed was like being in a black hole, only you got to surface from time to time to watch your body move without your consent. It was hell, and I refused to live it ever again.
I’d just have to be faster than the demon.
Conor finished sweeping debris from the floor of the barn. It had been abandoned in a field not far off Highway 9 and leaned slightly to the left. The roof had more than a few holes and puddles of old rain water dotted the concrete floor. The fact that it had a concrete floor had made it more appealing for our purposes. It was easy to sweep the mess away and be sure nothing weird was in the circle. Insects, some metals and woods, and other junk might mess up a summoning circle. Plus, if a bug inside the circle suddenly flew out, the circle would break, letting the demon or spirit who was trapped inside loose.
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