Demon Fate

by Tori Centanni

  Translation: demons wanted to possess living things so they could wreak havoc. Demons could be trapped in inanimate objects, particularly in glass, but they wouldn’t usually choose to inhabit something that couldn’t walk around and cause harm.

  Unless the point was to cause lots of harm.

  “Where did you hear the tip about the abandoned house?” Conor asked.

  “Lachlan,” I said, explaining who he was. “Faeries can’t lie, but they can be lied to. Particularly by someone who knows where I go for intel.”

  I shuddered at that. If the house had been a trap, it was so much worse than some mage setting snares for me to snag myself on. It meant he knew my routines and how I operated. “If that was a trap set by the mage, he knows how I work. He was confident enough that I’d open the Museum if he stole the right pieces. And then he knew I’d try to summon Ashraith - hence the bat-birds. And now the house…”

  Nausea washed over me. How could I hunt this asshole down if he was always three steps ahead?

  “Perhaps it’s not the mage who has you pegged,” Conor said, tone grim, eyes on the table.

  Cold washed over me and I shivered. “You’re implying that it’s the demon pulling the strings.”

  “If they’re working together, that would be my first guess. This demon has a grudge against you, does he not?”

  I snorted, biting back a mirthless laugh. Calling it a grudge was a massive understatement. Ashraith wanted me dead. He used to want to possess me, and maybe he’d come around to that again, but the end result would be the same: he wanted to use me up until there was nothing left but a husk and then he’d throw me away like garbage.

  “I’ve beaten him twice and his fragile ego can’t have that. He’ll come after me until I’m dead,” I said.

  Conor let out a breath and then scratched at his dark stubble. He looked ruggedly handsome, although he had dark circles under his eyes. It was only evening and we were both already exhausted.

  My shoulders slumped. “How do I beat someone who knows me well enough to predict all of my moves before I make them?”

  “Simple. Do something unpredictable.”

  I stared at him. “How, exactly?”

  He smiled wryly. “What’s the last thing you’d do when tracking down a perp?”

  I thought about it but not for long. “Go to the Watchers for help.”

  Conor pointed at me.

  “But I can’t do that,” I said. “For one thing, they’re already threatening you…”

  “They’re concerned I’m doing something illegal.” He gave me a dark look and something in his eyes looked a little haunted. We had done something very, very illegal when we tried to summon Ashraith. That alone would get us a table for two in the Dungeon. I worried maybe I’d pushed Conor too far. And yet, he was still here, trying to help me.

  Unless this whole “go to the Watchers” thing was some kind of trap.

  I stomped that thought out of existence. Paranoia was only good when it kept you wary. It turned toxic when it started planting doubts about those you should trust. Conor wouldn’t have tried to summon a demon for me if he planned to throw me to the wolves.

  “We can’t tell them everything but we won’t have to,” Conor continued. “Just that you’ve been experiencing demonic attacks and want help. And if we go to them for assistance, they’ll be less likely to spy on us or follow us around.”

  I swallowed. “All right. Let’s go to the Watchers. Ashraith sure as hell can’t have predicted that.” I just hoped I didn’t live to regret it.

  Watcher HQ loomed overhead. The three-story building had been rebuilt after a bombing. Its glass panels gleamed in the setting sun. The stucco look was gone: now it was sleek black lines and large tinted windows.

  “You’re pale. Did you drink another dose of that potion?” Conor had brought me the extra jar I’d left in his fridge.

  “This place makes me feel ill.”

  The Council’s dungeon was below the building, probably right beneath my feet on the pavement. And if I got caught using demon magic or they found out we’d tried to summon a demon, that dank, wet jail was where I’d live out the rest of my days.

  If Conor was offended, he let it slide. Maybe because in the past few months, he’d done things—and let me get away with doing things—that would mean immediate arrest. He didn’t seem nervous but he at least understood what I risked by working with the Watchers.

  And with him.

  Only with Conor, it had worked out. I didn’t think I’d be able to make the entire Magic Council come around that easily.

  He reached over and squeezed my shoulder. His hand was warm and it steadied me. We continued inside.

  The lobby of the Watcher’s building used to be open during business hours (five o’clock in the evening to around three in the morning), but now Conor had to press his thumb against a fingerprint reader to get inside. “Security tech… that’s unlike the Council,” I said, as he pulled open the glass door and gestured for me to go in.

  “There are wards, but obviously that’s not practical for all purposes.”

  Wards would fade over time and need to be recast. But worse, wards could only keep out so much without also keeping out the people you wanted to come in. Witches made up probably ninety percent of the Watcher force, but there was the odd shifter or vampire in their ranks. Plus, Watchers needed to be able to bring people they arrested inside. Strong wards would prevent that.

  Still, I was surprised that they’d adopted mortal fingerprint locks instead of something involving magic keys. But then, having your offices bombed by a possessed insider probably makes you doubly paranoid.

  I stepped in and took a deep breath before opening the inner door. Inside, it looked pretty much as it had before. Conor led me through to the bullpen. I felt eyes on me as we dodged desks and cubicles and went straight for Lana’s office at the back of the room.

  Conor knocked. Every muscle tensed as I felt the stares of witches on my back. No doubt they were staring at Conor, too: he was in his civvies, jeans and black t-shirt that hugged his torso beneath a gray wool coat that was almost the right shade to be Watcher-issued.

  The door opened and Lana actually blinked as she took me in, surprised to see me standing at her door. Then she nodded to Conor.

  “Mr. Ramsey, can I help you?” she asked, voice smooth and professional. Lana wore a gray pantsuit that was tailored and a lot more stylish than the usual gray cargo pants and long-sleeved shirts, and her hair had been cut short.

  “I hope so,” he said. “May we come in?”

  Again, Lana’s gaze turned on me and her mouth twitched, as if she were trying hard not to frown. My face was washed, my hair was up and neat, and I wasn’t covered in blood or goo of any kind. Frankly, I thought I looked pretty good. But she wasn’t happy to see me.

  After a moment, she nodded tersely and then stepped back to let us in.

  Her office was exactly what I expected: neat, orderly, devoid of any knickknacks or personal items. The shelves held spellbooks and Council rule books. The only thing she might personally have chosen was a small succulent at the far corner of her giant oak desk.

  We sat, and I tried to ignore the blood rushing in my ears.

  “What brings you here with Ms. Warren?” Lana asked, getting right down to business. She wasn’t asking me and her eyes remained trained on Conor alone.

  “I’ve been attacked by a demon,” I said.

  She actually reeled back and I smirked before I could stop myself. I cleared my throat and made a neutral expression. It wasn’t like me to come to the Watchers, and yet here I was, reporting an attack. “I see. When?”

  “It’s actually been a series of attacks,” I said. I had to be careful. The fewer details I offered, the less questions there’d be. “There’s a mage working with a demon and I believe the two of them are behind these attacks.”

  Lana pressed her lips together into a fine line. After a long moment, she said, “And
why would they target you?”

  It was a fair question, but the way she asked it with the emphasis on ‘you’ made me flinch. As if I wasn’t a worthy target. Or worse, as if she wondered if I’d been up to something sinister enough to deserve it. “Because I was hired to find the objects the mage stole. I tracked him down and now he knows I’m on to him.”

  She sat back in her chair. “All right. And how do you know the mage is working with a demon?”

  My mouth went dry. I couldn’t exactly tell her that I could see demon shadows and I really wanted to avoid any mention of my past demon possession. The less I had to explain, the better. The safer.

  “One of the stolen objects is a demon stone, and some of the magic we’ve witnessed while trying to nail this guy has had tinges of demonic energy,” Conor said smoothly, cool as a cucumber. “It would appear he’s trying to use a demon or demons for some purpose we’ve yet to discover.”

  Lana considered again and the silence stretched out for an agonizing amount of time. This was one of the many reasons I never came to the Magic Council for help. They had zero sense of urgency unless they deemed something a problem.

  “That’s why you were asking about demon traps,” she concluded, meeting Conor’s eyes in a way that felt challenging. He hadn’t been exaggerating about how he’d aroused his boss’ suspicions.

  Conor met her eyes head-on. “Yes.”

  “And what exactly is this mage trying to do?” This time, Lana looked right at me.

  “I can’t say for sure,” I said, “but I suspect he’s trying to bring the demon he’s working with into our realm in a corporeal body.”

  Lana’s forehead creased. “That’s not possible, Ms. Warren.”

  Conor and I exchanged a look and I realized he’d told her the mage stole a demon stone, not the giant demon tablet from the Museum. I tried to tell from Conor’s expression if that had been a deliberate omission, since he may not have reported the use of his Museum key. I kept my mouth shut, not wanting to contradict whatever story he already told her.

  “It is possible,” Conor argued. “But unlikely. Regardless, Ms. Warren’s sources report that’s what this mage is attempting, and even attempts to perform such illegal magic can have dire consequences.”

  “Indeed.” Lana sat up, straightening her chair. She met my eyes. “We will take care of this. Thank you for realizing your own limitations and coming to the proper authorities.”

  I balled my fists, resisting the urge to punch something. Limitations, my ass. The Watchers had resources—manpower, a steady supply of pre-made spells and charms, and a whole armory of enchanted weapons. But they weren’t better at doing my job than me. Hell, I’d argue they were a lot worse, because they were too single-minded.

  Lana smiled faintly while I stewed in my seat. She pulled a notebook and pen out of the top drawer of her desk and turned to Conor. “What’s this mage’s name?”

  “We don’t have it,” I said, even though she hadn’t been asking me. “He wears a jacket and hood and I haven’t been able to get a good look at his face. He’s average height, greasy blond hair.”

  Her smile vanished. “That’s not a lot to go on.”

  “He’s not a member of the Mage Order,” I said. I didn’t know if that was true but I didn’t want the Watchers terrorizing innocent mages in an attempt to ID the guy. “I already interrogated all of them and none of them know him.”

  “Well, that’s a start.” She made some notes. “What else did this guy steal?”

  I couldn’t bring Rian into it so I said, “A ceremonial chalice from the mage order. But the leader there said it has little to no magical value. It’s just used in a ceremonial ritual.”

  “You never know,” she said, tone making it clear she thought I was stupid for buying that. Why would someone steal it if it was useless? As if I hadn’t asked that same damn question. I dug my fingernails into my palms and bit my tongue. “Anything else?” she pressed.

  “Unfortunately, no,” Conor said, standing. “This guy has been hard to nail down. Every time we get close, he attacks.”

  Lana nodded. “Don’t worry, Mr. Ramsey. The Watchers can handle this. Why don’t you take your friend home and enjoy your night off.”

  Conor clenched his jaw. He looked pissed off being essentially told to get out of the way. This wasn’t the Watchers’ problem. We’d come to them for help, not to be brushed aside so they could take over.

  Fury flared in my middle. I jumped to my feet. “Good luck,” I said. It sounded as sarcastic and bitter as I felt but I didn’t care. I turned on my heel, grabbed Conor’s arm, and walked him briskly out of the office.

  I waited until we were leaving through the building’s double doors to say, “That’s why I never come to you guys for help. There’s no help for witches like me here. The Watchers don’t want to help anyone, they want to take over and control everything.”

  Conor didn’t argue. He vibrated with silent anger. It was bad enough for me to get brushed aside when I approached any part of the Council. But Conor? He was one of them. Loyal and hard-working and a bad ass demon hunter.

  “We got what we came for. Now the Watchers will be on this guy’s tail, and that’s one move I doubt he’s anticipated.”

  I stopped. “Should I have given Lana his name?”

  Conor shook his head. “Nah. Let them work for it. Meanwhile, we still need to track him down ourselves. If we find him and need backup, now we can call the Watchers in.”

  “I hope I didn’t make more trouble for you at work,” I said, and meant it. I didn’t love the Watchers or trust them for much, but Conor did. He worked his ass off to become an esteemed demon hunter in their ranks.

  “We reported the attacks, and I let Lana know what I’ve been up to. That’s the end of my responsibility.”

  I blinked. Conor saying there was a limit to his obligations to the Watchers wasn’t like him.

  “She seemed pissed,” I said, opening the passenger door to his SUV.

  Conor smiled over the roof of the car. “Of course she’s pissed. You knew about some magical mayhem she didn’t and you’re a lowly freelancer who refused to work for her. Which means she has to question how well her team is monitoring the local scene. You showed her up.”

  “You knew, too. Doesn’t that reflect sort of badly on you?”

  Conor shrugged. “To be honest, lately I’ve been thinking about going freelance myself.”

  I stared at him, stunned. “Really?”

  “It’s been a strange few months, Warren. Makes a guy reconsider his life choices.”

  Conor got into the car. It took me a moment to catch up and get in myself. Conor going freelance? Leaving the Watchers? The world was totally upside down.

  Chapter 18

  “Will the Watchers even let you strike out on your own?” I asked, as we headed down the hall to my apartment. I’d been ruminating on that question since Conor’s announcement.

  We hadn’t talked much since he’d made it, except about food. We’d stopped at a local teriyaki place and gotten a big steaming order of teriyaki chicken and rice, along with several sushi rolls, and I was ready to dive in. The smell of sweet teriyaki sauce made my mouth water as I juggled the bags to keep the hot food away from the cold. Gnawing hunger and the need to find food had distracted me, but now I had questions.

  “They don’t like to lose members, and they don’t really appreciate freelancers.” He shot me a conspiratorial look. I knew that quite well, given how they treated me like a suspect half the time. “But it might be time for a change.”

  I handed the bag of sushi to Conor and dug my keys out of my pocket with my freehand.

  “But you love being a Watcher,” I said.

  “I do,” Conor agreed. “But I also…” He trailed off.

  “Also what?” I swallowed, my face hot. My heart pounded, in anticipation and fear of what he might say.

  He didn’t say anything.

  To stall, I pushed the door
to my apartment open and froze. In my shock, I dropped the plastic bag holding the teriyaki containers. One of them popped open and sticky chicken and rice spilled out of the bag and all over the hall carpet.

  My apartment hadn’t just been ransacked. It had been destroyed. I stared in disbelief at the wreckage.

  My small dining table had been reduced to splinters, like someone had taken an axe to it or blown it to bits with some high-powered spell. The bulbs in the light fixture that hung over my table had been smashed and the fixture had been half-torn out of the ceiling, leaving it dangling precariously over the debris.

  The fridge had been pulled out from the wall and knocked over, leaving it balanced against the opposite counter. The fridge door had been torn off and below it lay puddles of beer and broken glass. The upper cabinets had received a treatment similar to the table. It looked like they’d been bombed. Most of the cabinet doors were off and some of the shelves were in ruins. One single cabinet door hung upside down over the sink, dangling by a single screw.

  The living room hadn’t fared any better: the couch had been torn apart, cushions slashed open and the guts pulled out. The coffee table was cracked in half. My bookshelf had been over turned and my books strewn around the room.

  My first thought was that Silas, my landlord, was going to be pissed. Aside from the damage to my stuff, the walls were scraped, busted open in places, and the carpet had been torn up.

  Beside me, Conor’s jaw had visibly dropped and when he finally managed to shake off the shock, he whispered, “You really know how to evoke rage in your enemies.”

  “It’s a skill,” I whispered back.

  I drew my sword and crept toward the bedroom, in case the perpetrator was still here. I didn’t think that was the case—if this were a surprise attack, they wouldn’t have trashed the place—but better safe than sorry.

  The bedroom had been spared most of the havoc. The pillows and blankets had been ripped off the bed but the mattress was intact, and while the closet doors had been pulled off their hinges, the perp hadn’t done much damage to the contents. Maybe they got interrupted or had just tired of the wanton destruction.