Hard to Handle

by Christine Warren

  Wynn stood with her feet spread and her arms outstretched, maintaining the power to a huge floating bubble a few feet off the ground. Inside, behind a shimmering layer of magic, two more nocturnis appeared to rail against her, though the bubble seemed to muffle the sound quite effectively. It took a second for Drum to notice that instead of facing her palms toward the bubble (she had taught him that palms most easily allowed the outward flow of energy, followed by fingertips for spells with narrower focus), she directed energy out of the backs of her knuckles while she held her middle fingers extended toward the trapped pair.

  He would have laughed if he weren’t still fearing for his life.

  Two nocturnis remained, clearly the most experienced of this cell of the sect. He came to that conclusion after seeing the way they managed to dance out of the way of Dag’s and Knox’s flashing weapons, even as they continued hurling magic. They didn’t target the Guardians themselves, but the environment around them, attempting to bring rocks down on their heads, or to soften the ground beneath them, or to trip them with invisible wires strung between stones.

  In their hooded black robes, the quick-moving cultists looked like dark dervishes, one half of an elaborately choreographed ballet with the Guardians as their partners. Following one spinning leap that Knox met in midair, catching the cultist’s quickly drawn knife against the central staff of his weapon, Drum caught another movement out of the corner of his eye.

  Ash had once again charged to his rescue, attacking the Demon while Drum attempted to send his sister to safety. She had driven the creature away from his altar and back toward the narrow end of the cave, the same direction in which Maeve had fled. And if that weren’t bad enough, he could see that she had taken a beating at the hands of Nazgahchuhl. Her tough, stony hide had been sliced through with dozens of tiny cuts, and Drum watched in horror as more appeared with a flick of the Demon’s fingers.

  The fiend held no weapon and never touched Ash with tooth or claw, but apparently the immunity a Guardian possessed to the black magic of nocturni sorcerers did not extend to the power inherent within one of the Seven. Another flick, and another thin line appeared on Ash’s gray skin, blood welling to the surface, as red and dark as Drum’s own.

  She didn’t react, not with a flinch, not with a sound. Ash simply darted forward and completed the swing of her axe, bringing the blade in line with the Demon’s throat. Nazgahchuhl raised a hand and caught the blow on its forearm, an act that would have shattered the bones of a human, but that didn’t even make the monster hesitate. It brought its free arm up and grasped Ash around the throat, lifting and squeezing until the Guardian began to struggle violently.

  “You think you can defeat me, Guardian,” the creature hissed, its lips drawing back and parting to reveal long, slender fangs that dropped from the roof of its mouth like a viper’s. Above its forked tongue, Drum could see the extended glottal opening of a snake, and the entire picture became so unnaturally wrong that he felt bile climb into his throat. “You think you and your pathetic group of friends and Wardens can defeat me, let alone stand against our united Darkness? Foolish creature. I thought your sex to be a sign of your evolution over your useless brothers, but I see now I need not have worried. You are even weaker than the rest of them. I shall enjoy watching you die.”

  The Demon squeezed harder until Drum could see its fingers digging grooves into the flesh of Ash’s throat. She fought hard to get away, her feet lifting to rake her rear talons across the adversary’s abdomen, but Nazgahchuhl appeared not to even notice. He just continued to apply pressure until he got what he wanted.

  Ash didn’t die. She still continued her violent struggles, but the Demon stopped noticing, because Maeve reappeared behind him at the opening of the black tunnel, still shivering and now even dirtier than before.

  “’Tis a dead end,” she rasped out, her hoarse voice nearly rendered inaudible by the chattering of her teeth. They needed to get her somewhere safe and warm before her shock became life threatening. “Michael, what do we do?”

  Nazgahchuhl released Ash, who dropped choking and gasping to the floor. “Why, child,” the Demon purred, fixing its unblinking stare on the bleeding, trembling young woman. “You die, of course.”

  The Demon’s pride and desire to have the last word gave Drum the opening he needed. Before it could step forward and close the distance between it and Maeve, he lunged, fist clutched around the hilt of a sacrificial dagger still stained with his own blood. Just as the fiend had done to him, Drum plunged the blade into the creature’s back, but unlike the monster, he hadn’t originally aimed at something else. He hit his mark.

  The knife plunged into the human flesh encasing the Demonic force and pierced the heart of the man who had once been Richard Foye-Carver. The creature threw its head back and shrieked, a high-pitched, ear-piercing noise that contained notes of agony, rage, and triumph. It was the triumph that set Drum to cursing.

  Before his lips could form around anything appropriately obscene, there was a loud clapping sound and a giant release of pressure in the air, almost like a miniature sonic boom. At once, a bright light flashed and the torch-framed door of the hellmouth released a shock wave of light and sound that made Drum’s earlier spell look like a tenpenny firecracker. His heart lurched and for a moment, he thought the gate had been thrown open.

  This was it, a very detached voice inside his head noted while his eyes tried to readjust to the dimness of the chamber compared to the light that had briefly exploded from the hellmouth. He, his sister, his new friends, and the woman he loved were all about to die, and it looked a lot like he had somehow been the one to cause it all.

  Unintentionally, of course, but it was probably a good thing that the road to hell stood so close by. He wouldn’t have to go far to start his journey.

  Then the glare of the light faded and Drum realized two things: no one appeared dead, and the space between the torches still shimmered faintly with no open doorway to the fiery pit marring the view of the cave wall beyond. The hellmouth remained closed.

  That was the good news. The second realization conveyed the bad news. The body containing Nazgahchuhl might have died, but the Demon itself looked very much alive as it peeled away the shell of the Hierophant’s corpse and assumed its true physical form.

  Maeve screamed when she saw it, and frankly, Drum couldn’t blame her. What he could do was lurch forward to grab her hand and yank her back into the opening of the dead-end tunnel while their friends scrambled to get to their sides and defend them against the most horrible nightmare vision he had ever set eyes on.

  The Corruptor grew out of the nocturni’s corpse like a toxic vine from a pile of dung. It rose and rose, expanding as if it would fill all the space in the cave before it was done. It didn’t, of course, but it easily loomed twelve feet high, a giant inhuman beast that wore the shape of a hooded cobra tapering into a squat, truncated body with eight pairs of arms and no legs at all. Its scaly hide was the color of blood mixed with water, just a few shades lighter than its reptilian eyes. It radiated an aura of terror and disease like heat from desert sands that clouded the mind, and Drum had to struggle to push it away before it brought him to his knees in a wave of crushing despair.

  That was the Demon’s influence, he realized, and he dug deep for the strength to shrug it off. He might have done it a fair sight easier if he weren’t already wrung out with exhaustion and struggling to stay vertical long enough to save his sister’s life. It was all in the details.

  “By the pure, blessed Light,” he heard Knox breathe, the horror in his voice unmistakable, “it is risen. The Corruptor walks among us.”

  “Fools.” A new voice rose over the threatening hiss of the snake Demon who loomed before them. The entire group watched as a robed figure stepped forward, one of the remaining nocturnis that Dag and Knox had driven back near the altar and then abandoned as they realized Nazgahchuhl was ascending from the Hierophant’s corpse.

  “Stupid morta
l fools.” The cultist laughed and drew back his hood to reveal a human man with stunningly ordinary brown hair, brown eyes, and lightly bronzed skin. “We do not need to defeat you to claim this world for our own. We need only stand back while you defeat yourselves.”

  Kylie staggered against her mate’s side, nearly planting face-first into the rocky ground. “Demon. He’s a demon.”

  “Well.” The man’s face twisted into a smile of cruel madness. “Maybe not all of you are quite as stupid as you look. What is your name, little girl? Would you like to know mine? I could tell you. I could tell you so many, many things.”

  And in that moment, Drum realized the true consequences of his actions. In attempting to kill the Demon threatening his sister, he had unknowingly completed the sacrifice for which she had been taken. He had killed a human, or what little remained of one, and while the power generated had not been enough to open the hellmouth permanently and weaken the gate to the next Demon’s prison, it had done those things for the space of a clap of thunder, and that had been enough for something to come through. It had also set Nazgahchuhl free of its mortal shell, and now the Corruptor had regained its full strength and stared down at them like those rabbits it intended to gobble up for dinner.

  Dear Merciful Mother of God, what had he done?

  “Dhuhlzek,” Dag growled, spitting the name out like something foul. Which, of course, it was. “Think you the Guardians of the Light will be defeated by the likes of you? You barely had the strength to pass through the gate. I can see the weakness of the hold you have over your human slave. Why not surrender now and return to your prison before we put you there.”

  “Insolent puppy!” The Demon within the sorcerer raised its hand and unleashed a bolt of black energy not at Dag, but at the center of the gathered Wardens and Guardians. Ash’s axe flashed up, deflecting the stream so that it missed the good guys and instead sliced across the snake-Demon’s exposed flank.

  Immediately, Drum felt hands tugging at his back.

  “Come on!” Maeve shouted, waving her arms frantically. “Everyone into the tunnel!”

  Drum let his sister drag him into the dark passage, utterly confused. No one else seemed to have heard her report on what she had learned about it on her first trip through. They crowded in after him, following the young woman’s instructions. “But Mae, you said it was a dead end. We’ll be trapped.”

  “Trust me, Michael. I can see this working.” Maeve turned and fixed her blue eyes on the other Wardens. “Kylie, and you, sorry, other Warden lady. Blow the cavern. Bring down as much rock as you can! Hurry!”

  The two Americans exchanged glances, then turned, and urged their Guardians deeper into the passage, and faced the entrance with grim expressions.

  “I really hope this chick knows what she’s doing,” Wynn shouted as the Demons in the cavern howled with frustrated fury.

  “What have we got to lose?” Kylie yelled back. “You want to go back out there?”

  “Good point!”

  Visibly straightening their shoulders, the two women stood side by side as they released a concussive blast aimed at the cavern ceiling. The earth gave a shudder like the ones the nocturnis had created to tear the caverns open, but this one pulled the roof down on top of it. An avalanche of soil and stone rained down into the cave just outside the passage entry, sealing it off into a lightless space that felt distressingly like a tomb.

  Drum tried to fight back the instinctive human fear of dark, enclosed spaces, but he had to admit he wasn’t certain he would have won if one of the other Wardens hadn’t conjured a small ball of light to brighten the narrow area.

  “Oh, good.” Maeve sighed just before she collapsed into a heap on top of Drum’s boots. He immediately bent to scoop her up and cradle her against his chest.

  “Thank you, Drum.” She spoke again, her voice thick with fatigue. “Now if you don’t mind, lead the way to the end of the tunnel. I think I could use a drink.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Fifteen minutes later, Drum understood exactly what his sister had meant by the last word she spoke before passing out in his arms. Wynn had to cast one last spell before it became clear, but once the dead end of the tunnel exploded in another burst of magical force, it all became apparent.

  It turned out that he had been right when he estimated that the passage in the corner of the cave ran in the direction of Fionn mac Cumhaill’s field. In fact, it ended right below the abandoned one-room cottage nestled in the corner of that very paddock, the one Fionn’s owner, Billy Evers, had always claimed was cared for by the Little Folk. Billy had been counting on his wild stories and his bad-tempered bull to keep anyone from discovering that beneath the cottage was a secret basement concealing his very well hidden and very illegal poitín distilling operation.

  Given its illicit nature, Drum didn’t feel all that guilty about blowing a hole in the basement wall, or about helping himself and the rest of their battered company to a dram. Or seven.

  Knox made sure they didn’t linger. After taking the unconscious Maeve away from her wounded brother, the eldest of the three Guardians—in terms of how long they had each been awake on this current mission—led the way up through the cottage’s trapdoor and out into the gray mist of predawn Ireland.

  At which point, they came face-to-face with the great hero himself.

  Drum, one arm draped over Ash’s shoulder the only thing keeping him upright, closed his eyes on a groan. “Don’t move. Not a one of you. That beast is as vicious as he is ugly. Try to run for it, and you’ll get his horns in your backside followed by an ugly trampling death. Just let me think for a minute.”

  “About what?” Wynn asked, sounding tired but inexplicably cheery.

  “About how to get ourselves out of this mess,” Drum said. “I told you that—”

  He opened his eyes in time to be struck dumb. The American witch stood in front of the shaggy, infamous bull, scratching the base of his horns like he was some kind of pussycat. And damn Drum if the beast didn’t look ready to purr like one. He blinked at Wynn with adoration in his dark bovine eyes, his jaw working as he calmly chewed his cud. Everyone else just stood around looking exhausted. And a little bit baffled.

  Drum turned his gaze on the Warden and tried to close his mouth before a fly rushed in.

  “What?” she asked, shrugging self-consciously. “Animals like me.”

  And thank Saint Paddy himself for that. It made the rest of their escape infinitely less dangerous, though Drum kept looking over his shoulder, expecting to see an army of Demons chasing after them. In the case of the Seven, he could now swear to a jury that two felt like more than enough to call an army.

  “What is it?” Ash asked him, as she helped him over the fence and out of Fionn’s pasture. As soon as they were clear, Wynn gave the animal a last friendly pat and scampered after them. The bull stared after her looking almost forlorn.

  Drum shook his head. “I feel like we should still be running. What if those things come after us?”

  He hooked his arm over her shoulder again and leaned heavily on her strength. His supposed masculine pride should have been nagging at him to stand up straight and look tough in front of his woman, but he was too sore and too injured to bother. Besides, when he’d first resisted her help down in the basement of the cottage, she’d punched him lightly in the stomach. He’d almost hurled again. Pride be damned.

  Ash helped him across the uneven ground, but they still managed to fall behind the others on the trip back to his mother’s barn. “No. Dag was right that Dhuhlzek lacks the strength to pursue us. It barely made it through the hellmouth on the energy provided by the Hierophant’s death. Nazgahchuhl had occupied that shell too long for much that was human to remain.”

  “Yeah, well, that one certainly looked strong enough to chase after us.”

  “Not from beneath several tons of fallen stone.” Ash grunted when he tripped in a furrow and braced herself against his side to steady him. “Yo
ur sister’s plan was clever. She found us a route of escape and trapped the Demons at the same time. We all owe her a debt. The cave-in would have crushed Nazgahchuhl’s form. It could not kill him, but it would cause enough physical damage to force him to abandon that shape until he can gather more energy to re-form. It buys us time to decide on our next move.”

  Drum grimaced. “Yes, our next move against five bloody Demons now, instead of Seven. And it’s my fault the fifth one got loose.”

  “What nonsense is that?” Ash demanded, stopping in the middle of the field behind the converted barn where there were beds and food and a shower. He nearly groaned at the pain of denial. “Why do you speak so, Michael Drummond?”

  Drum forced his mind and his gaze back on his Guardian. “You know exactly why I said it, Ash. If I hadn’t taken that knife to the Hierophant, there would have been no sacrifice. The hellmouth wouldn’t have blinked open, even for a second. Dhuhlzek wouldn’t have come through onto our plane, and Nazgahchuhl would not have gained the strength to shed his human host and take his natural form. This is all my fault.”

  She dropped the hand that held his in place across her shoulder and used it to smack him, right in the middle of his forehead. It stung. A lot.

  “Ow! What the bloody hell was that for?”

  “For your stupidity,” she spat, glaring at him. “Do you also wish to take credit for the existence of the Darkness? For the destruction of the Guardian I replaced? For humanity’s greed and lust for power that allows them to be corrupted by the Order?”

  “It’s not the same thing. I’m only trying to take responsibility for my own actions. I’m the one who—”

  “Who saved his sister’s life! Who prevented the Demon from making a sacrifice a hundred times more powerful than the death of its mortal shell. Had your sister died tonight instead of the Hierophant, or what remained of him, the hellmouth would even now be pouring forth wave after wave of servants to the Darkness. The whole countryside would be overrun with creatures out of humanity’s darkest nightmares. Your neighbors would be dying, and there would be little we few could do to stop it. Dhuhlzek would have returned with ten times the power it did, would be able to command those legions of evil and turn them into an army that would take over this entire island within days. Hear me, Michael Stephen Drummond, when I tell you that your actions tonight have prevented disaster!”