Not even the bright light of a crisp winter morning could dispel the sinister atmosphere as Sebastian slipped through a hole in the fence—the same hole he had used seven years ago. Little but the surrounding plant life had changed. During the summer it would have created a jungle of green thick enough to obscure most of the old building. But at this time of year, it was simply a twisted mass of bare, brown fingers reaching for the sky. Sebastian used it for what cover he could, since his fae glamour couldn’t actually make him invisible, only fade and blend his outline into the surroundings. Usually he preferred to wait until dark to do his sneaking. But this was one mission that was most certainly not safer under the cover of night. That was when they were strongest.
Demons weren’t like some kind of hellish vampire, and daylight would not reduce them to piles of ash, no matter how much Sebastian wished it would. But it did burn them and, in general, their power and influence—especially over the mind—was weaker in the light of day. Whether he imagined it, or it was an actual weakness inherent in demons, Sebastian wasn’t sure. But before he’d gained the protection of the fae, he’d spent many agonizing nights dreading the fall of darkness and breathing a sigh of relief at the first light of dawn. It had taken countless starlit nights of peace under the enchanted skies of Melthalin to help him overcome his fear of the dark, and even now he had occasional flashbacks.
So, while scouting in the daylight may have made sneaking more of a challenge, the benefits far outweighed the risks. Besides, Pip was a fae of growth, so even though she didn’t mind mucking about in the night with him, she was more in her element during the day. At that particular moment, she was sunning herself on the upper branch of a barren tree close to the factory’s brick wall, having done a perimeter sweep and found nothing worth reporting. Normally she preferred riding inside the warmth of his jacket when she wasn’t out scouting. At least, the old Pip had. This one seemed more standoffish, and Sebastian couldn’t blame her. It had taken years to develop that level of trust and friendship between him and Pip the first time; there was no reason it wouldn’t take just as long this time.
Moving slowly, Sebastian used dead brush and various pieces of abandoned machinery as cover to reach the factory’s flaking red walls. He wasn’t surprised at the absence of sentries. Roger probably had no more than half a dozen witches helping him—just enough to do the grunt work, but not enough to cause a threat should they unite against him. When Sebastian had known him, the witch had always maintained a handful of current and past acolytes, young nobodies he’d lured in from a life on the streets with promises of power and belonging. Basic gang behavior, in other words. The difference was that accidents always seemed to happen to acolytes who grew too powerful and independent, or else they disappeared, never to be seen again. Roger didn’t want brothers in arms—he wanted servants, young minds to toy with and bend to his will.
The brickwork was rough on his leather jacket as Sebastian flattened himself against the building, motioning Pip down for a whispered conference. He wished he could send her inside to get the lay of the land, but demons were hyper-sensitive to a fae’s presence, just as fae were all-too-aware of the stench of nearby demons. She would have to keep her distance and watch his back, at least until secrecy was no longer needed.
“How many bogies?” he asked his little compatriot, who had deigned to land on his hand instead of hover nearby, probably to soak up some of the warmth emanating from his skin.
Pip gave a quiet trill, the sound of her voice no more noticeable than the buzz of an insect. Of course, no insects were out and about at this time of year, so he hoped none of the witches he was up against knew much about local wildlife.
“Okay, so there are more than one, but not more than ‘a bundle’ of demons inside?” Sebastian sighed, wishing he had Jas with him on this one. Sadly, the elemental fae was too mischief-loving and unreliable for something like this, even if he was more articulate and a master at causing distractions. With Freddie’s life on the line, Sebastian wasn’t taking any chances. Of course, Sebastian himself could tell when demons were about—being gifted with fae magic made him more sensitive to such things. Pip’s information had confirmed that Roger wasn’t fool enough to rely on his witches alone for protection during the day, but it didn’t tell him where or how strong the creatures were. It was unlikely any were greater demons. Pip would have gone nuts if she’d sensed one of those in the area, since they had enough power to enslave minor fae, corrupting them against their will into twisted, evil shadows of themselves to endure an eternity of miserable servitude.
A few more whispered questions and Sebastian gathered that the demonic presence was weakest on the south side of the building, opposite the main doors. He took his time creeping around to the correct spot and searching every nook and cranny for a loose board or forgotten access hatch to give him entry. No luck. Despite the building’s outward appearance of decrepitude, it was obviously still used enough that Roger wanted it safe from the snooping eyes of vagrants, vandals, and bored teenagers.
Unable to gain entry on the ground floor, Sebastian turned his eyes skyward. People were always forgetting to look up, so he made a point to do it often. He was rewarded with the sight of a rusted access ladder extending halfway down the south wall, its lower half either missing or broken off long ago. Next to it, however, was a drainage pipe. The pipe looked like a mere breath of wind could tear it off the wall and dump any enterprising climber onto their respective backside. But he had to try.
Using windowsills and the pitted bricks of the wall for additional support, he managed to climb high enough to grasp the bottom of the ladder, each moment expecting to fall to his death—or at least to seriously injure himself. To his relief, the ladder held, though he winced at its rusted creaking as he climbed quickly and hauled himself over the lip of the roof. Sending Pip ahead, he advanced on silent feet, passing over the cavernous space of the main factory floor and heading to where the building split into its separate floors that had once housed offices, storerooms, packaging stations, and more.
He finally found an access hatch—unguarded, Pip assured him—though its aged hinges did as good a job as any sentry or lock. After much agonizingly careful wiggling, Sebastian got it open wide enough to slip inside with minimal noise. He found himself descending a set of rickety wooden steps into an attic of sorts where piles of abandoned equipment, records, and supplies were covered in a thick layer of dust and debris.
Crouching down behind one of the piles, Sebastian paused to ask Pip a few more whispered questions. From what he knew of the building, Roger and his minions were likely in the main offices on the ground floor. If he were lucky, they were keeping Freddie in one of the storerooms on the second floor, logically assuming any assault would come from below. From Pip’s increased nervousness, he knew they were getting closer to wherever the demons were. The creatures were most likely imps—small, weaker demons forced to remain in the human realm during the day to act as watchdogs. Most larger demons would have been too much trouble to keep constantly present. Their volatile and corrupting influence meant their handlers had to treat them with extreme caution, calling them forth only for specific tasks. Sebastian could only hope he would be able to find Freddie and get him out into the daylight before any of the “big guns” were summoned.
Of course, it would be just his luck if Roger had possessed the foresight to outfit his acolytes with mundane weapons. Sebastian would rather face a demon over a gun any day—fae magic couldn’t block bullets. Fortunately for him, however, neither could demonic magic, so Roger was understandably leery of firearms. A gun was a gun, after all, and any idiot could put a bullet in someone’s head. Sebastian would have dearly loved to put a bullet in Roger’s head, but he had his own problems with mundane technology: his presence tended to make it not work. Electronics were the worst, but it happened sometimes with mechanical objects as well. He suspected it was a side effect of his fae magic, one he didn’t understand and probably neve
r would. It wasn’t a reliable-enough glitch to be useful in and of itself, but it happened with enough frequency to make him wary about depending on things like guns when his life was on the line.
Finally making his decision, he told Pip to stay put, but be ready. Fortunately, fae weren’t constrained by distance, as they could wink in and out of the human realm using the amorphous nothingness between realms as a bridge to travel great distances in a matter of seconds. She could be by his side in the blink of an eye should he need her.
The next ten minutes were an excruciating process of furtive movement while trying to make no sound despite piles of debris, ancient hinges, and squeaky floors. By the time he had reached the second floor and still not encountered any resistance, he began to suspect a trap. Every second he lingered, there was a greater chance some imp would sniff him out and alert its master.
With no other feasible plan, however, Sebastian continued onward, apprehension growing as sweat trickled down the back of his neck under his leather jacket despite the cold. He finally turned the last corner on the second story and found a single door open halfway down the hall. Every instinct he possessed screamed at him to turn and run, but he couldn’t give up now.
There wasn’t a single sound or movement around him as he slipped down the hall and peeked through the open door. The sight of his brother sprawled motionless on the dirty floor made all his plans disappear in a wave of dread. He rushed over, kneeling to check for signs of life and nearly collapsing in relief when he felt a pulse on his brother’s neck.
“You know what I appreciate about decent people? Their predictability.”
Sebastian spun, taking up a defensive crouch in front of his brother’s inert form. Roger stood in the doorway, flanked by his stocky, platinum-blond-headed son, Cassius, along with six other witches, male and female, their hair and skin ranging from pale to deepest brown, and one even sporting a neon-pink-tipped mohawk. They were all on the young side, and a few had gang tattoos peeking out from sleeves or necklines. Contrary to pop culture stereotypes, they didn’t wear dramatic black robes or hats, nor did they carry wands, staffs, or brooms. And there definitely wasn’t a single pentacle in sight. In fact, they looked as normal as any stranger you might pass on the street—in this section of Atlanta, anyway. Their demonic proclivities remained invisible to anyone not trained to sense their subtle aura of evil. What they did wear openly, though, were identical expressions of smugness.
Resisting the urge to whip out his fae staff and sic Pip on the lot of them, Sebastian forced himself to think instead. He couldn’t win a frontal assault against so many, and he definitely couldn’t drag his brother’s unconscious body out of there while trying to fend off a demon assault. So instead, he fell back on a tried-and-true tactic that had saved him on many occasions: talking his way out.
“Too bad I’m not a decent person, then,” he said, straightening and forcing himself into a casual pose, right hand hanging loosely at his side while his left went into his pocket to better feel the subtle temperature changes of his truth coin.
“Oh, but you are, Sebastian. Despite your impressive reputation as a troublemaker and witch for hire, your actions betray you. Only decent people are foolish enough to value others above themselves. If you were smart, you would have left your worthless brother to his fate. Instead, here you are.” Roger’s grin spread even wider, his mismatched eyes—one ice blue, one hazel green—shone with malicious delight. “The only question left is: were you wise enough to bring what you took from us, or shall we have to torture its location out of you?”
“Of course I didn’t bring it with me, Einstein. You only gave me twelve hours. Do you really think I would have stashed it anywhere near Atlanta? I came to tell you I’ll need two days to get it. It’s not my fault your pathetic excuse for a headquarters is so easy to sneak into.”
“Yes, well, that shall be seen to,” Roger said, frowning slightly, then his expression cleared, eyes seeking Sebastian’s gaze even as Sebastian was careful to avoid it. “But there is no need for you to leave now that we have been reunited after so many years. We have a great deal we wish to discuss with you. So many questions…it is fortunate we have the rest of eternity to explore them together.”
Sebastian suppressed a shudder. “As much as I’d love to chit-chat, the only way you’re getting your book back is if I go get it. It wouldn’t matter if you knew where it was. Trust me on this one.”
“Forgive me, dear boy, if I am disinclined to take your word for it.” Roger chuckled, the sound making the hair on the back of Sebastian’s neck stand on end. “No, once we have you properly, hm, compliant, you will tell us all we need to know. There has been no mundane technology invented that can withstand us.”
With a sinking feeling, Sebastian realized he would have to reveal his trump card if he was to have any hope of getting out alive. He didn’t like to broadcast the extent of his fae abilities if he could help it. The fewer people who knew about the fae, the better. But there was no way Roger would let him walk out on his own free will unless he convinced the man that he, and only he, had the magic to reach the book he’d stolen.
“It’s not mundane technology you have to worry about.” With a flick of the wrist, Sebastian summoned Tahir, the staff of unmaking, to his hand. It was an object of incredible power, especially against demons. Thiriel had given it to him—he’d thought as a gift. Unfortunately for him, in the fae queen’s mind, the acceptance of her “gift” had included the acceptance of certain responsibilities—responsibilities that had not been explained to Sebastian, and ones which he had wanted nothing to do with. So, instead of facing the situation, he had run away. Hence the reason he wasn’t exactly in Thiriel’s good graces. He used the staff to fight demons wherever he found them, and that was the best the fae could expect from him as far as he was concerned.
At the sight of the twisting length of ebony wood in Sebastian’s hand, its tip crowned with a glowing gem of purest green, Roger’s eyes widened and he took a step back. It was a stronger reaction than Sebastian had expected, but certainly not unwelcome.
“That’s right. I’ve got a few tricks up my own sleeve. Your stupid book is nowhere a demon-tainted piece of filth like you can reach it. Only I can get it back, and if I don’t walk out of here of my own free will, you’ll never see it again.”
To Sebastian’s dismay, Roger, instead of retreating back farther, stepped forward. His movements were jerky, as if reluctant, yet drawn forward by some unseen force. Worse, his eyes had gone from mismatched orbs of blue and green to bright red pits of power. Sebastian kept his own eyes on the man’s chest, but he could feel the intensity of the gaze and knew it meant trouble.
For Roger was no normal witch.
Inside him dwelt a demon of terrible power—a prince of darkness, even, if Sebastian’s suspicions were correct. It was not a hulking thing of raw destruction, but a devious, sinister, mind-bending creature of manipulation and control. Whether it, or Roger, was the one at the wheel, Sebastian had never been able to tell, but it hardly mattered. The two were one will, to the point that Roger used “we” and “us” just as often as “I” and “me.”
“S-stay back,” Sebastian said, angling his staff so the green gem pointed at Roger’s chest while he tried to block out the memories he had spent so long burying. He was stronger now, and protected by powerful fae magic. He didn’t have to be afraid.
Except, he was.
“Ssoooo exquisite. Ssooo long since…” Roger was not paying attention to him, his gaze fixed on the staff as the witch came within arm’s reach and slowly extended a hand, fingers inches from the stone’s tip.
Sebastian gaped, frozen in shock as Roger let out a sound of pain, the note long and sibilant as a snake’s hiss. The skin on the man’s hand was withering and melting away as if it were plastic and the staff’s gem a red-hot iron. Yet the skin grew and reformed as quickly as it melted. It looked like the thing inside Roger wanted to touch the staff, to take hold of i
t. But since the staff’s fae power destroyed demons, Roger’s demon-tainted form was affected by its proximity and it appeared he could not force himself to come any closer.
“You…sssshe gave it to yooou?” Though his words were distorted with pain, Roger’s eyes were wide and clear, fixing on Sebastian with a strange mixture of both hate and lust. Against his better judgement, Sebastian met the gaze, too confused to resist any longer as his mind reeled in shock.
“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yooou…but whyyy? Whyyyyy?”
“I—I—”
But then the moment was over. Roger jerked his hand away and whirled, snapping them both out of their trance. By the time Sebastian had composed himself, the witch was back among his lackeys, all of whom looked as spooked and confused as Sebastian felt.
“Go. I shall be waiting here. And should you fail to return my property, your brother will suffer long while you stand and watch. Come, Frederick,” Roger said then, attention shifting to the prone form behind Sebastian. “Let us retire to somewhere more comfortable while we wait.”
The sound of scraping movement came from behind Sebastian and he sidestepped, turning enough to see what was happening without exposing his back to his enemies. To his horror, his brother was rising, expression blank as a fresh sheet of paper as he stared into nothing, moving to obey Roger’s command.
“Freddie! Stop. Stay here,” Sebastian hissed at him. But his brother ignored him. He reached out, catching his brother’s elbow as he tried to pass. With surprising strength and speed, the bespelled man wrenched his arm from Sebastian’s grip and continued forward as if nothing had happened. “Freddie, stop!” Sebastian called again, but to no avail.
Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus- Betrayal Page 13