Ivy Cross and the Monarch of Darkness (Dark Inquisitor Series Book 1)

by A. D. Winter

  “What woman?”

  “The one with pale skin,” she said. “The one in black leather. She’s a demon, I tell you. As if the very fury of hell had been released.”

  The initiate’s jaw went slack. As if the very fury of hell had been released? He picked apart her words, drawing out the most important ones. Pale. Fury. He felt the woman slip from his grip as he was taken by his thoughts. Could it be?

  He glanced back at the factory. Plumes of smoke were rising from the chimneys. All well and good. But that wasn’t smoke. That was something else—vampire essence drifting into the void.

  It was her.

  It had to be.

  Drawing a piece of jerky from his pouch, he held it in the air, waiting for one of the nearby ravens to come. When it swooped down and snatched it from his fingers, he whispered into its ear. “Send word to the Order. Notify the lord sergeant of my location. Tell him there’s a disturbance—a great one. And tell him to bring everyone.”

  28

  Ivy

  The urge to run hit me like a punch.

  Warlocks were a terrible sort. Dark wizards from the nightmares of children. They sold their souls to the Minstrel for unbelievable power and did his bidding with glee.

  It was said that the Order had never known loss until they faced the might of those horrible creatures. But I stood my ground, unwilling to give in to the fear pulsing through my veins.

  Crag, on the other hand, was a different story.

  “I see the managers of this fine establishment have finally shown their faces,” he said, fidgeting nervously with his hammer.

  “Unfortunately,” I said, wincing at their sewn-up eyes. I could only imagine what type of powers they’d received for such a sacrifice.

  Crag wiped the sweat from his brow and smoothed the wrinkles of his shirt, clearly aware of his appearance.

  Not wanting to be outdone, I flung my hair to the side, giving it more body, and tugged up the ends of my pants. “All right, let’s kick some butt.”

  “Well said, my dear.”

  The warlocks cocked their heads to the side as they lowered their gazes. Without eyes, they couldn’t see, but they could sense, and slowly I began to feel the spiderlike signature of their dark magic crawling along my skin. I gave a shudder.

  “They’re small,” said the taller one, in the black robe.

  “And weak,” the other agreed.

  “Stay here. Make sure they don’t cause any more complications. The Monarch will be displeased if the shipment isn’t delivered on time.”

  “You go without me?” the shorter one asked.

  “Now is not the time to be petty, brother.”

  “How convenient,” the other replied.

  I cleared my throat, drawing their attention. “Excuse me, but, um, if this is some kind of family matter, we can come back later. You know, when things are settled between the two of you.”

  The taller warlock turned to leave. “Finish them,” he called out. “And join me in the evening. I’m sure there’ll still be enough souls for you to enjoy by the time you get there.”

  He strode toward the exit and gestured for the remaining vampires to load up the last of the crates. They hurried as best they could, then shot us gloating smirks as they drove the carriages from the factory.

  “Where are they taking the potions?” I asked.

  “To a place of great importance,” the shorter warlock replied. “But don’t worry, you won’t be around to see it.”

  “I think I’m going to have to disagree with that,” I said.

  “Yes,” he said. “I thought you might.”

  “Who’s the Monarch?” I asked.

  “A prophet,” he answered.

  “A prophet?” I flashed my brows at Crag. “Sounds impressive. So who is it?”

  “The Monarch reveals itself only to the deserving.”

  “Why are you helping it?” I asked. “For money?”

  A grin stretched across the warlock’s face, and I saw a row of rotten teeth. “Do I look like I care about money?”

  “Well, you certainly don’t care about hygiene,” I replied.

  “You and your people have such faith in the fae,” the warlock said. “So sure that they protect you. But you’re wrong. You’re nothing but slaves—all of you. And soon you’ll know the truth of it.”

  “And how do you propose that will happen?” I asked.

  “By reaching into your very souls and bringing to life your greatest nightmares.”

  Crag swallowed audibly. “Perhaps we should leave, my dear.”

  I held up a hand, gesturing for him to wait. “No, no. Let this pincushion say his peace.”

  The warlock frowned, and I suddenly had to duck as he shot a magic missile from his hands. The ball of blue energy came roaring for my face, nearly singeing the top of my head as it flew past and crashed into the wall behind me.

  “I fear we may have bitten off more than we can chew, my dear,” Crag said, visibly nervous.

  “Are you kidding me?” I said. “We’ve got this guy right where we want him. Now get in there and show him who’s boss.”

  With a deep sigh, Crag charged the warlock. His muscled body shook with every step. But the warlock was fast. He conjured another missile and sent it at the dwarf. This time it was much larger, enough to incinerate an entire block of stone.

  “Crag!” I raced out with my battle-ax and used it as a shield against the flaming projectile. It took the brunt of the impact, but the power was great. My wrists nearly snapped from the force of it, and we were thrown across the factory, where we crashed into a wall of cardboard boxes.

  My entire body ached. Smoke rose from my clothes, and I took in the dreadful scent of burning dwarf. Ew.

  “That was a close one, my dear.” Crag helped me up as we struggled to our feet. Regaining ourselves, we looked back at the warlock. He was still standing at the other end of the factory, his stick figure appearing tiny in the distance.

  “Still alive?” He craned his neck over the pile of boxes, trying to focus his magical senses on us.

  “No!” I yelled back, and stretched out the pain in my hip. “We’re dead. Now leave us alone.”

  He grinned.

  “I fear this enemy is far greater than anything we can handle,” said Crag. “Perhaps we should just leave.”

  “And let him win?” I peeked over the pile of boxes at the frightening warlock. He was dangerous with powers far greater than our own. But I couldn’t leave. I needed answers. And this was the only way I was going to get them. “No,” I said. “I have a plan.”

  “And what’s that?” Crag asked.

  “We attack again.”

  He sighed in frustration.

  The clack of the warlock’s boots echoed throughout the factory as he made his way toward us. He was enjoying this, I knew, relishing the scent of our fear. And that got me angry.

  “You ready, Crag?”

  He shook his head decidedly. “Absolutely not.”

  “Good. Let’s go!”

  We charged out of the mountain of boxes, racing as fast as we could. I wasn’t about to let this warlock beat us; I wasn’t going to let him win. So, drawing upon the power of my spirit, I attacked with the fires of hell, knowing in my heart that no matter what he did, we couldn’t be stopped.

  We were.

  Crag and I froze in place as we were suddenly gripped by a tremendous force. It held us in midair, paralyzing us like stone. I shifted my eyes to Crag, who was just as motionless.

  The warlock chuckled softly. “It never ceases to amaze me, the hubris of an inquisitor. You think that merely because you can swing a piece of metal around, you’re a formidable opponent.”

  “You think you stopped me?” I managed in a pinched mumble. “I’m about three seconds away from kicking your butt.”

  “For the love of Thor,” Crag managed in a voice just as ridiculous. “Will you stop with that?”

  The warlock raised a hand, ges
turing for us to shut up. “Enough. I can’t stand you anymore. Just die.”

  I gasped as I felt a powerful force tightening around my heart. It gripped it like a cold and ancient hand, and I felt a searing pain erupting in my chest. It was worse than anything I’d ever felt before, and I fought with all of my might just to stay alive.

  I glared at the grinning warlock. He was relishing this, and it horrified me to think that his disgusting face would be the last image I’d see before my death.

  Thankfully, it wasn’t.

  A series of fireballs rained down from the ceiling. They exploded against the warlock’s ugly face in a violent succession, and he had to stagger back to shield his face from the powerful onslaught.

  Crag and I fell to the floor, our bodies landing with a thud. We clutched our throats and coughed as we fought for breath, our muscles slowly beginning to work again.

  “And what’s this?” the warlock demanded. “A wizard in our midst?”

  Dryden appeared over the railing. He was smoking a ciggy with a glint of amusement in his eyes. He looked relaxed, confident. “I hope you don’t mind,” he called out in a gentlemanly voice. “It’s become a bit lonely up here, and I’d like to see if you have room for one more.”

  “By all means.” The warlock stretched out his arms in welcome. “Be my guest.”

  Dryden leaped from the railing, surprising us with a forward somersault. He straightened at the last second, then drifted to the floor in a smooth glide.

  Not bad.

  The warlock angled his head to the side as he listened to the landing. “Impressive. I’ve never known a wizard to be so … nimble. You must’ve had training.”

  “‘A wizard who can only stand in place, places himself in danger,’” Dryden replied, tossing away the rest of his ciggy.

  “Ah.” The warlock cupped his chin in thought. “Bradley?”

  “Bastien,” Dryden corrected him.

  “Oh.” The warlock frowned. “I never much liked the French. They were always too romantic, too sophisticated for their own good.”

  “A little showmanship never hurt anyone,” Dryden replied.

  “Agreed.” A blast of electricity erupted from the warlock’s hands, and a frightening red snake appeared. It snapped at Dryden with its curved teeth, only to be repelled by the blue shield he conjured at the last moment.

  “Dryden!’ I yeled.

  “Relax,” he replied. “I’ve got this completely under control.”

  But the snake was relentless.

  It snapped and snapped, forcing Dryden back in retreat. He held the shield as long as he could, grimacing with every attack. But the snake was too strong, too fast.

  Crag and I bolted forward, using the opportunity to blindside the warlock, but we never got the chance.

  The warlock waved a hand, and we were thrust across the factory in a violent gust of wind, crashing us into another pile of boxes against the wall.

  Pain shot through my body, and my thoughts were wiped away by the impact. But I raised my head in desperation, anxious to check on Dryden.

  And that was when it happened.

  The snake lashed out at the shield like a whip, causing it to flicker, and then, in one flashing second, the shield evaporated.

  Dryden staggered back as he rushed to hit the snake with a series of fireballs. But the snake was made of flame, and the balls were quickly absorbed into its form. Without an escape, he could only stumble into the wall behind him.

  Dryden!

  The snake plunged its fangs into his chest, and he was instantly slammed to the floor where he began to convulse. Smoke lifted from his jacket, and the snake slithered away, seeming pleased with its victory.

  Lying there, defeated, Dryden could only turn his head to me and mouth two words: “I’m sorry.”

  “No!” I drew upon the power of my spirit, and with all of my strength, threw my battle-ax at the warlock. The ax tumbled through the air, flying end over end, racing for its target.

  But the warlock turned around just in time. He caught it in his hand, then sent it back at me just as quickly.

  I ducked at the last second, barely avoiding its blade, and saw it sink into the wall behind me.

  “Now,” the warlock said, walking toward me. “Time to end this.”

  29

  Ivy

  Crag and I raced for our lives.

  The snake was hot on our heels, and there was no escape. We slid under conveyor belts, jumped over tables, dived into boxes, doing whatever we could to save our lives.

  But it was useless.

  The snake was fast, and surprisingly crafty. Worse, it appeared to have taken on a life of its own. It cut us off around tables, slipped around columns, forcing us to go back the way we’d just come.

  The warlock appeared amused by our struggle. He clapped his hands and laughed whenever the snake got close enough to burn our clothes.

  “I’m gonna enjoy ripping out his tongue when this is all over,” I said, ducking beneath one of its bites.

  “I’d worry about surviving at this point,” Crag said.

  The dwarf might’ve been strong, but he wasn’t particularly fast. He stumbled over his short legs, nearly toppling over as the snake lashed out at his back. But I yanked him aside at the last second, able to swing him into the corner of the factory, where he stumbled into one of the support beams.

  The snake dove in after, crashing into the beam, and all at once, I heard the yawning ache of metal as the entire upper railing began to bend.

  Sophie!

  The young princess was falling from the edge of the scaffolding, her eyes wide with fear as she glared at the ground. I raced out and caught her at the last moment, swooping her up in my arms and dashing away.

  “I thought I told you to stay out of sight,” I said.

  “I did!”

  I rushed to the opposite corner of the factory and set her down. “Well, this time I mean it.”

  She growled in frustration. “But I want to help.”

  “You can help by staying out of the way.”

  The princess grumbled something in French, probably some insult about my worthless pedigree. But I didn’t have the time to argue. So, I turned around and set off once more.

  Crag was already waiting for me when I reached him.

  “You’re still alive?” I asked, genuinely surprised.

  “Amazingly.” He wiped some of the ash from his arms. “It appears that our warlock has become distracted.”

  “By what?” I asked.

  “See for yourself.”

  I followed the dwarf’s gaze and saw that the snake had returned to its master. It was curling around the warlock like a doting servant, its fiery tongue flickering in and out of its slitted mouth.

  But it was what the evil pair was watching that stole my attention.

  Stirring on the ground, his body still smoking from the snake’s flames, Dryden, unbelievably, appeared … alive.

  The warlock frowned. He was clearly upset by this little surprise, and he motioned the snake to finish the job. But just as it was about to reach the young wizard, the most amazing thing happened.

  The ridiculous figure of a werewolf in a pink dress appeared out of nowhere.

  Sophie!

  The little princess swooped Dryden up in her arms and raced away, managing to get him to the other corner of the factory before finally collapsing.

  Crag blinked in confusion. He didn’t understand what he was seeing, and it was at that moment that I realized something: he didn’t know about the curse.

  “Well, well, well,” the warlock said. “If it isn’t the young princess. So good to see you again.”

  “Leave her alone!” I yelled.

  “What’s he talking about?” Crag asked.

  I turned around to look at the dwarf. He was staring at me in disbelief, waiting for me to answer him. But the truth was, I didn’t have the will or the time to tell him. His precious little Sophie was now a werewol
f.

  The snake stopped as the warlock turned his attention to me. And I suddenly wished that I had kept quiet.

  But it was too late.

  The warlock picked his teeth with his tongue and said, “Finish them.”

  The snake came at us in a fiery blaze. It burst through the lines of conveyor belts like they were nothing, singeing the ground with its twisting belly.

  “Well,” I said. “Looks like this is it.”

  “Yes,” Crag replied. “It appears so.”

  We charged with our weapons held high. If I was going to die, I was going to die my way—with a battle-ax in my grip and a smile on my face.

  I was already flying through the air when I felt a freezing chill. It swept through the factory like a terrible blizzard, coating the walls, floor, and equipment in an icy sheen.

  The snake suddenly froze in a block of ice, and my ax sank into its nostril, leaving me to hang in the air, where I began to awkwardly swing back and forth.

  I glanced down at Crag, who was staring up at me in bewilderment.

  “Uh, Crag?”

  “Yes, my dear?”

  “What just happened?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  I glanced over the snake’s head, searching for who’d done this, only to be shocked by what I saw. Dryden was standing on the other side of the factory—alive.

  His topknot was undone, and a single blade of hair was hanging lazily against his chiseled face. He looked like he’d just come back from the dead.

  “Back from your nap?” the warlock asked him.

  Dryden raised a finger to the warlock as he feigned a yawn. When he was done, he smoothed out the lapels of his tweed jacket and smiled. “Apologies. But it’s been a long day.”

  “You’re a brave one,” the warlock said as he strode out to meet him. “That’s rare in our line of work. So I’ll tell you what—as a reward, I’ll provide you with a quick death. It’s the least I can do. But your friends, on the other hand, that is another matter. They, I’m afraid, will require a bit more of my attention, especially the little one.”

  Dryden stepped in front of Sophie, blocking her from the warlock’s senses. “You dare harm a child?”