Hell's Belle

by Marie Castle

  Brittan looked at it with dark, doubtful eyes. I continued, “A thing is just a thing. A gift is just a gift. And one is not necessarily the other. A person doesn’t need a reason to give the latter. And there doesn’t have to be strings attached or debts owed with the giving.” They were words I’d heard often but only now understood. “But if you want to consider it something more, then consider it payment. I’ll give you something precious, if you’ll use it to protect something I consider far more valuable.”

  “Payment for what…to protect my own hide? I’d do that freely.” Brittan’s lips joked, but her eyes were wary as they moved from the sword to something behind me and back again. The mirror showed Risa slipping guns away into places I couldn’t fathom a harness fitting.

  I chuckled. “That too. But no, I want you to keep an eye on Aunt Helena. She’ll never admit it, but she worries when I’m involved in anything more dangerous than a game of tic-tac-toe. So this next twenty-four, forty-eight hours is going to be hell on her. Keep her safe. Keep her occupied. Most especially, keep her inside the wards, and these are yours. Do you believe it a fair exchange?” I smiled, but my voice was deep and serious.

  Brittan stood there for several moments, looking from me to the weapon in my hands to the activity behind us, and then out the sliding glass doors leading to the garden, finally saying, “Let’s see. You want me to stick around this house for the next day or two with a bunch of hot, sweaty muscle-bound types, let your aunt stuff me with home cooking, and play with all your cool weapons, one of which you’re giving me?”

  I nodded several times sharply, returning her sudden impish grin. Uh-oh. What had I gotten myself into?

  Brittan snatched the sword from my hand and slung it over her head so quickly I thought she might pull something. “Call me Brit.”

  “Okay, Brit. Does that mean you’ll take the job?” I held out my hand.

  “Throw in free Wi-Fi and a massage, and you’ve got a deal.” She grabbed my hand, pumping it up and down.

  I retrieved my hand, laughed and stuck my thumbs in my pockets. “The Wi-Fi I can do. You’re on your own for the rest.” A glance over my shoulder showed that Risa’s patience had run out. I began to make a fast exit, but Brittan’s hand on my elbow stopped me. I turned, looking at her expectantly.

  “And Cate, thanks.”

  I heard the catch in her throat before her hand dropped. I just nodded and walked away as Risa stalked toward us. It was time to head outside anyway.

  All of us but Aunt Helena and Brit left the house. When we reached the wards, I removed my suppression amulets and passed them to Mynx, who took the discs without a word. Although diminished, I could still feel the phers influence. But once the battle began, I’d be able to focus past my body’s needs.

  Jacq opened a ward door, and we stepped through. The pines around the house stood like shadowy, silent sentries. It was another bright, hot day with an endless blue sky. Was it any wonder that we had so many demons running around? They probably felt at home. Mississippi in May was as hot as hell—with seventy percent humidity added in for good measure. I took a deep breath of fresh, muggy air, sweet with honeysuckle and felt the heat making me stronger.

  Goddess, I loved this state.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Magic can bond like blood. Blood can bond like magic. The two together can create a conduit for untold power…or chaos, depending upon your perspective.”

  —Phoenix D’Artanian, former leader of the Draig

  For the second time in less than a week, I was looking at a dead man who didn’t know when to just lie down and let the nice people cover him in dirt.

  The raptors had been early. We’d barely finished tromping through the woods to the desired spot before they arrived. I’d picked this clearing because it was in a direct path to the ward doors but also because it was beside the creek that twisted around our property before finally feeding into a large pond beyond the back gardens.

  There would be a lot of magic flying, including my fire. Maybe that sounds surprising, considering I would be fighting alongside Fera and the Weres, but I’d been thinking for months that it was time to stop hiding. Learning about my family’s deception and my demon father had been the last straw. Of course, that didn’t mean I was ready to walk down NOLA’s streets juggling fireballs and spouting Demonish. I’d be cautious and not make things easy for the Council. Or in this case, I’d wait until I was far away from the others before calling the flames. But I’d been born with these powers for a reason.

  It was time that I put them to good use.

  So, with fire and the magic spheres everyone would be tossing (well, everyone but the Weres), we had to be careful. The recent heat had parched the ground cover. The clearing was easily double the length of a football field, with the creek another few hundred yards away through a dense section of pine, oak and scraggly bushes. Close enough that water could be magically diverted to extinguish any out-of-control blazes. I didn’t plan to beat these guys just to lose the house in a forest fire.

  The raptors emerged from the dark woods, hurtling toward us at a phenomenal speed, and we divided up. One immortal with each Were. Each pair would take on a raptor. In truth, I was worried about the Weres, especially Becca. They had no way to protect against magic, which left Jacq, Mynx and Fera handicapped. They would have to fight and keep an eye on our allies. Fera had suggested having the Weres run in circles so the others could pick off the raptors as they gave chase. While joking, it was her way of telling the Weres that they’d either be an asset or a liability. Only time would determine which.

  The approaching raptors slowed, but even from a distance I could see the intelligence in their eyes. Mynx had been right when she’d called them reptilian. They had wrinkled bluish-gray hides and ran on two legs with wide, sweeping tails for balance. There were only holes where their ears should have been. If not for their blue color, I would’ve thought they were animatronics from that movie about cloned dinosaurs run amok. I had just enough time to note that their long snouts held row after row of sharp, jagged teeth. Then they were upon us.

  I headed toward the man following the raptors. One of the blue reptiles moved to intercept, and Jacq pushed it from my path with a pulse of silver magic. She nodded as I passed before turning her attention back to the creature who was now heading for Rom. Jacq didn’t like that I was taking on the man, a sorcerer, alone, but this was my house…my territory. Mine. I would always be at the forefront when protecting it. Still, I didn’t relish the thought of dying—not for a house, not for territory…not even for honor. Which was just another reason I hadn’t become one of the honor-equals-life Weres. If I got in over my head, I’d say “Fuck honor” and run. Unless, of course, I was in the company of my aunt. Then I’d keep my comments to myself and run. Until then, I had a job to do.

  I set my sights on the sorcerer. He stood near the wood’s edge, tossing black-magic from behind his monsters. I dodged a black orb and pulled my sword, calling the flames. As I left the others behind, I heard the rapid pop, pop, pop of automatic gunfire then cursing. A louder rumble sounded, and for a moment I thought Rom had been holding out on me about the rocket launcher. Then I realized it was thunder.

  A storm was approaching. In the last ten minutes, the temperature had dropped by at least ten degrees. Dodging blast after black-magic blast, I moved quickly. Tall grass whipped against my knees. Patches of sweet clover crushed beneath my feet. All the while, I never took my eyes off the lean, sandy-haired man’s broken, red-brown smile. Lightning flashed in the distance, but I didn’t spare the sky a glance. I’d learned my lesson during the hellhound battle about turning your attention from an enemy.

  Of course, I didn’t have to look to know certain things. The sudden cease in gunfire and Rom’s repeated shouts of “God damn it!” painted a pretty good picture. The tigers had finally figured out that lead projectiles didn’t do shit against Otherworld creatures. Jacq had temporarily spelled their swords with her de
adly silver runes, so if the tigers bothered to use their “big-ass” knives as Risa put it, they’d at least do some damage.

  Twenty yards from my goal I slowed, sauntering closer to my enemy, still dodging an occasional black orb. This one was strong. Much stronger than Sarkoph, he seemed to have an endless supply of the blasted things. During my zigzag across the meadow, I’d counted ten aimed at myself, several narrowly missing, and I’d heard the others shout as black missiles rained down.

  From Fera’s description, we were certain this sorcerer wasn’t Nicodemus, which meant we needed him alive so he could lead us back to Nicky-boy, Isabella and the missing boys. The most harmless in appearance, I had taken the job of distracting the unknown sorcerer until the rest of my group could defeat the raptors and magically circle him. But as I got closer it looked like capturing him alive would be impossible.

  He was already dead.

  The smell hit me just as I recognized his face, confirming one of my worst fears. Suddenly aware of the threat my nearness posed, he turned to face me. I stopped only a few feet away. We stood under a pine’s boughs, the first at the mouth of a trail that led to the creek. I raised my sword, giving a salute. Then I said calmly, not letting my distress show, “Hello, Peter. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

  Less than thirty-six hours ago, I’d stared at a picture of this man standing beside Wellsy. This sorcerer’s connection to our neighbor and family friend was too much to be ignored. Peter’s empty black eyes swiveled in my direction, black-magic ball in his hand all but forgotten. I stifled a shudder and smiled. “That is your name, isn’t it?” I stepped around him carefully, keeping my distance. I’d cast all four wards of protection on myself, with fire magic no less. But that didn’t mean I would give him a free shot. Besides, the wards were situated slightly beyond my body, leaving some big gaps.

  Peter warily eyed the fiery tears falling from my blade to the grass. His neck turned nearly one hundred and eighty degrees, following my movement. Oh yeah, he was well past the benchmark for creepiness and about to round the corner toward putrefying. If I hadn’t already noticed the rotting clothes, atrophied muscles and purplish skin, the neck contortions would’ve been a dead giveaway. Not even the most accomplished yogi could twist his head on his spine until his nose sat between his shoulder blades. That wasn’t human.

  And Peter Traylor had been human. I’d pulled up his bio along with that of the other man and woman who’d been with Wellsy in that coal mine. Traylor had a wife and a son and was an employee of the Virginia Tourism Board. He’d disappeared right after the photo had been taken. The newspaper had gotten those details right, but someone had been wrong when they’d said that he’d been alive after climbing out of that collapsed shaft. Those eyes were as dead and soulless now as they’d been in that photo. Eyes just like those of the two men pictured beside him—the men who’d also escaped that mine, one of which had been our neighbor, Wellsy.

  If eyes were the windows to the soul, how could I have missed the hollow where Wellsy’s spirit should’ve been? The difference had been there for me to see when I’d bumped into him at Tulane. I could have slapped myself. I hadn’t wanted to see the man for what he was: A shell. A shell housing a hungry darkness bent on destruction. A lot like the one getting ready to kick my ass if I didn’t pay attention.

  “Peter’s out for a bit. You may call me Titus.” His words had a very odd accent that I couldn’t quite place. He smiled. The smile and tone might’ve once been considered charming. But death, undeath, or whatever existence he currently inhabited had changed that. His gums were so shriveled that his teeth resembled pikes, tall and jagged, rising from a bloody, muddied battlefield, and the voice was hollow and flat, wheezing from lungs decayed from lack of use. He lifted his legs, turning, but like a marionette whose strings were being pulled, his other parts did not follow.

  “Titus it is then.” I nodded slightly, never taking my eyes from his.

  Titus’s movements were slow, below human standards. Fera had said he was fast, and I didn’t doubt it. He was playing weak, judging his prey, waiting for the right moment to strike. But I’d seen too many Louisiana gators lunge from seemingly calm bayou waters to fall for that trick. And the analogy fit. With his stiff features, dark unblinking eyes, and sharp teeth, the Peter puppet resembled a cold calculating croc. I couldn’t help but think of the crocodile from Peter Pan who’d always been accompanied by the foreshadowing ticktock of a clock, which was a true comparison. His appearance here and now meant time was running out for us all.

  Titus, tired of waiting for a response, haphazardly tossed the black-magic sphere over his shoulder. I heard a shriek and snarl as the volley struck its mark but didn’t dare look. Titus’s dark magic began to coalesce again, this time elongating into a sword. He didn’t stop forming the undulating, black weapon until it was at least six inches longer than the steel gripped in my own hands.

  “Oh my, mine’s bigger,” he said drolly.

  I snorted. Apparently, even dead men had penis envy. “Yes, but do you know how to use it?” I stepped back into a classic defensive stance, body turned, left foot forward. Titus mirrored my actions. His words were confident. So were mine. But we were both cautious. Our weapons would do more than cut each other, and we knew it.

  “It’s been awhile, I’ll admit. But they say it’s like riding a cycle. You climb back on and start pumping.”

  Titus’s sexual threats didn’t create the distraction he’d anticipated. I kept one eye on his weapon and the other on his eyes, standing my ground. There was one thing I was certain of: this man’s plumbing hadn’t worked in a long time.

  The storm’s first arbitrary winds blew the strong odor of rotting flesh in my face, and I nearly choked, bile rising in my throat. Death didn’t mix well with the smell of clean pine and sweet honeysuckle.

  Just as the first fat drop of rain landed on my cheek, Titus leapt forward, his sword slashing at my head. I sidestepped, countering. Black-magic slid against my flaming steel, its cold chill whooshing past my right bicep. My injury from my bout with Sarkoph flared, a deep, pulsating ache. Darkness called to darkness, even if it was only the memory of darkness contained in a fresh scar.

  Titus’s momentum carried him past, and I pivoted, continuing my blade’s motion. He continued on, going for my back. Two could play at that. It was bad form to attack a man from behind, but we weren’t exactly fighting by the rules. I did a half-turn, slicing my blade around in a shoulder-high, two-handed arc, keeping it close to my body for better control. He was quick, but speed without restraint was a liability.

  Titus’s stolen body had overcompensated for the stiff muscles with deteriorating joints that flopped like rubber. To keep all his body parts going in the same direction at the same time, he had to turn wide, putting him still facing away from me when I struck. At the last moment, I extended the blade, cutting through his shirt. He hadn’t anticipated my speed, and the lapse cost him. I smelled burnt meat and scorched wool.

  My hungry fire had bitten him.

  Little wisps of smoke rose as licks of flame continued to move over his back. There was no flinch—no reaction—to the small, carnivorous fires that I’d intentionally transferred to him. Long dead, this one didn’t feel pain, but I was willing to bet he’d be more careful from here on.

  Titus twisted around, bending nearly backward, his sword flashing out at an impossible angle. I stepped back, knocking his blade aside with a downward sweep. Sparks flew as our magic clashed. Everywhere they landed, tiny embers glowed. A few in the dry pine needles. One on his left shoulder. Others spread out in an occasional patch of tall grass.

  Thunder sounded closer. More rain fell. The water didn’t put the tiny flames out, but neither did they grow. Titus hit me harder. Harder again. My arms strained to hold back the escalating onslaught. Sweat burned my eyes. I blinked it away, focusing on other senses. Beneath the sounds of battle, I heard rushing water. Then it made sense. I was being forced down the old path
to the creek. Titus thought to douse my fire with a dunking.

  We were getting farther and farther away. Too far to call for help, and I was being pushed farther still. Penned in on both sides by dense woods. Water at my back. Sorcerer at my front. Piece of cake.

  I gritted my teeth, raising my sword to block another bone-shattering blow. Maybe I was in over my head, but I’d had time to consider this fight. More time than I’d had for any of my previous run-ins with the demonic. I, too, could be a devious devil when I put my mind to it.

  As we moved, I saw the embers follow and smiled in gruesome satisfaction. Titus could roll us both over Niagara Falls in a barrel if he wanted. It wouldn’t change a thing. More raindrops fell, this time steadily, plopping as they hit the ground. Titus smiled in joy then confusion, noticing my unconcerned expression.

  That’s right. I didn’t care if we got a little wet. In fact, I was counting on it. This was one fire that liked to swim.

  As Titus steadily pushed me back, I began to pull my magic in. My sword’s flames died slowly. When the last fiery tear fell he shrieked in triumph, charging forward, thinking I was finally weakening. And in truth I was, but we weren’t done just yet. Dirty blond hair darkened with water matted to Titus’s forehead, but contrary to logic, as the rain came down, the little ember on his shoulder started to grow. Fireless, I parried his last lunge with nothing but Damascus steel and determination.

  At the creek’s edge, my feet slipped on the wet rocks and I stumbled backward into the water. It flowed cold and heavy into my boots, weighing my feet down as they slid on the sandy bottom. I kept moving until the water reached my knees, blinking as rain ran into my eyes, plastering my escaped locks to my neck and face. Titus stood on the bank, a half-ring of fiery embers surging, growing mere feet behind him.

  “End of the line, girl.” He took a step forward.