Hell's Belle

by Marie Castle

  “It’s necessary?” Hesitant, his voice was tight with worry.

  “Yes.” My answer was echoed by the others. Risa whined. In acceptance? In denial?

  It didn’t matter, because Rom growled, “Do what you have to. I give my consent.” And just like that, I unleashed my fire.

  I said, “Hold her,” and sensed more than saw Mynx and Rom toss themselves across Risa. I whispered, “I’m sorry.” Then a half-human, half-animal scream echoed across the planes as my fire, following my will, flooded her, rushing through her veins, racing to burn out any taint that wouldn’t be forced out. Cool tears slid down cheeks I no longer possessed.

  There was no time for gentleness. No time for a magic less painful. No time to take back my agreement to allow the Weres to assist us in our fight, no matter how much I wished that I could. I’d told Rom this was to prevent Risa from falling into the “endless sleep.” And maybe it was. Maybe all the black-magic would do was kill, but I couldn’t be sure, especially not with the memory of Peter Traylor’s soulless eyes still fresh in my mind.

  I dug deep, letting every ounce of magic I could find come to bear against the quickly spreading poisoned darkness, uncaring if my eyes glowed blue with magic or even if flames crawled up my skin, twisting like fiery serpents around my arms, marking me as the demon spawn that I was. I dimly heard a cursing Rom ask if it was necessary to torture his sister, felt Fera’s watchful eyes on me, and knew that the body beneath me was becoming dangerously hot. But I ignored it all.

  There were worse things in life than pain, worse things than dying. Worse things than exposing to a Council operative the secret that I’d been trying to keep my entire life. Things like being taken—body and soul—by something that could wear another man’s face, speak with another man’s voice, but never consider the damage it might wreak on another man’s heart. I would not stand idly by and watch while this thing…this darkness…claimed yet another victim.

  Even if that meant we all died in the process.

  * * *

  “Gin!” Helena crowed.

  “S— Crap.” Brittan threw her cards down. They’d played two rounds of Go Fish, followed by three of Texas Hold ’em, and finally four of gin rummy. Brittan had yet to win a game, and her cards had frequently been good. If she didn’t know better, she’d suspect Helena of cheating. Brittan folded her cards, looking out the window. The light passing through the swaying crepe myrtles was watery. Thunder rolled, accompanied by a pat pat as an occasional raindrop blew against the glass panes. This storm had nearly passed. But what of the other?

  “I think it’s time we go.”

  At Helena’s words, Brit looked up. Helena’s eyes had a far-off look, hazy, as if she were lost somewhere inside her mind. The Delacys hadn’t mentioned psychic powers. But then, there was a lot they hadn’t mentioned. Of course it could simply be the brandy Helena had mixed into her tea. Brit found it humorous that in this world gambling and alcohol were permissible when cursing was not.

  Brittan followed as Helena moved through the house piling seemingly random items into a basket, which she passed to Brit. Blanket. Water. Five packs of hamburger meat? Brittan didn’t become concerned until Helena grabbed a black bag. Eyes now clear and focused, Helena looked into the bag. “We’ll need more bandages.” Cate’s aunt headed upstairs.

  Brit turned and followed, asking, “What’s going on?” Before Helena could answer, they heard the front door crash open. Standing on the stairs’ midway landing, the two women turned to look at the hall floor where a dripping wet, sandy-haired man with a crew cut stood. Something about him didn’t seem right. Helena slowly put down her bag, stepping in front of Brittan, who wanted to protest but kept silent. She was the one with the sword…the one who’d promised Cate to look after her aunt. But it looked like Helena was set on doing the protecting. They’d see about that. Brit set down her own basket.

  “Luke?” Helena tried to sound casual, but there was an edge to her voice. “What are you doing here?”

  Brit stepped up the stairs and pulled her sword, using the ninety-degree turn to hide her movements. As the man Helena had called Luke spoke, she stepped down again, keeping the blade behind her leg.

  “I didn’t get an invitation to the party, Helena, and I’m real disappointed.” His voice was deep and gravelly, but there was a sort of distortion to the sound that made goose bumps prickle her arms. He smiled, sliding a dark tongue over teeth that looked too sharp and rotten to be human. Helena gasped. Yep, this was bad.

  “Go to Cate’s room,” Helena whispered. “You’ll be safe there.” Then she formed a ball of blue magic and tossed it at the man’s head with unbelievable speed and accuracy.

  They were both shocked when he swatted the blast away as if it were a fly. It boomed as it landed, blowing out part of the hall wall. Magic. Shit. Brit had no idea how to deal with this. Still, she wouldn’t leave Helena to fight alone. Unfortunately, numbers wouldn’t matter much. They were sitting ducks on the landing.

  “Why Helena, that’s no way to treat an old friend.”

  Brit watched as his features morphed into that of an older, gaunt man. Body frozen in shock Helena gasped, “Wellsy.”

  “Fortunately for you,” he said, “we want you both alive, but only for the night. So Nicodemus won’t mind if we play some.” He formed a ball of something swirling and black. “As long as I don’t damage you too badly.”

  Brit jerked the stunned Helena up the stairs just as he sent his magic toward them. Helena cried out, stumbling. Brit wrapped her arm around Helena’s waist, continuing up the stairs, not sparing the injured woman a glance. She could already feel warm blood slicking down Helena’s back.

  Brit heard a slow thump, thump as he moved up the hall. She’d seen the man who’d chased her earlier in the day move quickly, so she knew this one could move faster. He was taking his time, relishing this. Well, that would work to her advantage. There was just one problem.

  She didn’t know where she was going.

  Brit heard closer thuds as his feet began to climb the stairs. They were echoed by a much faster set of thumps as her heart beat loudly in her ears. “Which room?” she hissed. They were nearly to the top now, and he was almost to the landing. Once, just once, she’d like to scrape by on more than the skin of her teeth.

  “Third on the left,” Helena slurred. Then her body relaxed, becoming dead weight. There was now no choice. Brit dropped the sword, hoisted Helena over her back, and ran for all she was worth. Breathing heavily, she made it up the stairs and to the door before he reached the last step.

  Brit could feel his eyes on her, but he made no move to attack, still enjoying the stalking of his prey. She really hoped Helena had been right about this room.

  “Doors won’t protect you from me, pretty one.” His racking, phlegm-filled laugh and the smell drifting her way simply made Brit hurry more. Her fingers fumbled at the knob, suddenly slippery with cold sweat.

  The knob turned.

  The door opened.

  He must have sensed her plan. Or perhaps he saw the shine of silver at the threshold. Brittan heard him shriek and rush toward her. She turned, falling back into the room, trying to ease Helena to the floor as gently as possible.

  As his cold bony hand grabbed Brit by the ankle that she was not quick enough to pull back, she knew that at least one of them was safe. If only there had been more time to get to know the infuriating, occasionally sweet and surprisingly shy Risa. She thought that she might have fallen in love a little when the embarrassed tiger had tried to apologize for holding her captive. Brit felt herself being pulled out of the room and was too slow to stop the hand that came toward her throat. She had just enough time to register another woman’s alarmed shout ringing up the stairs. Then darkness swallowed her vision, and her mind became blissfully empty of regrets.

  * * *

  “Who the fuck are you?” Rom’s snarl filtered out the open front door.

  I stepped through the door and cam
e to a sudden halt. Fera and Mynx, transporting an unconscious, human-shaped Risa, plowed into my back. The house was chaos. Muddy water trailed all the way down the hall. Broken plaster and plaster dust were everywhere. Something had blasted through the hall’s Sheetrock and into the dining room.

  But the most arresting sight was Rom standing near the kitchen entrance with his blade to the throat of a silver-haired woman who looked ready to disembowel him. I hurried forward, hoping to stop Rom before he got himself killed.

  “Sonny, we don’t allow that sort of language here. So watch yerself. This may be my granddaughter’s house now, but I’m still the head Delacy.” My Nana pushed at the blade, causing it to waver in his hands. “And if you don’t put that thing up, I’m going to take it away and show you how to use it.” She eyed him from head to toe. “You won’t like what I cut off first.”

  I hustled. That was no idle threat. My grandmother was spry and strong, considering she was nearly a hundred. She also still liked to play with sharp things. “Nana!” I rushed forward. Rom dropped his sword, stepping back. The look of shock and confusion on his face would’ve been comical…had I not been feeling something very similar. “What are you doing here?” I didn’t ask how she’d gotten here. Darkmirrors were for more than traveling between worlds.

  “Cate!” Jacq yelled from upstairs.

  Nana brushed my hug away, briskly walking past myself and the confused Rom. “Come along, dearie. No time for mushiness now.” She headed for the stairs, her white gauzy dress flowing around her tall thin frame, and I followed. “I was resting my eyes for a spell and had an overwhelming sense that I was needed here.”

  I followed her upstairs. At the landing, I hesitated, staring at a cluster of bullet holes. Then I saw the coveted sword I’d given Brit only hours before lying on the stairs along with Aunt Helena’s doctor bag and a turned over basket of…food? There was a sudden knot in the bottom of my stomach. It grew as I followed the trail of blood and water up the stairs, down the hall, and into my room.

  Jacq knelt by Aunt Helena, her hands glowing silver, her mouth set in a strained line. “I can heal the wound, but you’ll need to help with the poison.”

  I rushed forward, but Nana, kneeling opposite Jacq with her hands resting on my aunt, stopped me. “Child, you’re tired, and your magic is low. It’ll do Helena no good if you lose yourself.” Nana’s eyes were closed, her voice overly loud. She was already traveling through my aunt’s body, healing Aunt Helena like I’d done Risa. Only this time, Nana was working with her own gentler, much stronger earth-magic. I felt so helpless. Why now? Why not someone else? I’d lost my mom. I’d lost Luke. I couldn’t lose Aunt Helena, too. I bit my lip, focusing on the small pain, using it to hide my distress.

  As I watched, Jacq healed all but a small portion of the wound before moving away.

  Nana said, “Detective Slone, I presume?”

  “Yes.” Jacq’s voice was huskier than normal. She looked from me to my aunt then put her thumbs in her pockets, rocking back on her heels.

  “Take my granddaughter and you two clean up.” Nana gestured toward the bathroom. “And make sure she’s fed. That girl never eats enough for my peace of mind.”

  I blushed but didn’t protest, knowing better.

  “I can handle this. Helena managed to erect at least one ward, so the poison hadn’t yet spread far.”

  That was a relief. I looked at Jacq. She was covered in sweat, mud, and a good deal of blood that I hoped wasn’t her own.

  We both ignored my Nana’s orders. I couldn’t shower until I knew help was on its way, and I could see that Jacq didn’t want to leave me. Even from across the room, an occasional zing of magic infused my body with healing warmth. If my grandmother sensed the magic passing between us, she didn’t comment.

  Rom stuck his head in the door, cell in hand, and looked around the room. “Risa’s awake and asking for Brittan. And where’s Becca? The Alpha says she never reported in.”

  The minute I’d seen bullet holes in the landing wall and the sword on the stairs, I’d suspected what had happened. Seeing Aunt Helena had confirmed it. And from the amount of blood, I also suspected that Brit had probably saved my aunt’s life. I owed her more than a sword. And I owed it to Luke to bring Becca back and give him the future that was laid out for him, whether he realized it or not.

  “They’re gone. Taken.” I kept speaking as my meaning hit Rom. “But we’ll bring them home.” Stepping to his side, I rescued the fragile phone before his clenched fists turned it to technological dust. “But first, I need to make a call.”

  We’d get them back. I always paid my debts.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Do unto others as you would…before they do unto you what you know they were wanting to do in the first place.”

  —From the illusionist once known as Jazmine Manizales

  Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the biggest badass of them all? According to Aunt Helena, who awakened during my calls, it wasn’t the spirit inhabiting Wellsy. He wasn’t Nicodemus, and we knew from my interaction with Titus and my aunt’s with the possessed Wellsy that both dark spirits bowed to Nicky-boy’s wishes. That might not make him the biggest badass around, but it definitely put him at the top of my shit list.

  While calling in the cavalry, I watched Nana finish her healing. Aunt Helena said the possessed Wellsy had only wanted Brittan and herself for the night, so the ritual was tonight. If they held to schedule, they’d conduct it just before dawn. But even if she’d said the ritual was next week, we were going tonight. I wouldn’t have left a roach with Nicodemus for the length of time it would take Rom to put a bullet in his kneecaps. Needless to say, as soon as backup arrived we would be hotfooting it after our friends, Isabella and the kidnapped boys.

  But we couldn’t barge in and have Nicodemus start the spell, setting up a potential magical meltdown. I rubbed my aching temples and tried to make a plan. We were supposed to have more time. I’d been certain Nicodemus would want to wait for the extra power the upcoming solar eclipse would provide. But something had spooked him. And it wasn’t me or our little group. No, Titus had seemed confident that we would be no trouble to them. It had to be something else.

  Nana explained how the possessed Wellsy had breached the wards. A family friend for decades, Wellsy had helped lay one of the ward stones. These drew and directed power for the wards from the earth and surrounding ley-lines. Days before, upon suspecting Wellsy’s involvement, I’d changed the shield so it was no longer keyed to him. But the thing inhabiting his body had been able to do the impossible and access the deeply buried stone, destroying it and taking out a section of the wards until the other stones could draw enough power to fill in the gap.

  After our brief chat, we moved Aunt Helena to her own room. I tried to dissuade Jacq, Mynx and Nana from cleaning the blood and mud off the floor, but they refused, simply working around my dripping body as I made my calls.

  My call to the Weres was difficult. It was hard telling Grey that Becca was gone and that the sacrifice of Isabella was tonight. It was even harder when he put on a just awakened Luke.

  From the rage and grief in my ex’s voice, it was clear he was finally starting to realize what Becca meant to him. Though on some level he probably already knew, I couldn’t bring myself to tell Luke that Nicodemus had no reason to keep Becca alive…other than to torture her, and he’d take his time doing it. I told him we would get Becca back. I didn’t tell him she might never be the same.

  Luke and Grey were coming. Once we knew a final location, they would call some of Kyle’s guards to meet us and the others. We had about an hour and a half until everyone got here. One by one, Mynx, Jacq and finally Nana left the room. My grandmother kissed me on a dirty cheek then closed the door behind her. The mirror on its back caught my eye. I looked at the familiar grim expression. The corner of one lip twisted up, a change that would go unnoticed by most.

  Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the biggest bada
ss of all? Well, it certainly wasn’t the Wicked Witch of the South. But by the end of the night, she’d be bumped up a notch.

  I went into the bathroom. My fingers were fumbling at my cargo pants’ drawstring when the door behind me clicked. Even with Jacq’s magic, I was still cold and weary. Everything felt stiff. My limbs, my fingers, my clothes. The knotted string was wet and didn’t want to cooperate. I was about to give up and find something sharp to cut it when warm hands turned me around.

  “Let me.” Jacq’s strong steady hands covered mine, and I could only nod, closing my eyes.

  Swaying with weariness, I moved my hands to her waist, leaning against her. Even covered in blood, raptor gore and mud, she still smelled divine. I lost myself as I grew warm again. My pants loosened, sliding down my hips. She tugged my shirt up.

  I was being undressed like a child, and I didn’t care. Once I was completely nude, I heard the shower door open and the hot water start. How Jacq had managed that with me resting against her soft, strong body was beyond me. A few tears of pure exhaustion escaped my closed lids. Warm skin slid against my own. I blinked, trying to see through the watery film.

  “Wha—”

  Jacq placed a finger against my lips, hushing my protests. My eyes widened. She’d removed her own top and was working at her belt. Her hot breasts rubbed against my collarbone, and I sucked in a breath around her finger, my tongue accidentally flicking her salty skin.

  “Shh, it’s a shower. Nothing more.”

  That one-dimpled, half-smile returned, and I smiled back. My smile turned into a frown when I saw the faded yellow-green bruise, ugly against her skin’s creamy perfection, running across her chest. Jacq healed too quickly for this to be anything but recent…and serious. I tenderly traced the bruise, feeling her pants fall. Soon a warm bare calf was rubbing against my own. It was a wonderful sensation, but she wouldn’t distract me so easily.

  “What happened?” I looked up. Jacq was gazing down at me. We were both too tired for desire, but there was another sort of hunger in her eyes. Our emotional connection had returned sometime after my dunking, but I didn’t need it to know that she’d lied to me—and possibly to herself—when she’d said only one date.