Primeval Magic (Demons of Fire and Night Book 3)

by C. N. Crawford

  “I’m trying!” Zee’s voiced echoed in the hall.

  Slowly, the lights of the chandelier receded as someone pulled her away. “Where are you taking me?” she managed.

  “I told you what would happen if you gave him your blood,” said Cera.

  It came back to her in a flash. Bael had been feeding from her—Bael, who smelled of sandalwood and the ocean. Had she been in his mind? Her mouth was dry, and she tried to lick her lips. “How is Bael?”

  “He’s alive,” said Cera in a voice tinged with fear, dragging Ursula down the hall.

  Ursula tried to stand, but vertigo over took her.

  “Don’t move,” said Cera as she dragged Ursula into the library, closing the door behind her. “You lost a lot of blood.”

  Ursula swallowed hard. “He was only supposed to drink a little bit.”

  “We tried to pull you away, but he is too strong. He would have drained you if Zee hadn’t glamoured him.”

  Down the hall, Zee was shouting in Russian. A bellowing roar answered her.

  Ursula blinked. “Is Zee okay?”

  “I think so,” said Cera. “She manacled him in some sort of golden handcuffs.”

  As Cera pulled Ursula into the living room, an enormous crash echoed down the hall. “Stop.”

  Ursula pushed up to her elbows, then tried to stand again, but her head swam as soon as she lifted it from the floor. Cera was right. Bael had drank a lot of blood.

  “Wait there,” Cera barked, as if Ursula had any other option. “I must go check on the lord.”

  Before Ursula could respond, Cera slipped back into the hallway. Ursula’s eyes drifted closed again, her mind echoing with those terrible screams from that sun-kissed city.

  WHEN URSULA OPENED her eyes again, Zee and Cera were standing in the doorway. Zee looked exhausted, her blond hair disheveled, and a red welt bulging on the side of her face. Cera stood next to her, staring at the floor.

  “How is Bael?” asked Ursula.

  “He’s fine,” said Zee. “He’s a real prick when he’s blood-drunk, but we’ve got him confined in his old bedroom upstairs.”

  “How did you get him up there?”

  Zee quirked a smile. “I have my ways of convincing people.” She knelt down and slipped her arm under Ursula’s back. “Can you sit up?”

  Slowly, Ursula sat up. She still felt woozy, but the vertigo had abated.

  “So it worked,” said Ursula.

  Zee took a deep breath. “Technically, yes. But Bael… he’s definitely doing the monster thing. Black eyes, bloodlust, rage. Primal growls. That sort of thing.”

  “But that’s what we expected, right?” Ursula rubbed her eyes. “I mean, you warned me that he’d turn into a monster. ‘Not a big deal.’”

  “I’d just never seen it quite like that before, or with someone quite that powerful,” said Zee. “I thought you said he was mortal without his wings? He’s strong as an ox. If I hadn’t glamoured him, we’d all be dead.”

  “Told you it was a terrible idea,” said Cera. “Things are ikkibu for a reason.”

  From the floor above, a deep, guttural bellow pierced the walls, and the bestial sound slid through Ursula’s bones.

  “He’s overcome with bloodlust,” said Cera. “He can still smell you, and he’s desperate to drink from your veins again. You’re not safe here. Right now, he can’t think about anything else but draining you.”

  Ursula blinked. “But you’ve got manacles on him, right?”

  “Yes,” said Zee. “But given his strength, they won’t last forever. What we really need is someone strong enough to fight him if he escapes, but I’m not sure if any such person exists.”

  “What about Kester?”

  Zee shook her head. “He disappeared from the city right around the time the dragons showed up. He told me he thought he’d figured out why the dragons were after you. He said he knew how to fix it, but didn’t give me any details. Then, POOF. Gone. I’ve been searching the entire city for him, and I’m about to lose my mind.”

  So Kester was out. That left—Ursula shuddered—the goddess of fire. “Maybe we need to summon Emerazel to grant my fire magic back.”

  Zee scrunched her pale forehead. “First of all, you can’t summon her without your magic. Second of all, I don’t think you want to have to explain a bloodthirsty Shadow Lord from Nyxobas’s court.”

  Right. Bollocks. Ursula tried to stand, but her legs buckled, and she dropped down again. “We need to find Kester. He can help me get my magic back, and Zee said he knows why the dragons are after me, right? That he knows how to stop them?”

  “Not now,” said Cera sharply. “First, you rest. The manacles should hold for a while longer.”

  Already, Ursula could feel her eyes drifting closed, and she felt a dry, marine wind rush over her skin, bringing with it the scent of death.

  CHAPTER 4

  U rsula spend the night dreaming of gray skies and fields of coppery earth dappled with yellow wildflowers: sandalwood, salty air, and a longing so deep it hurt.

  When she woke on the sofa, buttery sunlight streamed in through the living room windows, melting away her dreams. As the visions faded from her mind, their loss gnawed at her chest. She had a sudden desire to run up to her bedroom and paint the dreams over the walls.

  But she’d have to save that for later. Right now, the sunlight was hurting her eyes, and her mouth felt like cotton. She was still stark naked apart from the raincoat and the blanket someone had thrown over her. On the coffee table next to her, someone had laid out a fresh change of clothes for her—black jeans, a striped T-shirt, and even a set of black underwear.

  She squinted in the sunlight, rubbing her eyes. Her stomach rumbled. When had she last eaten? The gods only know. Inhaling deeply, she scented the rich, salty aroma of bacon wafting through the air, and her mouth began to water. She rose on shaky legs and pulled off the raincoat, letting it drop to the sofa. Slowly, she pulled on the underwear, dressing her trembling body.

  When she’d finished, she stumbled toward the kitchen, her hunger compelling her toward the scent of breakfast. Still lightheaded, she leaned against the hallway wall as she walked.

  In the kitchen, Cera stood over a sizzling pan. Steam from the bacon curled into the air, catching in the sunlight.

  Zee leaned against the counter, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee. “Hungry? This is some of the last bacon left in New York City.”

  “We’ll just have to get more pigs,” Cera chirped. She looked up at Ursula. “How do you feel?”

  Ursula shook her head slowly. “Like I’ve caught the bubonic plague.”

  Zee nodded. “Bael had a really good hold of you.”

  Cera pointed a bony finger at the fae’s blonde head. “She kicked him in the head.”

  “I had to gain control of the situation.” Zee picked up a plate and fork, eyeing the bacon. “He was going to drain Ursula. And everything is fine now, right? She’s alive. He’s alive. Everyone wins. Apart from the fact that Bael might slaughter us all.” She plucked a strip of bacon from the pan, dropping it into the plate. “But until then, we have perfectly crispy bacon.” She handed the plate to Ursula. “First bite goes to the blood-loss victim.”

  Her mouth watering, Ursula grabbed the plate. “Thanks.” She bit into the bacon, watching as Cera retrieved a tray of pancakes from the oven and began piling a big helping on to a plate.

  “Are we supposed to eat all this?”

  Cera dropped the tray on the stovetop next to the frying pan. “The pancakes are for the lord.”

  “You really think he’ll settle for pancakes when what he wants is human blood?” asked Zee.

  As if on cue, a primal roar ripped through the house, rattling the glassware in the kitchen. Bael sounded a lot like he had when she’d first released him from those bonds, and yet this was somehow more terrifying—the dark, bestial undertone, a preternatural message: Run.

  Cera piled pancakes onto a plate
, fixing Ursula with a hard stare. “I’m bringing him his breakfast. You need to get out of here. As long as he smells your blood, bloodlust will cloud his mind.”

  Ursula’s mouth had gone dry. “Right. Of course.” She snatched a coffee cup, inhaling the aroma as she poured it. She still felt half-dead. “My head is a little foggy, but just so I have this clear, I need to leave here before Bael kills me, and walk out into a post-apocalyptic nightmare of a city where everyone wants to turn me over to dragons to end the deaths.”

  A bestial roar from Bael rumbled through her gut, and Ursula tightened her grip on her coffee.

  Zee took a bite of bacon. “I think you’ve got the gist of it. Why not visit Kester’s tugboat? If we can figure out where he went, we can figure out why the dragons are after you. And he’s got a billion magical books. Maybe we can find how to handle Ol’ Yeller up there. Cera can stay here and look after him.”

  “Any ideas what Kester was talking about? Why they’re after me?” asked Ursula.

  “Nope.”

  “Any ideas how to fix it?”

  Zee bit her lip. “I have no idea, Ursula. How hard do you think it is to kill an army of dragons?”

  ZEE SAT in the driver’s seat of the Bentley as they sped through Times Square. She’d glamoured herself to look like a large, balding man, and the sight startled Ursula every time she looked over at her.

  Zee pressed her foot on the gas pedal, speeding past the desolate square, the electric lights flickering, the streets eerily silent. Trash blew through the street. Some of the buildings still stood, while others had become blackened, twisted skeletons, steel beams jutting from the ground at odd angles. An ad for watches was plastered on the side of a burnt out bus, and for just a moment, Ursula recognized the model—the woman who’d been held hostage by the dragons. Apart from the wrecked cars every quarter mile or so, the roads were empty. The dragons had completely transformed New York, and the sight filled Ursula with a quiet dread.

  Goosebumps rose over her skin as they rolled past the ravaged square. Instinctively, she ran her fingers over the hilt of her sword, ready to fight. “The dragons did all this?”

  Zee nodded. “Yeah. It’s been chaos. They hunt day and night.”

  Ursula swallowed hard. “Are we safe in the car?”

  “Probably not, but we don’t have much of a choice. Kester is the only one who can call on Emerazel to get your fire back. If a dragon attacks, we’ll just have to get the hell out of here. Fast.”

  Ursula glanced at her reflection in the mirror, momentarily startled. Zee had glamoured her to look like an elderly woman, her skin deeply lined and hair in tight, white curls. “Is there a reason I had to look elderly?”

  “Yes. The dragons seem to have a second sense for finding beautiful women. We’re safer this way.”

  “Right. Like the model.”

  Zee turned left, heading for lower Manhattan. The gray Hudson River rolled just across the wide thoroughfare to their right. A charred, smoking shell of an enormous ship loomed in the river—an aircraft carrier, she thought.

  “What is that?” asked Ursula.

  “I’m pretty sure that’s the remains of the USS Harry S. Truman.”

  “The dragons did that?”

  Zee nodded, keeping her eyes on the road. “When the President first declared martial law, he sent in the Navy to attack the dragon nest on Liberty Island. The dragons destroyed half the fleet before the Navy managed to retreat. Some of Times Square was destroyed in the process. Sending a message, I think.”

  Ursula studied the ship as Zee drove south toward the tip of Manhattan—its buckled and warped deck and the blackened sides.

  When she glanced to the left, she saw what remained of Midtown—husks of buildings resembling carved out tombstones, ravaged metal facades revealing charred interiors. Debris littered the road, and the acrid smell of smoke hung in the air. The smell, the charred buildings… it reminded her of something—a long-buried memory, elusive as smoke between her fingers.

  Ursula’s stomach turned at the sight of the destruction. “Any idea about the casualties?”

  “Most of the residents had already evacuated. Others were able to escape. FEMA has resettled most of them in Hoboken,” said the balding man with Zee’s voice. “But since this all started? Hundreds have died.”

  Zee slowed, turning off the main road. She rolled the Bentley to a stop on the Marina. The remains of One World Trade Center loomed above them, the upper third of the building sheared off. Ursula suppressed a shudder.

  She stepped out of the car, following Zee onto the docks. The last time she had been here, it had been in the middle of a January night. At this point, nothing looked particularly familiar. Ahead of her Zee stopped, scratching her bald head. “This is Kester’s slip.” A large catamaran bobbed in the water where Kester’s boat had been. “No idea where his boat went.”

  A silhouette flashed in the catamaran, and Ursula reached for her sword. When a human man walked out—stark naked—Ursula relaxed.

  “Hi there,” he said in a casual Southern Californian drawl, apparently oblivious to his nudity. “I’m Hubert.”

  Though she had to admit he was quite fit, Ursula stared only long enough to confirm that he was unarmed. She didn’t imagine Hubert wanted to be ogled by a geriatric woman and her balding companion.

  “Hubert,” she repeated.

  “That’s what they call me.”

  “You’re not wearing any clothes,” Zee said, her Russian accent thicker than usual, voice strangely high-pitched for a portly gentleman.

  “Oh, right. Totally. My bad.” He scratched his tanned abs. “I was just catching some rays.”

  Ursula looked up at the clouds that covered the sky. When her eyes returned to Hubert, he’d retrieved a very small beach towel from the deck and wrapped it around himself.

  “So what brings you to the marina?” He squinted in the sunlight. “Not many people around here anymore. Kinda nice. I mean, apart from all the fire and death.”

  “We were looking for my friend.” Ursula frowned. “Were you really sunbathing?”

  He smiled, revealing a row of impossibly white teeth. “As soon as the dragons leave I’m sailing to Cuba. I need to keep up my tan.”

  “Have you seen a tugboat that’s usually in this slip?” It took Ursula a moment to come up with the name. “It’s called the Elysium.”

  Hubert nodded. “Totally. It’s right over there.” He pointed to a boat moored a few hundred feet off shore. With its rustic exterior, it certainly looked like Kester’s tug.

  Zee turned to Ursula, adjusting her trousers below her giant potbelly. “How are we going to get out there?”

  “You want a lift?” asked Hubert.

  His towel had slipped to the side, and Ursula looked him straight in the eye. “Yes, that would be lovely. Do you want to maybe… put on some clothes first? At my age, I can’t deal with too much excitement.”

  “Sure. Sure,” said Hubert, then he frowned again, staring at Ursula’s waist. “Hey, is that a sword?”

  She swallowed hard. “Yep. That’s a sword.”

  “Cool, man. Okay.” He turned to cross into his boat. After a minute, he popped back out wearing a black speedo that did little to cover his modesty. He pointed to a small motorboat next to the catamaran. “My launch is right over here.”

  Ursula and Zee followed him down the dock, then all three of them clambered into the small boat. As Ursula took a seat by Zee, Hubert started the engine, pulling out into the waves. Seawater sprayed over them, and Ursula licked the salt from her lips. Gods, it felt good to be back on earth again, even if they’d walked into a war zone.

  The wind whipped over Ursula’s skin, and she shielded her eyes from the sunlight.

  “How do you know Kester?” Hubert shouted over the wind.

  Ursula raised her eyebrows, surprised that Hubert knew him by name.

  “How do you know Kester?” asked Zee.

  “My bro Kester is li
ke family,” said Hubert. “He and I cruise over to Tatty O’Rourke’s on the weekends.” The way he said ‘cruise’ suggested it might have a double meaning. “Of course, since the dragons arrived I haven’t seen much of him.”

  “So you don’t think he’s on the Elysium?” Ursula could hear the disappointment in her voice.

  “No idea. I haven’t seen him in weeks.”

  Hubert cut the motor as they neared Kester’s tug. “We need to keep a low profile,” he said, turning to nod at the Harry S Truman’s burnt-out hull in the middle of the river. “The dragons attack any boat that goes into the main channel.”

  Hubert slowed the engine as they approached the tugboat, his motorboat bouncing on the waves. A moment later, he had hopped out of the launch and onto the stern of the Elysium. There was a rope on the bow of his launch, which he casually wrapped around a cleat, then he turned back to Zee and Ursula.

  “Welcome aboard!” he said smiling.

  Zee hauled herself over the railing, ungracefully crawling onto Kester’s boat in her old-man’s body. Ursula followed, almost losing a shoe in the water.

  Hubert hadn’t done much to help the two pensioners, but Zee thanked him anyway, her jowls wobbling. Then she crossed the deck to Kester’s door, pulling a key from her pocket. She slid it into the lock, and clicked it open.

  Ursula followed closely behind, straining her eyes in the dark until Zee flicked on a light. The cabin air smelled stale, but otherwise everything was just as Ursula remembered: the cast-iron stove, the comfy-looking reading chair, and shelves crammed with books.

  “Kester?” Ursula called out, unnerved by the shroud of silence.

  As Zee hurried to check his bedroom, Ursula searched the cabin for clues. As far as she could tell, everything was in the right place—an electric light casting a warm glow over wooden tables, the books in neat rows. The sigil for fire travel was carved into his floor.