Primeval Magic (Demons of Fire and Night Book 3)

by C. N. Crawford

  As she searched the space, Hubert strolled into the cabin. “So how exactly do you know Kester? You related or something?”

  “He’s my nephew,” she replied.

  Hubert smiled. “Right. Cool. Do you mind if I smoke?”

  “Not as long as you do it outside.”

  “Totally.” Hubert disappeared out the door. If he’d found the sight of a magical sigil on the floor strange, he didn’t let on. A few moments later, the sharp scent of marijuana wafted into the cabin.

  Zee strode back into the room, rubbing her bald head. “He’s not here.” She sniffed the air. “Is that pot?”

  “That would be Hubert.”

  Zee nodded. “Righto. So, no Kester. No magic. On to plan B. The grimoires. Do you know—” She paused, narrowing her eyes at Kester’s living room table, built of thick oak planks. “Ursula,” she said quietly. “There’s something here.”

  Ursula had already looked it over and found it completely bare. Nothing rested on its surface. “I don’t see anything.”

  “He’s hidden it. Glamoured.” Zee’s wrinkled forehead creased even more. “Gimme a sec.”

  Holding her hands above the table, she closed her eyes. The air above the tabled shimmered, tinged with gold. Then, a pile of books and papers appeared. Ursula picked up the top book, a maroon-leather tome. Emblazoned on its cover was a faded gold title: Historia Brittonum. Under it was a brown book entitled Annales Cambriae.

  Ursula frowned. “Old British history books. Why would he glamour them?”

  “I don’t know.” She turned the large tome over in her hands. “But he used a powerful glamour. There must be something important here.”

  What the hell?

  Footfalls turned Ursula’s head, and the look on Hubert’s face made her stomach flip.

  He pointed outside, his face pale. “There’s a dragon.”

  CHAPTER 5

  U rsula snatched the leather bag from Kester’s bed and quickly shoved the history books into it. “I’m taking these.” Then she felt for the hilt of her sword at her hip and rushed for the door.

  Zee was scrambling around, searching for something, while Ursula peered out the door. Grey clouds covered the sky. In the distance, the broken stump of One World Trade Center leaned ominously. But she could see no sign of a dragon in the darkening sky.

  “Where is it?” asked Ursula.

  “Shhh…” hissed Hubert, pulling her back from the door, his eyes now bloodshot. He was stoned as hell. “The dragons are invisible. That’s one of their powers. But we can hear them.”

  Ursula swallowed hard, straining to hear, until a terrible screech rent the air, sending a shiver up her spine. She narrowed her eyes at the skies, still seeing nothing.

  Zee crossed to the doorway, clutching a dagger, while Hubert continued to squint at the sky, searching for signs of the dragon’s location.

  “Is it gone?” asked Zee.

  “Hard to say.” Hubert shook his head, his knuckles whitening against his tan arms. “But I don’t think so. That was some sort of hunting cry,” he said. “When they battled the ships in the river, that was the noise they made before they attacked. We just don’t know where he’s gonna attack.”

  The hair rose on the back of Ursula’s neck, and she flicked off the light in the tugboat, stepping back into the shadows.

  Hubert stepped back with her. “I shouldn’t have come out here,” he muttered. “It’s not safe this close to the channel.” His eyes widened, and he gripped his hair. “Do you guys think the dragons can read our thoughts?”

  “Be quiet,” Zee hissed.

  Hubert shook his head, staring at the floor. “This was a terrible idea. If you’d seen what I saw during the last attack…” His cheeks were reddening, his voice rising as he met Ursula’s eyes. “You seem like nice old people but I never should have taken you out here. I’m too young to die. I was going to sail to the Florida Keys and drink margaritas with Estelle.”

  “Hubert,” Ursula said sharply. “Calm down. It’s going to be fine. Just don’t make any noise.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “You can see Estelle if you keep quiet. We just need to hide in here. Quietly.”

  “I’m pretty sure they can hear our thoughts,” said Hubert. “We need to get out of here!” He started for the door, and Ursula grabbed him, pulling him back into the shadows.

  Hubert looked at her, his eyes wide. Then the tugboat jerked hard to the side, and Ursula slammed into a bookshelf, her head smacking against the wood.

  Hubert shouted, but the words were drowned out by the sound of splintering wood. Before Ursula could scramble to her feet, flame exploded through the cabin as the fuel tank exploded. Ursula screamed, shielding her face until the flames receded again.

  Squinting through the smoke, Ursula caught a glimpse of a terrifying form—a clear space, outlined by smoke. Through the doorway, she spied the silhouette of an enormous dragon framed by smoke, its wings as wide as a house. The dragon’s outline threw back its head, screeching to the skies, and the sound ignited the ancient part of Ursula’s brain, directing her to flee. The acrid scent of smoke curled into the air. In the next moment, the transparent silhouette had disappeared again, its clear edges blurred by smoke.

  “I think he’s coming for us!” Hubert yelled. “We have to get out of here!”

  “No!” Zee shouted from the corner. A red streak of blood trickled down her bald forehead.

  In the next moment, Hubert was racing for the hatch, onto the deck. Ursula crawled through the doorframe, carefully peering over the edge of the tugboat. Crouching behind the side of the hull, she watched Hubert plunge into the Hudson. In the puffs of smoke over the slate-gray water, Ursula thought she caught a glimpse of a dragon, cutting lazy arcs over the river, biding its time. For just a moment, everything was quiet.

  As soon as Hubert’s head breached the surface, an invisible claw lifted him from the water. Almost immediately, the front half of his body disappeared with a horrendous crunching noise, and a thick spray of blood arced through the air. Hubert was being eaten.

  Ursula’s mouth went dry, her body shaking. Slowly, she crawled back toward Zee, whose labored breathing echoed through the damaged cabin.

  When she’d slipped back into the cabin, she slowly turned to Zee, who was crouched in the shadows, holding a finger to her lips, her eyes wide. She lowered her finger, then mouthed, I don’t think it knows we’re in here.

  Ursula huddled behind the doorframe, listening intently for the sound of screeching—the dragon’s hunting cry. A cold sweat beaded over her skin. What exactly would the dragons do with her if they found her? Why the hell was she so important? Apparently, the dragons knew more about her than she did herself.

  Of course they did, considering she didn’t know a damn thing.

  “Ursula,” Zee whispered, beckoning her closer. “Come here.”

  Crawling slowly, Ursula crept to where Zee crouched next to the table.

  Zee whispered, “Do you remember the spell for traveling through the sigil?”

  “Yes, but I don’t have any fire in me anymore.”

  Zee arched an eyebrow, her glamour fading. She was looking more like her cute blonde self. “Kester didn’t show you his laboratory, did he?”

  Keeping low to the ground, Zee crept to one of the bookshelves. She tugged on a dusty moss-green tome, and the shelf pulled forward, revealing a small room. Zee slipped in, and Ursula followed close behind, marveling that Kester had managed to hide a room on a boat this size.

  The room smelled of bergamot and rue, and a strange power thrummed over her skin. An iron brazier took up most of the room. Shelves lined the walls, each one crammed with vials and flasks of herbs and colored liquids. They had labels like bismuth, aqua regia, dragon’s blood, and Dutch wine. As Ursula moved in closer, she spied a large basin resting in the center of the brazier.

  “Wow,” whispered Ursula. “What are we doing in here?”

  “We’re going to make some liqui
d hellfire.”

  “Without my fire magic, the fire will burn both of us.”

  “Only for a second, my dear. We’ll just have to hope it transports us both fast enough that our skin remains intact.”

  “Wonderful.”

  Zee knelt, muttering to herself. “I need some of the aqua regia, a pinch of glauber’s salt…” She cocked her head. “And the hair of a hellhound.” She picked up a faintly glowing yellow ampule and cracked it into the brass basin. The solution quivered at the bottom of the bowl as though it were alive. Then, she held out her hand.

  “Right.” Ursula plucked a few hairs from her head, and dropped them into the beaker. The glowing liquid hissed and bubbled.

  “Now I just have find where Kester put the quicklime.” Ursula’s eyes flicked to the open hatch, while Zee continued to study the contents of the shelves. Here in the hidden lab, the dragon would never be able to see them.

  “There it is.” Zee carefully retrieved a small wax-paper envelope from the corner of a shelf.

  She lay the envelope on the floor, then handed Ursula an empty glass beaker. “Hold this.”

  Ursula took it from her as Zee slowly emptied the contents of the envelope into the brass dish. A blinding light flashed through the room, and Ursula shielded her eyes.

  Zee swore softly. “Suka! I forgot about the Carnot reaction. I haven’t mixed a potion in ages.” She carefully poured the liquid into a beaker. It had transformed from pale yellow into a deep cherry red, boiling with an intense heat.

  “There,” said Zee. “It’s ready for you. Don’t spill it.”

  Just as Ursula was reaching for it, an enormous crash slammed the boat to one side, knocking bottles and vials to the floor. As liquids sizzled over the wood, Ursula tumbled into a bookshelf, nearly spilling the liquid hellfire.

  “Shit,” said Zee. “The dragon must have seen the light.”

  A terrible screeching, groaning noise pierced the air as the dragon’s talons raked the roof of the boat.

  “Let’s hope this works, then,” said Ursula.

  The boat jerked viciously to the side, throwing Ursula from the alcove. She clutched the hellfire to her chest as she slammed into the side of the cast iron stove.

  A hot light flashed through the cabin. Then, darkness. For just a moment, visions danced her mind, the field dappled with golden flowers…

  Zee was gripping Ursula’s shoulders, her voice tinged with panic. “Ursula!”

  “Yes?” Ursula blinked, her vision blurry. She felt as if the dragon had ignited the inside of her skull with hellfire. A thick smell of smoke hung in the air, and for just a moment, Bael’s memories—the woman screaming, the buildings burning—whispered in the hollows of her skull.

  Zee held Ursula’s face in her hands. “Ursula. I need you to focus. Incant the spell.” As Ursula’s eyes focused, she saw Zee crouched before her. Her glamour had completely faded, and her eyes blazed with raw fear.

  A ringing noise echoed in Ursula’s mind, and she clamped her eyes shut. The spell…

  “Ursula!” Zee’s voice was frantic now. “I know you’re hurt, but if you don’t get it together, we’re going to die.”

  That shocked Ursula into alertness. As she opened her eyes, the floor seemed to sway under her. “I can do it.”

  “Good. Because we’re not on the water anymore. The dragon…” Zee pointed to the hatch. Light flashed outside the window, and Ursula caught a glimpse of the truncated remains of One World Trade Center gleaming in the sunlight. “The dragon is carrying us.”

  They must be thirty stories above the earth, dragon wings beating the air above them like a war drum.

  Panic tightened its bony fingers around Ursula’s heart. “Give me the hellfire.”

  “You’re still holding it. Good job, by the way.”

  Ursula glanced down at herself. Slowly, taking care not to spill any more hellfire than she already had, she stood, her mind reeling. Pain splintered the back of her skull, and she suppressed the urge to vomit. Slowly, Zee helped her over to Kester’s sigil.

  “Don’t forget to hold your breath,” said Ursula. Struggling to keep her balance as the tugboat swayed, Ursula began chanting the transportation spell, staring into Zee’s terrified eyes. Neither of them knew what would happen if they transported through fire sigil without a functioning hellhound to guide them.

  As Ursula uttered the final word, she poured the hellfire onto the symbol. It sputtered and flared up when it hit the wood.

  For a brief instant, flames blazed to the ceiling, and fire scorched her skin.

  IT TOOK a few moments for the intense pain of the flames to subside as Ursula and Zee reconstituted in the sigil room, a tower room surrounded by glass windows over the city. The smell of burnt hair wafted through the room. Dizzy, Ursula glanced at Zee, who coughed and spluttered, her clothing covered in ash.

  Pain seared Ursula’s feet where the fire had burned the hottest, and she dropped down to her backside, pulling off her shoes. Blisters spread over her toes, the pain excruciating.

  She winced. “Bloody hell.” Her vision was blurred as she tried to look at Zee. “Are you okay?”

  “No. My fucking feet are destroyed. And half my hair is burned off.”

  Zee’s voice sounded distant, and Ursula’s vision was darkening.

  “Oh my god, Ursula,” said Zee from a million miles away. “Your head!”

  A fresh burst of pain in Ursula’s skull threatened to shatter her consciousness, and she touched the back of her head, wincing at the pain. She glanced down at her hands, catching a glimpse of bright crimson slicking her palms.

  A bellow from above rumbled through the building, and her heart skipped a beat. Distantly, she knew it was Bael, demanding her blood, and the sound smashed into her skull like a white-hot poker thrust between her eyes. Ursula covered her ears with her hands.

  As she cowered on the floor, another voice entered the fray, this one higher-pitched. “What happened?” Cera asked.

  Ursula tried to focus on Cera’s face, but the little oneiroi seemed to wobble.

  “We failed to find Kester,” said Zee. “But we did encounter a dragon, who picked up the tugboat, with us in it. Ursula smashed her head.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Ursula tried to stand, but her feet were blistered and her legs felt like jello. She fell back onto her bum.

  “Don’t overexert yourself,” said Cera. “You’ve got blood pouring from your scalp.”

  A sharp blast of pain fragmented Ursula’s skull, knocking the breath out of her. Almost as bad, the skin around her feet and legs had been seared by the sigil spell. She could barely breathe for the pain. What was that healing spell she’d learned? The Angelic words had become jumbled in her mind.

  “Move Ursula back from the sigil,” commanded Zee. “I’m going to get us help.”

  Vaguely, though a haze of pain, Ursula felt Cera’s bony hands grip her around her ribs, pulling her away from the sigil. She stared, her vision wavering as Zee poured the last of the hellfire into the grooves on the floor.

  “I don’t understand,” Ursula slurred.

  Flames rose from the sigil as Zee turned to face Ursula. “I need you to summon Emerazel. Can you remember how?”

  Ursula nodded. That particular spell had been seared into her memory from repeated use. She swallowed hard, muttering the spell, tripping over her words as she spoke. After a few tries, wincing with pain as she enunciated each Angelic word, she’d managed to get through it correctly. When she finished the final word, fire spewed from the floor like a volcano, and Ursula shielded her face with her hands. The heat of Emerazel’s inferno roasted her skin, practically blinding her. She instantly regretted chanting the spell. Her gaze flicked to Zee and Cera, who cowered at the edge of the room, hugging each other.

  The goddess loomed over Ursula, her ashy skin cracking to reveal molten fire beneath her charcoal exterior. Her eyes, two burning embers, burned into Ursula. Through the windows around the sigil room, fla
mes and magma blazed over the fiery landscape. “You have summoned me?”

  “I… I need your help,” Ursula stammered.

  “Why should I help you?”

  The room was so hot Ursula could barely breath, much less speak. “Because Kester is missing. I’ve lost my fire magic, and someone needs to find him.”

  Emerazel’s eyes flashed. “Kester’s business is not your concern.” The goddess leaned closer. The heat was unbearable. “You will not survive that injury. Your brain is bleeding. Your soul is almost mine—”

  Ursula swallowed hard, trying to block out the pain, the heat that would roast her alive. “Your headsman is missing. Don’t you care?”

  Before the goddess could reply, a terrifying roar slid through Ursula’s bones. Bael stood at the threshold of the sigil room. His eyes were the color of blood, and he wore only a pair of black trousers, his savage tattoos snaking over his chest. His arms, thickly corded with muscle, were rigid with tension. Tendrils of dark magic curled off his body, and he stared at the goddess with a menacing ferocity that stole Ursula’s breath. Right now, she wasn’t sure who scared her more—the goddess of fire, or the Lord of Abelda.

  The remains of a golden shackle hung from Bael’s wrist, and behind him rose the shadows of enormous wings, a lethal caress of midnight. He glared at Emerazel as a low growl rose from his throat, the sound raising the hair on the back of Ursula’s neck.

  A flash of heat seared the room. “Bael. It’s been years since we’ve spoke. How I’ve missed you,” she hissed. “Aww… Those aren’t your real wings. How sad. I imagine you would break quite easily now.”

  She knows him?

  “If I were at my full power,” said Bael, “I’d be tearing you apart, piece by piece, and sending your fetid embers into the void.”

  An ashy smile cracked Emerazel’s lips. “But you’re not at your full power, are you?”

  “I have claimed Ursula,” he snarled. “And she consented. If she dies, it is my right to decide the fate of her soul.”