The Demon King

by Heather Killough-Walden

  He blinked. God, she was fucking beautiful. But he stubbornly reigned himself in again. Okay, she’s calmed down. The spell had worked and the situation was in-hand. Now he needed to bring her back down and deal with the fact that he’d just used a shit load of magic, opening them both up for an attack.

  He concentrated on the spell’s antidote, a cross-spell that pulled the drug-like magic back out of its victim. His hands began to glow, he felt the pull against her body where he held her, and Dahlia’s eyes closed again. She exhaled and moaned low. He imagined that if the spell itself felt good, having its antidote cast on her had to feel the opposite. His hunch was verified when his power once more surged through his own veins and Dahlia slowly turned her head in disappointment.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, meaning it. “But you did attack me.”

  Eyes still closed, Dahlia gritted her teeth and spoke quietly but harshly. “That’s because you threw my phone out the window, you asshole.”

  Laz gazed down at her profile. He took a minute to process her words and the reasoning behind them. “Okay,” he said after a big breath. “Fair enough.” He was an asshole. All she’d wanted to do was play a video game and forget about her problems for a while, and there he’d been sitting beside her, trying to pull her attention right back into the pit of shit that wanted to eat her alive.

  “I’m an asshole.” He let go of her wrists and swiftly stood. She turned her head, opening her eyes to follow him up. Laz bent and offered her his hand.

  She gazed up at him through those wondrous eyes that were still green-purple, and he swallowed hard. When she took his hand, and Laz felt as though she were offering him the greatest boon he’d ever received. His fingers closed over hers protectively, lovingly. With tender care and easy strength, he pulled her to her feet.

  “What team are you, anyway?” he asked as she absentmindedly brushed herself off and looked around them. He looked around too. They were in the middle of a field in what looked like a park. There were trees, there was grass, and there were a few tall ultra-bright lights, but not much else. In the distance, he could hear traffic. The Mercedes he’d borrowed from Bax was in the field beside them, its engine idling. The passenger door had been torn off and rested in the car’s headlights. He had no idea where the hell they were.

  “Promise you won’t give me a hard time?” Dahlia asked shakily. Her voice was thin, and when Laz turned back to her, she appeared frail to him, despite her plethora of otherworldly abilities.

  “Promise,” he said, mystified as to why she would even ask such a thing.

  “I’m Team Instinct,” she said, hugging herself. “Or I was.”

  Laz felt something strange go through him. It was moving and it was fierce. “Fuck,” he muttered harshly. Then he spun to face the car. He spoke a few warlock words, and the door disappeared from its twisted place on the ground and reappeared good as new on the side of the car. More magic, but he couldn’t have cared much less just then. “Come on,” he said, motioning for Dahlia to get in.

  He knew she was stunned, so he gave her a minute to process the command as he made his own way back to the driver’s side. He opened the door and got in, closing it behind him. A few seconds later, the passenger door opened. Dahlia slid in beside him and closed her own door.

  “Hold on,” he instructed. Dahlia stared at him while she pulled the seatbelt down and snapped it securely in place over her.

  He took a moment to lay an invisibility shield over the car. Then he prepared himself, gripping the steering wheel tight. He stared straight ahead through the windshield. Things were going to happen fast. He had to be ready.

  Return, he thought. With that, the world faded past the car’s windows, and Dahlia placed her hands on the dashboard as if she knew shit was about to go down.

  Good instincts, he thought with a grim smile and emphasis on the “instincts.”

  The world beyond the windows reappeared in the black and white blur of moving vehicles at night. Laz deciphered the situation with the speed of practiced expertise and a little magic. He put on the brake, stepped on the clutch, down shifted, turned the wheel sharply, stepped on the gas, and shifted again, taking them smoothly into the dwindling traffic. He was fortunate that it was dying down at this time of night.

  When there were no cars directly behind him and he knew his appearance wouldn’t cause an accident, he dropped the invisibility.

  Laz could feel Dahlia’s eyes on him, but he kept his attention on the road, heading to his destination with firm resolve.

  “Where are we going?” she asked, her voice still a little more delicate than he would have liked.

  “You’ll see. We’re almost there.” He rolled down his window and peered out, wanting a view unobstructed by glass. “I think this was the place. And it just figures that it would be over water.”

  “What place?” Dahlia asked.

  Laz pulled the car over to the side of the road about thirty yards from the beginning of a bridge, and switched on the hazards. Then he got out of the car and made his way to the passenger side, opening Dahlia’s door for her as well. She stared up at him from her passenger’s seat. “Where are we?” she asked, undoing her seat belt.

  Laz offered her his hand, helping her out of the car. “Come with me.” He gave her a reassuring smile. At least, he hoped it was reassuring. He was trying not to show fang, so with luck, that helped.

  They were on a hill rising to a bridge they’d already crossed once that night. Beneath the bridge, running perpendicular to MA-225 was the Concord River, a deep, slow moving body of water. Laz navigated a small trail that led down from the road to a concrete walkway that ran along the water. It was steep, so he went slow, wanting to be certain Dahlia didn’t fall. When they reached the edge of the river, they both stopped, and Dahlia looked around. “What are we doing here?”

  He peered over the water, gauging how fast it was moving, how deep it was, and how far something would travel if tossed in. “If I’m right, this is where I threw out your phone,” he told her. “And now I’m going to get it back for you.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “She is the fated queen. It was never Lenore,” said the demon who had been servant to Apollyon for centuries.

  “I know,” said Apollyon softly. His words moved like black satin through the chamber.

  Derotimus took a step back. His master’s power was fluctuating, pulsing like a massive lung breathing in and out, in and out. The terrifying man with the very blue eyes touched his chin thoughtfully and then lowered his hand to the arm rest of his chair.

  “Your plan to flush her out worked, my lord. Everything is proceeding as planned.”

  “So it did,” said Apollyon. The man who would have been king glanced at his servant, and Derotimus felt the terrible weight of that gaze even though it lasted but a moment. “And so it is.”

  The servant swallowed hard. “What now?”

  “Now we wait.”

  “For what?”

  “For Astaroth’s half human son to falter and use his magic. Then we destroy him and claim his lovely bride.” Apollyon smiled, and it was beautiful, and it chilled Derotimus to his demonic core.

  “But he knows not to his magic,” said Derotimus. “Bael warned him.”

  Apollyon chuckled. “Lazaroth has lived in the mortal world his entire life, Derotimus. He will not be able to keep from using his powers for long. His human morals and ideals will interfere with logic… as they are wont to do.”

  This was probably true. Derotimus had known a few humans in his time. Emotion, especially fear, almost always overrode reason. Entire belief systems were founded on that fear. Lazaroth would most definitely mess up, and probably it would be sooner rather than later.

  “She was stunning,” said Apollyon softly, and Derotimus could tell that his master was really only speaking to himself, voicing his thoughts out loud. “And her magic is already changing.”

  Derotimus knew what he was talking about. D
ahlia Kellen had arrived on the scene of the summoning in the warehouse just as Apollyon had said she would. She’d come in without a care for her own safety, drawn to the danger and needs of the demon Apollyon had illegally called. Most likely, Kellen thought she had been there because of the Akyri who’d been drawn into the circle along with the demon. But it was the demon – the beast the Akyri claimed as an animal companion – that was the true target and the true bait.

  Dahlia felt its fear and reacted to it instinctively because she was the Demon Queen, and she hadn’t even known it. Even her magic, a Tuathan warlock’s magic rare enough in its own right, was shifting. As Apollyon had stated, it was becoming demonic. That purple fire was a sure sign if ever there was one. Only demon royalty could use dark fire. As a matter of fact… only female demon royalty could use it.

  Dark Angels. That’s what they were called, any woman who wielded the dark fire. Dahlia Kellen was heating up to be the most powerful Dark Angel the realms had ever seen.

  Derotimus had watched the proceedings in the warehouse through a scry in Apollyon’s chambers. He’d been delighted to see that everything had gone exactly as his master had planned. Apollyon had “recruited” human magic user pawns, performed the ritual, trapped the demon – and a young Akyri girl right along with him – and Dahlia Kellen had come. Right on cue.

  Now there was no doubt in either of their minds that the gorgeous black haired Tuathan fae was everything they could have hoped for and more.

  “With the Dark Angel at my side, the realm will kneel before us,” Apollyon stated, again as if he were merely speaking to himself. “And with her in my bed…” he whispered, his smile broadening, fangs gleaming. He didn’t finish the thought aloud. There was no need.

  *****

  “I see you’ve run afoul of something.” The Entity’s voice rolled through the all-white room like the rumblings of a god machine. It was deep, it was powerful, and it held magic like a thunder cloud held electricity. The creepiest thing about it was that it came from nothing. The Entity was formless, without shape or substance, and had been since the Winter King had defeated him in the land of the Norse.

  The traitor looked down at his left arm where it rested uselessly against his chest. He’d had to bind it. The old woman’s dying spell had injured him in a way that would not heal. Neither his own inherent healing abilities nor magic had put a dent in the pain or repaired a single stitch of the torn flesh, muscle, and cracked bone. What was worse was that he’d even tried human means of dealing with the injury, and no matter how many pain killers he ingested, nothing worked. The arm was broken and it was bleeding and it hurt like hell.

  “It was the witch’s passing gift,” the traitor said. “A small price to pay for her destruction.”

  “Indeed,” agreed the Entity. “But how pray tell do you intend to hide such an injury from your brethren at the Table of the Thirteen?” The Entity asked the question with an edge of laughter to his taunting tone. He didn’t care of the traitor were found out. The deed was done and it was all the same to him. This was simply an amusement.

  “They are not my brethren,” said the traitor simply. “And I do not intend to hide.”

  “Oh?” The Entity seemed even more amused than before. “Then you intend to confront them at last?”

  At last? What did he mean by that? Something about the Entity’s words really pissed him off. He spoke before thinking his words through. “That would be stupid,” he said plainly. “I’m not a fool. I’m outnumbered.” And that was an understatement.

  “Yes, you are,” said the Entity.

  The traitor’s brow furrowed at the statement and the silence that followed it. What exactly was the Entity agreeing with?

  “But your job is far from over, my young friend.”

  Young? Now that was actually funny. The traitor nearly laughed, but the pain in his arm was putting him in too bad a mood.

  “The Demon King will soon claim his throne. He is changing as we speak, becoming what he was fated to become. As he does, his bride too changes. But in her case, she is becoming what she has always been; a true queen. She will be a ruler of not one world, but two.”

  “You think she’s strong enough to awaken the One.” The traitor had known it would come to this. His master wanted a queen powerful enough to bring him fully into this world and unleash his magic so that he could awaken someone very special to him. Dahlia Kellen could certainly fit that bill. She was a legend in their worlds. She was the Tuathan warlock who’d become a traitor, then a vampire and was now to be queen. She would be queen not only of the Akyri realm, but of the Demon Realm as well.

  No one had even known the Demon Realm existed before now. The others at the Table of the Thirteen did not even know. The traitor alone was aware of its existence because he’d been spying on Steven Lazarus for the Entity. What he’d learned would have rocked the other kings to their cores.

  However, the Entity had dealt with Dahlia Kellen before. He was the one who had kidnapped and kept her prisoner, tortured her and transformed her into a vampire. What Dahlia didn’t know was that the Entity was not himself a vampire. He was simply a being who possessed others. At the time that he’d dealt with Kellen, he’d been inhabiting the form of a vampire.

  This particular species of vampire did not belong to Roman D’Angelo’s ilk; it was no half warlock, half Akyri. It was also not a member of the ancient vampires of Azrael, a man who purported himself to be an actual fallen angel and the “first” vampire in the mortal realm. In fact, there were more than five different species of vampires – more even than the Kings now guessed there were.

  Vampires were as common and as different as humans, and each species was akin to a separate race of mortal. Mortals were European, African, Indian, and so forth. Vampires were the same way. They were different based on eras, leaders, and the magic that had created them.

  Learning this and other lessons of the paranormal universe was one of the benefits of having worked for the Entity. The Entity was ancient, and with time came knowledge. Fortunately for the traitor, the Entity didn’t mind sharing this knowledge with him. Knowledge was power, after all, and the Entity didn’t want a weak servant.

  Another benefit of sharing knowledge was that it tended to instill loyalty. And the Entity demanded loyalty. When Raphael D’Angelo had betrayed him, taking into his own hands the punishment of Ophelia, another of the Entity’s pawns, the Entity had finished the vampire off. Ophelia was now with Kamon Re, living as his mistress. And Raphael D’Angelo was no more. The traitor wondered if Roman D’Angelo could feel that his brother was dead. He wondered if he cared. Blood may be thicker than water, but what was so special about a liquid’s thickness anyway? Water was precious. Blood was messy.

  However, knowledge or not the Entity could not have known that Dahlia Kellen would become a queen, or he certainly would have kept her when he had her the first time. Instead, he allowed her to escape. And now he no doubt wanted her back.

  “Do you want her?” the traitor asked. The Entity’s ultimate plan was to awaken Amunet, the woman he had once inhabited long, long ago. If the Entity were capable of such a thing as love… then he loved her. Through her, the Entity had ruled kingdoms and would have brought the world to its knees, if it had not been for the interference of –

  “No,” said the Entity, slicing through his thoughts. The traitor’s brows raised in surprise. “She is hardened to me now and will be twice as hard to control the second time around,” the Entity continued. “But there is someone within her proximity who will suit my needs nicely. Hence, she remains very much a person of interest.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Dahlia stared at Lazarus. She stared for a full ten seconds before she finally pulled her gaze away and looked out over the water. Then she looked back at him. Then back at the water.

  She had no idea what river it was because she’d never taken the time to memorize what transient bodies of water moved through Boston or its surround
ing areas. But she did know that it was wide and looked deep. Though it wasn’t moving terribly fast, there was enough of a current that anything tossed in would travel before settling to the bottom.

  “Are you serious?” she asked. That phone was going to be impossible to find, and they’d already used a lot of magic. They were doing exactly the opposite of what they’d been told to do. And it’s my fault, she thought. I did attack him while he was driving... not that he hadn’t been asking for it. Regardless, was it really worth further risk using more magic just to find her phone?

  “I am,” he said.

  She studied the water a bit longer. A wave of weariness washed over her, her stomach panged, and she suddenly lost the will to argue. Instead, she rubbed her arms uncertainly. “Are you sure this is the place?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I remember that copse of trees right there blurring past the windows at an insanely deadly speed right after you attacked me.”

  Dahlia’s head whipped back around and her gaze narrowed. She was feeling pretty shitty. Her stomach hurt, and she was afraid the Lifeblood she’d downed wasn’t going to stay down for long. Her soul felt strange, as if it had been torn a little, and the jagged edges were frayed and blowing in the wind. She was fairly sure her eyes, which were burning in her face, must have looked nice and scary to the Detective, because he suddenly looked openly apologetic. Plus, the fangs that were now resting fully on her bottom lip were a marked warning sign.

  “Right,” he said by way of apology. He looked away, considered the river, and began walking along the bank. After watching him for a while, studying his tall and graceful form with what she had to admit was admiration, she followed him. About twenty paces from their starting point, he stopped and nodded to himself. Then he took off his vintage black leather jacket and tossed it onto the ground beside his feet.

  The badge on his belt gleamed highly in the night’s lights as he again gauged the water. While he was studying the water, Dahlia found herself studying him. The removal of his jacket revealed the arms she’d kind of been dying to see. She wasn’t disappointed, but she was surprised. She’d known he would be built, and oh my gods he was, but what surprised her was that the detective was unmarked. Not a single vanity tattoo. There were no tribal ropes, no Celtic concoctions, no “Hey, check me out!” inkings that drew attention to his amazing biceps. There was just him and his hard body and his tanned skin. There was a faint line under the arm of his tee-shirt that told her he hadn’t gotten that tan in a tanning bed like a roided-out body building magazine model, but outside. Working hard.