The Demon King

by Heather Killough-Walden

  Dahlia and Violet were sisters. Violet was married to the Shadow King, Keeran Pitch. Roman thought of the expression on Violet’s face, which was dual. She looked saddened. And she looked relieved. And he could easily ascertain the source of both emotions.

  Dahlia Kellen had been through a great deal, all of it emotionally damaging. And then Violet had been chosen as one of the queens. And Violet, who loved her sister endlessly and unconditionally, had felt guilty. While Dahlia was suffering disgrace after disgrace, each of a worse nature than the last, Violet was marrying a handsome and wealthy king, and being given a seat at the all-famous Table of the Thirteen.

  When Dahlia became a queen as well, all of Violet’s prayers were no doubt answered. Dahlia was now as strong as any queen, and she had renewed control over her life, which was something that had very much been taken away from her. The sisters were together there in that room, they were both safe, and they were both powerful. Violet could not have asked for more.

  Except that she knew Dahlia had been given no choice in this matter either. And at its core, that stung a little. It was part of the reason behind the sadness in Violet’s eyes. Her only consolation in this lack of a choice was that becoming a queen at this Table was a fulfilling experience. At least, Evie had told him as much, and according to her, other women at the Table had experienced the same. They were part of a sisterhood now, a circle of friends and family that would never falter or break. It was, in and of itself, empowering.

  Lalura Chantelle was the other reason for the woe in Violet’s eyes. And that same mourning was reflected in her sister’s emerald green gaze.

  The girls both sat back down, and when Dahlia took her seat, she turned to her left to meet Poppy Nix’s outstretched hand. The second fist bump sealed the congratulatory exchange between the triad of women who had been warlocks under Chantelle’s care. It was meaningful.

  Suddenly, Roman felt a strange sense of gratitude. He was grateful for the family that sat at that table. There was a serpent among them – somewhere – but the rest truly were as close as any family could hope to be. There was warmth here, and support. And given that the Table contained dragons, unseelie fae, warlocks, and demons, that was saying something.

  “It’s too bad Lalura couldn’t see this,” said Poppy softly to Dahlia.

  Dahlia nodded, just once, and they exchanged a meaningful, if melancholy, smile.

  Truer words were never spoken, thought Roman.

  “Oh I wouldn’t be so sure that she’s not,” someone else said.

  Roman turned to find Darius Walker nodding toward the large windows on one side of the meeting room. Roman followed his gaze.

  The meeting room this time was on the 80th floor of “2 International Finance Centre” in Hong Kong. It was night, and the windows on one end of the room overlooked buildings that looked like lit crystal growths coming out of Hong Kong below, and the deep, dark stretch of Victoria Harbor beyond them. It was a view very few people in the world had the opportunity to experience. In fact, as kings and queens had begun to arrive for this meeting – magically of course – each had made his or her way to the windows to gaze out over the view beyond. At night, as it was now, it was breathtaking.

  However, at the moment the important aspect to the view was the fact that it was eighty stories up. There was no way to scale the building short of expert, belayed climbing, and at this height, the wind sheer alone outside the windows would be enough to sweep someone off them.

  So the fact that there were several cats sitting on a nearly nonexistent ledge right outside the window was a little surprising.

  Not long ago, when the Phantom King Thanatos had met his queen, Siobhan, a cat appeared to them. Thane professed that the cat had an old soul, a long dead soul, and that he’d come back to the earthly plane for some unknown reason. Since that time, other cats had randomly shown up to join the first feline.

  At the moment, that same first large ginger cat sat licking its shoulder on the thin ledge as if to nonchalantly scratch an itch. A charcoal gray cat stretched out beside him and flicked her tail, then rolled over on the impossibly thin ledge and splayed her paws in the air.

  The third cat, Roman had never seen before. It was new. It had snow white fur and very, very blue eyes.

  Roman stilled, and the world grew so quiet that a ringing began in his eardrums. Those blue eyes locked on his, and he had the sensation that he was falling. As he fell, he tasted tea. He heard the crackling of hearth fire. He saw leaves skittering across an autumn landscape.

  I was wrong, he thought as they peered at one another and he remembered... prophecies and cauldrons, laughter and rocking chairs. Long white hair that blew wispy in an unseen breeze.

  I have indeed seen you before.

  The moments ticked by in their shared silence, and Roman smiled. “Stronger with the Force, indeed,” he whispered softly.

  But everyone at the Table heard him. And everyone understood.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Stale Fire.

  It had once taken everything from Dahlia. Its purple flames and poison smoke had gobbled up her childhood world and belched it wordlessly into the sky. She’d watched it burn unhindered, its power so strange, no one in her realm could control it.

  Thousands of years had passed since that night. But things had a way of coming back to you. And now Dahlia stood once more in the madly flickering shadows cast by the violet flames of Stale Fire.

  It was an Akyri who had known to come to her about the strange dark fire. It was three days after the meeting of the Thirteen where Dahlia had been introduced as the newest queen. Dahlia had been in the Demon Realm with Bael and Bowie, learning the ropes of queendom, when Pi suddenly entered the flames of her hearth to give her a message from an Akyri magic user.

  He’d told her that a seaside city in the Seelie Realm was under attack by a dark fire that could not be contained or put out.

  The Akyri were not as locked in any one realm as many of the other supernatural factions were. They followed dark magic, wherever that magic may lead. Warlocks used dark magic. And warlocks came in all shapes and sizes, and lived in all manner of places. So the Akyri joined them in those various places, all across the stretch of thirteen different realms.

  Now Dahlia stood in that seaside city, looking out over the destruction. This city was highly populated by magic users. It rested against the border separating it from the Twixt, and just on the other side of that border rested a city of the Duwomm fae.

  The fire had begun in the Twixt, and both King Avery and Lord Caliban had come together with their queens to attempt to put the fire out before it could spread into their realms. But not even the Wishers’ magic had managed to assuage the blaze’s hunger for more. The fire kept burning, claiming the Duwomm homes and hitting the border.

  Here in the Seelie Realm on the seaside, magic energies coming in off the sea often forged strange weaknesses in the border separating it from the Twixt. They weren’t weak enough to allow anyone unwanted entry. But they were weak enough for Stale Fire.

  The purple crackling blaze had made its way through, riding over the salt water of the sea as if it were gasoline. Its strange all-consuming cold-fire continued to spread, at last touching the homes of warlocks and Akyri.

  And that was when one of them remembered the Akyri King – and his new Akyri Queen. Who was also the Demon Queen.

  Who was said to have the gift of Dark Fire, known in other realms as Stale Fire.

  And now here Dahlia was, standing before the raging amethyst inferno that had once devoured her home. But this time, Dahlia was not a child. And she was not helpless. This time, staring at the nearly heatless flames that crackled madly and released hordes of nightmares into the sky was like meeting gazes with an old acquaintance: “Oh hey, I remember you. Long time no see. How you been all these years?”

  She tilted her head a little at the roaring conflagration, as if it truly could talk, as if it would stop mid-flicker and turn around
. Dahlia almost smiled. Instead, she closed her eyes and raised her arms at her sides, palms-up.

  All around her, warlocks, Akyri, demons, and several kings and queens looked on. They had grown quiet. Not one uttered a word or made a sound. They wouldn’t have been heard anyway; the Stale Fire was ten thousand conversations all on its own, a hissing, popping, crackling cacophony of selfish, burning fury.

  Beside her, bumping supportively against her right leg, Bowie the dog whined softly. Despite the discordant sound that raged so close by, Dahlia heard her. She smiled and sent the dog a tiny touch of magic to let her know that everything was okay.

  The rest of her magic, she concentrated elsewhere. A wind began to blow. It gathered and intensified, brushing through Dahlia’s long, black locks to send them flying about her face. She felt a humming in her fingertips. A vibration in the air.

  Answer me, she called out to the fire that had become so much a part of her. She reached out, touching it with her mind. Remember me, she told it. Know me.

  Obey.

  The wind picked up behind her and rushed furiously past her now, heading for the fire. Dahlia nearly lost her balance with the force of the gale that pushed her forward. But she maintained her footing, kept her magic flowing through her, and slowly opened her eyes.

  The Stale Fire that had engulfed the better portion of a seaside city was coalescing. It was drawing together, leaving the houses of the city one by one. In its wake, smoke curled and billowed into the heavens. Dahlia knew it was filled with nightmares and she knew it needed to be stopped.

  So she called to that too. It was as much a part of the Stale Fire as a breath is a part of an animal. She reached further, encompassing all of the city and its overhead night in her next command. Hush, she told the purple fire. Sleep.

  Fall.

  All around her, whispers began. She heard them talking, and recognized the rising chatter of amazement. It spread as the smoke, too, began to die. As if it were a film being played backward, the black clouds rising through the atmosphere simply reversed their progress – billowing back down to the ground. There, it coalesced like deep, dark pond water.

  Within seconds, the fire had been condensed to a handful of houses. By the time a full minute had passed, that blaze had been further reduced to the equivalent of a hearth’s fire.

  Dahlia watched the small remaining fire crackle in the path in front of her. It was all that was left of the devouring monster that was the Stale Fire. She moved down the path to stand before it, then knelt. It shrunk as she did so, until all that remained was a single candle’s flame.

  This, Dahlia reached down and lifted with her hand. It danced in her palm, seemingly innocent and spritely. So many lives it had claimed or ruined, so much it had destroyed. This tiny little thing.

  Dahlia was struck with the irony of it in that moment. Her whole life, she’d lacked any real control over circumstance. At one point, something nobody could control even claimed everything she owned. And now here she was with control over that very thing, that thing that no one else had any power over at all. She’d come full circle.

  Dahlia smiled at the flame in her hand and felt its very slight warmth. Then she slowly closed her palm – and put the fire out.

  When she turned to face the rest of the world behind her, it was with eyes that burned as purple and bright as the blaze she’d just extinguished. The Demon King was the closest to her. He stepped away from the crowd, tall and beautiful, and stopped in front of her.

  “You are amazing,” he told her softly. He raised his hand and brushed his knuckles gently against her cheek. “My wild fire. My Dark Angel.”

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  One month later.

  “You think this is beautiful, you should see the real thing,” said Dahlia as she slowly turned in a circle, taking in the virtual reality environment the VIVE headset provided. Then she pulled it off and held it under one arm. “There are some places in the Unseelie Realm that would blow your mind. In fact, we should go there tonight.”

  Steven was leaning against the wall that supported the bar between the kitchen and the living room. He had a beer in one hand, and the other hand was tucked into the pocket of his blue jeans. A light blue tee-shirt hugged every millimeter of his beautiful torso, chest, and arms and reflected the magnificent blue of his Caribbean eyes. A sinister grin finished off the gorgeous ensemble. He had never looked as sexy to her as he did in that moment.

  “I have a better idea,” he told her as he pulled his hand out of his pocket, and she could see he had her phone in it. He held the phone out to her, and she moved forward, taking it to look down at the screen. “Let’s go catch this Jigglypuff instead.”

  Dahlia’s eyes widened. The radar on her Pokémon Go screen showed a round, pink Jigglypuff somewhere in the nearby vicinity. This was the Pokémon she had been trying to get for so long, it was ridiculous. She’d had the worst luck with it; every single time it had appeared on her screen, something had occurred to make her lose it.

  She looked up at Steven, but he was already at the door, shrugging on his jacket. It was sprinkling outside, and the temps had dropped with the oncoming storm. “Come on, angel,” he said in his smooth, deep voice. “I bet you can’t get it before I do.”

  “Oh!” she exclaimed, with wide eyed offense. She put the VIVE headset on the coffee table next to an open and half-finished box of Krispy Kreme donuts and looked at Bowie, who had been resting on the couch, but now raised her head. “You stay here, and we’ll be right back,” she told the dog. “No touching the donuts, okay?”

  The dog laid her head back on her arms, resigned.

  Then Dahlia rushed to join Steven at the door. “You’re on!” she shouted confidently. But once she had her own sweater on, she slowed a little, realizing her mistake. “Wait,” she said as she stepped out onto the second floor landing of the apartment complex. He was several feet ahead of her, walking briskly toward the stairwell. “What are we betting for?” she asked as she hurried to catch up with him.

  He stopped and looked at her over his broad shoulder. His blue eyes flashed with magic and power, and the red that ringed them so threateningly grew in width, flaring to hot, lust-filled life.

  A thrum of heat moved through Dahlia. She came to a quick stop and felt her cheeks flush pink. Her mouth went dry, her throat felt tight, and her legs grew weak.

  “Never make a careless deal with a demon, angel,” said Steven. Or maybe it was Lazaroth doing the talking.

  He smiled, showing fangs.

  Definitely Lazaroth, she thought as her heart hammered and her own wanton need burgeoned to life within her. She watched him for several long seconds, all sorts of delicious scenarios playing chaotically through her mind.

  And then she burst into action, pushing violently past him to hurl herself full-throttle down the stairs, taking them three at a time. Her Tuathan speed and agility afforded her distance and height as she vaulted over the last set of stairs to land like Cat Woman on the hood of his shining black 1967 Plymouth Belvedere GTX.

  Oh yeah. She knew what the car was now. It was one of the first things she’d asked him after… well… after. Apparently, he’d always wanted one of these beauties. And when he had completed the transformation that saw him become king of the Demon Realm, the car simply appeared. Every king got the one they wanted. Steven’s father had gone through many black vehicles during his time as king, the last being a black 1957 Chevelle.

  The cars came with the job. As did a lot of things. It was a little overwhelming, all in all. The car, the castle, the servants – the armies. It was lucky for them both that the Akyri were a race of people who more or less had themselves figured out. They were autonomous, responsible, and by and large intelligent people who preferred settling things the non-violent way. The Demon Realm, on the other hand, was… how had Steven put it? That job was more hands-on.

  So whenever they could, they escaped both realms and headed back to the human world to Steven’s �
��humble” apartment in Boston. It was cozy, clean, well decorated, and it had a great big bed. That, coupled with Steven’s plethora of electronics, was enough to keep Dahlia more than happy for quite a while.

  And that’s what she was, she realized as she ran. She laughed out loud, and for once it wasn’t laced with sarcasm or anger. It was just laughter. She was happy. Genuinely so.

  In fact, Dahlia took great joy in running across the hood of Steven’s car just then, especially since she knew any damage done to it would vanish seconds later. She leapt up onto the roof, then jumped off the other side, hitting the ground running.

  The radar was still showing the Pokémon in the same place; it hadn’t appeared on the main screen yet, but it hadn’t moved any further away either, so she was headed in the right direction. She smiled to herself, proud of the progress she’d made. She would just have to make sure she caught the Pokémon before he did.

  A figure stepped out of the darkness up ahead. Dahlia skidded to a halt, her heart suddenly pounding in more than excitement. Fear moved through her, unpleasantly heavy in her gut and sour on her tongue.

  “I was wondering when you would get here,” said Lazaroth. He moved from the darkness, stepping into the light of an overhead street lamp. Relief flooded Dahlia.

  The handsome demon grinned and held up his phone. It showed the bright statistic page of a just-caught Jigglypuff Pokémon.

  He’d beat her to it.

  “Cheater,” she accused, her gaze narrowing. There was no way in hell he’d made it down here ahead of her without using some kind of magic.

  “Whatever you have to tell yourself to make losing easier,” he countered, walking toward her with definite swagger. He slid his phone into his jacket’s inside pocket and crossed his arms over his chest. “You’d better catch it quick,” he told her, “before you miss your chance again.”