Damnation Marked (The Descent Series)

by Reine, SM

  “I can’t wait.”

  She hung up.

  Another knock on the door, louder than before. He dropped his cell phone on the desk and grabbed a notebook. It wasn’t his normal Book of Shadows—that was with Elise in Reno—but the dozen or so spells were better than none.

  He slipped through the dark house to the front door, using only the moonlight and his memory to navigate. James peered through the window beside the door without ruffling the curtains. There was a man slouched on his doorstep with brown skin and a tribal tattoo on his bare shoulder.

  Anthony swayed out of view long enough to punch the doorbell, which didn’t make a sound without electricity. He knocked again.

  James opened the door. Anthony focused bleary eyes on him. “I didn’t know where else to go.” The sentence slurred together so that it sounded like a single semi-coherent word.

  “Have you been drinking?” James asked, leaning forward to sniff the air around Anthony. “Have you been driving?”

  He gave a hiccupping laugh. “Of course not. I sold my fucking Jeep for her. What would I be driving? Sunshine? A unicorn? Happy thoughts?”

  James glanced around the dark houses around him. It was hard to tell if anyone was watching when none of the lights worked. “All right, Anthony, relax. Come inside.” The younger man stumbled in, and James shut the door behind him. “How did you get through the barricade?”

  The younger man blinked. “Barricade?”

  “The highways have been demolished,” James said, lighting one of his remaining tapers. “Nothing is getting in or out.”

  “I didn’t take the highways.” That line of conversation didn’t seem to interest him. He shuffled through the gloomy house toward the kitchen, leaving James no choice but to follow with his candle.

  “Care for some tea?”

  “Tea?” Anthony scoffed. “Tea?”

  “You’re very drunk, so you should drink water. You can have it plain or you can have it in the form of tea. It’s your choice.”

  “You kidding? This is hardly the time for tea.”

  “Having one’s heart broken is the perfect time for tea,” James said, patting him on the shoulder. Anthony’s skin was slick with sweat, even though he had been walking outside in the cold wearing nothing but a tank top.

  The younger man’s mouth fell open with shock. “How did you know?”

  “I’m a very good guesser.” It was better than admitting that Elise had told him about it. There was no need to add the fuel of embarrassment to Anthony’s meltdown.

  James sat him on one of the stools at the kitchen island, then ducked into the garage to find the camping stove. He set it up on the counter.

  “She never loved me,” Anthony said.

  He filled a pot with cold water. At least that was still working. “I’m not sure if that’s true. Where emotions are concerned, Elise can be somewhat of an enigma.”

  “Screw that. She’s not an enigma. She’s a heartless fucking harpy.”

  James tried not to smile as he lit the propane flame. It wasn’t funny. It really wasn’t. But he had thought of Elise in similar terms once or twice, and it was cathartic to hear someone else share the complaint.

  While the water heated, he lit a few more candles. The room brightened with dancing flames reflected off the stainless steel surfaces and the hallway mirror.

  The teapot boiled. James poured two cups, and Anthony curled his lip at the infuser. His face was gray, his eyes were shadowed, and it looked like it had been days since he had last shaved. “Would you like to tell me what you’re doing at my house?” James asked.

  Anthony fished the metal ball out of his cup and set it on the counter before trying to drink the steaming tea. He winced and set the mug down again.

  “I couldn’t go to my mom. She’s in Vermont with the rest of my family this week, and there are no flights in or out of Reno, so I can’t join them. And I couldn’t go to Betty, because she’s…” He trailed off, but anger clouded his eyes. “Elise didn’t even cry for her. Her best friend.”

  James stirred milk into his tea, watching the swirling white clouds billow. Elise had cried. Once. She had also spent every day that followed trying not to think about Betty.

  He chose his words carefully. “Grief is very personal.”

  Anthony got off the bar stool, pacing the kitchen.

  “Why the hell am I trying to talk to you about this? Of course you’re going to be on Elise’s side. Everyone’s on Elise’s side. My family—my own family—even had her spread Betty’s ashes. Can you believe it?”

  He didn’t give James a chance to answer.

  “People are so patient with her, but why? She’s a bitch. She doesn’t care about anyone.” He stopped and braced his hands on the counter, staring hard at James with bruised eyes. “That’s not rhetorical. Why do you put up with her?”

  James sipped his tea before responding. “Anthony,” he said quietly, “I’m not in the mood for this. Any of it. Not this conversation, not your presence in my house, and certainly not your mood. So sit down and drink your tea before I do something you’ll regret.”

  Shadow flashed through Anthony’s eyes. A shudder ran through him.

  The older man frowned.

  “Are you all right?”

  Before Anthony could respond, the candles in the hall guttered and snuffed out.

  James put a hand to his Book of Shadows. There was no breeze in the house, and the tapers had only been half-burned. But the hallway was suddenly dark—very dark—and he knew that all the candles had gone out in the living room as well.

  He went to the mouth of the hall, slipping the notebook of spells from his back pocket. There was a strange texture to the air, as though it was filled with water and he had to swim to reach the darkened area.

  Even though it was nighttime outside, it shouldn’t have been completely dark. There should have been moonlight. A glow reflecting off of the clouds.

  But his house was utterly lightless.

  He reached out to feel for his warding spells around the house.

  They were gone.

  “Yatai’s here.” His voice fell flat in the air.

  The candles in the kitchen flickered.

  Anthony stood beside him. “What are we going to do?” he asked, lifting his fists as though he could punch a shadow.

  The house trembled as though stirred by an earthquake.

  Wood squealed. Cracked.

  The window in the dining room shattered, exploding inward with showering glass. A thick serpent of shadow punched through the hole and landed on the floor in an inky puddle.

  Anthony jumped back. “Holy shit!”

  “To my office. Run!”

  He took a deep breath and plunged into the darkness, dragging the younger man toward the only room he knew to be protected enough to withstand Yatai. It could withstand anything.

  “She’s coming!” Anthony yelled, and even though he was right behind the witch, his voice sounded distant and muffled.

  James pounded a fist into the doorframe. The charms disengaged.

  He threw Anthony through the door and jumped through, slamming it in time for the serpent to strike into the other side. The charms engaged with a shower of silver sparks.

  “Jesus,” Anthony said, searching the room with his eyes. “What is this place?”

  The door jumped and rattled in the frame.

  “It’s my workspace,” James said.

  Anthony stepped carefully over the edges of the incomplete circle, gaping at the bookshelves and hanging poultices. “It’s strong enough to keep her out?”

  “Yes, of course.” Silently, he added, Probably. “At least for a couple of hours. But we can’t stay long—I don’t have supplies or weapons.”

  James pulled out his cell phone. He only had one bar of reception, and nobody to call.

  The door stopped shaking.

  “Did she give up?” Anthony asked.

  James hurried over to the window
between his office and his greenhouse, double-checking the locks. “Yatai is ancient and as powerful as a god. She won’t let us go easily if she wants us.” He raised his voice. “I don’t have anything you want!”

  The younger man stopped in the center of the circle. “I wouldn’t be too sure of that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  But Anthony wasn’t talking to him. He was watching a fixed point in the corner of the room. It was darker than the others—too dark, considering the moonlight that streamed through the window.

  James’s heart sank.

  “Why do you want his spells?” Anthony asked the empty corner.

  Even though James couldn’t see anything, he was shocked to hear a voice respond.

  I have to deconstruct them. His paper magic is preventing me from accessing the gates.

  It was her—Yatai. She had possessed Anthony.

  Which meant she had followed him through the wards into the office.

  “Damn,” James said.

  Anthony turned. His eyes were completely black.

  James didn’t wait for him to attack.

  He swung, putting his full strength behind the blow. His knuckles connected with Anthony’s face.

  His head snapped to the side. But he didn’t fall.

  The younger man grabbed the back of James’s head and slammed his face into the bookshelf. Bright stars of pain flashed in his eyes, through his skull, and books scattered across the floor.

  He grabbed for shelves and missed. Fell to the futon.

  Anthony dived, but James lifted his feet in time and caught him in the chest, kicking him back.

  The witch stumbled to his feet, holding out his hands to try to calm him. “Don’t do this,” James said. “You’ve been possessed. I can help you.”

  Anthony swiped at his head, like flies were buzzing around him. His hands raked down his face and hair. “She didn’t mourn for you,” he growled. A shoulder twitched. “She doesn’t have a soul.”

  He lowered his head and threw himself into James like a linebacker, lifting him off his feet. He was airborne.

  White-hot flames bloomed down James’s back as he hit the window into the greenhouse. Glass cracked.

  Digging his fists into James’s sides, Anthony pulled him back and smashed again.

  The glass shattered. Shards sliced the back of James’s head, his arms. He lost his balance and tumbled through onto aromatic soil with Anthony’s weight crushing him.

  James was dizzy with pain, and every motion made tiny glass fragments dig into his skin, but he was not as weak as he had once been. He recovered quickly. Flipped his weight over to get on top of Anthony. “Control yourself!” he snapped, trying to pin down the younger man’s arms.

  There was no recognition in his face—no sign that he had heard James. His eyes swam with ichor.

  The voice whispered, Kill him if you must.

  Anthony flung dirt into James’s face. His eyes burned and stung as he fell.

  James rubbed the dirt out of his eyes in time to see Anthony snap a fragment of glass off the window and dive for him.

  He threw himself behind a planter. The makeshift knife swung over his head, whistling through the air.

  James grabbed a potted tomato plant and smashed it into Anthony’s skull. He fell. James scrambled over the windowsill into his office again.

  Something snatched at the hem of his pants. He twisted to see Anthony’s fingers grasping for his ankle. James kicked him in the face, freeing his leg.

  He rolled over the futon, covered in sparkling fragments of glass, and hit the floor.

  James didn’t have a spell to exorcise Anthony—if only Elise had been there. What herbs could he use? Lotus? Nettle leaf?

  He tore open the drawers on his desk, searching the labeled compartments for supplies.

  Anthony launched through the window and slammed them both to the floor. The younger man was so much stronger than he should have been—even with James’s newly developed muscles and extra height, he couldn’t get him off of him.

  He struck at Anthony’s arms, ripped with muscle from his work at the mechanic’s shop, and found them like bars of iron.

  Yatai’s voice slithered through the air. Take what we need.

  “I’ll take what I need,” Anthony agreed.

  Demonic energy built and crackled around them, sudden and choking, forcing itself down James’s throat. Power battered his heart against his ribcage. His spine arched as he roared.

  Be quick. We’re out of time. They’re coming.

  “What am I looking for?” Anthony asked.

  Give me his secrets.

  James knew nothing but the fire—it burned through his veins, coursing over his muscles and skin and leaving nothing but blistered charcoal in its wake.

  He twisted and thrashed. Beat his fists against Anthony.

  Nothing helped. Nothing made the pain end.

  The shadow spread over both of the men and sank into them.

  Let me see… ah. There we are. For an instant, Anthony’s face vanished over James’s, and all he saw was a boy—black-haired and brown-eyed, with thick-framed glasses and a grave expression. The child spoke with Yatai’s voice. I understand now. We’re finished here.

  Anthony’s hands lifted, and the crushing weight went with it.

  James rolled onto his side. His vision sparkled. His chest felt like it had been stuffed with the broken glass from his window.

  The other man’s feet crossed in front of his vision.

  “What now?”

  Kill him.

  James crawled for the end of his circle. Anthony stepped in front of him. “Sorry,” he said, fist gripping the fragment of glass so tightly that his own blood ran in a line down the edge.

  The witch reached blindly over his head. He found the open drawer and a fistful of salt.

  Anthony raised the glass.

  James scattered the salt over the circle. With a mighty clap of thunder, the circle sealed.

  Light flooded the room. Yatai shrieked. The shadows retreated. Anthony shouted, his voice mingling with the demon’s, and he dropped the glass. It shattered by James’s head.

  He threw himself at the window, crashing through it to the safety of night outside. James didn’t wait to see if he would return. He broke the circle, ripped away the wards, and fled.

  XIV

  St. Mary’s Regional Medical Center was in chaos. Elise had to fight her way through the crowd in the emergency room’s foyer to get inside.

  A man was huddled against the wall, crying. Children were screaming. A couple argued with the triage nurse in Spanish. An old woman was slumped in a chair with a young man pressing an oxygen mask to her face as he shouted in her ear. The stench of sweat and effluence dripped from the walls. Police were spread throughout the room, trying to get control, but three men and a woman in uniform meant nothing to the panicked patients.

  Elise stepped over a man on the floor. His thigh had been bitten, and his gray skin oozed ichor. She hesitated, considering the injury. That man was going to die, and he wasn’t the only person who had been infected—there was another body by the admission desk that had already turned to obsidian.

  She pushed past a teenage boy behind the triage nurse’s desk and slammed into the ER. Someone shouted at her to stop. She ignored them.

  It was just as hectic on the other side of the doors. Every chair in the waiting room was filled. Elise didn’t pass a single empty bed as she searched for Stephanie’s familiar strawberry-blond hair.

  She spotted the doctor working on a man with a bite wound on his chest. She was elbow-deep in blood—all of it, thankfully, a normal shade of red-brown—but the shadow was creeping up her scalpel.

  “Stephanie!” Elise burst into the room. “Drop that!”

  The doctor took one look at her and the bulletproof vest and returned her attention to the patient. “Whatever you want, I don’t have time for it.”

  Elise knocked the scalpel out of
her hand as the shadow spread up the handle. It swarmed with ichor. “Don’t touch that with anything you aren’t prepared to lose. And don’t let it get on your hands. It’s infectious.”

  “Who are you?” asked a nurse in blue scrubs, stepping into Elise’s space, as though he was going to force her out of the room.

  She shoved him. “Listen to me! The black stuff can kill you with a touch. Don’t get near it!”

  The nurse looked askance at Stephanie over his medical mask. The doctor reluctantly nodded. “Spread the word.” The man on the table whimpered and thrashed. Shadows pulsed from his chest wound and dribbled over his body. “How do I save him?”

  “You can’t,” Elise said.

  Stephanie let off a colorful string of curses and led her out of the room, pulling the curtains around the man. She lowered her voice. “First of all, don’t talk like that where the patients can hear you. Second of all, that’s not the right answer. There must be something I can do for them.”

  “You can keep the infection from spreading. That’s it. Tell your staff to quarantine anyone who’s been bitten or has a black wound. Focus on the people they can save—the ones with other traumatic injuries. And once you’ve spread the word, we need to get out of here,” Elise said.

  “I’m not going anywhere. Where’s James?”

  “Safe. You can join him if you come with me.”

  “Thank God for small mercies,” Stephanie said, heading down the hall. She stripped off her gloves, removed her apron, and washed her hands in the sink. “This attack has caused thousands of injuries. We’re overwhelmed.”

  “And there’s nothing you can do.”

  “That’s pessimistic for a kopis.” She put on a fresh apron. “You should know that there’s always something to be done for someone.” Stephanie took a moment to close her eyes and take a few deep breaths. When she began moving again, it was with newfound resolve. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have patients to treat.”

  Elise caught her arm. “Come on. Please. James is worrying about you.”

  Stephanie’s eyes filled with fire. “And these people need me.”

  They shared a long stare. Elise dropped her hand. “Evacuate as soon as you can.”