Mist, Murder & Magic

by Dionnara Dawson

  ‘Having never done this, nor any spell before, I can tell you with complete confidence,’ Net said, ‘that I have absolutely no idea.’ He closed the book with a dull thud and ducked out of the magical circle.

  ‘Well, while we’re young,’ Tommy said, shrugging. He glanced over at the dead guard. ‘And, you know, on a deadline.’ He looked down at Harrow, some of his earlier anger gone. He was worried about Harrow again.

  ‘Right, then,’ Hella said. ‘We’ll be as quick as we can. Remember, we can still hear you guys, so an update of the time every now and then would be helpful.’

  They all nodded.

  Hella closed her eyes, aligning her chakras. She could feel the magical chain as though it were a comforting bracelet of cool metal, as well as her actual chakra-bracelet. Hella could feel the balance it gave her and was grateful. She held onto Harrow, praying to no one in particular that she could do this.

  The stars, she thought, remembering the display on the window of the store. She prayed to the stars for the strength and control to use her powers without hurting anyone. Hella felt her familiar purple flame lick up her hair and wind through her fingers as her mind projected. She had astralled to a place she had never been to before, the Captor’s Point, so she knew that if she just focused on something, or someone, she could do it. She tried her best to focus on Harrow’s soul, reaching out into the void and feeling for his essence.

  A flood of images crashed through her mind like warm and painful breaking waves. Harrow’s shimmered body, her touching him and telling him he’s wonderful. His smile and his smirk, two very different things. Him winking at her. Hella touching his arms, kissing him, their bodies intertwined. Malachai attacking him, his halo around Harrow’s throat.

  And Harrow jumping in front of an angel’s attack in the battle to save her life: the cut had slashed right up his abdomen, and he had died less than a minute later.

  Hella felt the familiar wooshing of astral projection and hoped Harrow had come along for the ride. Hella didn’t know what to expect of Valhalla, or what it might look like. She had read in one of the books about a great grassy field where the soldiers trained, but that’s not where they were. She looked around and was glad to find Harrow with her. As soon as they landed, though, he took his hand out of hers with a glare, and her stomach twisted.

  They were standing in the middle of an astronomically large golden hall. It was filled with thousands of long wooden tables and stools. Hella’s mouth fell open as they stared around. They were the only ones here. ‘People can’t see us,’ Hella told Harrow. ‘But they can hear us.’

  ‘So?’ He shrugged. ‘Who cares if they hear us?’

  He made a good point. She frowned. ‘Where is this?’

  ‘It’s the great golden hall of Asgard,’ Harrow said, surprising her. ‘It’s where the soldiers feast every night after training.’ They didn’t know what time it was here, but it didn’t appear to be dinner time. Hella looked around the room. She figured it could easily hold as many people as a football stadium.

  ‘That’s a lot of soldiers,’ Hella said quietly, but the hall carried her voice.

  I hope you guys are both okay, Tommy’s voice came. It was like he was on loudspeaker: they could both hear him as if he spoke from above. It’s only been a few minutes, so you’re all good.

  ‘So, are we thinking my soul is here?’ Harrow asked, peering around. ‘Because I died in battle?’

  ‘That’s the idea, yeah,’ Hella said. ‘Though, honestly, I’m not really sure how to look for it.’ She wandered through the great wooden tables and stools and headed for one of the art-lined walls. There were many glass cases that held a variety of special-looking weapons. Hella didn’t recognise any of them, but there were a lot of different kinds of swords, and even sets of bows and arrows: the feathers on the end of the arrows could be ancient, but Hella thought they still looked smooth and soft. Then there were smaller weapons, almost rounded, that reminded her of ninja stars, their blades small and outward curved. There were no guns.

  ‘Are you saying we have to search all of Valhalla?’ Harrow folded his arms over his chest.

  ‘It’s your soul, don’t you know what it looks like?’ Hella asked over her shoulder. Now that he had no soul, his frown seemed a lot deeper. So, that was a no. ‘Do you think it’s going to be some white ghostly-looking thing, just floating around, or would it be something only you can see?’ Hella pressed, hoping for ideas. They couldn’t touch anything here. She wondered if that would be a problem.

  Harrow had wandered to the opposite side of the hall, the opposite wall lined similar display cabinets. He seemed to be learning the rules of astral projection, Hella thought. With one hand, he swiped out at a glass cabinet, his skin passing right through it. ‘That’s kind of cool,’ he said. ‘Oh, my stars.’ His voice caught. ‘What the fuck?’

  ‘What is it?’ They were on opposite sides of the hall, but their voices carried as if in a tunnel. When he didn’t respond, Hella jogged over to him. He was pale, and not just astral-slightly-transparent-pale. ‘Harrow?’

  His gaze was fixed on a glass cabinet which held a variety of weapons. Upon first glance, Hella didn’t notice anything odd about that, but Harrow had bent down to examine the contents closer. He looked up at her, his eyes vertically-slit, his teeth pulled back in a growl. ‘Those are Mark cutters,’ he said through gritted teeth.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Hella asked. She peered down at the weapons.

  ‘There are certain kinds of blades that are easier for cutting Cambion Marks off, like scales, because the blade is curved. That’s what this cabinet is full of.’ He was nearly yelling, outraged.

  ‘Like de-scaling a fish?’ Hella asked, quirking her head. ‘Do warlocks eat fish?’

  ‘Yes,’ he snapped. ‘We do, and yes, it is like that.’ He looked annoyed at her apt comparison.

  ‘Why would they be here?’ Hella said.

  ‘I don’t know. Do you think there are Cambions here?’ Harrow asked. He glanced up, as if he expected them to come out of the woodwork.

  Hella frowned. ‘Maybe they’re not used for Cambions at all. Maybe they’re just blades here, Harrow.’ She didn’t think there would be Cambions here, and she didn’t like the thought of those blades slicing off Marks like his beautiful blue scales. She didn’t need him to be angry right now. They had to focus.

  His dark brows pulled into a scowl. He turned and continued walking down the aisle of display cabinets. She wondered if he didn’t want to talk about this, or if he just didn’t want to talk to her. Either way, she followed him, her eyes wandering over all the objects which, she realised, were not restricted to weapons. There was a beautiful gown in one display cabinet, blood-red and decorated with gold embroidery. It looked fit for a queen, Hella thought. Sure enough, on the ground, beside the gown, were a pair of golden heeled boots, a ruby-encrusted necklace, two rings, and a golden sparkling crown inlaid with a rainbow of jewels. Hella put her hand to her own jewel: the amethyst in the amulet around her neck. She allowed herself a moment of pride; she had gotten them both here, safely. Maybe she could handle her powers after all.

  Ahead of her, Harrow threw up his hands. ‘I have no idea what we’re looking for.’ He huffed. ‘I’ve never seen this stuff before.’ He walked back and forth, pointing at the seemingly random collection. ‘There’s swords, and dresses, and jewellery, and, I think that’s a really big mug or something—wow, that’s bigger than my head—and just random trinkets, like this locket thing, and that’s just a shard of glass, I think, and some coins or something.’ The warlock sighed heavily. ‘Hella, are you sure it’s even here?’

  ‘No. I’m not, Harrow. It’s not like I’ve done this before. I’m trying, okay?’ Hella felt like she had so much to make up for, and at this point she was just guessing that they were even on the right track. ‘We just have to have a look around. Let’s go.’ She led them out the double wooden doors that stretched to the high ce
iling. It looked so heavy it would have taken them both to open it, but instead, they walked straight through. That brought the slightest smile of amusement to Harrow’s face. They walked outside to find a cheerful morning: the sun was shining and Hella was sure she could hear birds singing, though she couldn’t see any. There was the clang-clang of metal on metal coming from somewhere.

  Hella found that—in astral form, at least—the weather was neither warm nor cool. There was no breeze and though the sun (which looked more like a silver-pink pearl in the sky here) was shining, she felt no heat from its rays. Hella wondered if the angels here still flinched from the light. They stepped further out into the open and found a blacksmith’s workshop on the end of an alley of other workshops. The one behind him seemed to be crafting chain mail and animal-hide clothes.

  The blacksmith was a beefy guy, taller than Net; his bulk would have been formidable had he not been pleasantly whistling to himself as he worked. He wore a black leather apron, thick gloves up to his elbows, and eye goggles all to protect himself from the scorching heat of his work. Even from here, Hella could see thick beads of sweat on his forehead. For someone sweating through their work, the blacksmith seemed perfectly content—and ignorant of their presence.

  Hella looked over at Harrow, hoping his soul could be calling to him somehow. She wanted to get back to reality sooner rather than later. Even though they were connected to Piper and Tommy to help even-out the magic use, she didn’t want to risk a burn-out of fire which could hurt all of them. ‘Do you see anything, or feel anything?’ she asked. She didn’t know what they would do if Harrow couldn’t find it.

  Harrow looked around; they seemed alone in this pocket of the workshop alley. The only other person turned out to be the blacksmith (the man from the workshop behind him had left), sweaty and breathing hard. He was holding a long sword that glowed red-hot as he hammered it into shape. Harrow shook his head. ‘No. Am I supposed to?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I hoped you would.’

  ‘Can’t we do a spell or something to track it, now that we’re here?’ Harrow asked. ‘What about the scrying thing Remy did once? Besides, it was you who healed me. Why can’t you sense it? It was your magic.’ He had his hands on his hips, accusing.

  Hella had never been able to see auras, or really knew what they meant or were made up of, but if she could see Harrow’s right now, she imagined it would be very dark. But there was something under that too. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

  His expectations of her made Hella feel even worse. Besides, she hadn’t thought of scrying. This plan had been impulsive. ‘I’ve never scried before. And I don’t even know if I could do that in astral-form. And I can’t sense it.’ She moved her hand up to her hair to twist her braid, and it passed right through. Duh. They wandered away from the blacksmith’s noisy hammering.

  Harrow sighed. He didn’t respond to her. He trailed through the open street and Hella followed. They came upon a grassy field, and both of their mouths fell open. This was the Unending Field Net had told them about.

  Hella stared, wide-eyed. On the field stood hundreds of thousands of soldiers, all clad in armour and leather clothes, clashing swords and weapons, drawing blood and shouting. They appeared to be set in pairs, doing battle with the other. It took Hella by surprise that the blood splattering the ground, soaking into the grass, was all red. They really were human here. Talk about an even playing field, she thought.

  ‘Hella, you have to try the spell.’ Harrow turned on her, exasperated. They could not see the end of the fighters or the field. It disappeared into the horizon. ‘Even if we had a year before my trial, we wouldn’t have time to search everywhere. My soul could be a blade of grass on that unending field. I don’t feel anything, nothing pulling me toward it. Do the scrying thing.’

  Hella opened her mouth, then closed it. She had absolutely no idea how to. And besides, could she even do magic in her astral form?

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Azazel

  It wasn’t a matter of flying so much as drifting through the sky. Azazel loved the feeling. He reached out with his smoky mist and trailed himself through the clouds. If any humans were to look up right now, they would see the explosion of red and pink as the sun set brilliantly in the sky, and his mist might look like a shadow cast by the dark side of the moon that peered out of the clouds, or looming clouds predicting a storm.

  He had never visited Europe before and had always wanted to. London, he thought, would be a nice place to start. He drifted over the large country of the United Kingdom (what a nice name, he thought). One day, Earth will be my kingdom. He was too high up in the sky to see people individually, but he could see the damp green hues of grass which soon gave way to grey city blocks and buildings, winding through the middle was the famed River Thames, splitting the land in two like a crack in concrete. If he could smile in this form, he would. Instead, he hovered in the clouds. His kin would be jealous of his travels, he knew, but soon enough they would join him.

  Despite his various attacks in Australia without a whisper of interference or presence of the angels, Azazel still worried that they had simply abandoned that little country—perhaps because of the promised witch. He had to be careful here now. If the angels still roamed the Earth, once he made himself known, they could easily descend upon him and, while he had bested a few of them and even Malachai, right now, he was alone. A squadron of angels could destroy him. To be sure, he would have to attack after sun-down. And he planned to start off small, but ooh, the spectacle he could cause once his activities were left unpunished. The thought made all the tendrils of his mist quiver excitedly.

  Azazel considered himself an intelligent demon. Of course, he was likely the most intelligent demon. Not that his mother would agree. Or, in fact, his former lover, but what did they know? He scanned the land and found the perfect place to attack. Keeping in mind, of course, that this was just for starters, leading up to the main course. He would have to be discreet.

  He landed on the earth, his human-form coalescing. He was in a flat green area the humans called a park. He walked by a sign which read Battersea Park. Most humans seemed to avoid such areas at night. It was human instinct, he knew. Don’t walk down the long, dark alley alone. Don’t look in the dark closet, or under the bed. Don’t invite strangers into your house, or your vehicle. Most humans had that basic survival instinct. However, some shook that off, and headed straight into danger. Those were the ones who tended to wander into the dark corners where demons hid, hungry and waiting. Azazel made himself scarce in the shadows by a cluster of trees in the corner of the park. From here, he could see a glimmer of the Thames.

  The sun had completely set now, casting the world into shadows. Azazel could feel his yellow eyes burn hungrily. He had eaten better in the last few days than he had in years, but was never satiated. It was like scratching an itch, once you scratched it a little, you needed more. The park quickly emptied out. The humans scurried away from the encroaching blanket of night-time.

  But some he lingered. There was a man and two small children. One of them carried an, oh, what was it called? A balloon, that’s it. A red balloon that read, Battersea Park Children’s Zoo. When she grew sleepy, the man scooped her up into his arms and carried her while the other child held his hand. But they were on the other side of the park, on the opposite end by the far trees. No, Azazel wanted someone to come closer.

  Oh. Here. A woman, dressed head to toe in midnight-blue, strode through the park. She wore a long evening dress and high heels, apparently ready for a night out. Her long, onyx hair blended with the darkness. The streetlamps began to flicker to life, to Azazel’s annoyance, but there was still plenty of shadow to lurk in. The woman came delightfully close, then a man came out of nowhere and wrapped his arms around her. Besides the two of them, for the moment, the park was empty.

  The woman smiled up at the man, just a shard of lamplight catching her face. ‘Oh, I’m so
glad you could come,’ she said. Her lips were painted red. Azazel thought it looked like blood. He liked it. The man was taller than her, dressed in a suit (though not one as nice as Azazel’s, obviously).

  He put a hand on her face. ‘I can’t stay long. I told her I was working late, but she wanted to come visit me.’

  The midnight-blue dress glimmered in the light. The woman pouted. It looked terrible. ‘Oh, Kevin. You promised you’d tell her about us.’

  ‘It’s not that easy, Mel. We have a baby together.’ The man pressed his lips to hers. Probably to shut her up. ‘I want to be with you tonight.’ He put an arm around her waist and began to lead her away.

  Azazel stepped out of the shadows and cleared his throat. ‘Excuse me, do you know how I can get to Big Ben? I believe I’m lost.’

  The couple turned. The woman frowned at the interruption, but the mad nodded. ‘Sure man, but you’ll want to get a cab. It’s not walking distance. About fifteen minutes in a cab.’ He pointed toward a main street. ‘Best luck getting a cab is that way.’ He smiled and turned to leave.

  ‘You know, I think I should grab a bite before heading off,’ Azazel said.

  ‘There’s a restaurant on the corner.’ The man pointed.

  The woman looked downright angry now. She pulled on his sleeve. ‘Let’s go.’

  Azazel stepped closer. ‘I’ve never had a taste of human food.’ He was within arm’s length of the couple now. The woman’s eyes roamed over his expensive suit, her pout slipping. A smile began to turn her bloody lips. Azazel placed a hand on her arm. ‘Where are you two headed?’

  The woman looked Azazel up and down carefully. The man looked dubious. She turned to him, her brows raised. ‘We’re uh, off to a, um, well a date.’

  Azazel nodded. ‘That’s very nice.’ He turned to the woman. ‘You look good enough to eat.’

  She giggled, tossing her long dark hair back. The man rolled his eyes. ‘Look, mate, we’re not interested in—’