Mist, Murder & Magic

by Dionnara Dawson

  ‘Hey, Tessie. Lola tells me you’ve pulled her into this series.’ Hunter held up the book, then pointedly looked at her girlfriend, still in her cute pjs. Lola nuzzled into Hunter’s neck.

  ‘They’re really good. And I’m adorable,’ Lola argued.

  ‘Yes,’ Hunter said, stroking her blonde hair. ‘You are.’ She kissed her on the forehead and Lola smiled.

  ‘Something’s bothering me,’ Tessa said suddenly. She almost felt like she was getting sick. Her hands were clammy with sweat and her stomach twisted painfully. ‘I don’t feel good.’

  ‘Oh, sweetie, I told you not to stay up all night reading,’ Lola said softly, sitting up.

  Hunter patted the couch beside her. ‘Come here.’ Tessa crawled up and snuggled into her. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘I don’t know. I feel hot,’ Tessa said.

  Hunter put a hand on her forehead. ‘You do feel hot, Tess. What have you been doing?’

  ‘Nothing. Reading. I had breakfast, showered, and have been reading since.’

  Lola tilted her head suddenly, looking deep into Tessa’s eyes. ‘Hella,’ she said, as if seeing the witch instead of Tessa.

  Hunter frowned, then looked too. ‘Oh, no.’

  ‘What?’ Tessa asked, confused.

  ‘There are purple flames in your eyes. You don’t feel good because Hella’s in trouble. We should go over to the store. Maybe it’s Harrow again,’ Hunter said, standing. Lola stood too, clicking her fingers. Suddenly she was dressed in jeans, a black leather top and heeled boots.

  ‘I really hope it’s not Harrow again,’ Lola said, tying her blonde hair up into a braid. She put a hand on Tessa’s head. ‘It’ll be okay. Come on.’

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Azazel

  From his bird’s eye view of London, Azazel looked down and smiled. There was a horseshoe of land surrounded by the River Thames which would be perfect for his purposes. He landed on the open-line of the horseshoe so that where he stood closed the gap along with the river.

  It was dark in London, but the city was lit up beautifully: streetlamps cast a mixture of light and shadows along the Canary Wharf, bathing the humans in a soft glow. Where he stood, if he looked to his left, then his right, were several hundred metres of distance. The escape gap was too large. He blinked, his eyes glowing yellow. His kin were coming. Azazel stood still in the street. No one looked at him twice. It made him think of the time he had found the promised witch, skipping school with her friends, and he’d flashed his yellow eyes at her. The reaction he had gotten was delightful: she’d been confused, then terrified. He chuckled fondly at the memory.

  It did not take long for his kin to join him: they were ravenously hungry. All thoughts of the angels were cast adrift at the sight of their feast. Their mist drifted through the sky, blocking out all the stars and the pale moon. A few people looked up then, but they would never say, ‘Oh look, demons.’ Stupid people probably just thought the night was overcast.

  And that’s why demons always caught people unprepared. Humans refused to believe anything. His kin, still in their mist form, landed on the escape line beside him, closing the gap of the horseshoe. He could feel their hunger, their boiling impatience. As the line solidified, a human man tried to walk through. He was average looking (well, aren’t all humans?), in a plain grey suit and boring old tie. His hair was brown and he was middle-aged. How much more human could he be? He frowned as he found his way blocked. As if he were reaching out to pluck an apple from a tree, he held out his hand to the darkness. And quickly had his entire right hand bitten off, spraying a torrent of blood and exposing jagged white bones. Black demon eyes formed in front of the man, Azazel smiled, highly entertained, and the demon formed loosely into the face of a human, the man’s hand rolling around inside its large mouth, the bones crunching on unbreakable teeth. The human fell to his knees, screaming.

  Leave it to humans to wait until they were surrounded to notice that something was wrong. A wide grin spread over Azazel’s face and he made a quick estimate of the size of their meal tonight. He guessed there were about ten thousand humans here in their trap, cut off by the river and his line of solidifying demons. Azazel stepped forward as the first victim passed out. He raised his hands, and every set of eyes landed on him. Now they looked at him.

  ‘Humans, you are about to be a grand story in history.’ Azazel watched as they squirmed back from him. They clutched each other. Men shoved their women and children behind them in some false pretence of chivalry. Or, the brave ones did (in his experience, once their blood was shed, all chivalry evaporated). Azazel heard a few splashes: some people chose drowning.

  ‘I am Azazel, leader of demons. And you, precious little ones, are the feast we’ve waited over a hundred years for.’ As Azazel lowered his hands, parts of the demons broke off from the wall and dove teeth-first into the crowd. The screams Azazel heard that night would follow him into his sweetest dreams for decades to come. He suspected the ground would never really be clean of the blood again.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Sam

  ‘Oh no,’ Sam said. He was in the Surveillance Room with a dozen other workers when what had first appeared to be a large dark storm cloud descended on East London. Now they realised it was demons. Thousands of demons, and they were attacking Londoners. ‘No, no, no,’ Sam said, and he wasn’t the only one.

  He pressed an alarm button on the wall for major emergencies, but aside from that, had no idea what to do. He had been at The Force for about four months and all he’d ever had to do were normal clean-ups. A grand-scale demon attack was entirely new to him. ‘This was so not in my training,’ he murmured, trying to get Henry on the phone.

  ‘What is it?’ Henry mumbled on the other end, clearly distracted.

  ‘There’s a level four demon attack in progress in East London at Canary Wharf. They have no assistance. There are thousands of people there, and they’re trapped.’ As Sam watched the screen, he could see that, outside the attack zone, the rest of London had begun to panic. Every law enforcement agency and emergency service was put on high alert, though that wouldn’t help them. The entire city was about to descend into chaos.

  ‘There’s nothing we can…’ For the first time, Sam heard uncertainty in his boss’s voice. It was very unsettling. ‘I will coordinate with their Force department, but they will already know about it,’ Henry said slowly.

  ‘But what do we do?’ Sam asked. Everyone else in the room had frozen and had turned to Sam to find out their orders. This kind of attack was almost unprecedented. On the other end of the phone was a thick, uncertain silence. Sam watched the live-streaming satellite footage and the fatality numbers coming in. They quickly passed triple digits. ‘Shit. Sir, what the hell do we do?’

  He heard Henry swallow. ‘There’s nothing we can do.’ He hung up the phone.

  Sam put the phone down and felt his knees give way as he slumped into his chair. He couldn’t take his eyes off the rising death count and the stream of panic as police officials called in their superiors, and up the ladder it went. The London office’s Force department would be entirely overwhelmed: what could they do to stop the attack? No one alive had ever witnessed something on this scale. The Force’s job did not extend to preventing demonic attacks: their agency had been created to cover up minor magical incidents. That’s all.

  The news alerts flooded the internet as people even began trying to evacuate the country. Flights were entirely booked within minutes as the citizens (and tourists) of London realised that something bad was happening, and they wanted to get the hell out. Sam couldn’t exactly tell what was going on until someone at the front of the room opened the London-wide surveillance cameras.

  It took Sam a moment to realise that the red light wasn’t a reflection or cast off of something. It was blood. The streets of London were literally bathed in blood. Sam thought he might be sick. People in the city were already rioting, panicked and
looting. Waves of destruction hammered the city, showering every street with broken glass from shattered shop windows. Fires bloomed up here and there as cars crashed in their haste to get away, and some even attempted to use their cars as a weapon against the onslaught of demons. The surveillance cameras flickered through the live-streams. Sam watched as shutters were snapped closed as those in their houses must have prayed the evil would not cross their threshold.

  There was a new girl who sat beside Sam, her mouth hanging open. She’d been there for about a week, he thought. ‘How do you stop demons?’ she breathed. He wasn’t even sure if she had meant to say it out loud.

  ‘I don’t know. The angels always stopped them. The demons never would have done this if they were still here,’ Sam said. There was no other way to stop a demon, that he knew of, than with an angel. His training had not covered this. No training on earth, he thought, covered this.

  The new girl turned to Sam, her eyes wide. ‘Then who the hell thought it was a good idea to get rid of them? Get them back!’ she said, as if he could simply ring them up and tell them to come and rescue the humans.

  ‘We can’t. They’re gone.’ Sam looked at the big screen. Whether it was death by demon, or the rest of the city in a panic, the death toll—in less than fifteen minutes—had climbed past ten thousand people. In that short time frame, it was the deadliest attack in the world to date save for a war—or the demon’s previous attack on Australia in 1915.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Immego

  They had the news on in the lounge room. It blared with a live-feed of a reporter in the middle of London; there was fire and blood in the background, the sounds of smashing glass, sirens, and people screaming. In their haste to report this global phenomenon, they had forgotten to add a ‘viewer discretion’ warning. If any news broadcast needed one, Immego thought, it was this. As he raised the remote to turn it off, the reporter was attacked by what looked to be a dark shadow. Just before the feed was cut, you could hear his terrified screams through the microphone that had been clipped to his collar.

  ‘Wow. They’re bold,’ Jackie said. ‘Now would be a perfect time to unveil these.’ She held up a dagger that shone black-purple in the lamplight.

  Immego thought back to his childhood, when angels had reigned, and demons rarely came out of their hidey-holes. He hadn’t thought he’d ever be more afraid of something than an angel: their sharp wings and even sharper tempers. An angel had taken someone he loved, long ago.

  ‘You’re right,’ Immego said, standing. ‘But to which side? The Force, or ours?’

  ‘Why do we have to pick one?’ Jacqueline said, steel in her dark gaze. ‘We’ve been making plenty since your haul from the Warlock House. We can charge a fortune for them now.’

  ‘All we have to do is prove that they work,’ Immego said. ‘We’re the only people in the world who have a solution to fighting these demons.’

  ‘Which is nice for us,’ Jacqueline said, stretching out her arms and legs like a cat. ‘Because apparently they’re taking over the world this week.’

  Immego stood in the bathroom, before the mirror, taking a minute to himself. What Jackie said was true: they stood to gain quite a fortune once they sold their demon-killing weapons, which would be nice, if he really cared about that. He grabbed a comb and brushed back his blond hair and froze. Regrowth, damn it. He would have to dye it again.

  His dark-grey gaze peered back at him with a glimmer of worry. He didn’t care about money and material things the way Jackie did. Sure, he was glad he had found his long-lost step-sister, but they were not alike in some respects. A part of Immego worried that the demons would never stop with just one massacre. Some day they would return here, and there would be no angels to stop them.

  He picked up a new pack of dye. It was quite difficult, he thought, dying dark hair lighter all the time. He wondered if he could do a witch’s spell to change it permanently. Jackie had mentioned that she was sick of cleaning hair dye off the walls. Not that she was very good at cleaning in the first place.

  ‘Hey, are you coming?’ his sister called through the door. ‘We’d better go catch a little demon and take it to The Force if we’re gonna do this.’

  Immego thought she sounded excited by this and groaned.

  ‘Gimme a minute,’ he called back, slicking the bleach through his hair. After ten minutes, he rinsed it out in the sink and rejoined her, his hair now wet.

  ‘Nice,’ she said with a half-smile. ‘You’ll be fresh and sexy-looking for the apocalypse.’

  Immego tried to smile back, but couldn’t muster the world-conquering happy-vibe to match hers. Besides, he didn’t dye it out of vanity, and she knew that, but his sister was vanity-incarnate. Her ridiculously high-heeled boots were laced up at the back, her long hair was tied up in a tight braid, and her lipstick was shiny as ever. He rolled his eyes at her. ‘Where are we going to catch a demon?’

  ‘I know a place.’ Jackie smiled.

  ‘Of course you do. You hang out in some really seedy places, Jac,’ he said, sounding very brotherly. She winked at him over her shoulder, seeming to take it as a compliment. ‘That not a good thing,’ he murmured as they left. They were both armed with their Deme blades. Just in case.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Tessa

  They were halfway to Remy’s store when Tessa felt it. They were going in the wrong direction: Hella wasn’t there. She skidded to a halt in the middle of the pavement, sending Hunter and Lola crashing into her. ‘She’s not at the store.’ Tessa turned around completely. ‘She’s at Warlock House.’

  ‘Why would she be there?’ Hunter said.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Lola. ‘But we should hurry. Look at her eyes.’

  Tessa didn’t need them to tell her. She could feel it, the depths of Hella’s fire. She couldn’t quite feel the heat of it enough—somehow—for it to burn her yet, but she still felt hot inside. Whatever Hella was doing, something was going wrong and she badly needed their help.

  Hunter grabbed her hand, and together they ran for Warlock House. Tessa halted before she even saw the faerie sentries. Grey-black smoke billowed out of the building in thick plumes, and warlocks were running out of the building in a frenzy. Which was odd if there was a fire. A single Nympha would be able to put it out. Unless, of course it was Hella’s fire. Tessa tried to run inside, but both girls pulled her back.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Hunter said.

  ‘I have to go in. I have to help her,’ Tessa said, pulling away from her over-protective sister.

  ‘No, Tessie,’ Lola said. ‘You won’t be able to find her in that, much less help her.’ There was always a musical gentleness in Lola’s voice. It was another voice of reason other than her sister’s. Lola pulled her away from the smoke and fire and both girls held onto to her. Lola stroked her hair, and Hunter peered worriedly into the flames that began to consume the building. Tessa’s eyes began to water as the smoke clouded her vision.

  ‘What’s happening in there?’ Tessa said desperately.

  Everyone who was outside looked completely baffled. Some were a little singed at the edges, but everyone looked okay. She couldn’t remember the last time a House had been evacuated. What could come up that magical faeries or warlocks couldn’t handle? Hella. That’s what. Tessa prayed to the stars that she was okay. Then a thought struck her. ‘Harrow.’ She peered through the smoke.

  ‘That’s the only reason Hella would be here.’ Hunter agreed. ‘So, he might be down there too. In the cells.’

  ‘Do you think she set him on fire?’ Lola asked, looking scandalised at the very idea.

  ‘If she did, it would be self-defence,’ Hunter said dryly. Tahlia Terra came through the double doors then, covered head to toe in smoke and ash, coughing up her lungs as she stumbled into the crowd. Hunter caught her. ‘Are you okay?’

  Tahlia choked on her words, trying to speak. ‘Thomas,’ she cried,
reaching for the door.

  ‘Tommy’s in there?’ Tessa said. He had always been sweet to her. He’d tried to stop Harrow that day in the store, too. The three of them had never met Tommy’s aunt before, but they recognised her because she was council member.

  ‘Tahlia, we know your nephew, Tommy. I’m Hunter, this is Lola. We were part of the old coven with Remy Stealthing. We helped in the battle of the angels, and this is my sister Tessa. We worked with Tommy through all that. Is he inside?’

  Tahlia was still spewing up smoke, but she nodded. ‘I knew he would go down to speak with Harrow, then I saw him, Hella and two others go down there. I never saw them come back up and Tommy isn’t answering his phone.’

  ‘Is everyone else out safely?’ Lola asked, her eyes wide with concern. She still had a hand on Tessa’s head, stroking her calmly.

  Tahlia coughed again. ‘I don’t know. I saw Tommy’s mother get out. The council evacuated first. I was trying to make sure no one was left behind. This is Hella’s work, isn’t it?’

  Tessa nodded. ‘I can feel her. Something’s wrong.’

  Tahlia peered down at Tessa for the first time. ‘Anima Mea, are you? You’ve connected with the promised witch? Ooof. I don’t envy that, sweet girl. And you don’t look too good either.’ She bent down and put a hand on Tessa’s cheek. ‘She’s too warm,’ she said to Hunter, who nodded.

  ‘She doesn’t just sense what Hella feels, she feels it too. Their connection isn’t normal,’ Hunter said.

  Tahlia turned to look back at the building. ‘We have to get them out of here. Who else is with them?’

  ‘There would be Hella, and now we know Tommy, and Harrow,’ Hunter counted.

  Tahlia shook her head. ‘I counted four of them going down. One was a blonde woman I didn’t know, and the other was a tall man.’