Mist, Murder & Magic

by Dionnara Dawson

  ‘I am not going with you.’ Harrow dug his heels into the churned-up ground. ‘You can’t make me.’

  Melvin gave him a steely glare. ‘You claim you’re not responsible for your crimes, eh, boy? Well, then who killed Blane Mettalum then, downstairs? Your guard. Or, who was the Nympha who tried to kill our promised witch, hmm? Or the little faerie girl? And The Force tell me you’ve killed one of theirs, too.’

  Harrow opened his mouth, then shut it.

  ‘If it was a spell, as Terra says, then who cast it? Whose fault—he gestured wildly to the blackened, caved in building—is all of this?’ Melvin said.

  Harrow dared not glance at Hella. He wouldn’t let her take the fall for this. Instead, he locked his gaze with Tommy and gave a slight nod. He would figure out it. Don’t let Hella say it. ‘Take me, then,’ Harrow said calmly.

  ‘That’s what I thought. I’ll be happy to see you under the Imperium Ceremony for this,’ Melvin said. Harrow flinched. Melvin dragged Harrow by his injured shoulder away from the others. Harrow couldn’t bear to look back at Hella’s face. He caught Net’s eyes who, he saw with some surprise, was crying for him.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Harrow

  Harrow couldn’t remember the last time he had been to Faerie House but he was sure, whenever it was, that it had never been this thickly crowded. He didn’t know the specific numbers, but each House had roughly two- to three-hundred occupants, and with Warlock House gone and apparently moving in with Faerie House, everything was getting squishy.

  Melvin led him through the pressing throng of panicked Cambions in the foyer and through the halls—almost everyone taking the opportunity to painfully bump Harrow’s wounded shoulder and his back—then downstairs, toward the cells. A wash of claustrophobia he’d never had before engulfed him as the warlock pushed him forward.

  Harrow froze on a step, his chest constricting.

  ‘Move,’ Melvin barked.

  ‘Pardon me, but I was nearly just buried alive under a rock avalanche in a place identical to this. Do you think it would be possible to lock me up somewhere else?’ Harrow asked in what he thought was a very polite tone, considering.

  Melvin stepped down to be face to face with Harrow. ‘So that you can take up a whole room when hundreds of your House need to stay here? I don’t think so. Walk.’

  But Harrow couldn’t move. His stomach, basically just filled with acid and air, emptied itself onto Melvin’s shoes. Harrow’s eyes widened. He coughed and wished he could wipe his mouth on his sleeve, but the cuffs restrained him.

  Melvin quirked his head at Harrow. ‘You insolent brat.’ He cracked his hand across Harrow’s cheek, and Harrow rocked back on his heels. His cheek burned. ‘If I have to drag you down these steps myself, you will be locked up in these cells tonight. Walk, or be dragged,’ Melvin said, his voice low and dangerous.

  Harrow swallowed, and tasted blood. He’d cut his cheek on a tooth when the old bastard had hit him. He’d rather not be hauled down the stairs so, slowly, choking on his new claustrophobia, he walked down into the dimly lit cells. Now he wished he had looked back at Hella. He wished she were here with him. And he wished she would pulverise this old man like she had all those rocks. Melvin pushed him into an empty cell, a dead ringer for the one he’d been in earlier. At least the mattress on this one didn’t look so thin. And the bars here were metal. They had no concerns about Mettalums breaking in, or out.

  Melvin glared at him. ‘Your trial will commence as soon as our current state of emergency can be managed. Personally, I would find you guilty.’ He glanced down at his vomit-covered shoes, his nose scrunching up.

  Yeah, that really didn’t help his cause, Harrow thought dully. Once Melvin retreated up the stairs, Harrow sunk down onto the bed. He tried to lie down, but it hurt his shoulder and back too much, so he sat up, his back pressed against the cool metal bars. Tears formed in his eyes, wishing that there was so much he could undo. Especially hurting Hella. Well, everyone he’d hurt, he wished he could undo that. But mainly Hella. The thought of his hands wrapped around her delicate throat, squeezing. He put his head in hands.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Hella,’ he whispered to his empty cell.

  ‘I know you are,’ she said back.

  Harrow’s head jerked up. There she was. He smiled. ‘I’m surprised you can astral, given how you must feel. Not that I’m complaining.’ He wanted to get up and wrap his arms around her—in a non-deadly way, that is.

  ‘Me too. But I had to try. Are you okay?’ Her eyes fell on his cheek, where he suspected there was a reddening mark, and she frowned.

  Harrow sighed, glancing around at his new cell. ‘At least I probably won’t be burned or buried alive in this one.’ He shrugged. He didn’t know what else to say. ‘Is everyone there okay?’ He assumed she was still outside Warlock House with the others.

  ‘We’re still counting, but so far, no one’s found Amara. She was down there with us, but…’

  He knew why. Amara had been down in his old cell, helping him, and he’d attacked her. It would be his fault if she were… if she weren’t okay. He looked down at his hands. At least the old bastard had taken the cuffs off, but they’d left deep rings on his wrists. But what was one—technically two—more injuries? ‘I wish I was there to help you find her.’

  ‘We’re going to get you out of here, don’t worry. We found Tahlia, and she believes us about your soul-spell. She’ll be able to sway the council, Harrow. You’re not going to be put under the Imperium Ceremony.’ Even in astral form, she twisted her braid anxiously.

  ‘Hella.’ He sighed. ‘You heard Melvin. They think it’s my fault that Warlock House just collapsed, and I did do those others things’—she opened her mouth but he waved her down—‘and no, I’m not about to tell them it was you.’ He folded his arms over his chest. ‘I don’t know how they would take that, Hella, but there’s no way I’m risking it. I’m not saying I like it, but if I go under the ceremony instead of them blaming you, then I’ll take it. End of discussion.’ Though fear tore through his chest, he wouldn’t take it back. He would do this. For Hella, for what he did to her.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Tahlia

  Everything was destroyed. Tahlia stood in the centre of what had always been the Warlock House’s foyer, where the marble had stood for centuries, painted through with each of their Families’ colours. Now it was cracked and broken, as if it were a plate someone had dropped. There were too many pieces to even consider putting it back together.

  She and Tommy, as well as other Terras, had been tasked with clearing the debris out of the shell of their home. The most efficient way had been Tommy’s idea: pulverise the rocks and cement to dust. It made sense. But the ache she felt, that she imagined they all felt, was more than the surprising loss of a home. Amara—their only healer—was missing. At least one warlock guard was dead. Many were injured and everyone was scared, and now vulnerable, out in the open.

  The Terras set to work raising and crushing large chunks of debris with their control of roots and branches embedded in the building, and through the now-open ceiling. Tahlia still could not figure out how or why this had happened. A Nympha didn’t have the ability to do something like this. She’d listened patiently when Hella and Tommy—thank the stars her little nephew was alive and mostly unharmed—had told them about this soul-losing and regaining business. It was far-fetched and certainly unheard of. But it did explain things. Hella, it seemed, could do anything. Which was disconcerting. If there was any chance that Harrow, that poor boy, hadn’t been acting of his own free will or steady mind, then she would do everything in her power to save him from the Imperium Ceremony. She had pressed for that process to be abolished—as had her mother before her—but it remained.

  It took a long time to clear out their home. From standing in the foyer, or what remained of it, she could see into chambers and bathrooms and outside all at once. This could take years to reb
uild. They were vulnerable to attack now. It would be stressful and crammed having the warlocks crowded into Faerie House: it hadn’t been built to that capacity. She would have to gather the council very soon to figure out how to house them, especially the children. She had personally sent Hellora home to rest. The girl looked like she was about to drop right in front of her. Tahlia wouldn’t have the girl collapse on her watch, and there was apparently always the added risk of her powers flaring out of control when she was exhausted. Tommy had asked to go with her, but he was needed here. The former angel, Nerretti, had taken her instead.

  Despite the severity of the situation, Tahlia could see the beauty in the warlock’s teamwork. A few Mettalums had joined in—without having been instructed—to help with clearing the debris. Leo was one of them. She’d seen him carrying Harrow outside to safety, and she was glad. After an hour or so, Tahlia called them all out. It would take a while to clear and fix the place up, but for now, they had to focus on the living. It was no longer a danger to be inside, but no one could stay here.

  ‘Everyone, remember your first aid training. Bandaging, cleaning, cauterising. Tend to the wounded. Look for your friends and loved ones and take everyone to Faerie House for now. Look for Julie Ventus, she will let you know what to do when you get there,’ Tahlia said, breathing hard. It had been a lot of work to make the building no longer a hazard. They had to do it first to see if there were any other survivors, but so far they hadn’t found anyone—dead or alive.

  Tahlia wrapped her arms around Tommy. ‘I’m so glad you’re okay. Don’t ever scare me like that again,’ she said, still holding onto him.

  Tommy chuckled softly into her hair. ‘I’m okay, Aunty. I didn’t mean to scare you. How’s Mum?’ As always, whenever his mother came up, there was a note of reproach in Tommy’s voice. The two of them hadn’t talked much since that awful second husband of hers was killed. Tahlia thought that Tommy still blamed his mother for Jackson: for marrying him and bringing him into their home, and for the awful things he did to both Renee and Tommy. Tahlia didn’t blame him for being angry with her, though she knew in a distant way, he still cared.

  ‘She’s okay,’ Tahlia said. ‘She led the first group over to Faerie House. Do you want to go see her?’

  He shook his head, running a hand through his dusty hair. He was very mature for his age, Tahlia thought, he always had been. In a way, he’d had no choice in that. Having a stepfather like Tommy had, it was sure to make you grow up real fast. Tahlia wished she had known. She would have killed the bastard herself. She put a hand on his shoulder. ‘You should go see her.’ She rarely pushed him to be with his mother, but now, she knew, Renee would need to see him for herself.

  ‘Fine.’ He sighed. There was no bitterness like you might expect from a pouty teenager, he was just tired.

  ‘Find a room for us, would you? I expect we’ll all be bunking together tonight.’ All she could think of was how grateful she was that he was alive and okay.

  He nodded as he left, brushing dust and bits of debris off himself as he went. Tahlia smiled. He was trying to brush himself off so he didn’t dirty Faerie House, she knew. What a kid, she thought fondly.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Tommy

  ‘I’m not a kid, mum. I’m eighteen,’ Tommy said, as Renee patted him fondly, over and over again saying, ‘oh, baby, oh my kid.’ It was very annoying. It was all he could do not to shake her off or snap ‘get off me’.

  She was alive and unhurt. That’s all that mattered. Renee had retreated to an empty room rather than helping the others. ‘Well, at least you found a room. Good. Tahlia should be here soon. I’m going to help.’ Tommy turned to leave.

  ‘But I just got you back,’ Renee said.

  Tommy rolled his eyes. ‘There are people out there who are hurt, mum. We still don’t even know who’s missing, apart from Amara. We need to find her, and the others. What did you expect me to do, sit with you up here quietly?’

  She blinked. ‘I’m your mother. I just want to keep you safe, Thomas.’

  Tommy scoffed and walked out, slamming the door behind him. ‘Yeah, right,’ he muttered out of her earshot. He shook it off. There were people who needed his help, and it didn’t take long to find someone.

  It was Tessa who grabbed his hand. ‘Tommy! Have you seen Hunter or Lola?’

  Tommy bent down to her. ‘No, I haven’t. When did you last see them?’

  ‘Just before the building exploded,’ the little faerie said, her indigo wings flapped anxiously.

  His eyes widened. ‘You guys were there?’

  Tessa nodded, her eyes wide with worry. ‘I could feel Hella. Something was really wrong.’ She paused. ‘She’s okay now. But I went to her, and we saw that the building was on fire. I tried to go in, but they stopped me and a second later—peow—it exploded. After the dust settled, I couldn’t find them. There were so many people. Someone told me to come back here, and I figured they’d come home, looking for me.’ She started to cry. ‘But they’re not here!’

  Tommy hugged the girl. ‘Hey, they didn’t go inside. It’ll be okay, we’ll find them. There are a lot of people here, that’s all. Don’t worry.’

  He wanted to be there for Tessa, for everyone, but all he could think about was Harrow—he would be here, somewhere—and Hella, who he hoped was resting soundly. He pulled away from Tessa for a moment and put his head in his hands. How had this all happened? he thought, rubbing the smoke and ash out of his eyes. He took Tessa’s hand. ‘Let’s go find them together.’

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Immego

  Immego watched his sister kill a demon with one of their Deme weapons, and it exploded into a shower of sticky black blood that vanished before it hit the ground. That in itself was incredible: he had never seen a demon killed before.

  Jacqueline was swift, her movements so fast you would think she’d been born to this. She was just annoyingly graceful like that, though. The boss-man, Henry, looked ravenous as he clasped Jackie’s hand. For a moment, Immego thought he might snatch the blade right from her, but instead, he smiled in a really toothy, creepy way. ‘Excellent, just excellent.’ He practically drooled. ‘Where are they, the rest of these weapons? How many do you have? How much do you want for them?’ His damn eyes were seemed to pop out of his head with excitement.

  Jackie looked over at Immego, her dark eyes gleaming. He thought she must be seeing dollar signs and new Jimmy Choos. ‘We have about another thirty of these. We can make more with the right tools. But for those, you can have them in the next twenty minutes for a hundred thousand dollars.’ She smiled with perfect lipstick, resolute. She hadn’t discussed the money with him, but he didn’t care much. Jackie was the materialist, not him. He just wanted a roof over his head.

  The other guy, Sam, said, ‘That’s over three thousand per item.’ His was voice high.

  Jackie tilted her head. ‘As opposed to your other, what? Cheaper demon-killing solutions? I’m sure the folks in London appreciate your cost-saving initiative at this time.’

  Henry waved Sam down. ‘Forget about that. We’ll be heroes, Sam.’ He looked back at Immego and Jackie. ‘Go get them. We’ll pay. You can take one of our cars to retrieve them. Sam will go with you.’

  Henry picked up the phone.

  ‘Who’re you calling?’ Sam asked.

  ‘Someone who can portal us and these weapons to London while we can still help,’ Henry said.

  It seemed like no time had passed between the agreement of the deal (which Henry wrote out and he, Jackie and Immego signed), Sam leading them to a nondescript black van and driving back home to gather the weapons, and then driving back to The Force’s parking lot. There was a woman waiting there. She waved her hands, opening a portal, then held out her hand to Henry, who gave her a wad of cash. Emergency portals must be quite a meal ticket, Immego thought.

  He had never used a portal before, but as he stepped through it Immego deci
ded he didn’t like them. As they landed on the outskirts of what Immego could only think of as the apocalypse, he hurled into a nearby bush. And then retched again when he saw that said bush was dripping with blood.

  It was creeping into early morning; Immego saw over the River Thames, the sky had begun to lighten in the distance. It was a reality-shaking feeling: would the demons disappear with the night? Would the world really believe what was happening here, or would the news and truth disappear with the masked safety of the sunrise? As far as he knew, demons had no aversion to sunlight as angels had. Immego started shaking. He didn’t know he would be brought here, in the middle of the massacre, to fight. He felt the blood drain out of his face and all his limbs.

  Jacqueline was not a soft or gentle person, but her brows drew together staring at him. ‘Come on, little brother. We have to show off our weapons.’ She plucked one from her side and killed a nearby demon with it who looked surprised to have been attacked, just as he vanished. ‘Best advertising ever.’ Jacqueline smirked.

  ‘It’s not just the four of us, right?’ Immego asked, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

  ‘Of course not,’ Henry said, and as he spoke, half a dozen more portals glimmered around the general area of London’s chaos. ‘We have guards at our disposal. They’re armed with one weapon each, and have been sternly instructed not to lose it.’

  Immego watched as another twenty-eight guards poured out into the fray—leaving one each with Henry and Sam, and Immego and Jackie using their own—to fight the demons. Which, if Immego had to guess, he would put in the thousands. He shook his head at his sister. ‘We can’t kill all of them,’ he hissed. ‘Why do we have to fight?’

  Jackie winked at him. ‘Just until we lose these two,’ she promised quietly. ‘Our contract is with The Force, not to them specifically.’