by Debra Dunbar
“Fine, but I’m going to need to set up wards for the pair of you, and I’ll need my sword.”
No one appeared to be rushing to comply. “Wards?” Zrubek asked. “As in drawing those squiggly things? You can’t do that in here. It’s a crime scene.”
“And you can’t draw your sword in public,” Tremelay said. “Can’t this wait until you’re back home with all your magical supplies? It’s not like you can use candles and herbs and stuff from a crime scene.”
He had a point. There was one thing I could do, though. I took some detailed pictures of the circle and sigils as well as the pages in the grimoire. Then as soon as the detectives were looking elsewhere, I pocketed a few items. A sigil should be enough to call the demon back to me, but a few items from the room would seal the deal. I didn’t need Innyhal refusing to come to me. This demon was bad news and as the sooner he was back in hell the better.
“Ready.” I smiled at the two men and headed up the stairs. It was pushing on toward dawn. An hour back to my apartment in Fells Point, a few hours prepping for my confrontation with the demon. If Tremelay came over at noon to go to the magic shop, I might be able to sneak in a few hours of sleep. That is, if the demon hadn’t killed me first.
I heard the heavy footsteps of the men coming up the stairs… then felt a presence. Hair prickled up at the back of my neck right before I heard a loud noise. I spun around. The door to the basement had slammed shut, the refrigerator tilted sideways to block it shut. Black smoke swirled upward from the floor, coalescing into a shape.
I didn’t wait to see what form Innyhal took, I ran. The lights flickered and went out, plunging the house into darkness. I could hear the two detectives shouting and bashing against the basement door. I made it through the kitchen and into the dining room, banging my shin on a fallen table and tripping over a lamp. Stumbling forward, I hit the wall instead of the living room doorway, and fell face-first onto the bloody rug.
It was still damp and sticky, smelling of copper and urine. I dug my nails into the fibers of the plush carpet and pulled my feet under me in an effort to launch myself through the doorway. It took seconds for a demon to form. It would take me longer than that to get out of here and to my sword.
“Haxa Luz.” A globe of light flew from my hand. It was enough for me to see the doorway and the obstacles in the living room. I felt the demon behind me and dove forward. Razor sharp claws slashed through the back of my shirt, stinging as they striped my skin.
There was a cracking sound. Tremelay and Zrubek must be smashing the basement door open with whatever they found downstairs. I ran through the front door, slamming it shut behind me.
“Pechar.”
The quick spell locked the front door and threw the dead bolt. It wouldn’t be enough to stop the demon, but I hoped it would slow him. My back felt as if it were on fire as I ran for Tremelay’s car, the scar on my side a dull throb. As soon as my hand hit the trunk I realized my dilemma. Like a typical cop, the detective had locked the car, and thus the trunk. My sword was safely inside, out of reach.
That was the last time I got pressured into leaving my primary weapon in the trunk. I dug through my pockets for my keychain, well aware that it was a paltry substitute for my sword. The gold crucifix might be a deterrent to vampires, but it wouldn’t do much against a demon.
It was better than nothing.
I spun around, my cross held high, and got my first look at my pursuer. He had the body of a human, as so many demons did. Beyond that, Innyhal was a mish-mash of creatures. His legs were bird-like, his head that of a lion with four eyes. His hands ended with knives instead of fingers—five seven inch, double edged blades. He bared his teeth as he slowly approached, clicking the knife-claws against one another.
“T’voghnel anmijapes.” I shouted. It was the Templar blessing to banish. I’d used it successfully last week with the demon I’d somehow summoned in Vine’s place.
Innyhal hesitated, shaking his head as though I’d just hit him with a low-level stun gun. Then he made a noise that sounded like a cross between a laugh and a roar and kept on walking.
Why hadn’t it worked? I was a Templar. This was my birthright. Why hadn’t it worked? All I knew was that I was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, standing in front of a sedan with a keychain held in the air. And my side was killing me. It felt like needles were digging into my ribs. And if I didn’t get out of here, a whole lot more was going to be digging into my ribs.
The front door slammed open and I heard gunshots. Holes sprouted all over Innyhal’s body, purple blood blooming from the wounds. Tremelay and Zrubek kept shooting until their clips were empty, even though their bullets did less to stop the demon than my Templar blessing had.
I ran. Innyhal didn’t want them, he wanted me. He wanted the one being who was determined to send him back to hell. Some say demons aren’t smart, well, they’re wrong. They are smart, and self-preservation is their number one priority. Right now, I was the threat. Two cops with guns weren’t. He’d come after me, and if he killed me, Tremelay and Zrubek would be next. Not because they were threats, but just because they were handy.
I’m fast, but I’m human. I barely got to the end of the driveway before I felt claws slashing through the remains of my shirt. The cuts weren’t deep, but one of the demon’s knives hooked on my belt, and as sharp as they were, it caught long enough to knock me to the ground before the edge sliced through the leather. I rolled, trying to avoid the ten slashing blades, but one dug into my side. My breath left me as the pain of Innyhal’s claws cut through the skin and muscle right where my scar was.
In that moment when you’re facing death, weird things go through your head. My weird thought was that at least the knife cuts would accent the round burn mark that had inexplicably appeared on my waist this summer.
The demon snarled, saliva dripping from fangs in what my pain-filled delirium was taking to be triumph. Then his face changed. Four eyes widened, rolling backward into his head until all I saw were the whites. His body convulsed and white foam flew from his mouth. The claws left my body, and Innyhal clutched himself, pawing as if he were trying to remove parasites from his skin. Slowly he dissolved into a writhing mass of smoke, flying upward with a scream that nearly deafened me.
I panted and rested my head back on the grassy lawn, weak from the adrenalin rush and the pain in my side. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the two men running toward me. Tremelay was loading another clip into his pistol as if another round of bullets might do what the first dozen or so hadn’t.
“Holy shit, what was that?” Zrubek asked, his pistol at the ready as he spun around looking for the demon.
“It was a demon. Innyhal, the one who killed Benton Leigh and David Alban,” I told him, dreading getting up to check my injuries. Maybe if I just lay here a few hours, they would all go away.
“Is it gone?” Zrubek was still spinning around, peering with narrowed eyes into the bushes.
“As far as I know.” Still laying here. Still hoping I don’t have big gaping holes through my torso.
“You okay?” Tremelay appeared just as ready as the other detective, but his eyes were roaming over my body instead of the surrounding area. Too late I thought of my skimpy, tight attire. Wow, I must be practically naked after having the tank top nearly sliced off me. Although I doubted bloody claw marks were a sexy addition to my skin.
“Yeah.” I took his outstretched hand and stood, gingerly feeling my waist. The skin was totally smooth where Innyhal had dug into my side. Well, smooth except for the round lumpy scar. I took a deep breath in relief and winced. My back hadn’t fared such a miraculous recovery. I turned around to show Tremelay. “Stitches? Or will I be okay with a shower of hydrogen peroxide?”
At my words Tremelay flipped the safety on his pistol and stuck it in his back waistband. Before I knew what was going on he was yanking the shredded bits of my tank top aside and running his hands over my skin. It felt good—really good. It took me a s
econd to realize that his hands on my waist and back were all I felt at that moment.
“I think you’ll be okay with some tape and a tube or two of antibiotic cream. I saw him stab you in the waist, but all you’ve got are these cuts on your back. How the heck did you manage that? What, are Templars Kevlar-coated when it comes to demon claws or something?”
Not hardly. My hands joined his, but I felt nothing on my skin beyond a few old scars which included the circular shaped burn on the side of my waist. Reaching around to my back, I encountered the jagged edge of broken skin, my hand wet as it came away. Ugh. I should be happy I wasn’t bleeding out on the grass from a stab wound to the side, but my lack of serious injury troubled me.
I’d been pointedly ignoring that burn mark, but now I needed to face the cold, hard, sucky reality of what had really happened. That demon who’d appeared last week instead of Vine had gotten out of the circle and pinned me on the ground. Before I managed to banish the thing it must have marked me. That was the only explanation I had for the scar that had appeared out of nowhere. It looked old, but I’m positive it hadn’t been there before my summoning attempt.
Some demon had marked me. The thought made me sick, even though I knew in my heart that was probably what had saved me from Innyhal’s attack. It’s probably the reason I hadn’t suffered any lasting damage from the claws.
And it was probably the reason my blessing hadn’t worked. How the heck was I going to get out of this? All my blessings worked just fine last week. Could it be they no longer worked on demons because one had slapped his claim on me? No, I refused to believe that. Demons could only take a person if they willingly traded their soul and I’d done no such thing. Yes, I’d summoned one, but only for information. There had been no bargain. And even if there had, the wrong demon had arrived. I had to be mistaken. The mark was just a scar from my near miss last week. My Kevlar-coating had to be some Templar thing that I’d been unaware of. The reason the blessing hadn’t worked tonight was that in my fear I’d mispronounced a word.
I sucked at lying, even when I was trying to lie to myself.
Chapter 16
I’D PLANNED ON calling Janice to give her a quick update, then banishing Innyhal when I returned home, but instead I was doing some early morning home improvement. Thank heaven for those twenty-four hour Walmart stores who happened to have floor leveler in their fix-er-up section. I bought every box they had and spent the hours before dawn with the carpet and padding rolled against the wall, ensuring I had a smooth even surface for magical rituals. It hurt like hell, every outstretched arm and scoot on my knees across the floor pulling at the taped-up wounds under my T-shirt. Tremelay had been a good nurse, even if he hadn’t been carrying the narcotics I now desperately longed for.
I should have been sleeping. I should have been sprawled on my stomach on the bed, drooling with prescription pain-killers, but I had a job to do and I was determined to do it right—especially when the price I’d pay was my own life.
I’ll admit there was some jealousy of Tempest’s workroom driving my handyman efforts, but it was mixed with fear. Oak and Tempest had been skilled mages with decades of experience. If they screwed up enough to wind up dead, then I didn’t stand a chance. I wasn’t sure if the demon mark on my side was a result of an error on my part or not, but I was determined to not half-ass this sort of thing again.
Yes, the wisest course would be to swear off ceremonial magic, but that wasn’t going to happen. I just needed to be better at it and more careful. I knew there would come a time when I’d have to conjure or spell or summon and I wanted to be prepared. And there most definitely would come a time when I had to perform a ritual to get this demon mark off me. What ritual, I didn’t know, but that research was pretty close to the top of my list.
And I couldn’t ignore the fact that there was a higher demon running around the tri-state area—one I had failed to banish. As humiliating as it was, I needed to call in a Knight. Dad was a Librarian Knight, but Mom and my two siblings were Guardians. Roman was in Leesburg, Mom even farther away in Middleburg, but I knew Athena was at a symposium up in Philly this week.
My sister and I were the closest in age, but she was still seven years my senior. I’d been my parents’ midlife baby, the pesky kid following my teenage brother and sister around. We were tight, but with gaps of seven and ten years, we weren’t that tight. Still, Athena seemed thrilled when I called, telling me about her seminar on cursed objects and asking about the weekend’s LARP. When the small talk had run on for a respectable length of time, I reluctantly turned to conversation to my problem. Reluctant because I hated to admit my failure, and in all honesty the seminar on cursed objects did sound pretty cool.
“Innyhal? Are you sure it was him? A high level demon loose in DC? Holy gauntlets, Aria, you get all the luck.”
I was momentarily stunned into silence that Athena would consider being nearly killed by a demon luck. How bored were Guardians these days when human sacrifices, reaper angels, and rogue demons were experiences to be envied?
“Yeah, it was Innyhal. The sigil was unmistakable even if the four-eyed, lion-headed form wasn’t. I really need your help, though. I tried to banish him and for some reason it didn’t work.”
Some reason. I wasn’t about to admit to my sister that I’d probably gotten myself demon-marked. It was bad enough that I had to swallow my pride and tell her I failed to banish a demon. Me. A Templar. Even though I wasn’t a Knight, I was still empowered as part of our holy mission to send Satan’s minions back to hell. Gah, it was so humiliating.
There was a moment of silence from Athena—a poignant moment. I felt like I’d just admitted to peeing my bed at night or something.
“I’ll be right down. Let me wrap up a breakfast meeting with Elder Eustache and I’ll meet you at your apartment.”
Typical. She hadn’t asked if I had to work at my job, because for all the other Templars this was their job—their only job. Although, to be fair, a demon loose in the city did trump my responsibilities to corporate America. “What time? I’m helping a civilian detective on the death-magic sacrifice and we had plans this morning. I can switch them if I need to.”
Civilian. It made me want to laugh that as a Templar the police were considered civilians.
“Make it noon? You know how Elder Eustache talks and I haven’t even packed yet. It’s not an emergency, is it? Innyhal is all about death, warfare, and slaughter but I’ve read that he likes to plan a bit more than the usual Mars demons.”
True. “Outside of the two mages who summoned him, I haven’t heard of any other deaths.” Plus most demons preferred to kill at night, when the lack of light added to the terror of their murders.
“Noon, then. Oh, and I’ve got a package from Gran for you. I was going to swing by on my way home and drop if off anyway.”
I read between the lines, or in this case, words. The package was Athena’s excuse for a visit. I smiled at the thought that she’d wanted to visit me—the only one of my family to do so since I left six months ago. Not that it was completely their fault. I hadn’t left on the best of terms, and I’m sure they all wanted to give me my space so I could get through my little tantrum then come home and take my Oath of Knighthood.
Athena wanted to visit. She’d asked about the LARP, seemed genuinely interested in my life here—excited even. Could this be a sign that my family might eventually accept my choices? Lord, I hoped so.
I was exhausted, but I had a few more calls to make. I made quick work of briefing Janice, telling her the link between the DC mages with their hit list, and the Baltimore killings.
“I want to run this tomorrow morning,” she warned.
I winced. Would the story scare off the mages we were trying to catch? Plus I wasn’t sure leaking the story about the sacrifice would do much beyond panicking the public. “The victims might not even have known the mages responsible for this. I know you think there’s a motive, a method for selection, but I’m not co
mpletely convinced.”
“I’m running it, Aria,” she announced. From the tone of her voice I knew she wouldn’t be swayed. “People need to know. Maybe someone has seen something. Maybe one of their co-mages feels guilty and will come forward.”
I thought of Shade. He hadn’t necessarily felt guilty. As distasteful as he found the sacrifices, he’d believed them to be a necessary evil. Running this story was only going to make them close ranks.
Shit. Tremelay was going to kill me. “Don’t implicate Ronald Stull or mention him yet,” I warned. “I’ve got no proof beyond a slip of paper in his pocket with an address, his name on a hit list, and the word of a mage who wouldn’t even face me in person that he’s involved. Leave this all vague and anonymous so we have time to bring these people in.”
The line was silent for a few moments. “Okay. I’ll leave out Ronald Stull as well as the DC demon killings, and just run this as a death-magic, human sacrifice. I can add in the others once we figure out how they fit together.”
It was the best I could hope for. I promised to keep Janice in the loop, and received the same assurances from her. Then I hung up and dialed another number.
It was yet another attempt on my part to reach Raven. I’d called her from Tremelay’s car on the way back from DC. I’d called her while standing in the checkout line at the Walmart. I’d called her while on my knees smearing gray stuff all over my floor. I couldn’t stop caring about someone—or worrying about them—just because they’d had to make a choice between me and their magical organization. She’d chosen Haul Du, but I knew deep down inside that decision bothered her just as much as it bothered me. Two Haul Du mages had died last night. Maybe she was the one who needed to get out of town and hide in Virginia for a week or two.
This time she picked up the phone. “Aria, stop calling me. I’ve got hundreds of problems I’m dealing with right now. Are you in Virginia with your family?”