Witch Blood

by Anya Bast

  Talking to the piece of artwork she’d fantasized about whacking him over the head with would have had more impact. He strode past her and out the door. The lock turned on the other side, seeming to echo through the room.

  Isabelle sagged against the couch in defeat, fighting a swell of nausea from being in a locked room. She drew a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut. Now was no time for a panic attack. She pictured Thomas here in the room with her and her anxiety eased. Isabelle opened her eyes, steadier now.

  But where was Thomas really? Had they left him to bleed out somewhere in this building? Had they decapitated him like they had Boyle? Nausea threatened once more.

  She took slow, deep breaths in through her nose and out her mouth. The demon had said they might need her. Logic said the same would be true for Thomas. Likely they hadn’t killed him…yet.

  With short, jerky movements, she pulled the rest of the rope around her ankles free and hurled it across the room with a bellow of pure frustration. That task accomplished, she slid from the couch and grabbed the heavy crystal sculpture from the table near her. Hugging it to her chest, she prowled the room, looking for a way out.

  TWENTY-SIX

  THOMAS WOKE WITH THE STENCH OF DEMON MAG ick in his nostrils and his cheek against something hard and cold. He pushed up, grit digging into his palms, and groaned at the pain shooting through his thigh.

  When his eyes flickered open he glimpsed the interior of what seemed to be a cell in the dim light. An iron door with bars at the top. Concrete floor and walls. Ratty, folded-up blanket to serve as a bed.

  He raised magick, power flickering over his tattoo and down his arms, tingling the base of his skull. It came weak and sluggish because of his injuries, even in this place where his magick was more powerful. All the same, the pavement near his head pulsed as he manipulated it.

  Good. This place wasn’t like Gribben.

  A footstep sounded to his left. That’s all the warning he got. A booted foot struck his injured side and Thomas’s world went white hot with pain. He grunted, nearly tossed his cookies, and held onto consciousness with every last shred of willpower he possessed. Unconsciousness now could very well mean his death.

  “We have your female,” came a heavily accented voice. “If you cooperate, we will not hurt her.”

  Isabelle. Shit.

  Thomas forced himself to turn over onto his stomach, agony spearing down his thigh and through his middle. At least that pain wasn’t a quarter as bad as when the speaker had kicked him. He forced himself to focus upward, seeing a blond man staring down at him. “What do you want from us?”

  “Why have you come to ally with the Atrika?”

  He frowned. “The what?”

  “Your female tried also to feign ignorance, but we know that’s why you’ve come. That’s the only reason any aeamon comes here.”

  His mind whirled at the influx of information. Did that mean witches had come here before? No, warlocks, most likely. Not witches. Had they achieved it?

  Thomas’s vision blurred. He blinked and the demon came back into focus. “We came here accidentally. When we fought Boyle with copper, the spell he was cooking to open a doorway became unstable. We were caught in the maelstrom.” He drew an unsteady breath, feeling lightheaded. “There is no attempt on our part to ally with any Atrika.” Whatever the hell that was.

  The demon took three menacing steps forward, his boots crunching on the grit of the floor. “Do you think we don’t understand your goals? You forced the demon to open the doorway and then tried to kill him once you had no more need of him.”

  If Thomas had not been bleeding to death and at the mercy of a seven foot demon in an alien world, he would have laughed. “You think we forced Erasmus Boyle to bring us here? You actually think us capable of that? We just spent the last three weeks trying to stop Boyle from doing whatever he wanted.”

  “Ashe, this demon you know as Boyle, would never have returned willingly. He knew we would track and kill him as soon as he set foot on our soil again.”

  Thomas touched his thigh and winced. His hand came away red, warm and sticky with his blood. The wound had reopened. “He was…homesick,” Thomas replied on a tired sigh. Speaking cost him. All he wanted was to slip into unconsciousness.

  “Homesick?”

  “He would’ve risked anything to get back here, even death.” Thomas paused to drag some ragged gulps of air into his lungs. “Boyle was killing witches to get home. The only way to stop him was to poison him with copper, but it only did the job three-quarters of the way. We were pulled through the doorway and you finished him off in the field. That’s what happened. Why would we do our best to kill the demon before coming through the portal?”

  Silence.

  Desperation edged into Thomas’s body, more painful than his wound. Isabelle was alone somewhere with these creatures. What was happening to her?

  “So you could weaken him,” the blond demon replied. “Weaken him long enough to come through and then kill him. So you could prove to the Atrika that you are powerful enough to kill their former leader and gain their respect. But something must have happened to prevent you from killing Ashe on this side of the doorway.”

  Thomas closed his eyes. The demon didn’t believe him.

  “We will get the information from you, believe me, aeamon. We will obtain the truth. From you or from your woman.” He toed the wound on Thomas’s thigh, making him gasp and see stars. “It will not be pleasant…for you or the female.”

  “Let Isabelle go. Keep me. She’s an innocent in this.” So was he, but they didn’t want to believe that.

  “You have no bargaining chip here. We have you both. We will keep you both.”

  Thomas raised his head and snarled, “Fuck you, demon. If you have any sense of honor, you’ll let her go free.”

  The demon stiffened at the word honor and his eyes narrowed. “Do not insult my people,” he growled.

  He’d touched a nerve purely by accident. Not one to waste opportunities, Thomas played it up, trying to appeal to him as best he could. He knew nothing about their culture, but he’d use whatever was at hand in his goal to see Isabelle safe. He raised his head a little to hold the demon’s gaze. “In our world, we protect those we care about. It’s a code of honor we have…a code between warriors. Keep me and let the innocent female go. She knows nothing and you have no need of her.”

  “Aeamon, do you know the deal you strike? You will never see your world again.”

  He closed his eyes, on the verge of passing out. He nodded, his focus centered in one and only one direction. “Just make sure Isabelle does.”

  THE DOOR OPENED AND ISABELLE SWUNG HER WEAPON, only to find her wrist caught painfully. The sculpture was torn from her grasp, dropped to the floor, and shattered. Rue growled low at her and tugged her forward, through the doorway and into the corridor.

  “Where are you taking me?” she demanded, fighting him and allowing her gaze to eat up her surroundings at the same time. Polished dark green floor and smooth black walls. Many doors. Lights embedded in the ceiling. No other demons in sight.

  “Home.”

  She stilled, in shock at the sudden turn of events. Earlier it had sounded as though they might torture her for information she did not possess. Failing that, they would kill her. “What about Thomas?”

  “We have need of him. He stays.” He dragged her forward, down the corridor.

  Isabelle exploded into motion, pulling her arm back where he grasped her wrist, punching him with her free hand, kicking and screaming. She flailed against him, hurling every swear word and insult she could think of. Lady, she felt so tiny and insignificant in the face of his bulk. A gnat going toe-to-toe with an elephant.

  The demon turned, his eyes glowing red. “The head mage will not return. He has agreed to stay willingly if we set you free. Forget him and count yourself lucky. You will go back to your people and know we have been merciful with you.”

  He turned and pul
led her once more down the corridor. Against his superior strength, she had no option but to be dragged along.

  All she desired was Thomas, to touch him and know he was okay, to fit her face into the curve of his neck and inhale the scent of him.

  Isabelle now understood the meaning of the word despair.

  Emotion swelled within her, hot and hard. In the center of her chest, her magick pulsed in response, stronger here than it would have on Earth. Impulse made her act, to reach out for the only strength available to her. Tendrils of magick shot from her in all directions, seeking any moisture in her immediate area.

  The pipes in the walls, under the floor, above their head in the ceiling all began to bang. The small amount of moisture in the air coalesced on her demand, creating a mist around their heads.

  Her captor slowed, staring around him. Water erupted and sprayed down from a light fixture above their heads as it found any tiny crack or throughway to obey her call. To their left a pipe burst, sending liquid running down the wall.

  Somewhere in the building she found a large pool of water. Its calm depths purred at her for a moment before she yanked it toward them. Her magick was amazingly strong here. What would have zapped her energy on Earth only made her feel energized on Eudae.

  The roar of water approaching down the corridor behind them caused the demon to turn and scowl at her. “I have given your mage my word I would return you,” he yelled at her over the roar of the oncoming rush. “But he remains.”

  The wave of water turned the corner at the end of the corridor and rocketed toward them. Isabelle focused all her will on directing it past her, straight at the demon. She would escape him and find Thomas. “If he stays, I stay!”

  The demon stared at her grimly, his gaze holding hers. Then, right before the wave hit, he raised his hand and parted the sea. The water rushed past them both, barely wetting them.

  Isabelle closed her eyes against the swell of disappointment and grief rising from the center of her. Her knees went weak and she had to catch herself before she collapsed.

  Rue reached out, snared her wrist, and dragged her forward.

  Her feet slid on the wet floor as she resisted, but nothing could halt her relentless progress until the demon stopped in front of a large carved wood door. A monster with horns cavorted there, chiseled by a demon hand. It looked like a cross between a ram and a huge man. Rue waved his hand and the door opened. He pushed her through.

  The circular room had no decorations to speak of and seemed wholly utilitarian. The walls were of polished dark stone and the floor was also stone—dark green, marbled black, and marked with strange symbols in a circular pattern. Cabinets stood along the edges of the room and she wondered what filled them, what purpose they served.

  The chamber stank of demon magick.

  She could not only smell the demon magick, but feel it along her skin. It pulsed with a subtle light all along her body. Like walking into sunshine without the glow.

  Under the stink of demon magick lingered the lighter scent of herbs. Immediately it made her think of earth magick. She glanced more closely at the room and glimpsed bowls set in what seemed to be strategic locations. Very possibly the smell emanated from them in a sort of magickal potpourri of dried plants.

  Symbols marked strategic places on the floor at her feet. Cold inched up her spine at how closely it resembled a warlock’s demon circle. In the center, Isabelle could feel the subtle pulse and pull of a doorway.

  “Aptry domini,” he uttered.

  Light shimmered in the gateway, growing brighter.

  Thomas. Oh, Lady, she couldn’t leave him here.

  The demon placed a hand on her shoulder, as if to guide her to it. “I’m not leaving without him!” Isabelle shrugged him off, turned, and used every ounce of physical strength she possessed, going completely berserk. Still, he wrestled her kicking, screaming, and biting, as though she were a mosquito, into the circle, and pushed her through the doorway with not even a fare thee well.

  Isabelle fell.

  “THOMAS!” ISABELLE LUNGED INTO A SITTING POSITION and immediately doubled over and dry heaved.

  “Whoa! Whoa! Calm down, Isabelle.”

  Adam’s voice. That had to be Adam’s broad, warm hand on her back, too.

  She opened her eyes and saw shoes all around her, the toes pointed in her direction. Isabelle lifted her head, palms and knees biting into the concrete floor, and looked up at the witches who’d apparently been in the warehouse when she’d reentered.

  She remembered nothing from the time the demon had pushed her through until she’d dry heaved. Her body seemed to remember, though. She shivered and bitterness crept up the back of her throat, like she had the flu.

  “Damn it, Isabelle, you’re scaring me.” Without preamble, Adam scooped her into his arms and lifted her like a doll. Isabelle was too out of it to protest.

  Micah’s concerned face entered her view, but she couldn’t focus on it. Nor could she stop shivering. He put his palm to her cheek and grunted. “We need to get her warm and hydrated. I think she’s going into shock.”

  “My SUV is outside. Let’s get her back to the Coven. Jack and the others can wait here in case that thing spits Thomas out.” Adam walked toward the door.

  Thomas. They still had Thomas!

  Isabelle moved, struggling against him. “Wait! I can’t leave. Let me down—”

  “All right, all right! Calm down already.” He set her to her feet.

  She nearly collapsed and he offered an arm to steady her, which she grabbed on to with both hands. Her teeth chattered as she spoke. “They kept him. They kept Thomas.”

  Micah took her by the shoulders and forced her gaze to his. She shuddered and tried to get her eyes to focus. After a moment his face came in clearly. “Who are they, Isabelle? What do you mean?”

  She drew a breath and closed her eyes, arranging her jumbled, panicky thoughts. “We were pulled through the doorway, ended up in Boyle’s world, on Eudae. In the morning, the demons found Boyle and killed him, then located us somehow even though we were hidden.” She shook her head. “Maybe Boyle told them where we were as a final fuck you. I don’t know.”

  Micah tightened his grip and shook her a little. “Stay focused. The demons found you?”

  She nodded. “An Ytrayi demon sent me home, but said they intended to keep Thomas there.”

  “Ytrayi demon?”

  Ignoring Micah, she whirled—and nearly fell down—toward the place where the doorway had stood. “Out of my way,” she said as she pushed a couple people aside.

  “Isabelle?” Adam asked, right on her heels.

  She walked through the area, got down on her hands and knees and felt the floor. No trace of the doorway remained. Thomas was not coming through.

  Maybe he was never coming through.

  Adam touched her shoulder. “He can take care of himself.” His voice was the gentlest she’d ever heard from him.

  She stood, turned into him, and let him wrap his arms around her. “Damn it, Adam. I don’t want to lose him.”

  “None of us wants to lose that bastard.”

  “We have to open another doorway. We have to go back through and get him.”

  He set her at arm’s length apart. “We can’t do that, Isabelle, and you know it.”

  A small sob escaped her throat. She knew it. Only an Atrika demon could open a doorway, either that or a powerful, highly knowledgeable witch with the soul of a serial killer. Or maybe the Duskoff could do it. They’d be willing to murder to wedge the doorway open a crack.

  She shook her head. No, they could do nothing to get Thomas back.

  Thomas’s cousin, Mira, appeared on her right with tears brimming in her eyes. Mira placed her hand on Isabelle’s shoulder and Isabelle finally lost it. She turned into Mira’s arms and allowed the other woman to comfort her.

  During the course of the next two hours, many of the witches began to trickle out—heading home or back to the Coven. Finally
, only the core remained—Adam, Jack, Micah, Mira, and Theo.

  “You need to get back to the Coven, Isabelle. Get some sleep and food,” said Micah. He sat a short distance from her on the cold concrete floor.

  She shook her head and pulled the blanket they’d put around her shoulders a little tighter.

  Micah sighed. “You can’t stay here all night.”

  “Why not?” She continued to stare at the empty space that had been the doorway as if her will alone could bring him back.

  “Because you need rest and food,” Mira interjected. “Without these things, you’ll get sick.”

  Isabelle glanced at the pregnant air witch. She was beginning to get a lovely baby belly. “You need to get back, Mira. Not me. I’ll be fine.” She turned her head and speared Jack with a hard stare. “Get her out of here. Get her home and fed. This dank building is the last place she needs to be. While you’re at it, take the rest of these witches with you.”

  “We don’t want to leave you alone,” Jack answered.

  “Do it anyway. Please.”

  Silence.

  Isabelle resumed willing Thomas back into this dimension with only the power of her mind.

  Finally Micah spoke. “Tell me about that shirt you’re wearing.” His tone was downright covetous and she’d seen the way he’d been staring at it all evening.

  “On the other side I used my shirt to wrap Thomas’s wound. Since they found me topless, one of the Ytrayi demons dressed me in this. It’s yours at first opportunity, Micah. I promise you I never want to see it again.” Sorrow sliced through her stomach like a surgical blade.

  Micah opened his mouth, but Mira shot him a chilling look from across the room, and he closed it again. Isabelle would’ve bet every cent she possessed that he’d been about to ask more about the Ytrayi demons. She’d tell him all she could…later.

  More silence. More staring.

  Adam cleared his throat. “Listen. I’ll stay with her. The rest of you can head back.”

  “I don’t need anyone to stay with me,” she responded woodenly.