by Louisa Lo
But did I dare? What if I let myself go again, and this time I couldn’t stop? I felt like a recovering alcoholic at a social dinner, afraid of having even one sip of the proffered wine.
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t afford to go into Carrie territory. Not now.
But Esme needed me.
Damarion was holding a whip made of silvery strands. With the same eerie glow of the silver web that had trapped me before, the whip burned the floor like acid wherever it touched the ground. Damarion pushed Esme back with each deafening crack of the whip, until she was backed against the far wall with nowhere else to go, and it was a struggle to block every strike.
She wouldn’t last long. But if I helped, who was to say I wouldn’t accidentally kill her myself? I had no faith in my own power. Not vengeance, and definitely not trickery magic.
Fleur’s merry laughter rang in my head. “My silly girl, don’t you realize it is exactly the trickster part of you that makes you excel at vengeance? Who do you think gave you inspiration for all those good-old ironic twists? Trust your vengeance demon side to anchor you, and embrace all that I stand for.”
Alright, since she put it that way…
I let myself go, tapping into my trickery magic, releasing all its creative brilliance until it wrapped around me like a shimmering rainbow. At the same time, I was secure in the knowledge that my level-headed vengeance demon side was holding the other end of the bungee cord. Always grounding me, never failing me.
I concentrated all my will on Damarion and wove in the Moses, a classic trickery spell named after its most famous victim. Lost in the desert for forty years, anyone?
In a trance, Damarion pivoted around and around on the spot as if all of a sudden he couldn’t see where Esme was anymore, even though she hadn’t moved an inch since my spell had started. I took the opportunity to do a Mirage—another desert-themed spell—and interposed an image of Esme onto the mouth of the tunnel.
Damarion stopped turning and focused on the fake visual of my half-sister. He had unfocused eyes and a relaxed smile often seen on drunks at high noon. “There you are. Where do you think you’re going?”
He walked towards the tunnel, pronouncing each step with another crack of his whip. A number of stray strands flew into the tunnel and got themselves caught up by something on the other side. In a blink, the whip pulled Damarion into the tunnel, like an over-stretched elastic band being returned to its original shape.
If Damarion liked the Absolute Good and Evil so much, he could stay with them, for all I cared.
With Damarion and his hypocritical self-righteousness serving as a sealant on the other side, the passage to the two extremes started to destabilize. The tunnel winked out of existence, to my ultimate relief.
But that was before I realized it was sending out a shock wave towards all of us remaining in the throne room.
***
The shockwave disintegrated my cardboard box jail and tossed me against the wall like a rag doll. What was worse than my physical pain was the mental void the breaking down of the dissonant core left behind. It was as if I’d been balancing on a tiny bicycle on a piece of rope, then the rope got severed and I found myself free falling. For a few agonizing seconds that felt like a lifetime, the deafening lack of vibration brought a high pitched ringing to my ears, and I cried out in pain.
Then the mental void was filled with an outpouring of my half-sister’s concern, and the pain was lessened.
“Megan!” Esme ran to my side. “Are you alright?”
I nodded weakly and looked around. Dan Pillar was caught in a magical full-body bind-slash-protective barrier, which I assumed was courtesy of Esme, but other than the three of us, nobody else was in the near-empty throne room.
“Where are the other monks? Dan’s henchmen?” Had they escaped? I would find them and bring them before the Council as witnesses to tonight’s event. Even the most stubborn of old guards would have to listen in the face of hard evidence. Well, those who weren’t part of the plot anyway.
“The monks jumped planes, and the henchmen, being fragile humans, all got vaporized by the shockwave. I barely had time to shield this one.” Esme pointed at Dan, then at the ceiling, which was rumbling ominously. “We’ll track the monks down later. But we gotta go now. This whole place is going to cave in a few minutes.”
The ceiling started crumbling, raining large rocks down on our heads. Looked like we had even less time than we thought. Well, at least I still had one captive to take with me. I grabbed Dan and flew him through the portal Esme just opened out of thin air.
Esme and I threw ourselves into the portal right before the whole throne room went to hell.
Well, not literally. Having such concrete evidence of the Greys’ existence delivered right to Hell would’ve been too easy for me.
***
I rolled out of what appeared to be a fireplace, the momentum of the collapse smacking me right into the opposite wall. I hoped this whole wall-kissing thing didn’t become a habit.
“Ouch.” I groaned as my back made contact with Esme’s elbow when we both dropped to the ground like beat-up bowling pins.
“We’re on the human plane. Hart House again, from the looks of it,” Esme stated. And not the bootlegged one, either. The feel of the wall, as I’d learned from firsthand experience, was too solid for a non-real plane.
Since Dan had a history of getting away from me, my eyes went searching for him the moment I steadied myself. While I’d been rolling, I’d caught a glimpse of him on the cream-colored carpet in the center of the room.
He wasn’t there anymore.
A strange sense of sleepiness threatened to take me under. My muscles relaxed involuntarily, and my legs turned to jelly. One look at Esme, who was barely holding her upper body from the ground with her elbow, told me she was feeling the same strange lethargy as I was. I tried to force myself to panic, to be alarmed, but all I could feel was a sense of utter complacency and laziness. I made my heavier-by-the-minute head turn from side to side, trying to see if Dan was responsible for this. It could be the surviving monks, for all I knew.
At the corner of the room to my right stood Dan; looked like the portal had disabled his full-body bind. He was holding a small baby bottle, the type the shelter used to hand-feed newborn kittens. But instead of milk or formula, there was maroon-colored faery dust in it. With each shake of the bottle, Dan sprinkled a dash of magical adrenaline suppressant on Esme and me, rendering our bodies weak and useless. It couldn’t kill us, but it would slow us down. A lot. The crystal-like dust sparkled eerily in the dark room, matching the dread that was now spreading across my system.
“You have three choices.” I tried to keep the panic out of my voice and ignored the lead-like feeling in my body.
“Oh?” Dan raised his eyebrow as he put away the baby bottle, confident that he had us. And he was right.
“You can make a run for it, or you can kill us, then make a run for it. I wouldn’t recommend the second option, as we vengeance demons are pretty hard to kill. Might slow you down, you know.”
“More the reason I should stop listening to your babbling and get gone.” Dan turned towards the door.
“But you really should listen to my third choice,” I said quietly, trying my best not to ruin the dramatic effect by slurring my words. “The health, happiness, and freedom of your grandson depends on it.”
He spun around. “Are you threatening to hurt him?”
“No, I’m threatening to hurt you through him.” I might not have had the heart to do it before, but tonight’s events transcended sympathy and kindness. Dan was my only non-blood-related witness for Damarion’s actions. Not to mention, he was a treasure trove of who-was-working-for-whom across the planes. He needed to be questioned, then brought to trial in front of the Council. I owed it to the safety of all the planes to do whatever it took to take him in. “You know enough about me to know I mean business.”
“No.” For the first time, other than arrogance and
self-centeredness, there was real emotion in Dan’s voice. Genuine concern and fear for his grandchild. Dan took out a nasty-looking knife. “Then I’ll just have to kill you now.”
“Too late. Five seconds ago I finished sending a mental call to arms to all my vengeance brethren on the public psych link. They might not like me, but they will avenge me. If they don’t hear back from me in fifteen minutes, Will’s going to get it. You can’t gut me and reach him in time. Go quietly, and I’ll call it off.”
Call it blackmail. Call it ruthlessness. I intended to get the job done.
Dan stopped in his track—not leaving, yet not stepping forward to gut me, either. We were at an impasse.
But time was not on my side.
With my eyes almost closed and my eyelids weighing a ton on my face, I knew I didn’t have long before losing consciousness.
I had one last trick up my sleeve.
I used the last of my strength to reach up and touch my pearl pendant, remembering the cute little burp it had given off when it had absorbed the anti-magic balm on its surface. I silently commanded it to do the same for the faery dust on my person. I wasn’t sure if I was using my vengeance or trickery magic, and in a way, it really didn’t matter anymore. I was using Megan magic, which had a flavor all of its own.
Dan watched as I stood slowly and stretched, and he didn’t run, though he still could’ve. I willed my pearl to work on Esme. In no time, she opened her eyes and looked around. Her alertness had made a full return.
Satisfied with her condition, I turned to Dan. Keeping my eyes on him, I took out my cell phone and dialed a number I’d never called before but had memorized since my first week at Vengeance U.
It was picked up after a single ring. “Hello, this is Reapers ’R’ Us. How may I help you?”
My eyes didn’t leave Dan’s face as I answered, “I’d like to call in a pick-up. Code Silver.”
“I’ll send a dispatch ASAP.”
Dan dropped the faery dust bottle with a defeated slump to his shoulder, looking a decade older than he had at the beginning of this evening. Code silver meant he’d be escorted by reapers under maximum security, as this was a special case if there ever was one. He was not technically dead yet, but based on his role in the crimes against the Cosmic Balance, he’d most likely be after the trial.
But not before he coughed out some names. A lot of names. And if I found out the likes of Madeleine or Cousin Fred were indeed involved with the Greys, then Hell had no fury like, well, me.
In under a minute, a trio of senior-level reapers materialized in front of us. With a little more backbone than I’d given him credit for, Dan walked up to them with arms at his sides. I noticed the reapers didn’t bother to cuff him, not just because Dan had nowhere to run, but also out of respect for his lack of resistance. I gave them the information to retrieve Guillermo after they were done delivering Dan.
Dan turned toward me. “You’ll stop the call to arms right away.”
I nodded. “Already done.”
He curved his lips slightly, in mockery or maybe even self-deprecation. “They’re going to get it out of me anyway, so here goes. Eight.”
“Huh?”
“The Greys are divided into eight sects. I headed one, Enid another.”
“You mean there are still six of them out there?”
“Yes, and they won’t stop. Good luck.” Dan’s eyes glinted. Was that a fair warning or a taunt? I knew not.
In a flash they were gone, prisoner and soul collectors.
There was just Esme and me left. I collapsed against the wall, and Esme rushed to support my elbow. “Hey, you alright?”
“Just give me a minute.”
“There is no such thing as a public psych link, is there?” Esme bit her lip.
“Believe it or not, there is. I picked that one up when I shared minds with Grandma.”
“Oh.” She seemed surprised at that.
“But you have to be arch demons or above to use it, let alone call arms. So I did lie.” Despite knowing it had been the only way to get Dan to turn himself in, I still felt kinda crappy about threatening to hurt an innocent who was his grandson. Well, not crappy enough to not give my inner trickster the thumbs up. I guess part of growing up, and growing into the career that I’d chosen, was to understand that there was no such thing as a perfect vengeance.
“We’ll hunt down the other cells.” Esme placed her hand on mine, letting her warmth and comfort flood through me.
“As soon as my suspension gets lifted.” I nodded.
“It was just a matter of time, even before tonight. Now you won’t have any problem at all.”
And I had a favor to return to Gregory. Damn if a part of me wasn’t looking forward to that. Later, I’d lie to myself and say that my motivation was purely for Serafina’s sake, but not at this moment.
I’d gotten Esme back, completed my first co-op assignment, and I’d discovered my grandma’s love. Not bad for a day’s work.
But most of all, I’d found myself.
I was a proud vengeance demon and an equally proud trickster. Heaven—and Hell—help anyone who’d been up to no good.
THE END
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BEFORE
VENGEANCE
VENGEANCE DEMONS
BOOK 0
A Novella
Louisa Lo
What if everything you’ve ever known, down to what you are, was a lie?
Growing up in the enchanted kingdom of Dualsing, seventeen-year-old Lady Serafina has always known she’s different. Her fae power never manifested itself during puberty, and her parents treated her like a tolerated houseguest rather than family. Even her childhood sweetheart, Crown Prince Eldon, distanced himself the moment he was old enough to know the secret about Serafina that everyone in their world seems to know—except her.
Now her upcoming birthday is being treated as a national holiday by the very people who have neglected her and Serafina is developing abilities that feel terrifyingly right, but aren’t fae power at all.
As she starts to investigate her origin, Serafina has no idea she will be setting in motion events that will have far-reaching consequences not just for herself, but for all the planes.
Note: BEFORE VENGEANCE is a prequel of VENGEANCE BE MINE.
Copyright © 2015, Louisa Lo
Published by Tin Can Press
All Rights Reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, or otherwise, without expressed written permission in writing from the author.
Cover Design: Jacqueline Sweet
Cover Photo: Sara Eirew
Editing: Joshua Essoe and Jena O’Connor
Beta Reading: Christie Stratos and Gina Grant
Interior Design: Tina Moss
Before Vengeance/Louisa Lo—1st edition
ISBN: 978-0-9939396-5-5
Dedication
To Austin.
Chapter One
Serafina
UNDER THE FADING SUN, I hurried past the palace square, keeping my shoulders slumped and my eyes downcast. To the conversing nobles in the vicinity, all they saw was a misfit. Someone looking to avoid trouble and attention.
The truth was, I was trying to avoid bringing
attention to the trouble I might cause.
“Lady Serafina,” Alston, the royal butler, called from behind me.
I whirled around on the smooth, white marble floor. Alston balanced a jug of honey in each hand. The lower grade honey was intended as payments to the brownies for their housekeeping service.
I tried to concentrate on Alston’s words, and not the fact that the honey had been skimmed off the top by the butler.
Damn my keen sense of right and wrong, so utterly opposed to what everyone else on this plane considered normal.
“M’lady,” the imposing butler seemed disgusted with himself for having to address me. He didn’t even bother with a bow. “I’m to inform you that on the day of the Crossover, you’re to come to the South Tower before dawn.”
I nodded and started walking, hoping that would be all.
“One more thing,” Alston blocked my path, his eyes dropped to my neck with deep disapproval. “May I remind you to wear the Eye of Sebille at all times. I cannot stress enough the importance of it.”
A couple of noble ladies close by snickered at me, their laughter rang across the square like bells. Their pixies, taking cue from their mistresses, zoomed right by my braid rather than keeping a respectable distance.
I swallowed, my fingers brushed against my bare neck of their own accord. The Eye of Sebille was a long necklace with a bejeweled, egg-sized pendant. I hated wearing it. Not just because of its dead weight and sharp surface, but because of the mystery it represented.
In all my seventeen summers, I had never laid eyes on the Sebille family heirloom. Now, I was suddenly expected to wear it all the time. Why? Did it have something to do with my birthday?
When Alston passed by me, one of the honey jugs brushed against my arm. As the glass made contact with my exposed skin, sensations exploded though my system. It was as though in that moment, I could feel the hardship of the brownies, thankless servants little better than slaves. I felt their every yawn, every sore muscle, and every blister.