The Vengeance Demons Series: Books 0-3 (The Vengeance Demons Series Boxset)

by Louisa Lo

  “You know I never trick and tell.” Fir was grinning from ear to ear, scratching his potbelly.

  “Bullshit. You posted that Nerf gun on Instagram.” Naracion grabbed his phone and proceeded to find the virtual proof.

  Bonaventure the Third leaned closer to Fir and winked. “Next time, bro, give me a heads up so I can use it to prop up my Prediction of the Week, will ya?”

  The men roared with laughter, but then Bonaventure the Third’s eyes landed on me and the merriment on his face cooled by quite a few degrees. He cocked his head, taking in the rest of our little group and his frown deepened as his gaze lingered on one person, then another. “What the hell is this, man? You’ve brought enough vengeance demons here to form a siren’s girl band. Friends don’t take killjoys to friends’ place of business.”

  Picking up on his disapproval, his fan girls—mostly succubi who dined on the excitement and sexual energies of this place—sneered at us with soft hisses.

  “Don’t worry. I might be a vengeance demon, but I’m a mercenary,” Gregory explained.

  “And I’m on hiatus,” Serafina offered.

  I jumped onto the I’m-a-different–kind-of-vengeance-demon wagon. “And I’m a—”

  “Hybrid. We know that, Megan.” Bonaventure the Third’s lips thinned. “Are you here to arrest us again?”

  “I would hardly call that first time an arrest,” I argued. “It was just a little capture and torture. Come on, Fir was tormenting you, too, and you forgave him fast enough.”

  “Fir and I, we’re the same kind of people.” Bonaventure the Third folded his arms in front of him, a gesture immediately mirrored by his two sidekicks. “Whereas you bring us nothing but grief.”

  “Not true. This time I’m here to offer you something really fun and mutually beneficial. I swear.”

  The Off-Blacks didn’t seem to be listening; they were too busy sniffing the air around them. Then three pairs of shrewd eyes homed in on the bookish Pedro, who looked so out of place in this house of loud music and dirty trading.

  “Speaking of the same kind of people.” Bonaventure the Third gave Pedro a wolfish grin. Pedro took an involuntary step back, and Gregory inserted himself in front of the kid, partially blocking him. “Why, hello there. Don’t be shy. Aren’t you just all kinds of interesting? You got a similar signature as Fir, yet you’re no trickster. You’re a, well, I don’t believe it! You’re a changeling!”

  “We need to talk. Privately. Now.” I threw a look at the Off-Black’s succubus girlfriends, who had now also started testing the air around Pedro. From the secret smiles tugging at their lips, it would seem that they, too, had come to the same conclusion as the three stooges.

  Great. First Fir, then these guys and their girls. Looked like Sui-Ling’s organization went about it the wrong way when they spent millennia trying to figure a way to detect the changelings—all they had to do was ask the darker creatures. Typical vengeance demon arrogance.

  Every moment out in the open at this club, a place that catered to the aforementioned darker creatures, was an additional risk that more people would discover who Pedro was. An image of supernaturals fighting over Eldon on my parents’ lawn came to mind. We needed to be in one of the back rooms, and it needed to happen yesterday.

  “And why should we do that? What’s so tempting about your offer?” Despite the dismissiveness he was trying to convey in his voice, the calculating look on Bonaventure the Third’s face told me he was beginning to grasp the seriousness of the situation. Guys like him really kept up with the news, and by now he would’ve heard all about the public broadcast, whether or not it was supposed to be exclusive to vengeance demons or not. He would’ve known all about the alliance between the Council and their sworn enemy—the Greys. When your enemy gained a friend, that was bad news indeed.

  “I’m giving you a chance to stick it to the man.”

  ***

  We were in a private back room, and the boys had gotten rid of their female companions. It was a tight fit, but at least it was just as hard for the Off-Blacks to try anything funny as it was for us to defend against it.

  “So let me get this straight.” Bonaventure the Third did his best to pace along with his sidekicks, but kept knocking into one or both of them in the tight space. “You want us to hide you, help you rescue the current public enemy number one, then take him back home. And you want us to do all that at great personal risk to ourselves, with no profit whatsoever?”

  “It’s a steep bargain when you put it this way,” I admitted. “But look on the bright side, you get a chance to say ‘screw you’ to the Greys. And you know what their endgame is. You know what bringing back the Absolute Good would mean.”

  A new world order with an unforgiving take on justice, and a drive for honesty at all cost. No more watered-down Blue Unicorns, fairy wand knock-offs, and women with magically enhanced bosoms. No more impure creatures, either.

  “Yeah, but our own master will also have a shot at getting out, too,” Wistari countered.

  “Maybe we should take the chance, no?” Naracion puffed out his chest.

  I narrowed my eyes at the Off-Blacks. I’d long suspected that despite all the big talk about striving to be as evil as they could possibly be, if the Absolute Evil ever knocked on their door, these boys might just pee in their pants. It was like the difference between saying you wanted a certain radical politician to win the election and having him actually come into power and start giving you a real dose of what his ideals truly meant.

  “Alright, let’s say for a moment that the Absolute Evil managed to escape as well. Hooray. Then your mighty master is going to go after the equally mighty Absolute Good. Two powers, evenly matched. Geez, it’s going to be a war that’ll get dragged out for centuries. They’re probably going to have to take over this little club for their war effort. The first floor would make a nice field hospital. Second and third floors could be used for interrogation. How’s that sound? What else have you got? Gold? Goblin-made silverware? Well, not anymore. It belongs to your master.”

  The Off-Blacks looked at each other and swallowed. It was clear that they preferred their little slice of capitalist paradise to remain a place of excitement, not pain. And to stay theirs. Who could blame them?

  “What? No takers? Come on, guys. It’s going to be so much fun it’ll be criminal. You can either be annihilated by the Absolute Good, or be dragged into the ultimate fight between Good and Evil.”

  A long pause.

  Bonaventure the Third said with as much dignity as he could muster, without actually admitting that I had a point, “We’ll assist you in this venture of, as you called it, sticking it to the man.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Goodnight or Good Morning

  WE SETTLED IN FOR the night, though it was actually already early morning, in the large attic of the Bureaucracy. We needed to rest before Esme got here. The Off-Blacks left and headed off to who-knew-where, hopefully not to betray us. I doubted it, but you never knew.

  The last song before the club closing had finished playing, the mean drunk who had been cursing like a sailor in the alleyway below quieted, either from passing out or getting sober enough to move on. Everyone waved the standard sleepover charm and conjured a pillow and a blanket, making themselves comfortable on the floor.

  Fir was surrounded by a good selection of flasks. Some borrowed from the Off-Blacks, filled with herbs and various ingredients for the ritual, and some straight from his own backpack for personal enjoyment. He took a swallow from a flask of Hell Fire Whisky, and was dead asleep before his head hit the pillow.

  I noticed the forlorn look on Pedro’s face as he hugged the blanket to himself, and wondered what was on his mind. Was it his first time away from home? Or was he upset that his parents might be worried sick? Out of fear of placing them in danger, we’d agreed not to contact them except to send them a short text saying he was staying at a friend’s for a few days. Not very plausible given his less than act
ive social life, but we really couldn’t afford to tell them what was happening until it was over.

  Gregory was more prepared than the rest of us. He opened a compartment attached to his belt that contained a magically miniaturized futon, a night table, a rug, and even a book. He found a corner, turning everything back to their regular size. He adjusted the futon into a half-sitting position, sat on it, and promptly opened the book to a marked chapter. I wasn’t sure if I should be impressed by his preparedness, or wonder about a lifestyle that made it necessary. Mostly I just wanted to find a discreet way to peep at the title of his book. Was it Of Vice and Men, or something similar?

  I figured after the almost-kiss we shared, I was justified to have a little curiosity.

  Except ever since the aforementioned incident, I’d been avoiding looking directly at him. How could I possibly get the title of the book without looking straight at the person who was holding it?

  I took a deep breath and decided to get on with it. I turned, cranked my neck, and looked.

  It was Baking with the Cake Boss.

  Seriously?

  Gregory noticed my stare, lowered the book, and said defensively, “I try to stick to light reading right before bed. My mother’s fortieth birthday is coming up. I want to surprise her.”

  So his mother had him when she was very young, a lot younger than his wealthy and powerful father. And Gregory loved her.

  With a sweet tooth and being a regular viewer of cake-making TV shows, I found myself excited over the fact that Gregory could bake. I wondered if his cake would be theme-based, and if so, would it feature any motorized parts, and for fondant would he be using chocolate, my favorite…

  Stop fantasizing about his baking, that would only lead to fantasizing about him feeding you cake pieces by hand, or being naked under an apron…

  Hey, who’s letting her imagination get ahead of her here? I thought you are supposed to be my rational side.

  I forgot. Anyway, back to the script: we hate him, we hate him, repeat after me—

  —oh, come on, you gotta admit, the guy’s got a hell of a back story. Born in shame. Embarked on a shady career at an age when many were still children. Resourceful and smart. Even loves his mom and that group of mercenaries he considers family…

  Now you’re gushing. I’m so embarrassed for the both of us.

  “Okay, everybody. I’m sleeping now,” I called out in a voice that was just a little too loud and squeaky, and abruptly casted a spell of instant darkness around myself, not caring if Gregory wondered about my lack of response to his explanation. I just didn’t trust myself to continue that conversation without drooling, and not just over the cakes.

  My words were greeted with varying degrees of grunts, sighs or in Fir’s case, a snore.

  How I envied my half-brother.

  I thought it would be hard to fall sleep, given the event-filled days, the state of the world, the act of roughing it on the floor, and thoughts about Gregory that my conscious mind refused to process. Yet sleep came easier than I thought. Well, maybe not deep sleep right away, but I was soon drifting in and out of that state halfway between dreamland and wakefulness.

  Then the ground shook.

  “What the heck!” Fir cursed, his collection of flasks shaking and crashing into each other in a chorus of musical jingles, their contents spilling onto the floor and soaking his blanket. I wasn’t sure if he was more outraged over being roused out of his sleep, getting his bedding wet, or the lost alcohol.

  I was caught in that paralysis between awake and asleep, my body already relaxed but my mind still sharp. As I laid there while the world shook around me, I willed more adrenaline to pump into my bloodstream and get me going again, for my body to catch up to my brain. I really, really hated the feeling of helplessness while trapped inside my body. Seemed to have enough of that happening in the last year.

  By the time I got up from the floor, the tremor had ceased.

  Only to restart half a minute later.

  By the time the Off-Blacks came into the room with Esme in tow, a third tremor had come and passed.

  I kept trying to tell myself that the tremors had nothing to do with Eldon or the changelings or anything that was going on in our lives right now, but deep in my guts I knew they were somehow connected.

  “Look what we’ve got here. Another vengeance demon,” Bonaventure the Third announced, rolling his eyes.

  “Hey, Esme,” I greeted her.

  “Megan.” Esme glanced at the Off-Blacks and looked at me questioningly, her eyebrows raised. She must be puzzled by the company I’d chosen to keep. I would be, too, if I wasn’t so desperate. Strange times made strange bedfellows, and nothing united people like a common threat. Besides, the Off-Blacks really weren’t bad guys, despite their fascination with evil.

  “Meet Bonaventure the Third, Wistari, and Naracion.” I pointed at them. “They own this club and have agreed to hide us. So, what have you got for us?”

  Esme bit her lip, her gaze strayed to the Off-Blacks again.

  “It’s okay,” I assured her. “They’re our friends. Kinda. So were you able to find Grandma?”

  “Yes, but it’s very bad news. In the Council meeting Grandma was basically outvoted in the matter regarding Eldon. Then a group of Council members called a vote on the alliance with the Greys out of the blue, and that got passed by majority, too. The public announcement is a result of that meeting.” Esme shuddered. “I’d never seen Grandma so angry before.”

  I would imagine she must be. Gran had been in politics for decades, had built her own network of contacts and spies from the ground up. It took work to blindside someone like that, especially when as of yesterday the Greys were officially the enemy.

  And now we were on the verge of war as a result.

  “Where is she now?” I asked Esme.

  “She’s scrambling to rally her supporters. Quietly.”

  I’d never thought the words scrambling and Grandma would go together. It further drove home that we were on our own.

  “What about these quakes? Do you know what caused them?” Gregory asked.

  “I do. From what I can learn from Grandma, they are the side-effects,” Esme sighed and continued, “of the Council trying to breach the inter-dimensional barrier into Dualsing with a very, very dull knife.”

  Serafina paled. “They broke Eldon?”

  “No, and that’s the problem.” Esme reached over and laced her fingers with Serafina’s in a show of support. “He refused to tell them anything, so the Council and the Greys gathered the best hags they had, and tried pushing through to the changeling plane using Eldon’s body as a locating anchor. Without his consent.”

  “Well, good luck with that.” Fir snorted. “Without a changeling’s active involvement or jewels like the Eye of Sebille, the passage wouldn’t be fully formed even if a partial address could be pulled. It would be like trying to cut through a rubber tire with a plastic knife—lots of bouncy resistance that gets you nowhere.”

  “Is that what the tremors are all about?” Pedro asked.

  “Half-formed passages are unstable, and they build up tension at the very core of the planes involved,” Fir explained.

  Horror dawned on Serafina’s face. “These aren’t just seismic activities we’re experiencing. The Council is literally tearing the planes apart in the quest for vengeance.”

  “No, not for vengeance,” I said softly. “For pride and power.”

  I turned to Fir. “So you’re sure that they’re not going anywhere with this plastic knife experiment?”

  “I’m positive,” Fir confirmed. “But the problem is not whether or not they could get through the barrier. If they keep up these small tremors for over a day or so, there’ll be irrevocable damage to the vengeance plane on a structural level.”

  “Urgent as that is, we need to get a few hours of rest.” I looked around me. Though everyone seemed genuinely eager to get on with our rescue plan, and every minute was painful
for Eldon, there was no doubt that we were on our last leg. The mind might be willing, but our bodies had reached the limit. The jarring to wakefulness from that very first tremor simply put us on yet another roller-coaster ride. We had to rest if we were to bring our A game.

  When the next tremor hit, I snapped my fingers, throwing a shield called the Bubble Boy around the attic. I’d occasionally use this spell to block out the sound of the alarm clock, and often it worked just a little too well. So hopefully it would help us get some real sleep.

  Bonaventure the Third’s eyes fell to the mess of broken flasks around Fir. “We’ll go get the ingredients replaced while you rest.”

  Luckily while the club might be closed, most of the black markets in this building never did.

  The Off-Blacks left. Everyone settled back down into their makeshift beds.

  Except Serafina.

  That was my last thought as I closed my eyes, the last image I saw was of her standing by the window, staring into the breaking dawn.

  ***

  I woke up about two hours later. I could’ve slept for much longer, dead to the world that I was, but instinct alerted me to danger. I forced my breathing to remain slow and even, my eyes shut but not too tightly, and sent out my senses.

  Fir, Esme, Gregory, and Pedro were all deep asleep. Serafina was still by the window. There was a stillness in her spirit that felt unnatural, awake or not. I would make a bet that she was in some kind of trance. Two foreign energy signatures were present in the room, hovering just below the ceiling of the attic.

  I slowly opened my eyes a little. I expected to see a pair of banshees, or fairies. Anything that could fly or float in midair.

  There was no one.

  Even with the heavy black-out curtains and the Bubble Boy shield blocking the early morning sunlight, the room wasn’t so dark that I couldn’t see anything if it was there.

  I closed my eyes and put my faith in my senses again. There they were, unmistakable, two distinct cores of power looming over me and my friends.

  Well, that explained why I never heard anyone barging in, or the blaring of the Off-Blacks’ many alarms. Our uninvited guests were substance-less. Or at least they could take on that form.