Demon Fire (Brimstone Magic Book 1)

by Tori Centanni

  And maybe I was born on the moon.

  Conor’s hand held the hilt of his dagger as we rode up the elevator. I kept my sword out and ready, not willing to waste the seconds it would take to draw it. I’d rather look combative and ridiculous than be caught out.

  When the elevator doors dinged open, the first spell came flying at us. There was no time to think. I ducked and rolled out of the elevator. Conor must have done the same, because he was beside me as the spell exploded behind us and knocked us forward. It had been a large ball of green energy, the size of a big watermelon.

  The club was pitch black. It wasn’t just the “closed for business” darkness we’d seen the first time. Now all sources of light were covered and the room was black as a cave.

  I kept my sword ready. Conor held his daggers. Another spell flew at us, illuminating part of the club in a sickly green light. I tried to identify figures in the darkness, figure out how many mages there were, but I could only see shadows. Conor grabbed me and pulled me out of the way as the spell flew past us. It hit the wall with a thud and erupted into specks, like glowing green ashes.

  “Careful,” Conor hissed.

  I nodded, rotated around, and pressed my back against his. We walked in a circle back-to-back, waiting for another spell to come at us.

  When it didn’t, Conor pulled a charm out of his pocket and held it up in his palm. It glowed. He tossed it into the center of the room. A flare flew up and clung to the ceiling, bathing the room in an orange light. I heard shuffling and chairs moving as the mages scrambled to get back into the shadows.

  I honed in on a figure and ran at them with my sword as they tried to escape the light. I swung at their hand as they tried to throw a spell at me. I missed their wrist but the blade caught a finger. It sliced through the bone and the digit fell to the ground with a meaty thump.

  The mage screamed, the spell dying in his hand. Drops of blood hit the floor. A spell flew at me from behind. I saw the glow in my periphery in time to turn but it hit me in the shoulder and threw me forward into the mage whose finger I’d just cut off.

  The mage shrieked and pushed me away, an automatic response, before starting to gather a new spell in his other, uninjured hand. I swung my sword at him again and he danced backward, out of reach of my blade. Another spell came hurtling toward me.

  I ducked and pivoted, charging toward my new attacker.

  As I ran, I saw Conor fighting with Mohawk, who was trying to conjure magic while Conor attacked him with his daggers, not letting the guy get the chance.

  I jumped with my sword and brought it down where the mage had been. He dodged, flying out of the way, landing on his side. He flung a big green ball of energy up at me from the floor.

  I dodged his spell and practically jumped him, pressing my blade into his throat. “How many of you are there?” I demanded, nearly out of breath.

  Before the wide-eyed idiot could answer, another spell, this one bright red and shaped like an arrow, came zinging at me. I had to duck down so I was on top of the mage.

  “Tell me!” I hissed in his face. “How many of you in this room?”

  “Fuh-five,” he said, voice shaky.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  I jumped up and spun my sword around, smacking him in the head with the hilt. He fell to the ground, the blow knocking him unconscious.

  I didn’t know if his number was accurate, but if so, that meant there were only four of these jerks left. I rushed toward the guy with the bleeding finger.

  He threw another spell at me. I tried to jump out of its path. It caught me in the leg. I collapsed and hit the ground, my hands going out to break my fall. My sword clattered to the ground in front of me. My head smacked into the leg of a table. Pain exploded in my forehead and my ears rang.

  I fumbled for my sword and forced myself to my feet. A wave of dizziness rushed over me and I clenched my teeth, pushing through it. Another red arrow flew at my chest. I managed to get out of the way and it sailed into the back of the mage who’d lost a finger. He’d turned to run after hitting me in the leg, and the spell knocked him to the ground. He jolted, as if being electrocuted, and then stopped moving.

  Two down.

  Three left.

  Conor screamed.

  Chapter 20

  A glowing purple net of magic surrounded Conor. He was on his knees, his daggers fallen by the wayside. The net of magic pulsed and he screamed a second time, his body writhing in pain.

  The mage casting the spell stood to his side, laughing. I didn’t recognize him and wondered where Mohawk had gone.

  I ran at the mage and swung my sword at his arm, to cut it off and stop the spell. The mage pulled back at the last second and the net around Conor vanished. A purple net flew at me. I hit the ground and rolled. The impact sent a jolt of pain through my elbow and shoulders. I ignored it and scrambled to my feet, rushing at the mage. He laughed maniacally as he backed up against the wall of the club.

  The bar was to the right of where he stood. Conor lay on the ground near the bar stools, unmoving. “Conor!” I screamed. No reaction. Whatever that magical net had done to him, he was out.

  I flew at the mage. “What did you do to him?”

  The mage only laughed harder. When he opened his eyes, I saw they were rimmed in red. Reflexively, I took a step back. And there was something else wrong about him. It took me a second to understand: he wasn’t a mage at all. He was a witch. A witch who was using mage-like magic.

  My heart slammed into my ribs. No, not mage magic.

  Demon magic.

  He flung the net out at me so fast, I barely had time to realize what was happening. And then the magical purple net surrounded me.

  It closed around me and shocked me, like an electric wire. Heat and pain burned through my veins. My muscles screamed. When the pain subsided, I could hear the mage’s laugher. I saw Mohawk pop up from behind the bar. He was on the phone and saying something while looking down at Conor.

  I swallowed, forcing myself to get my bearings. The net was still around me and when I moved, my hand hit it. The shock jolted through me again. My heart stopped. When it started again, my nerves were on fire. I gritted my teeth until the pain subsided.

  When it finally did, I glared out and surveyed the room. Mohawk was still behind the bar. The witch casting the spell stood in front of me. Conor still wasn’t moving. And if the other mage’s count of five was correct, there was someone else in the room. I turned my head carefully so as not to hit the magical net. Then I caught sight of her.

  She stood on the edge of the room wearing a long wool coat. She had been there outside of Harbor Heights, after it had exploded. She had short black hair and a hard expression. She walked to the mage I’d clonked in the head and bent to take his pulse.

  I looked back at Conor. Still as a corpse.

  Please be unconscious.

  I didn’t want him to be dead, just not awake to see what I was about to do.

  I gathered my demon magic. I knew it was demon magic in the net around me and I was going to fight fire with fire. The laughing witch saw the blue fire in my hand and stopped laughing. He gritted his teeth and pushed more power into the net.

  Two could play that game.

  I gathered as much power as I could pull from my own veins and from the hot, searing pain that ran through me. When I had a ball of fire the size of a softball, I pushed it against the purple net.

  Sparks flew as the spells collided. I strained to use my power to break through the net. The witch pushed more power into their spell, fighting to keep me contained. I pushed harder, gathering all of the energy I could muster.

  My ball of demon fire sparked and hissed against the net. With one final burst of energy, the net exploded into little bits of light and evaporated into the air. I fell forward when the net vanished and I had nothing left to push against, but caught myself.

  The witch’s red eyes had widened. He sure wasn’t laughing anymore.

  I
smiled at him. “Let me guess, you drink demon blood,” I said, gathering more fire in my palm.

  He licked his lips and cast about for help. I heard footsteps behind me. I turned and tossed my fireball at the woman mage or witch who was casting her own attack. A red arrow flew from her hand and hit the floor as she dodged my spell. My fire smacked into the wall and turned into a puff of blue smoke.

  She recovered quickly, forming another arrow so fast it seemed impossible.

  I flung a small ball of fire at the witch and then gathered one to throw at her. The arrow slung past my head, whizzing past my ear. Mohawk tossed a green ball of energy at me. The witch cast another net. I ducked and rolled. The green energy and purple net collided with sparks and smacked into the floor.

  I rolled over near Conor and saw he was breathing. His mouth was slightly agape and his face was pressed against the floor. But he was alive.

  That was one good thing. I ran at Mohawk, bringing my sword down on his head. He dodged and tossed a bottle of whiskey at me. It broke behind me and the acrid smell of liquor rose up from the mess.

  That gave me an idea. I jumped behind the bar. Mohawk was casting another spell. I grabbed the first bottle my hand could reach and smacked him over the head with it. Stunned, he dropped his spell. I hit him again and he flopped over, unconscious.

  Two left, I thought, panting and shaking with adrenaline.

  I could do this. I could get both Conor and myself out of here and we could call the Watchers to come gather these guys up, and this would all be over. The Watchers could question them and figure out what happened to Marcus. Maybe I could even convince Conor to let me have a go at interrogating them.

  Just had to survive the next few minutes. Easy peasy.

  I gathered another fire ball, but this one was harder to form. I could only burn through so much demon magic at a time before I needed to rest up and recover. I wasn’t out yet but I had to be careful.

  I set my sword on the bar and gathered up several bottles of high-proof vodka. I yanked bar rags out of a little cubby hole.

  Glass exploded behind me. The lady mage had shattered a bottle of gin with another magic arrow. The juniper liquor splashed the back of my jacket. Rags in hand, I jumped on top of the bar. I stuffed a rag in the first bottle and gathered a small amount of demon fire. I used it to light the rag.

  The mage, who’d been coming toward me, suddenly froze as she saw what I was doing. I smiled at her. Then I threw the Molotov cocktail right at her. She ran, her sneakers skidding across the dance floor as she shifted sideways and out of the direction of the bottle. It exploded on the floor and blue demon fire flashed, scorching the floor. One of the tables caught fire.

  The witch, who had gathered another net spell in his hand, stared openly at me. I shook a bottle at him and lit the rag, lobbing it toward him. He caught it in his magical net but it exploded over his head, throwing him to the ground. His head smacked against the floor with a loud crack! He was out.

  One left.

  The lady in the wool coat was running away. I stuffed the rag into the last bottle, jumped down off the bar, and grabbed my sword. Holding the bottle between my chest and elbow, I lit the rag. Then I ran toward her and hurled it at her feet. It exploded beneath her and she slammed into the door she was running for. She slid to the floor, and went limp.

  I looked around, waiting for more magic to fly my way. My breath was loud and my lungs burned.

  After a moment of stillness, I rushed over to Conor’s side. These guys were unconscious but any of them could wake up at any moment and start throwing more magic around.

  I shook Conor gently. He groaned and tried to roll over. I called his name and shook him again. His eyes snapped open. He looked around, panicked.

  “They’re all out,” I said.

  A crinkle appeared in his brow. He tried to sit up and flopped back down. “Back up arrived?” he asked.

  “No,” I said, confused. “Did you call them?”

  He shook his head and then winced, like it was painful to do so. I could relate. My own head was pounding and I was trying to stay ahead of the headache I knew was in bloom, along with a lot of other aches and pains. I think the rush of adrenaline and power of demon magic was keeping me upright, and not a lot else.

  “Just hoping maybe they were here anyhow,” Conor said. He tried again to sit up and was finally successful. He surveyed the room again. The lady mage was in his line of sight, and when he turned his head slightly, he’d be able to see the witch.

  So I pointed. “That one isn’t a mage. He’s a witch.”

  Conor gingerly swiveled his head and then let out a hiss. “The one who had that strange net spell?”

  “Yeah. Kind of an electrical net made of magic.” I shivered, remembering the way it made my muscles spasm and jump.

  “A witch shouldn’t be able to do that,” Conor said firmly, his tone commanding, as if he could order it not to be true.

  “He drank demon blood. He must have. His eyes were red and… he has way too much power. I think that’s what they’re all doing.”

  Conor made a face, which told me he found the idea as disgusting as I did.

  “We should probably get out of here before he wakes up and call that back up of yours.”

  I reached down to help Conor up. He grabbed my arm and pushed himself to his feet with a little help from me. He stood for a moment, dazed, looking over the damage. Chairs and tables had been pushed and blown aside. Walls were scorched. One table still had a tiny blue fire dancing on top of it. I willed it to stop and the flames died. Pock marks where spells had hit dotted the floor. It looked chaotic even if you ignored the unconscious bodies strewn about.

  Conor hobbled a few steps and his leg gave out. He grimaced. “I took a magic arrow to the shin.”

  I moved up beside him and pulled his arm over my shoulders so I could help him walk, though my legs were in pretty bad shape, too.

  The elevator doors had closed. I pressed the call button. Nothing happened. I pressed it again, harder this time. It didn’t light up. Worse, I didn’t hear anything moving behind the elevator doors.

  “That’s not good,” Conor muttered.

  A door behind us flew open. It was the one the lady mage had been running for, with a keycard lock and an “Employees Only” sign on the front.

  The lights came on, glaringly bright now that my eyes had adjusted to the dimness.

  A man in a cape and hat that immediately made me think of Jack the Ripper stepped into the club. He took off his hat and tossed it aside.

  Wilder.

  His eyes were rimmed with red, the way the witches’ eyes had been. Red veins pulsed out of his pale skin, bulbous and strange. His charming face from a few days ago had been sucked dry, leaving his skin clinging to his cheek bones for dear life.

  “What the hell,” I muttered. He barely looked like the same man.

  His expression was snarled and cruel. He kicked the poor mage at his feet. “Get up, Cara,” he demanded. The mage groaned audibly and rolled on her side, curling up in the fetal position.

  Conor pulled away from me and stepped toward him. I grabbed for Conor, trying to pull him back, urging him to really look at this monstrous man. Something was wrong with him. But Conor edged forward, out of my grasp. “Mr. Wilder.”

  “Just Wilder,” he corrected.

  “Okay, Wilder.” Conor took a shaky step toward him, but his voice never wavered. “You’re under arrest.”

  Wilder snorted and kicked at the mage again until she unsteadily rose to her feet. He pulled off his cape. “I’m afraid I don’t submit to the authority of the Magic Council, Mr. Ramsey. None of us do. We are the Order of Black and we make our own rules.”

  He shot a ball of energy at Conor. I screamed. Conor managed to duck and the fire went over his head, catching only the tip of his hair. Without any time for Conor to recover, Wilder shot another bolt at him. This one was purple and smacked into Conor like a bolt of lightning. Conor
’s body convulsed and he collapsed to the ground once more.

  “Conor!” I yelled. He didn’t move or react.

  “Take him to the holding area, Cara!” Wilder commanded the young woman.

  Shakily, she stepped forward. She pulled silver cuffs from a pocket and approached Conor warily, even though he wasn’t moving. I withdrew my sword and went toward her, ready to cut her down.

  “Not so fast!” Wilder called to me. He lifted a hand into the air and as he did, a wall of flame rose up, blocking my path. I tried to go around it but it quickly encircled me. The flame burned hot and red all around me. I couldn’t see anything but fire.

  I only knew Conor was gone because I heard the massive door bang shut.

  And then I was alone, trapped in a ring of demonic fire, facing a murderous witch.

  Chapter 21

  I don’t know how long I stood in that circle of flame, shut out from the world by a wall of fire. Long enough for my skin to dry out. My tongue felt like leather in my mouth. My legs ached, too, the injuries I’d sustained finally complaining as I was forced to stand for god-only-knew how long. The circle was just wide enough that I could keep away from the flames by standing in the exact center. There was no room to sit.

  I made one attempt to use my own demon fire to break through it but all it did was spark and I was worried about catching fire without room to put it out.

  The wall of fire never wavered. Demon fire burns as long the person who cast it wants it to, assuming they can sustain the energy to keep it going. That was one good thing: this fire had to be pulling at Wilder’s reserves.

  Finally, the wall of flame fell. Cold air rushed in to replace the heat and relief washed over me. I took a deep breath of cooler air and did a quick turn around the room. The unconscious bodies had been removed. Perhaps they’d woken up. They might be waiting in the next room to rush out and attack.