Demon Fire (Brimstone Magic Book 1)

by Tori Centanni

  I strained to hear over the pounding drum of my heart. My head swam and it took all of my effort to keep standing upright.

  The elevator was still closed and probably turned off. I cast around the room for other means of escape. Fire codes meant there had to be more exits, but then again, I doubted keeping up to code was a huge priority for a guy who ran a demonic dance club or whatever this place was.

  The employee-only door was shut. I didn’t see any other doors, so if they existed, they were hidden.

  “You have demon magic.”

  I startled, shock shaking my body.

  Laughter filled the air around me. Wilder appeared from the shadows. He’d been hiding in a dark corner. I frowned. No, that wasn’t right. There weren’t enough shadows to hide in.

  Except he’d literally stepped out of darkness. And then the darkness had evaporated around him.

  Wilder wore a black t-shirt. I could see the veins popping out of his neck and forearms, like angry red scars. His eyes were red and his hair was streaked with white. He looked too thin, like someone had vacuumed out his innards. I tried to remember how many days it’d been since I’d first met him. Too few for such a transformation.

  “What happened to you?” I asked.

  His lips curved up at the corners. He stepped back and held his hands out, displaying himself like a prize. “I have fulfilled my potential.”

  “Looks to me like you got run over by a chemical truck that was leaking,” I said.

  Wilder stared, his head tilting slightly as he studied me. “You did not answer me.”

  “You did not ask a question,” I said, mocking his tone. “Where’s Conor?”

  “The Watcher?” Wilder’s eyebrows flew up as though he was surprised I was asking about my companion. “My dear, the Watcher would see you hanged for the power you possess.”

  Ice crawled down my spine. He wasn’t wrong. I believed Conor was a good guy but he hated demon magic with a fiery passion. If he knew my secret, he’d assume Lana was right and I’d been working with these guys all along. And he wouldn’t hesitate to throw me in the dungeon or send me to the gallows.

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  Wilder came closer and the stink of ichor and rot hit me in the face. I coughed and wrinkled my nose in an effort to block out the stench. “You’re one of us,” he said.

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Where did you acquire your demon magic, little witch?” he asked, inching ever closer. I took a step back. “I drink demon blood. It’s not easy to get. I’ve lost two men in the process.”

  I looked up, met Wilder’s eyes. “Marcus Goldsmith.”

  “Yes. He was a talented witch, able to open powerful circles and summon demons perfect for harvesting.” The way he said “harvesting” made me shudder. I could picture them magically holding a demon but not how they’d get blood from it.

  “How did he die?” I asked. Because that was why I was here. I needed to report back to Savannah so I could get paid. Of course, I had to survive this first.

  Wilder watched me again. I shifted on my feet, considering my options. He clearly had a hell of a lot of demon power, and I’d already used a lot of mine. I didn’t know how much water was left in that well, so to speak. I also had my sword. But he was fast. If he put me into another cage of fire, I would be in serious trouble.

  “Marcus accidentally broke the circle while trying to extract blood from a demon,” he said.

  I frowned. “How would you even do that without breaking the circle?” After all, one couldn’t shove a needle into the arm of a manifested physical demon without being next to it.

  Wilder’s smile widened. “See, that was what was so special about Marcus. He could summon the demon from within the circle.”

  My jaw actually dropped. He wasn’t serious. Summoning a demon into the same circle you are physically standing in was suicide.

  “You see, Marcus had ambition. Witch magic has its uses but it’s rather…limited. He resented his mother and the Magic Council for making it so hard for witches to experiment.” He smiled at me, as if we were sharing a secret. “I formed this little club to find ways around that. Methods for mages to increase their power so they were able to form more spells more quickly. Methods for witches to summon magic and use it in physical ways so they do not always have to be laden with pre-formed spells. Marcus wanted what I wanted: a world where magic is not regulated by arbitrary laws. He gave his life for the cause.”

  I highly doubted Marcus would see it that way, but he wasn’t here to argue.

  Wilder stepped closer and I inched backward, bumping up against a table.

  “Why did you increase your own power?” Wilder demanded.

  I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My throat was dry and my tongue felt thick. The stench of ichor, sharp and poisonous like gasoline, was overwhelming.

  “Let me guess. You grew tired of feeling defenseless. I was the same. I’ve run night clubs for the past decade and yet I was always at the mercy of mages with more versatile magic, or vampires with preternatural strength, or shifters who could transform at will. I wanted the freedom to use my power how I saw fit, not how the Council decided it should be used.”

  I shook my head.

  “Have you ever stopped to think why the Council made utilizing demons and their power illegal?”

  I thought of Conor’s parents. I’d never met them but I’d seen the pain of their loss etched across his face. I’d seen the grief welling up in Savannah’s eyes. I’d seen Marcus’ body lying limp and motionless, devoid of life.

  “Because people who summon demons tend to die,” I said sharply.

  Wilder’s expression turned savage, his eyes narrowing as he bore down on me. “Because they want to control us! The elite witch families who inherit their place on the Council want to make sure none of us manage to climb high enough to unseat them!”

  I bristled, my stomach churning.

  But the worst part was, he wasn’t wrong. New Council members were chosen by the highest ranking Council members, the Board of Magic, and they tended to select their friends and family. Someone like me, who didn’t come from one of the prominent families, had no hope of ever getting a high position in the Council unless I joined the Watchers and worked my way up while letting them dictate the rules of the game. And even then, the odds were slim that someone like me, whose mother and grandmother had no interest in witch politics, would ever be selected for a powerful position.

  But that wasn’t why they’d banned demon magic. They did that because demons were powerful, dangerous creatures who could burn up your soul while using your body to perpetrate great acts of villainy. Demons were monsters from the Underworld, not to be toyed with. They were deadly and dangerous and it was too easy to lose control of one when summoned.

  Instead of arguing, though, I said, “The Council’s never taken me seriously.” Even I was surprised by how genuinely bitter I sounded.

  “No.” Wilder’s expression softened. “Because they’re power-hungry witches who want to prevent anyone with magical power from taking over.” He smiled. He had an ugly, vicious smile. “Here’s my offer. Work with me. Together we will harvest the power of demon magic and destroy the Council!”

  I had the urge to spit in his face, but I also couldn’t deny the offer had appeal. After all, no council would mean no worries about anyone discovering my secret. If having demon magic wasn’t a death sentence and there was no one to enforce those kinds of black and white laws, then it wouldn’t matter anymore. I would be free to be myself, to use my magic as necessary and not be constantly afraid I’d be discovered in the midst of defending myself.

  But looking at Wilder, his body sickly pale with angry red veins straining against the surface of his skin, I saw the exact reason for the laws. Demon magic could eat you alive just like it was doing to him.

  Blood thrummed in my ears. I stood there trying to look conflicted as I gathered my power. I could feel the magic stra
in against my energy. I was running out of magical juice. I had to make this one count.

  Wilder stood only feet in front of me, obviously pleased with himself and convinced that I might be on board the SS Demon Mutiny.

  “I’d love to see the end of the Council,” I said. I let the fire explode in my hand and thrust it forward into Wilder’s chest before he could react. The fireball slammed into him, knocking him backward.

  Even as he was falling, he started to cast another wall of flame around me. The fire rose up from the ground in front of my feet, reaching the height of my knees in a millisecond. Heart pounding, I jumped over the flame as it rushed upward. It caught me in the thigh of my right leg and pain radiated down my leg as I landed.

  I had my sword out and brought it down on Wilder. He rolled out of the way and shot a fire arrow in my direction. The wall of flame rush toward me. I wondered how much demon blood he’d consumed to get this much power. Too much.

  He got to his feet. A black scorch mark painted his chest, his shirt burned away. His eyes were full of hatred and he limped toward me, moving his hands to call the fire. It whooshed around me, trying to cage me in.

  I called on the rest of my power, sucking all of my wells dry. I strained for more power, pulling out everything I had left.

  Then I willed my own demon fire to surround my body. It burned out of every pore, engulfing me in a blue inferno.

  I plunged through Wilder’s wall of fire.

  His smug smile vanished as he saw me emerge.

  Still surrounded by blue demon fire, I lunged at him. Wilder jumped back and tried to cast another fire spell. I rushed forward, swinging my sword. My blade caught him in the neck. It sliced clean through. His eyes widened before his head slid off his neck and landed on the ground with a sickening plop! Then his body fell to the ground with a thud.

  The fire behind me went out, leaving only streaks of ash across the floor.

  I let my own flames burn out and collapsed to my knees to catch my breath.

  Chapter 22

  I only gave myself a minute to catch my breath and let the tension ease out of my muscles. I’d survived. I’d fought a guy who’d chugged demon blood by the gallon—I mean, I was assuming it had been a lot—and who had turned himself into some kind of part-demon monster who could create walls of fire.

  He was dead. I was alive.

  I got to my feet again, keeping my sword tightly in hand. I patted down Wilder’s body until I found his keycard, easing it out of his pocket to avoid touching his still-warm body as much as possible. I wasn’t usually squeamish but my mind was reeling.

  I’d killed a man. A man who’d gotten others killed, sure, and who absolutely would have killed me, but still. That was big. I’d have to process that later.

  Right now, I had to find Conor.

  I looked at Wilder’s head, detached from its body and lifeless on the floor. A shudder ran through me. I turned away.

  I used the keycard to open the door. It opened into a hallway. I passed two employee bathrooms and a dry storage room full of racks of beer cases and bottles. In the back was the employee break room.

  Conor had been tied to a chair with a thick black cord. His mouth had been taped shut, which seemed silly, given that he was out like a light, his head lolled to one side.

  In the center of the floor was a rug. A blue, hand-woven rug that took up half the room.

  Rita Howell’s rug. Tables had been pushed against the wall to give it space. In the center of the rug was the ghost of an old magical circle. That was odd. I filed it away for later.

  The lady mage, Cara, was pacing back and forth. Her unconscious cohorts were lying on the floor. One, Mohawk, was starting to wake up.

  “Your boss is dead,” I said.

  She startled, visibly jumping. Her face twisted in different flavors of confusion and anger.

  I summoned demon fire in my palm. It was only a small fire ball and probably the last gasp of my available power for the night—maybe for the week, I felt so depleted. But she didn’t know that. “Either you can step aside and let me get my friend out of here, or I can kill you, too.”

  She shook her head, as if willing me and my words to go away. Then she gathered her own magic.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” I said sharply, drawing my sword with the hand that wasn’t currently holding the fire.

  She looked around, gaze skimming over her mostly-unconscious friends. She looked behind me as if Wilder might appear. He did not. The red magic died in her hand.

  “You’re like us,” she said, her words high and desperate, as if she could argue reality to bend to her will. “You shouldn’t fight us. You should join us.”

  “I’m not like you,” I insisted, willing it to be true.

  “Dani?” Conor’s head rose. I extinguished the flame in my palm, heart pounding so hard I thought it might explode. Gods, let him not have seen the blue flame in my hand.

  “Hey, I’m here,” I said. I glared at Cara. “We gonna fight?”

  She swallowed. I wondered if she was as depleted in the magic department as I was. She didn’t have the popping red veins like Wilder had and she’d certainly been throwing around the spells.

  After a moment, she shook her head. She marched up to me. I held my sword out and ready. But she merely gave me a dirty look and brushed past me, walking briskly down the hall. I rushed to Conor and cut his ropes. I pulled his arms and legs free.

  I yanked the tape off his mouth.

  “Glad I shaved,” Conor said.

  I laughed weakly. He smiled faintly. “Let’s get out of here before she comes back with reinforcements.” After all, who knew who or what else might be lurking in this giant building.

  There was an emergency exit at the back of this room. It had an alarm on it which I promptly ignored as I yanked the door open and braced myself for the siren. Nothing happened. Either they’d disconnected the alarm (likely) or it was silent.

  The exit was a narrow, steel staircase.

  Conor glanced over my shoulder. I followed his gaze. He was looking at the rug.

  “The Watchers can retrieve it when we call back up,” I reminded him. I was not going to get myself killed over some stupid, ruined rug, valuable though it might be.

  Conor let out a breath but nodded and headed down the stairs. I closed the door behind us, even though Cara wouldn’t have any trouble figuring out which way we’d gone. We moved down the stairs and out of the building as quickly as our injuries would allow.

  We climbed into Conor’s SUV without a word. He backed out of the parking lot and drove a way down the street before calling for backup. In case another team of demon-fueled magic users wanted to attack us in the parking lot, I supposed. Honestly, I was just relieved to put a little distance between myself and that awful building.

  “What happened?” Conor asked.

  “Their boss tried to kill me. I killed him.” I shrugged, but a pang of unease ran through me.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I blinked. “Sorry for what?”

  “That you had to do that,” he said. “Killing is never easy, even when it’s necessary.”

  I grunted. I wondered if he’d say the same thing to me if I were on the gallows. I shook my head. I’d let Wilder get inside my mind a little. Wilder had been a power-hungry maniac but he wasn’t wrong about how strict the Council was.

  “You okay?”

  “No,” I said, and it came out too harsh. My limbs were shaky and my head was full of cotton and smoke. In a softer tone, I said, “But I will be. What about you?”

  “I’ll survive.”

  Eventually, a line of black SUVs came rushing down the street. They pulled up to Conor’s car and gray-uniformed Watchers piled out. Conor got out, too. “You can stay here if you want,” he said.

  So I did.

  I didn’t feel like answering questions. I knew the Watchers would want a statement. But I wasn’t ready to do that just yet. I needed to figure out how to fill
in the gaps of Conor’s story without revealing how I’d really escaped.

  An hour later, Conor got back in the car. His jaw was clenched and his shoulders rigid.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  Conor turned to me, expression dark. “They’re all gone.”

  I frowned. “Who’s gone?”

  “The mages, the witch… The building is empty. Even those we left unconscious are gone.”

  I stared, not comprehending.

  Conor slammed his hands against the steering wheel. “I was stupid not to apprehend one of them on our way out.”

  “We could barely get ourselves down the stairs,” I pointed out. “It’s not your fault the Watchers are so slow.”

  He sighed and nodded. “Wilder’s body is still there. At least we have him.”

  I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t stop picturing his head falling off his body.

  “You’re skilled with that sword,” Conor said, as if answering my thoughts.

  “I did what I had to,” I said stiffly.

  Conor turned toward me and put a hand on my shoulder. His blue eyes met mine. “You did a great job, Warren—Dani. You got us out alive.”

  The knot in my chest loosened. My muscles unclenched. I shot a glance at his hand on my shoulder and he, thinking it meant I didn’t like it, let go.

  “I don’t know how you did it.”

  Some of that tension returned. The look on his face was one of admiration but there was something else, too. Curiosity? Suspicion?

  “You know we’ll need a statement.”

  Probably suspicion. Figured.

  “I do know, yeah,” I said. My head still pounded. New aches and pains began making themselves known all over my body. “I don’t suppose I can go home and get some rest first?”

  There was a pause. I held my breath. If he dragged me in now, exhausted and spent, it was going to be a lot harder for my tired brain to come up with clever answers to the investigators’ tough questions. And I knew there would be hard ones. These guys would want every detail, and try to poke any holes in my story they could, especially if most of them still believed I might be working with the bad guys. That was how they did things.