by Christine Warren, Marjorie Liu, Caitlin Kittredge, Jenna Maclaine
“My mum’s flat,” said Nina. “I still had a key.”
“Your mum in?”
Nina shook her head. “She and I haven’t spoken since my da took sick. We’ll have to light out before her shift at Sainsbury’s ends.”
Jack settled himself on the sofa and watched Man U’s red jerseys dart up and down the field against Chelsea for a few silent moments. “You know, Nina,” he said finally, massaging the center of his forehead, “you don’t have to be involved any further. Going up against something like Areshko … well … you’re just a necromancer.”
Nina sighed. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, boyo. Drink up your tea and tell me your grand scheme.”
Jack followed Nina up a flight of stairs that had nearly collapsed back to the floor below, and down a narrow hallway where the air was drunk with the scent of herbs and magic. Nina waved a hand in front of her nose. “Never could stomach that smell.”
“That’s funny, coming from a girl who digs up corpses,” said Jack.
“Not that,” Nina said. “That sulfur smell.” She gestured at the open flames lighting their way through the condemned flats.
“Tar,” Jack said. “Makes the torches burn longer.”
“It’s foul,” said Nina. “Just like Catacomb City. Foul and rotten, through and through.”
“No argument here,” Jack said.
Nina kicked against the last door in the hallway. After a pause it swung open, letting out a puff of rancid air. Inside, Jack saw candles, a bed, and a threadbare velvet chair, no doubt nicked from some nice old pensioner’s flat.
“You sure this is the place?” he asked Nina.
“Said you needed supplies for a summoning,” Nina said. “And I didn’t ask precisely why you would want to summon another demon after what we just went through, so take me at my word, yeah?”
A cat prowled from under a sofa and hissed at Jack. He hissed back and stepped into the flat. “Hello?”
One whole wall of the flat was comprised of apothecary shelves, the kind any good magic shop had by the score.
“It’s self-serve,” Nina said. “You leave the money in the cashbox at the door when you walk out.”
“Or?” Jack said, as he started pulling down herbs, salt, and charcoal.
“Or you don’t walk out.” Nina fetched a paper bag and snapped it open, holding it while Jack dumped his supplies into it. “So, you know I’m going to ask,” she said, as Jack pulled a crumpled wad of fives and tenners from his back pocket and shoved them through the slot in the rosewood cashbox.
“Ask what, luv?” he said.
“What demon you think can possibly help you get Ava back?”
They descended the stairs, the wood shuddering under Jack’s feet.
“Promise you won’t be mad?” he said.
“No,” Nina said.
Jack stopped on the landing and pressed his thumb and forefinger between his eyes. “Nazaraphael.”
“You’re mad, you know that?” Nina shoved a hand through her hair. It stood up like a porcupine. “Summoning the demon of the city.”
Jack felt in his pockets and came up empty. “Got any chalk? Forgot it when we stopped off at Magic Tesco.”
Nina pursed her lips, but passed him a nub. She sat on the steps of a crypt, watching him. “A graveyard’s a bit theatrical, don’t you think?”
“Graveyards are repositories,” said Jack. Every good sorcerer knew that for a quick fix, burial ground offered the best high you could stomach. The Black curled, radiant and radiating, among the tombstones and frozen grass and silvery moonlight, tendrils of it passing over his mind like fingers through his hair. The air was thick, cold, puffing from his mouth in waves.
If he hoped to bind a demon of the city, a graveyard was the only place that would do it. And he had only one chance at Nazaraphael, before the grinning demon tore him limb from limb.
The symbols he needed were easy enough, since he didn’t know what stripe of demon Nazaraphael was, besides a resident of Hell and a walking fashion disaster.
He should be doing this with a copper circle, properly, safely. Jack sucked in air through his teeth, trying to banish Lawrence’s voice and his own doubts from his mind. He sketched a circle, closed himself in, scooped up a hand of graveyard dirt, and made the circle again. Double, and tight as he could make it.
Nina offered him her flick-knife, and Jack accepted. She chewed on her lip. “Please be careful. I’ve grown rather fond of you, Jack.”
Jack grinned. “I have that effect on women, darling.”
“On second thought, I hope Nazaraphael picks his teeth with your bones,” Nina said sweetly.
Jack chuckled and held up the flick-knife. He paused before he sunk the blade into the pad of his thumb. Summoning demons wasn’t something a man did if he had a desire to keep breathing. Summoning demons was for the desperate, the pathetic, or the plain bloody stupid.
He was at least one of those, Jack thought. He wasn’t certain which.
The blade bit into his skin and blood welled, warm against the air. Jack turned his hand over and squeezed three droplets into the center of the circle. The graveyard ground sucked it up, drinking down his life force and his talent.
“I call upon the power of the ancient circle,” Jack said. “On the wings of the crow, I call the true name of Nazaraphael, demon of the city of Edinburgh.”
For a moment, nothing happened at all, not even a negative, not even his circle breaking and his own talent throwing him to the ground as Nazaraphael shook off his summons.
Then Jack felt a tingling start on the backs of his palms and his sight flared, a bright pinpoint of light growing in front of him, flooding into the chalk lines that bound the earth.
“Stay back, Nina,” Jack said, and stepped out of the circle just before it snapped with power, and a shape began to grow in the center of it.
Nazaraphael fought, and fought hard. Jack felt claws raking his mind, felt the tug of the circle against him, knew that if Nazaraphael overwhelmed him, the magic it commanded would rip out his heart and show it to him.
“How dare you?” Nazaraphael shouted. “You are filth, Jack Winter! You think a circle of graveyard dirt can hold me?”
Jack felt the summoning begin to fray as Nazaraphael struggled. “Not forever,” he said. “But long enough.”
“I’m going to strip your flesh off and fry your fat,” Nazaraphael snarled.
“Not yet, you’re not.” Jack wagged his finger. “I told you I didn’t like it when you burst in and kicked me around, Nazzie. Now you’re going to listen to me, and you’re going to be polite about it.”
Nazaraphael’s eyes gleamed. He wasn’t like any demon Jack had seen—he looked alarmingly close to human, with his fine-line nose and full lips. The eyes were the giveaway, as they were with all things of the Black—the windows to the soul.
Nazaraphael’s were empty.
“Make it fast, boyo,” he said. “Because when I break this circle, you’re not going to have time to scream.”
Jack took his time pulling out a fag. He offered one to Nina, who accepted, keeping her eyes on the demon. “See, luv?” Jack said, as he touched his finger to the tip and was rewarded by an orange ember. “They’re not so spooky, when you see them in the open.”
“Damn you, Winter,” Nazaraphael shouted. “I am the demon of the city and I deserve that respect!”
“All right, all right.” Jack exhaled. “You and Areshko, yeah? You want her gone, I want her to give back a bird she’s holding and torturing.”
Nazaraphael’s nostrils flared, but his eyes lit with interest. “So?”
“So,” Jack said, “I’ll show you where she’s hiding, and you’ll convince her to give me back my good friend Ava.” He flicked his fag end away. “You can help me, Nazzie, or I can bind you and make you. You’re a demon, but I’m through fucking about. So what do you say?”
Nazaraphael stood very still. “I get Areshko? You don’t have some
silly human vendetta against her?”
“I want the bitch gone as much as you do,” said Jack. “Will you help, Nazzie?”
The demon considered for only a moment. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
Jack grinned at him. “I very much hope not.”
The return to Catacomb City was slower and even more unpleasant than the first time, with Ava. Nazaraphael hummed to himself, and when they reached the two bodies, now frozen and with gaping sockets where the revenant had taken their eyes, he chuckled.
“The follies of mortals. They’ll follow anyone.”
“Look,” Jack said. “Not really keen on hearing you talk, mate, so why don’t we all take a vow of silence until we get back to the city?”
“Do I frighten you, mage?”
Jack looked Nazaraphael up and down, from the top of his blond ponytail to his white-on-white wingtips. “Yes. I am completely terrified.”
Nazaraphael actually let out a chuckle. “I don’t hate humans. I do what I do because what I am compels me to. I can show mercy, Jack. Even if you did threaten me.”
Nina snorted. “Because your kind are so famous for mercy.”
Nazaraphael whipped his head around like a snake. “Be careful of what you’re insinuating, little skin trader. I can lose my good humor very quickly.”
Nina flared her fingers. “Shaking in my boots.”
Jack ducked under the arch at the city entrance and nearly smacked into Areshko. She stood, hands folded, a serene smile revealing the tips of her pointed teeth.
“I knew you’d return to me, Jack Winter.”
“Good for you,” he said. “And look, I’ve brought company.”
Nazaraphael tipped his head. “Lady Areshko. How very long have I been looking for you! I’ve lost count of the years.”
Areshko hissed and swiped at Jack with her claws. “You think this changes anything? I’ll never give her up.”
Nazaraphael stepped forward. “You will, and you will do it now, if you wish me to spare your city.” He reached out and laid hand on her cheek, and Areshko shuddered. “You will perish, but Catacomb City can live on.”
Jack didn’t have to see Nazaraphael’s eyes to know that he was lying, but he was a demon. It was hardly surprising. What was surprising was that Areshko softened under his touch, her eyes welling with blue tears that stained the white brands curling across her cheeks.
“I didn’t harm her,” she whispered. “I just kept her close.”
“I know,” Nazaraphael said kindly. “And now it’s time to return her to Jack.”
Areshko bowed her head. “So be it.” She bent down, her mouth unhinging and opening wide, as wide as Jack’s hip bones. Areshko’s body rippled and convulsed, her spine flexing like a lizard’s, and then she screamed.
Areshko expelled a cloud of magic and Ava shimmered back into being, naked and covered with blue bile. She choked, and then her eyes flew open. “Jack?”
“I’m here, luv.” Jack stripped off his leather and wrapped it around her.
Nazaraphael knelt on Ava’s other side.
“She’s beautiful, Winter. I see why you’d come back down into this hole for her.”
Ava threw her arms around Jack and pressed her cheek against his. “It was awful,” she whispered. “She did things … But I knew you’d come back for me.”
“You did?” Jack stroked her sopping hair. “You actually had faith in me, darling? I’m bloody touched.”
“Not faith,” said Ava. “Not in you.”
Jack pulled away from her. “Ava, are you all right?”
“Nazaraphael,” she said, “we brought you. We brought you to Areshko …” Her hand darted out, and Jack saw the bile-covered knife a second before it embedded itself in his chest.
He let out a cough and swatted at the knife. “What the bloody fuck … iron?” Cold fingers wrapped his heart and pain seized him. “Iron …” Jack fell on his side, his cheek digging into the stones.
Ava pulled her knees to her chest. “I’m sorry, Jack.”
Nazaraphael stood and brushed off his knees. He lifted Ava up by the hand, as if she weighed nothing. Jack’s leather slipped off her, as crumpled as he was.
Nina’s face obscured Jack’s swimming view of the pair. “He’s not dead,” she said in a hollow voice. “But he’s bleeding. … Why did you do it? He helped you.”
Areshko swiveled her head from Nazaraphael to lock Jack’s gaze, as his life unspooled at a terrifying rate.
“Nina,” Jack said. “Nina, get away from me!” He felt it again, the sickening sensation of Areshko’s magic, the great sucking void, and then he was moving, dragged across the ground toward the demon’s sphere. He wrapped his hands around Nina’s thin shoulders, trying to hold on, but he was left with a shred of her T-shirt, as she vanished into the void of Areshko’s magic.
Jack wanted to scream, but he hadn’t the breath or blood left. Beside him, Ava shrieked as Areshko’s influence scrabbled at her, nails cutting lines in her cheek and Nazaraphael’s shoulder when he shielded the demon huntress from harm.
Areshko swayed, shuddered, and smiled. Her terrible magic quieted, sated. “So sweet.” She sighed. “To taste the blood of the seraphim. It burns.”
Jack blinked at her, levering himself onto his arms. He felt nothing, floating as from an opiate high on the cold, fathomless water of shock. “Hold on just a bloody minute. What?”
Ava gave him that sad gaze. “Nazaraphael, Jack.”
Jack felt his mouth work. “He’s a …”
“I am not a demon,” Nazaraphael said. “I am Fallen. I reside in Hell but I am not a denizen.”
Ava swayed unsteadily, shivers wracking her naked skin. “I’m sorry, Jack, really I am. But he’s promised me. He promised me if I delivered Areshko, he’d …”—she swiped bile from her eyes—“he’d bring Daniel home to me.”
Areshko let out a moan, and Jack grabbed his head.
Feedback reverberated through his sight, and he watched as Areshko’s stomach swelled and her mouth opened, a great sucking void through which he could hear screams and a harsh, hot wind.
“Ava,” he whispered, “you know there’s no such thing as angels.”
“You hate demons as much as I do,” she said. “They make deals, and they steal souls. Daniel … She tortured him, and in the end he made a deal to end it.” She stood, wavering. “But now I have Nazaraphael. One of the Fallen, for the Triumvirate. And I have the means to go before them and bring his soul out of Hell.” She pointed to Areshko. “Take me. I want to go.” Ava took a wavering step toward Areshko, who held out her hand.
Jack reached up and grabbed Ava’s wrist. “I can’t let you do this, Ava. If you let her kill you and send you down, you’ll die in Hell. Nazzie here can’t deliver a soul any more than a mail boy can.”
“No,” she flared. “He is an angel. They’ll have to give Daniel back to me.”
“Daniel is dead!” Jack shouted. “And before he died, he made a deal to save his own arse! That’s not a man worth dying for, Ava.”
She jerked away from him and fell toward Areshko. “Take me! I want to die! The Fallen will resurrect me!”
Jack watched Areshko as her belly swelled even more, with the possibility of another meal. “We can’t stay here,” he said. “Ava. There are no angels. There are no Fallen. Demons lie.”
Ava pulled free of him and ran to Areshko, kneeling before the demon woman and spreading her arms wide. “Kill me. You want me. I was Daniel’s favorite.”
Areshko leaned down and caressed Ava’s cheek, then she bared her teeth and slapped Ava aside. Her mouth opened, and her magic swelled. Jack clutched his head, the blood chilling on the front of his shirt, as the air in the catacombs frosted with malice.
Nazaraphael threw up his hands, but Areshko was too much for him. The demon of the city withered, skin ashing and skeleton disintegrating, before he disappeared like dust in a wind.
Jack managed to get to his feet, one hand over th
e wound, which felt as wide and deep as a river. “Ava. Come with me. Come now.”
Areshko laughed at him. “Oh,” she said in a new, legion voice. “I don’t think we’re going anywhere.”
Jack tugged Ava, only to find his way blocked by a crowd of zombies drawn by the ambient magic. “Why did he have to be the bloody demon of the city?”
Ava looked to Jack helplessly. “He said he was an angel …”
Jack watched the zombies ebb around Areshko. “I know,” he said. “I know. But what do you know about Areshko?”
“She killed Daniel,” Ava moaned. “Killed him in spirit. She is the Hunger. She hunts.”
“And when she eats—what then?” Jack drew back his fist and popped the nearest zombie in the jaw. It staggered away from him, and Jack bore Ava on toward the exit.
Another zombie lunged and caught her across the stomach. Blood made its lazy way down her abdomen. “Areshko … she’ll consume Nazaraphael, his talent and his power,” she said.
Below them, Areshko opened her mouth as wide as a sewer grate and bit down on a zombie’s neck. There was no blood in the dried-out thing, but Jack saw the vile cloud of magic escape all the same, grayish green like a punctured bladder of gas. Areshko drank it down, her blue skin taking on the glow of an oil slick, the white brands hissing as they heated. She ate like she was the Horseman of Famine, hungry moans issuing forth.
“Bollocks to that,” Jack said. “We can’t let her have that sort of power …”
“Jack,” Ava said, as he dropped her hand, “I’m so sorry.”
“I don’t care,” he said plainly. “You aren’t the first a demon’s lied to.”
“But I need you to know,” Ava said.
Jack shook his head. “Save it for when we’re out of the ground, yeah?”
“Can’t stop her,” said Ava. “Need a sanctuary, to wait for the end.”
Jack tossed her a look. “Sacred ground won’t stop zombies and demons. You think any necromancer or Hell fiend gives a bollocks what a priest said over a patch of dirt?”
“A warded house, then,” Ava said. “A bunker, a fucking tank. Something.”
Jack scratched the back of his neck. He felt like sleeping—sleeping for a hundred years, like some old tale. He was halfway to passing out, and bits of ghost and magic fluttered at the edges of his eyes, the sight waiting to pull him under.