by Celia Kyle
I reached into my jacket and pulled out one of my daggers—a black handled athame with an obsidian blade and pentagrams carved into the cross guard. It was a ceremonial dagger. I’d recovered it from a sick fuck a few years ago after he’d used it to murder innocents to fuel his dark magic. I’d kept it just in case I ever found myself in a situation where dark magic was my last resort.
You never knew when that kind of thing could come in handy if you turned it against the evil assholes intent on using it against you.
I turned the knife over in my hands and pressed a finger to the edge of the blade. It drew a drop of blood at the lightest touch, and I stared at the bead of red liquid on my fingertip. It was made to kill supernatural creatures.
Creatures like me.
Death wouldn’t be my end. Not necessarily. Being Satan’s niece meant I knew where I was headed when I died. It would be more like a transition rather than an ending.
Right now, I existed freely on the mortal plane because I had mortal blood. I wasn’t a demon who’d been summoned or one that had been strong enough to break free of Hell’s bindings. I wasn’t a being that could be banished back to Uncle Luc’s pits.
I’d been born here, but my death would change me. My body would rot like any mortals and my soul would crawl into the depths of Hell until I reached Uncle Luc.
Possibly with a detour through unimaginable horrors in the Underworld.
It wouldn’t be forever, though. Maybe after a century or two I’d be able to manifest a physical form without being summoned by a mortal.
Regardless, it wasn’t a journey I was too interested in taking. Especially since I’d be bound in service to any mortal who decided to drag my ass from Hell. Just like any other dem.
I tucked the dagger into my jacket. I wasn’t ready to shuffle off this mortal coil just yet. And I sure as shit wasn’t going to face death lying down. I wasn’t ready to give up.
I drove home and found Bry waiting up for me. I walked into the living room and he looked up at me with concern in his eyes. “You’re late.”
I forced a smile and pinched his cheek. “I know, kiddo. I was talking to Sorsha.”
“Is she going to make you better?”
I could lie, but Bryony had already seen too much death and disaster in his short life. He knew the answer to his question even as he asked. Well, I wasn’t ready to admit defeat yet. “She’s working on it.”
“Okay.” He frowned and I saw the doubt creeping over his expression.
“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for bed?” I met Esmeralda’s eyes. She rose and wrangled Bry, ushering him upstairs to take a bath and prepare for bed.
I stood in the middle of the living room for a minute, drumming my fingers on the back of the couch. I’d fought for everything in this house. I’d fought for that kid upstairs. I’d fought for my life through pain and tears.
I wasn’t ready to stop fighting, but I was running out of time and options.
But there was one I hadn’t explored. Now I was desperate enough to do it.
I jogged upstairs and strode into my bedroom, grabbing an empty duffel from my closet. I threw clothes and whatever else I thought I might need into the bag. In minutes I was nearly done and Esmeralda strode into the room.
She crossed her arms and arched a brow in question.
I ignored it and asked my own. “Is Bry in the tub?”
“Yes,” her voice was cool, emotionless. “I’m sure he hoped you’d tuck him into bed when he’s done.”
I slung my bag over my shoulder and listened to my son giggle and splash in the bathroom. I paused for a moment, wondering if I should give him a kiss goodbye, but that seemed too... final. I wasn’t ready for final.
“Tell him I have some work to do. I’ll be back in time for dinner tomorrow.”
“And if he asks where you went?” Her face remained a blank mask.
“Tell him I’m going to visit an old friend.”
Of sorts.
Chapter Seven
I didn’t care if I’d reached the ripe old age of six hundred something or other; I was calling bullshit on regular transportation. Sure, I’d gotten plenty of fun gifts and powers from all my papas, but not even one included the ability to teleport.
Bull. Shit.
I headed to Orlando International Airport and booked a last minute nonstop flight to New Orleans and snagged a return ticket for early afternoon the next day.
The woman behind the counter gave me a strange look and a hard time about my choice. “You want the 2:15 afternoon flight? Your plane doesn’t land in New Orleans until after midnight.”
“That’s fine.” I forced a smile to my lips and handed over my credit card. “It’s a short trip.”
I just hoped she didn’t look at me and immediately think drug mule. There were no heroin-filled balloons shoved up my ass, and I wasn’t meeting my dealer in a bathroom after I landed.
I napped on the quick flight, exhaustion pulling at me more and more the longer I remained infected. This better work. I wasn’t ready to leave my life behind. Not after I’d finally found happiness with Bry—and to a certain extent, Sam.
Once I landed, I rented a car that was no bigger than I was and headed for Keller’s ranch. The last time I’d seen him, he’d been growing herbs and herding goats. He’d isolated himself on his ranch more than an hour’s drive from the city.
At the time, I thought “Aw, cute goats.” Then I realized they were probably food or to be used in ritual sacrifices which… yeah. I’m all for killing, but cutting the throats of innocent animals? Not so much.
That’s when I’d begun crafting Operation: Getaway Goats.
It was part of the reason we’d broken up. Not the mission, but the killing. Well, a small part. He’d wanted rings and babies and I’d wanted a ride on a good time pony. That didn’t mean I hadn’t loved him then—and I still loved him a little now—but it just hadn’t been right. Now that I had Sam in my life, I knew that everything before now had prepared me for the hunky Angel o’ Destruction I called my mate.
I listened to the GPS system direct me down aged road after aged road. Potholes littered the streets, and the asphalt cracked and was entirely missing here and there. It was like fucking Deliverance out here, but with whacked roads and a shitty rental car instead of canoes and a river.
If I started hearing banjo music I was totally calling a hard pass on the entire situation.
The GPS had me make one last turn and I spied Keller’s ranch house in the distance. The long driveway stretched out before me, a hard-packed dirt path bracketed by high, overgrown weeds that swayed in the soft breeze.
As for his home… it was a little worse for wear. Patches of shingle had blown off the roof at some point, leaving behind swaths of black under layer that had been bleached gray by the sun. Old shutters swung on rusted hinges, and the wind dragged them back and forth as if nature wanted to rip them from the windows.
The closer I drew, the more ominous and oppressive the silence became. A cold finger scraped down my spine and I shuddered as a hint of unease crept into my body.
Quiet. What was with the quiet? Keller’s place was always filled with the bleating—
He didn’t have any goats. I swallowed hard. Had he moved on to sacrificing humans or tweens? I really didn’t feel like dealing with another crazed lunatic who thought human sacrifice was the way to power. That whole thing was getting old.
No way was Keller into that. Maybe the goats had just wandered off. The property was big enough for them to duck out of sight yet still be hanging around.
I didn’t care of I was lying to myself. Did. Not. Care. I was here to get healed. Period.
I stopped in front of the house and put the car in park before climbing from the vehicle. I scanned my surroundings, my eyes sweeping the yard for any sign of movement.
Nothing.
With a shake of my head I went to the porch and tromped up the steps.
“Keller!” I bange
d my fist against the door. “Open up. It’s Caith.”
No response. Still.
The shutter hinges squeaked and squealed as the wind tugged at the dried wood. Paint peeled away from the walls, the green coloring bleached and burned away by the sun.
I hopped from the porch and peeked through the dirty window, looking for any sign of movement within the home. It was still dark, the sun hiding behind the trees, but my wolf had no trouble peering through the gloom.
I was really tired of getting nothing.
“Keller!” I tapped the glass. Not even a rustle inside.
I backed away and glanced at my surroundings once more. From the run-down look of the house I couldn’t tell if my ex had neglected his maintenance or if he’d abandoned the property entirely. For all I knew, he’d moved and hadn’t bothered dropping a note in the mail.
I know we’re not bang buddies anymore but send future correspondence to…
I tipped my head back and inhaled deeply; searching the air for any hint of the man I’d once known—intimately. The wind swirled around me, the scents of dried grass, earth, and…
There. There was a lingering hint of Keller. It was faint, like he hadn’t walked the land in a while, but it still smelled like him. But it was just him, and there weren’t any new scents nearby.
I chewed my lower lip for a moment and then jogged down the driveway. I tugged open the mailbox and found a pile of mail stuffed inside—mostly junk—and all with Keller’s name printed on the envelopes. The oldest date was a couple weeks ago. So, maybe he was on a trip and forgot to stop the mail.
That was the obvious answer.
Now, a normal person would leave and come back later.
Satan’s niece, however… Well, I decided to make Uncle Luc proud.
“Fuck it,” I murmured and went back to the front door.
I hopped up the steps, picking up speed as I traveled, and slammed my boot heel into the door near the deadbolt. The old wood cracked and splintered, falling inward and throwing a cloud of dust into the air when it clattered to the ground.
If I found him, I’d pay for that. If not… I’d go to my standby reply.
It wasn’t me.
I stepped inside and took a look around. There was plenty to indicate that my ex had been letting the place go for a while. It also looked like it had been more than the few weeks that he’d been away. Old pizza boxes and Chinese takeout containers littered the floor, and piles of junk mail balanced on the edges of nearly every flat surface. The mail at the bottom of the closest stack was months old.
I sniffed the air as I moved deeper into the home and the stink of sweat, rancid food, and stale beer filled my nose. I sneezed, my wolf pushing the stench out of my nose, but it wouldn’t be easily banished.
Keller had always been a bit of a recluse, but… damn. In our youth, he’d hidden from society for fear of anyone discovering he was a werewolf. Later he’d been antisocial and behind the times, never managing to keep up with tech changes. I doubted he even had a cell phone.
How did he play Candy Crush?
I shook my head and scanned the entry. The poor state of the house spoke of more than his usual antisocial tendencies, though. I just wasn’t sure what was up with him.
I also wasn’t sure if I should pursue this any further. I was dying of some weird blue infection. I had ghouls to kill and funeral arrangements to make. Did I need to add, “hunt down my ex” to the list?
No.
But that didn’t stop me from going through the rest of the house. There wasn’t a single clue as to where Keller had gone. No indication that he’d packed for a long trip either. His clothes still hung in the closet and a couple of empty suitcases were tucked in the back corner with a thin layer of dust decorating them.
He hadn’t gone on vacation.
I continued searching the house, hunting for any clues about Keller’s recent activity. I only managed to find a leather-bound journal filled with chicken scratch notes. None of the entries were dated, but the paper was crisp and ink looked fresh, so they couldn’t be that old. The only problem was I didn’t recognize the language. The pages were filled with cryptic sentence fragments and arcane symbols—some I recognized from stuff I’d seen at Sorsha’s, but the rest were a mystery.
While I couldn’t read them, I figured they had something to do with healing magic. It made sense. Keller was healer and all that shit.
I tucked the journal into my bag along with a few other stray books I found lying around. Maybe Sorsha and Jezze could find something useful in his ramblings. If nothing else, discovering what he’d been working on might help track him down.
With no other leads, I headed back outside, taking the time to tug the door back in its frame before I split. I drove back to the city and spent the early morning hours seeking out any place where dems, gels, and tweeners gathered. No one knew where I could find Keller, but they all sure as hell knew his name.
No one mentioned DayGlo ghouls either. At least that was good news, right? The piece of shit magic-wielder hadn’t traveled this far north yet.
Grumbling about dead ends and a wasted day, I went back to the airport to wait for my flight. I flipped through Keller’s books, looking for something that could make this trip anything but a complete waste of time. Something in my gut twisted and told me I was missing something, something important, but…
But by the time I got on the plane bound for Orlando, my head was buzzing. Strange flashes flickered over my vision, refusing to be banished. Strange images floated in the air, bringing a wave of dizziness with each new view and leaving me disoriented. I tried to keep my eyes open, tried to focus on anything but the exhaustion that pulled at my mind.
And the pain… On High, but the pain in my wound flared. I felt as if someone had stabbed me with poison dipped knives, stealing my breath with every beat of my heart.
At least until I passed out somewhere over the Gulf of Mexico.
Goody.
Chapter Eight
I woke in the Orlando International Airport clinic at some point, Jezze leaning over me as she waved a bundle of incense around my face. I wheezed then coughed and pushed her away. I fluttered my hands to disperse the thick scent. It was as strong as smelling salts, though far more potent, and it made my eyes water.
I laid there for a few more moments, fighting to get my bearings while I silently begged my head to stop spinning. I didn’t have anything in my stomach but I still felt like I was very close to an Exorcist-worthy performance.
“What happened?” I rasped as I stared at Jezze through blurred vision. Last I remembered I was on the plane feeling a little woozy. The wound on my side ached and a new wave of pain and numbness had spread down my thigh. Even my right arm tingled while the infection had spread.
“You pushed yourself too hard, dumbass.” Jezze pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed my forehead. I tried to bat her away but only managed to lift my arms a few inches before I slumped back once more. “You’re lucky one of our Hell’s Chapel regulars is a baggage handler. He saw you being rolled off the plane in a wheelchair and called the bar.”
“Shit,” I muttered and closed my eyes. Bile surged in my stomach and I breathed deep then swallowed hard. “Drinks on the house for him.”
Jezze snorted. “Yeah, well, I called Sorsha. She’ll be here soon.”
“Good,” I wheezed. My side pulsated with increasing pain. “I need more meds. Then I need to—“
“Go to the clinic and stay in bed? Yes, yes you do.”
“No,” I shook my head and then froze. Moving was a bad idea. “I can’t. I need to—“
“Rest. End of story.” Then she did the whole arm-crossing glare down. I knew that look, dammit, and I was too weak to fight her.
“Fuck,” I muttered. I closed my eyes and rubbed my temple. I wanted to argue even if I knew Jezze was right. Whether I liked it or not, my happy ass wasn’t going anywhere under my own power.
I hated weakness more tha
n I hated collard greens. And that was saying something.
Pride had always been my biggest—but not only—sin. I suppose I got that from Uncle Luc.
“So,” Jezze stared me down and crossed her arms, “what the hell were you doing in New Orleans? You left without saying a word. Not even a text. I mean, ‘gone to flash titties’ would have been enough. I thought you’d died in a ditch!”
“Uncle Luc would have sent you a postcard if I’d died.”
“Caith…” My friend growled almost as well as a wolf. Almost. “Dying on a plane isn’t much better.”
I kept my eyes closed. The clinic was too damned bright and opening them hurt too much. “I went to see Keller.”
“Oh.” She paused. “Ohhh…” I could hear her disapproving frown. I’d met Jezze years after Keller and I had split, but she’d heard all the gory—literally sometimes—details. “What did he say? Obviously, he didn’t heal you.”
“He wasn’t there.”
“Well, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? Maybe he moved.”
“No.” I shook my head and immediately regretted it when a surge of pain pierced my skull. “Ugh. No, he was still living there, but it looked like he hasn’t been around for a few weeks. I found some of his notes and shit in case they might be helpful.” I vaguely gestured toward my bag on a nearby chair. “We might have to find a goat or something though.”
And earplugs. Goats made a lot of noise when they were scared. A lot.
I listened as Jezze moved to my bag and dug through my mess. I opened my eyes a bit and squinted at her through the narrowed slits while she flipped through the books. She frowned at the pages, running her finger along them as she mouthed some of the runes. “This doesn’t make sense. It’s got to be in some sort of code. I’ll need to work on decoding it before I can translate it. Are you sure this is something helpful? It could be his recipes for wart cream or something.”
“Centuries-old warlocks don’t write recipes for wart cream in code.” However, Keller hadn’t been all that stable the last time I’d seen him, so it was hard to say for sure. “I don’t know how helpful it’ll be, but it’s something to work on. From the look of his place, he disappeared around the same time the ghoul outbreak started. But it’s too much of a coincidence.”