Warmongers and Wands

by Dunbar, Debra

  Either way, this was my best chance at getting rescued. Although at this point, I was less concerned about getting “rescued” and more about making sure my sisters knew where I was and that I was okay. Tearing a page out of the Yahtzee score sheet, I wrote as detailed information as I could about where I’d gone off the road and my current situation, then folded it and handed it to the waiting raccoon.

  “Thanks, Diebin. You do this and I promise to cook you up some bacon once I’m back home and my leg is healed.”

  The raccoon scampered out the doggie door. I set up the Yahtzee, then watched while Hadur painted my toenails. It was surreal, but then again, the last forty-eight hours had been pretty surreal. The storm. My accident. This sexy demon in the woods rescuing my ass, taking care of me, painting my toenails.

  I’ll admit they looked nice. Not that anyone would ever see them since I spent most of my life in work boots or sneakers. Maybe the cat I planned on adopting from the shelter would appreciate the gussied-up toes in the ten minutes my feet were bare in the shower, but that was probably it.

  I glanced at Hadur, who was concentrating as he applied the last bit of polish to my right little toe. What would happen when I set him free? If I could set him free. It might take a while for me to find the proper way to do that, but it was the least I could do for the demon who’d saved me. Even if he hadn’t saved me, I felt terrible for the guy, trapped here for hundreds of years, his only contact with the outside world whatever Diebin could steal and bring back to him. I know he’d pledged to be mine and serve me, but as erotic as that all sounded, I wasn’t sure how it would play out in real life. A demon sex slave sounded good between the covers of a novel, but he wouldn’t “owe” me anything for releasing him, and it would be horrible for me to expect indentured servitude or slavery in return. I’d set him free, eventually when I figured out how to do it, and he’d probably just go back to hell.

  But I couldn’t help fantasize a bit about an arrangement like Cassie had with Lucien. I didn’t know Hadur very well, but we seemed to be hitting it off. It would be nice to have someone to come home to besides a cat. It would be nice to have someone to talk to, to spend the evening with, maybe even to work with me. And sex…sex would be really, really nice.

  Yep, I had a wild imagination. A forever-after with a demon was a far-fetched fantasy of my repressed romantic side. The realist in me was thinking I might get a roll in the hay before this guy headed back to hell. Honestly, I’d take it. It was better than nothing.

  But that romantic side wanted more. Maybe, just maybe, she’d finally get what she wanted.

  Hadur sat back and admired his work, then set the nail polish aside and scooted up to the spot on the bed where I’d arranged the Yahtzee game. I explained how things worked, then we got to rolling.

  “So, tell me about being a war demon,” I said as I added up my four-of-a-kind score.

  “It’s pretty much like it sounds. When there’s a conflict stirring up, I pop out of hell and check it out. Get things moving. Bring stuff to a head. Once I establish momentum, I head back and let everyone take it from there.”

  I frowned. “I’d envisioned you doing the stirring. And seeing things through to its conclusion. Oh, you should try for a full house on that one. If you don’t get it, you’ll still have three twos.”

  He eyed the dice, then took my advice. “There is no need for me to do any stirring. Humans are perfectly capable of working up resentment, unfairness, anger, and envy on their own. The job for me is in making sure that doesn’t fester, that they get it out into the open. Sometimes that’s through peaceful means, but mostly it’s through violence.” He rolled the dice. “Yes! You were right. I did get a full house.”

  I took the dice while he noted down his score. “So, you’re like the dude who lances a boil,” I teased. “You get the unenviably gross job of making sure the infection gets out and the healing can begin.”

  “Sadly, no. Rarely is there healing. Always enough of an infection lingers that I find I’m back in a few generations to do it all over again. Sooner, sometimes.”

  I grimaced, taking a chance score on my unsuccessful large straight attempt as I mulled over his words. “So, you’ve been stuck here for two hundred years, but there’s still been wars and conflicts. I would have thought locking you up would stop all that.”

  Maybe that’s what the summoning witch had been trying to do? Stop wars? Although confining someone, even a demon, for hundreds of years was a pretty shitty way of achieving world peace.

  “I’m not the only war demon in hell. Yahtzee! Yes!” He wrote down the score and passed me the dice. “Even if we were all stripped of our powers or locked away, there would still be conflict. Instead of small, easily solved conflict, there would be war on a huge scale—a devastatingly huge scale. Our job is to bring conflict into the open before it grows into something monstrous.”

  “Like World War Two?” I scowled down at the dice, trying to decide if I should risk my bonus or take a zero on that troubling large straight.

  “I read about that in newspapers and books Diebin brought me.” Hadur shook his head. “Arestius’s work. He’s a lousy excuse for a war demon. He never should have let things get that far before stepping in. They should have sent someone else.”

  “Like you?” I smiled over at him, noting that he seemed to be blushing.

  “I do my best,” he commented modestly.

  “Well, you certainly rock in Yahtzee.” I compared our scores. “You should play against Sylvie sometime. She wins everything.”

  Sylvie had the gift of luck. She helped me out sometimes when I needed a specialized enchantment, but where she really excelled was in luck posies and charms. Sylvie wasn’t skilled enough to win the Mega Millions, but she always came out a few bucks ahead on scratch-offs, cleaned up at raffles, and was damn near unbeatable at board games. Clue, Monopoly, Life, you name it.

  “You said you have six sisters?” Hadur asked as he put away the Yahtzee game.

  “Yep, six.” I yawned, snuggling down into my furry blankets. “Cassie is the eldest and the strongest of all of us. She’s the one who is shacked up with Lucien. I’m the next eldest. Then there’s the twins Sylvie and Ophelia. Then Glenda, who is the only one of us who has any ability in healing, although Ophelia is a paramedic and is skilled in divination. Go figure. Then Adrienne who as I said earlier has this thing going with animals, like some sort of pied piper. Then the youngest is Babylon. Who does not do sex magic, in spite of her very unfortunate name.”

  The demon laughed. “And what does this baby sister of yours do?”

  “Necromancy. I know. Weird, huh? We’re all pretty weird. Cassie wouldn’t even practice magic for years and years—well, except for that time she set her ex-boyfriend’s pants on fire. Babylon insists everyone call her Lonnie because she hates her name. Ophelia looks like she’s auditioning for a grown-up Wednesday Addams part, or maybe as a back-up for Nine Inch Nails. Adrienne talks to cockroaches in her spare time. Sylvie is a sex therapist specializing in alternative lifestyles or something like that. Glenda is probably the closest to normal of all of us, and she’ll talk your ear off about the benefits of seaweed enemas and fish oil smoothies.”

  “And what about you?” He sat down on the bed beside me.

  “Welder. Farrier. Possibly soon-to-be-cat-owner. I enchant things. Metal especially, although I’m really proud of that towel I did for Pete’s bar. Fear the towel.”

  “And?”

  I squirmed, not wanting to tell him. We all had our burdens, especially Cassie who’d raised us when Grandma died and Mom took off. My burdens were that I’d heard them—I’d heard the night that Dad left, when Mom was pregnant with Babylon and I was only six years old. I knew that Grandma was afraid—for the town, for us, for herself, that the werewolves would take over if she couldn’t keep them in check. I knew why Mom left, and although I hated her for it, I understood.

  I was the keeper of the secrets. And I was the one
who lived alone, who would probably die alone, carrying those secrets to the grave with me.

  Well, alone except for that cat I planned on adopting sometime soon. Maybe when my leg healed.

  “Keep your secrets, my witch.” Hadur smoothed my hair back, then leaned down and kissed my forehead. “Someday I hope you share your burden and let these things see the light of day before they grow and take root in your soul.”

  Spoken like a morbid demon. Actually, spoken like a war demon whose job it was to bring conflict to the surface so healing could begin—even if that healing was short lived.

  Chapter 8

  Hadur

  Diebin came back sometime around midnight, having delivered his note. Whoever had received the missive would find themselves minus three pounds of bacon and a dozen eggs. I gave the raccoon two of the eggs in appreciation, with the promise that I’d share tomorrow’s breakfast with him. My witch would have her bacon. And with the note delivered, soon someone would arrive to take her home.

  The thought caused me more distress than anything in the last two centuries. Having her here was sweeter than freedom. She made me laugh. I cherished her company. I loved caring for her, providing for her. I wanted her, and from the heated glances she sent my way, from the way her breath hitched and her pulse raced every time I touched her, I knew she wanted me, too. It was torture, but I held myself back, wanting our first time together to be one of unbridled passion, without worry about her broken leg or the bruises she still sported across her chest and legs. Her family would probably be here at daylight, and then she’d be gone. Would she continue to want me once she left?

  Would she truly set me free as she promised?

  I had mixed emotions about that. The usual arrangement was that a witch would request a task and in return the demon would be granted their freedom, returning to hell after the task was completed. I didn’t always relish these tasks, but such was the way things worked between demons and witches.

  But this witch was different. I got the idea that my freedom would not be in exchange for any service on my part, that she considered my freedom already earned by my assistance in helping her, or actually just her duty without any need for recompense on my part. I loved that she had such a big heart and a sense of moral duty, but the thought that I would be set free and returned to hell bothered me.

  Would I ever see her again? In the course of my infernal duties, could I somehow squeeze in extra time to visit her? That spoiled, pampered Lucien got as many vacations as he wanted, but my requests for them had never been granted. Not even Satan wanted a war demon roaming among the humans with no purpose, potentially causing widespread violence. The only time I was allowed here was as part of my job and if I was summoned.

  And if this last summoning was any indication, I wasn’t sure I wanted to go through that again. Being called out of hell, only to find myself trapped for two hundred years? If Bronwyn hadn’t found me, how much longer would I have remained here?

  I looked over at her, feeling a very unfamiliar emotion. Fear. Fear not that she’d leave and forget her promise to free me, but that she’d be unable to do so, that she’d maybe die before breaking the circle that bound me. I’d remain here, possibly forever.

  Alone.

  Or worse, she’d free me and send me to hell, not caring if she ever saw me again. It would be that good deed, that nice thing she’d done for the demon she’d found imprisoned in the woods, the one who had helped her from a smashed vehicle and cared for her. I feared that I would be nothing to her, when in such a short time, she’d become everything to me.

  It was the fear that made me go to the bed, laying down beside her and gently gathering her into my arms. Her hair was soft and silky, red-brown like the autumn leaves. Her skin warm and soft, shivering under my touch.

  I wanted her so badly, but she was hurt and needed sleep. Besides, it wasn’t what I wanted that mattered, it was what she wanted. But in the meantime, there was no harm in lying next to her, lending her my warmth, thinking of all the other things I’d like to do to her.

  Something prickled at the back of my neck, a sense that another had entered my circle. Animals came and went all the time, but in over two hundred years, I’d only felt this feeling twice before—when Bronwyn came crashing through the boundary with her vehicle, and when the werewolf had arrived.

  Only a witch could free me from this place. When I’d seen that the trespasser decades ago had been a werewolf, I’d been inclined to ignore him. He was the one who’d attacked me, claiming I was illegally living on their territory. It was a fight to the death—his death. War demons often have that effect on others, increasing their anger and willingness to fight. He hadn’t backed down, and I could hardly comply with his demands to leave.

  But this trespasser…. Diebin had taken Bronwyn’s note to someone, and the most likely scenario was that they’d come to rescue her. In the middle of the night. In the dark. I smoothed her hair back, placing a soft kiss on her cheek before sliding out of bed and into my clothing. Diebin stirred by the fireplace, his eyes glowing an eerie shade in the reflected light. I gestured for him to stay, wanting someone here to guard my witch just in case the being outside was more foe than friend. Yes, she was a witch and most likely perfectly capable of defending herself, but she was also injured, and I knew firsthand how fierce an angry raccoon could be.

  Moving silently to the door, I listened for a moment, then eased it open just enough to slip out into the night.

  A fingernail moon shone faintly behind thin clouds, but I didn’t need the light to see. With a quick glance backward at the cheerily lit cabin, I transformed into smoke, rolling along the ground, and approached the intruder.

  Not a witch. Not that spoiled arrogant demon she’d said her eldest sister had ensnared either. No, this was another werewolf.

  Perhaps things had changed in the last few decades, but I doubted it. As a demon of war, I was skilled at sensing malevolent intent. What had that note of Bronwyn’s said? Had the witch-sisters sent this creature thinking my witch was in danger? Was this Lucien’s doing? We’d certainly had our disagreements in the past, but I hadn’t seen that demon in over two hundred years. Surely, he’d be more concerned about the well-being of a witch, the sister of his witch, then any old grudges. And Lucien, as entitled and self-absorbed as he was, wasn’t likely to send a werewolf to do his dirty work.

  Maybe I was just being paranoid.

  Drifting behind a tree, I transformed, deciding my demon form was more likely to send the sort of message I wanted. Then I stepped out from behind the tree and into the view of the werewolf.

  The wolf held up his hands. “I mean you no harm. I’m just here for the witch.”

  My heart sank. This was it. I wasn’t sure if I was more upset that my time with Bronwyn had come to an end, or that her sisters had distrusted me so much they’d sent a werewolf to retrieve her. This must be Lucien’s doing. He’d turned them against me. Lucien distrusted me.

  But that was my problem, not Bronwyn’s. She needed to be home where her healers could help her. She’d promised to release me, and I just needed to be patient and trust that she’d do so. And as for the rest…I’d pledged to be hers, to serve her, but if she didn’t want the service of a war demon, then I would just return to hell.

  Figures. I finally met a witch to partner with, one I wanted to do more than partner with. I’d finally met a witch I felt I could bond with, one I actually liked, one I enjoyed spending time with, one I wanted to make mine in every sense of the word. Finally, I met a witch I felt I was destined to spend all eternity with, and she might not want me.

  “We appreciate your taking care of her,” the werewolf told me. “To show our gratitude, we would like to offer you a gift. Are you…are you staying here long?”

  “I hope not.” I peered at the werewolf, suddenly realizing that he would hardly know my fate. “I’ve been trapped here for over two hundred years. I cannot leave this area until the witch frees me.”
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  The werewolf shifted his weight. “We never come down this part of the mountain. Two hundred years? No one has known you were here for two hundred years? And you can’t leave or anything?”

  That warning prickled at the back of my neck once more. What was Lucien planning? Maybe the other demon would make sure Bronwyn never freed me. Maybe Lucien was behind my imprisonment here so long ago and wanted to make sure I stayed here, undetected, trapped forever.

  But that didn’t matter. What mattered was making sure my witch was safe and with her people and receiving the care she needed to get better.

  “No one beyond you and Bronwyn knows I am here,” I replied. “She is sleeping now and it’s dark. Did you want to stay and move her in the morning?”

  “No, we need her tonight. I can see just fine in the dark and I’m strong enough to carry her.”

  “You’re strong enough to carry her up the side of the mountain alone, in the dark?” Clearly, I’d underestimated these werewolves. Perhaps that one I’d encountered decades ago had been a weakling of their species.

  “Yes.” The werewolf scowled. “I’m in a bit of a hurry. Her sisters want to see her and make sure she’s okay.”

  Of course they did. I motioned for the werewolf to follow me and led him back to the cabin.

  “Stay here,” I told the werewolf, remembering how uncomfortable Bronwyn had been about her nudity. She most likely wouldn’t be happy to have this werewolf come inside when she was covered only by some pelts. And if she wasn’t bothered by the werewolf seeing her naked, then I was.

  The werewolf lurked outside the door as I went in. Bronwyn was awake and out of bed, wrapped in a sheet. She was holding onto a small frying pan with one hand, balancing herself against the bedpost with the other. Her reddish-brown hair was a tangled mess. The air sparked with the scent of her magic and sex. Both stirred me. Her magic. Her pheromones. The warmth of her skin, the softness of her hair, how she’d cried out my name when I pleasured her in the bathtub.