by H. D. Gordon
Then a thought came, and it was only one word, a name actually, but it was as clear as Kadari crystal.
Charlie.
Her brow furrowed. Why was she thinking of Charlie? That was no good. She shoved the thought away, opening her mouth to say something, not knowing what it would be until it came out.
“You’ll have to give me time to consider things,” she said, and cleared her throat as the solution came to her, her voice adopting the confidence that always carried in her sweet tone. “There is much to be done now, too much that requires my attention.”
Theo’s expression changed, not so much a hardening, as she was used to seeing from him, but more a poker mask sliding into place. Surah felt a pang of guilt. She had never seen this expression on Theo’s face, and it was strangely disarming. She thought for just a moment that if he always wore this look, rather than the smug one he put on for all others, she might not dislike him so much. Her gloved hand reached up before she could stop it.
It rested against Theo’s face, and his eyes softened as he leaned his chin into her touch. For a moment Surah could see why so many women were in love with him, and she had to work a little to hold his gaze. She gave him her gentlest princess smile, and he didn’t know the difference. So few would.
“I will consider it, Theo,” she said, “and I am honored that you have asked.” She swallowed. “But there are other matters at hand…you understand?” Her voice was sweet and low, the purr of a kitten. One of her more deceptive qualities.
Theo smiled, flashing perfect teeth. He really was a handsome man, with fine lines to his face and dark lashes. He took Surah’s hand into his and kissed it, bowing his head.
“Of course, my lady,” he said.
Surah was just breathing a sigh of relief when something nudged her hard in the back, making her stumble forward into Theo’s arms. He caught her quickly and set her to rights, and Surah whipped her head around to see Samson staring at her, his amber eyes only inches from her own, his huge chest puffing as he chuffed and growled deeply. He sent her one word telepathically, then he shot off across the foyer in the direction of the king’s quarters.
The one word was trouble.
Surah didn’t think twice. She took to her heels and chased her tiger down the hallway to her father’s study, her heart beating out of her chest, the stone at her throat growing alternately hot and cold. Samson had heard something. Something was wrong. She could feel it too now. Big trouble.
The tiger slammed head-first into the double doors to the study, crashing them open with cracks like thunder, and charged into the room. Surah followed only moments after, with Theo right at her heels.
Her breath caught in her throat as she took in the scene. Her father stood off to the side, his thick hands raised and moving through the air in ceaseless motion as his lips recited spell after spell after spell. Lightning flew from his fingertips like snakes of silver. His face was all concentrated, sharp lines, and his hair stood up on end as if electricity were passing through him.
Magic was so thick in here that it floated on the air like smoke and charged the room with heat like a divine furnace. King Syrian’s two personal Hunters lay dead on the floor. Blood ran down the walls, pooled on the soft purple carpet. The screeches and screams of the damned bounced off the walls and floor and ceiling. The enormous fireplace in the west wall blazed like the infernos of hell.
And out of it poured demons.
Surah rolled her neck and removed the two sais that she always kept crisscrossed at her back, thinking this was turning out to be one hell of a day.
Chapter 8
Surah
Samson charged forward, his muscular body held low and his amber eyes flashing with battle lust. He leapt into the air and clamped his huge jaws around the black, rotted body of a demon, snatching it out of flight like a dazed fly.
The Demon shrieked, its cry of agony ripping through Surah’s ears as the tiger and the thing came crashing to the ground, Samson’s teeth ripping at the black skeletal figure and sending oily blood and body parts in all directions.
The smell in the room was awful, like that of death. Nearly choking.
Another demon swept down toward Surah, skeletal black wings blowing the heat of the fireplace against her face, lifting her short lavender hair from her shoulders. Her heart leapt as she spun around with her sais and skewered the thing right through the midsection, its long claws reaching and scraping, its red eyes widening and mouth gaping. Her lips trembled as she uttered a banishing spell. The thing disappeared in a thick cloud of black smoke, leaving behind only the smell of burning flesh and spoiled fruit.
For a short moment that seemed incredibly long, all she could do was stand there and stare around the room. She had seen a demon or two before, but she had never seen so many demons before. The sight was nearly paralyzing. Like watching a scene in hell.
It reminded her of the battle she’d witnessed a month ago in a place called the Silver City run by the Vampires and Wolves. In all her life she had never seen such a thing as she had that night, and she still wished she never had. She had watched the young Sun Warrior charge into battle, could still see so clearly the deep red that spilled into the stark white snow, the steamy breath that issued from the mouths of so many dying, visible last moments of life. She remembered the moment when the young Warrior lost her mind, the battle lust overcoming her and the destruction that followed. The look in the girl’s eyes—Alexa, her name was Alexa—was the same look that now rode behind the glowing red eyes of the demons in the room. The eyes were dark abysses. You stared into them, and they stared back.
And the smell. That awful, awful smell.
It was nearly paralyzing indeed, but when another demon whipped its head toward her, fiery eyes flashing and sharp claws raised, its throat issuing that ear-clenching screech, she snapped out of her reverie and slid into battle mode.
It was not difficult. Death was the only thing in life Surah knew to be a certainty, and as much as she had faced it, she also dealt it when necessary. If not for the worry for her father, who was currently fighting off a demon of his own, and moving not quite as fast as he used to, she thought she might enjoy this. Battling demons was not something one got the opportunity to do often.
She gripped her weapons, the ends of which were black with rotted blood, dripping ropes of it. Her cloak fluttered with her movements, dancing around her as she moved through the room and battled the demons like an angel dancing on storm clouds.
Beside her, Theodine Gray danced with his sword as well, and slid its blade across the throat of another demon, its shrieks of anger and agony filling the room.
But Syrian was moving too slowly. Just her glimpses of him—his movement stiff, his eyes bulging and the vein in his forehead standing out—told her they were in serious trouble here. They were too far outnumbered.
And more were coming out of the hearth. Ugly, black creatures with glowing red eyes, their bodies nothing but bone and rotted muscle. Their hands were claws and their feet hooves. Horns protruded from their skulls, beneath which sat faces from nightmares. Bat-like wings flapped at their backs, stirring the hot air and pushing the scent of decay and death around the room in rank waves. Surah had to close the portal they were coming through, or at least try. Gods only knew how long they could hold the demons off.
“Samson,” she said, her voice sounding strange in the unintelligible chaos of the room. Small somehow. Out of place.
The tiger’s huge head whipped toward her. He moved to her side immediately, leaping into the air again and severing the body of a demon with his powerful jaws in mid-flight. He landed on his paws in front of her, black blood marring his fur and teeth, and shook his head, whipping a piece of rotted demon flesh against the wall, where it splattered like a bug and slid down to the floor in a nasty pool.
Surah clutched the stone at her throat and closed her eyes, knowing Samson would protect her while she did this. She ran through the spell Syris had taugh
t her for closing portals to deeper dimensions, hoping she would get it right. She had only ever performed it once in training with her brother, and he’d had to help a good deal.
She recited the words, her brow furrowing in concentration, doing her best to ignore the growls of her tiger and the cries of the damned, the pure wrongness in the room.
Sweat trickled down her back as she clenched her hands into fists and recited faster, the stone squeezed in the palm of her hand burning now. Her head grew light with the effort, the power washing through her and sweeping her away. She planted her feet and continued, her breath coming short and heart pounding like a death toll.
She felt it when it worked, like a puzzle piece snapping into place, and all sound seemed momentarily sucked out of the room. The wonderful feeling that accompanied successful magic swept through her, and her eyes snapped open and propelled her back to the scene. She looked first to the stone fireplace, and breathed a huge breath as no more demons came out of it.
A screech issued to her left, where Theo was removing the head of one of the remaining demons, his left hand gripping the demon’s large horn as he ran his blade across the thing’s throat, his lips moving swiftly in a banishing spell, the small Head Hunter’s stone around his neck glowing red.
Then, she looked to her right, where her father was sending two more demons away in noxious clouds of black smoke, his big chest heaving in a way that made more worry spiral in Surah’s stomach.
Samson sat at her side, licking black blood from his paws and teeth, his eyes narrowed to slits and powerful shoulders relaxed, as though he’d just finished dinner rather than killing demons.
At last, it was done.
Four Hunters came rushing through the double doors of the study, way too late to the party, and stood staring at the scene in the room with slightly wide eyes, the only indication of their alarm.
Surah looked down at herself, eyeing the rank black demon blood marring her cloak and gloves. She felt a trickle of something roll down her neck and reached up to wipe at it, suppressing a gag when she saw that it was more of the nasty blood.
She ran her hands down the air in front of her, reciting a spell to clean away the mess, and drew a few deep breaths after she’d set herself to rights. Her father and Theo cleaned themselves off as well, and the three stood looking at each other not knowing at all what to say.
It was Theo who broke the silence. He slid his sword into the back of his cloak and his jaw clenched. “I better go check on the prisoner,” he said.
Chapter 9
Surah
Surah followed on Theo’s heels, not wanting to give him a chance to abuse Charlie, but when they got there, she stopped in her tracks, her blood going cold.
Standing in the cell with Charlie was a Sorcerer she would know anywhere, so notorious he was for his actions in her father’s kingdom.
Black Heart.
And also Charlie’s brother, reminded a small voice in her head.
Surah only had time to meet Charlie’s gaze once before the two Sorcerers disappeared from the cell, somehow opening a portal despite the magic in place that was supposed to prevent that.
Her heart didn’t sink. She didn’t know him well enough for her heart to sink, but it tilted. She examined the emotion as they stood there in silence, staring at the spot where Charlie Redmine and Black Heart had been just a moment ago. It was just a beat of time, but in it she acknowledged that she felt a little disappointed at this new development, at what she’d just seen. It was then she realized she’d really wanted Charlie to be innocent, to come out of this unscathed.
But the moment passed on a single bated breath, and she wiped the thoughts away as one might chalk from a blackboard. Why should she be disappointed? They had only met once before, when they had just barely been teenagers, and she had been a stupid young girl.
Theo broke the silence, which he seemed to be doing a lot lately. His voice was hard and deep. “Can you perform a tracking spell, my lady?” he asked.
Surah nodded, her head curiously light on her shoulders. She kept trying to shove thoughts of Charlie away, and found the name kept coming back, along with the tropical ocean color of his eyes, the calmness and control that radiated from them. His eyes were the only things that were the same as she remembered, but she couldn’t remember having this reaction to him before.
Surely she was too wise to be as vain as to be spellbound by just his appearance, though she had to admit said appearance had become rather spellbinding. There was no denying that; he was a good-looking man. A very good-looking man. But so what? If you asked most people, so was Theodine Gray. It meant nothing. Or at least, it shouldn’t.
“How long will it take you to prepare?” Theo asked yanking her out of her troublesome thoughts.
Surah’s mouth felt a little dry. She licked her lips. “Half an hour,” she said, “and I’ll need to consult with Bassil first.”
Theo nodded and opened the door that led out into the hallway. Surah stepped through, and he followed, shutting the door behind him. “I’ll have the Warlock sent to your quarters.”
Surah forced herself to look up into Theo’s gray eyes and smile. She may not be too fond of him, but at least he wasn’t a liar. She refused to recognize the twist of her stomach that came with that thought.
“Thank you,” she said.
Then she snapped her fingers and opened a portal back to her chambers to prepare the spell that might track down Charlie Redmine and his brother.
She couldn’t say for certain if she hoped it would work or not.
Bottles clanked together and flew from the shelf inside the cabinet, floating on the air and settling on the counter in a neat row.
Surah walked in front of them and read the labels, her posture stiff and rigid, placing the ones she needed in a pile off to the side without even touching them. Her father would have thought it a useless application of magic, but Surah was on edge, and she didn’t particularly care what her father would say right now. He’d forced this work on her, shoving her into being Keeper, and she would complete the tasks in the manner she pleased, because backing out now was not an option.
Bassil stood behind her, motionless, watching. His hands were tucked into the sleeves of his cloak where he crossed his huge arms over his chest. Surah turned her head to the side, looking up at him from the corner of her eye.
“Quit staring at me like that, Bassil.” She smiled a little. “It’s creepy.”
Bassil chuckled, a deep, rich laugh that matched the dark tone of his skin. His white teeth glinted behind a wide smile. His voice was slightly accented by the Northlands, even after all these years. He turned on his heel, making his multi-colored, patchwork cloak flip around his legs, and went over to the window to sit by Samson.
The Warlock patted the tiger between the ears. Samson lay unmoving, his huge head resting on his paws, amber eyes watching his mistress. He didn’t lean into the touch. He would let Bassil and a select few others pet him, but he only responded to Surah’s hands.
“As you wish, princess,” Bassil said. “You just go on and keep flinging bottles off the shelf like a worried Elf’s wife.”
Surah spun around on her heels, the smile gone from her face, her voice flat, her princess-etiquette momentarily discarded.
“The Black Stone is missing, Warlock. A Highborn lady is dead. Demons just flew out of my father’s fireplace and tried to kill him. How is it you think I should be acting?”
Bassil clasped his hands together in front of him and smiled humbly. “Ah, a real reaction from the princess. You are getting better at showing your emotions, my lady.”
Surah’s head tilted back, a mischievous glint in her eye, and she flung a bottle of purple potion at the Warlock with her magic. Bassil laughed and his hand shot up, halting the bottle mid-flight. He moved his hand to the side and the vial settled on Surah’s dresser. Surah relaxed a little, taking comfort in the interaction. She had grown up with Bassil. He had been her mentor
since she was a little girl, and this was a normal exchange between them.
“You still throw like a princess, I see,” he said.
Surah rolled her eyes and continued picking out bottles for the spell.
“I thought you were here to help me,” she said. “Isn’t there something you should be setting up? What do we pay you for?”
Bassil laughed again. “My wise council, of course, and you seem to be doing a fair job of it yourself, my lady.”
Surah inventoried her selections so far, turning her back to Bassil and replacing the unneeded bottles. “Maybe I should tell Samson to bite you,” she said.
Bassil looked down to see the tiger looking at him with those golden eyes, and took a step away from the window where Samson was perched. He knew Surah wasn’t serious, but the tiger had been listening, and now he could practically see the idea playing out in the beast’s head.
“Very funny, my lady,” he said.
Surah smiled and gathered the bottles, moving over to the table by the window and placing them on top before taking a seat in the chair there. Bassil claimed the seat across from her, eyeing the ingredients.
“This would work better with eagle’s blood,” he said.
Surah’s purple eyes lifted to the Warlock’s face, her hands pausing over the small bowl she was arranging at the center of the table.
“Perhaps,” she said, “but that’s black magic. You know this, Bassil.”
The Warlock nodded once. “True, but you’re searching for darkness. It lays on the horizon, princess, rolling toward the land as we speak. Black magic killed Merin Nightborn and allowed demons to enter your father’s chamber. Black magic may be the only way to face the things ahead.”
Surah’s teeth clenched. A terribly cold shiver walked up her spine. Bassil’s voice had taken on that haunting tone she’d learned to both trust and fear over the years. She gave him a level stare, restraining a reaction that would give away her unease, retaining her manners.