by Linsey Hall
It was a narrow space but long enough to look large. Every wall was covered with bookshelves that were stuffed to the brim with old leather tomes. The lights were old Tiffany lamps with yellow bulbs—none of those modern white ones for Dr. Garriso. I was pretty sure he’d use candles if they’d let him.
I took a seat in one of the two wingback chairs at the far end of the office. I sank into it like it was a cloud. They were right under the window, though they looked like they should be in front of a fireplace. His desk was at the other end. In the middle, near the door, was the table with the tea supplies.
“What brings you to my office?” Dr. Garriso asked as he poured water from an electric kettle into a chipped coffee mug. He dumped in five sugar cubes and fixed a plain one for himself, then joined me.
“Thanks,” I said as I took the coffee mug he held out. I sipped, then cursed.
“You know you should wait,” he said as he lowered himself slowly into his chair.
“I know. But you make the best tea.”
“Hummingbird food,” he said.
“Yeah, yeah, so I like sugar.” But I grinned. I liked being around Dr. Garriso. It didn’t take a shrink to figure out that since I couldn’t remember my parents, I was probably looking for some kind authority figure as a stand-in.
But whatever. Psychoanalyzing myself wasn’t going to do me any good. I’d just enjoy Dr. Garriso's company and hopefully get my answers.
“I have a question about some demons that I’ve been encountering.”
“What kind?”
“I call them shadow demons because they’re gray and throw smoke when they fight. They’ve also got big arms and narrow horns that run back along their heads. I’ve been seeing them all over the place lately. One of them knew something they shouldn’t.”
“Shouldn’t how?”
“It’s kinda a secret.”
“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me what it is?”
“‘Friad I can’t.” Truth was, I honestly didn’t think Dr. Garriso would turn me in to the Order of the Magica. But I couldn’t risk it.
“That’s all right.” Dr. Garriso tapped his chin and scrunched his brow. “Interesting. I think I might know just the kind of demon you’re talking about.”
He set his tea down and stood, then walked slowly along the bookshelves, examining the titles.
“That’s it!” he muttered as he pulled down a big leather-bound one and brought it back. He sat and flipped through it, his brow creased.
“Ah! That’s it,” he said a few minutes later, his finger pressed to a page. He passed it to me. An illustration of one of the gray bastards stared back.
“You found them!” I said, then glanced at the heading. “Eshkanawinawel?”
“Some of them have rather long names,” he said as he reached for the book. I handed it over and he skimmed it. “Their language is a complex one. I believe Eshkanawinawel means Smoke Thrower.”
“I think I’ll keep calling them shadow demons.”
“Fair enough.” Dr. Garriso skimmed the book again. “Ah, yes,” he muttered. “As I thought. They look very similar to Karst Demons, Grayskin Demons, and Fallow Demons. It is the smoke throwing that is one of their primary distinguishing factors.”
I felt a little better about not freaking out earlier about these demons. They hadn’t thrown smoke at the monks’ island, after all, so they could have been any number of demons.
“What else does it say?” I asked.
“Well, like most demons, they frequently act on behalf of whoever will get them out of their hells. Mercenaries. They’re very low-level demons—not very intelligent, but very loyal. They often work in large numbers for whoever frees them and gives them reason to fight.”
“I suppose that’s a good quality in a minion.”
“Yes. These demons are frequently used by those who cannot sway anyone rational to their cause. Bad people.”
“Does every single demon in the species work for one person? The same bad person?”
Dr. Garriso glanced down at the book, his eyes darting across the page. He looked back up at me. “No. They come from a large hell. Very old. I would imagine that there are several unsavory types hiring Eshkanawinawel demons.”
A tiny sigh of relief escaped me. And old hell equaled old demons. And if there were so many, it was likely that the demon who’d guarded the Chalice of Youth had nothing to do with the other demons.
I’d still stay on my guard, but there was no reason to freak out just yet.
“Does that help?” Dr. Garriso asked.
“Yes. Thank you, Dr. Garriso.”
“It’s no problem at all. Is there anything else I can do for you?”
I shook my head. “No, but thank you. I need to get going.”
He stood and walked me out. “Good luck with whatever it is you are facing.”
“Thank you.” I thought I might need it.
I fell into bed when I got home. My mind raced a mile a minute even after I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, so when the dream started, I didn’t even realize it was a dream. Everything was black behind my eyelids, as if I were still awake and thinking.
But the smell was different from my bedroom. Dank, like water dripping down stone. There was more stone beneath me as well. And at my back. I crouched in the corner, pressing myself against a wall, as if trying to disappear. I felt like I could drown in fear; it filled my lungs, making it hard to breathe.
Nearby, someone wept softly. Two people, I realized. I squinted into the dark, trying to see them, but all I saw was darkness. The sound of skittering feet came from behind me.
Rats. I couldn’t see them, but I knew. My heart pounded, the sound thunderous in my ears. But the footsteps were louder than even my heart.
Terror streaked through me and I sobbed.
The footsteps were coming closer. Coming for me?
I squeezed myself into a ball, trying to disappear into the stone. If I could just make myself small enough, he wouldn’t find me.
But if he didn’t find me, he’d take the other girls instead. Protectiveness welled in me. I could jump on him. Fight him. Then we’d run.
The door crashed open and light blinded me. It pounded into my head like flame. I jerked up in bed, gasping.
Shuddering, I fumbled for the bedside light. It clicked on, glowing softly. My bedroom.
Sweat covered my skin, and my lungs heaved as I sucked in air. Felt like I’d run miles. I looked around my room. At my hands. At anything that would place me in the real world and not the dream world.
I was in my bedroom. I was okay.
I was safe in Magic’s Bend. I buried my face in my hands as my shoulders shook. I wasn’t back there, I wasn’t back there, I wasn’t back there.
I’d never had that dream before. Was that my past? Had Del and Nix and I been locked up somewhere?
CHAPTER TEN
By the time I blearily stumbled into Potions & Pastilles the next morning, I was desperate for a coffee. Though the sleep had done me good, I wouldn’t be functional without some caffeine.
P & P was empty that early, thank magic. Waiting in line would have been a bitch.
“Whoa, the dead walks,” Connor said as I entered. He glanced at the clock behind the counter. “Six forty-five. I don’t think I’ve ever even seen you prior to nine.”
“Har har,” I said. But he was right. I’d never been a morning person. I prayed to magic that Aidan wouldn’t be early. I’d dragged myself out of bed just so I could have fifteen minutes with a coffee to get my mind ready to deal with him.
“The usual?” Connor asked as he turned to the espresso machine.
“Please.” I climbed onto one of the three barstools at the small counter and peered into the glass display case next to me. Connor had only put out the cinnamon buns, but they looked delicious. Icing dripped from their golden crust, and sticky cinnamon paste clung to all the nooks and crannies.
“Those look amazing,” I said as
Connor put my latte in front of me. His apron was covered in flour again, but as usual, his t-shirt and jeans were spotless.
“Want one?”
“Two.” I was going to need all the energy I could get.
Connor pulled out the tray and put a plate of two in front of me. “So, what brings you to my esteemed establishment so early in the morning?”
“Your fine company.”
He laughed. “Bull. You’re meeting that dude again.”
“It’s for a job.”
“Yeah, yeah. But he looks at you like you’re more than a job. Dude likes you.”
I stuffed a cinnamon bun into my face to avoid talking. Connor would just give me more shit if I protested. He’d adopted me and my deirfiúr as sisters and treated us like he treated Claire. Which meant, though I loved him, that he was a big pain in the butt sometimes.
“This is great,” I said when I swallowed. “Is there nutmeg in these?”
His face brightened. Jackpot. Connor loved baking like I loved running through enchanted tombs. It was like an extension of his potion-making talents. This had to distract him.
“Yeah,” he said. “I took a bit of nutmeg and some—”
The door creaked behind me, and I turned as Connor said, “Hey, Aidan. What can I get you?”
Aidan smiled. “Triple espresso would be great, thanks. To-go cup.”
“Coming right up.”
“You should try the cinnamon buns,” I said.
He reached for the second one on my plate, and I pulled it away, scowling. “Not mine, you monster. Connor will get you one.”
“Did you fail kindergarten?” he asked.
“Kindergarten?”
“That’s where people learn to share.”
“Uh, yeah.” I shoved the second cinnamon bun into my mouth. Not only did I not want to talk about it, I didn’t want to even think about the fact that I couldn’t remember kindergarten.
“Thanks,” Aidan said to Connor as my friend handed him the paper cup and a bag with a cinnamon bun.
When Aidan handed over a twenty, Connor said, “Don’t worry about it. On the house.”
“Don’t give him stuff,” I said. “He’ll keep coming back if you feed him.”
“That’s the point. We’ve got to get you a man somehow,” Connor said.
“You’re the worst.” I threw the last bite of my cinnamon bun at him, mournfully watching it fly through the air. “The actual worst. Good day to you, sir.”
I hopped off the stool and faced Aidan. “Ready?”
“Yeah.” He glanced back at Connor. “Thanks, man.”
“Anytime, bro.”
Ugh. They were buddies. This couldn’t be good.
I led the way out to Aidan’s car and climbed into the passenger seat. At least the day was going to be clear and bright. The sky was a brilliant blue, and the birds were singing their butts off.
“You know the way to Darklane?” I asked.
“Yeah. Whenever we have a break-in at one of the properties we secure, there’s a good chance the culprit lives in Darklane.”
“Lead on, then.”
Aidan navigated through town while I wished I’d asked for another coffee to go. Surreptitiously, I reached for his to-go cup and took a sip.
“Gah,” I spat after I’d swallowed. “Lighter fluid.”
“Griffon fuel.”
“I guess.” I wiped my mouth. “That’ll teach me to snitch your drinks.”
He grinned. I glanced quickly out the window to keep myself from mooning over him. We’d entered the business district of town. There were a few tall buildings, none over ten stories.
“Do you have an office here?” I asked.
He nodded and pointed to the left, where the grandest building stood. “That one.”
“I should have guessed.”
The business district gave way to the historic district. These buildings had been here since the early seventeen hundreds and it showed. The architecture was like something out of the old world. European supernaturals had made it out here earlier than human settlers and established Magic’s Bend in 1712. There’d been some trouble with the Native American supernaturals—which was bound to happen when you invaded someone’s land—but that had been settled eventually with a peace treaty.
It wasn’t like supernaturals were any more peaceful than humans—definitely not. There’d been an ugly war leading up to the peace treaty, but the result had been a stable alliance that had allowed Magic’s Bend to grow into the largest magical city in America.
“Do you ever come down here?” Aidan asked as we drove through the bustling streets of the historic district.
There was a lot more foot traffic here, drawn by the shops and restaurants that made up the bottom floors of the old buildings. Though almost everyone looked human, I spotted a few fae with their wings out and one huge dude who looked like he was half giant. Though many supernaturals went out amongst humans—and even lived amongst them—non-human looking supernaturals were required by law to stay in wholly magical cities like Magic’s Bend.
“I come down here occasionally,” I said. “But I mostly hang out on Factory Row.”
My neighborhood had been revitalized in the 1990s when the abandoned factories from the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries had been turned into apartments and shops, mostly antique places. P & P and the Flying Wizard were the only two bars on that side of town, but they worked fine for my socializing needs. It didn’t have quite the same charm as the historic district, but it suited me. And it was the only place where we could afford apartments big enough to stash our hoards.
“Do you come down here a lot?” I asked as we finally passed out of the historic district and into Darklane.
“Darklane? No. Only when work brings me here,” Aidan said. “But yes to the historic side of town. They’ve got some good restaurants. We’ll have to try one when this job is over.”
“We’ll see.” I turned my attention to the buildings that passed slowly by the car. Darklane was on the other side of the historic district, and it suited its name. The buildings were all three stories tall here, though they somehow managed to block out a lot of the sun. They were as old as the buildings we’d just left behind, but these really showed their age. Not only was the architecture ancient, but so was the layer of grime that covered the brick and wood.
Contrary to what one might think, this wasn’t the poor side of town. It was where you lived if you worked with magic’s darker side. The kind that harmed as well as accomplished goals. But just because it harmed didn’t make it bad. It was all up to interpretation.
While a lot of these supernaturals were occasionally on the wrong side of the law, they weren’t outright lawbreakers. The Magica would crack down on that. They walked the line with things like blood magic—illegal if you do it without the consent of the donor, but otherwise acceptable. Their magic cast a shadow over the buildings. It was hard not to make the comparison of dark versus light magic, though it wasn’t that simple.
Aidan slowed the car to a crawl as we neared the address. We rolled by the narrow buildings. If I squinted, I could make out the color underneath the grime. The buildings had once been brightly painted.
“There it is,” I pointed to a building that had once been purple. The windows were dark, the stairs leading up to the stoop narrow and rickety. A sign hung over the door that read Apothecary’s Jungle.
Aidan pulled the car over and parked in front of Mordaca’s home. He moved in front of me as we climbed the creaking stairs. He was trying to block me from danger. While part of me was annoyed by it, the smart part of me thought let him.
A brass lion door knocker scowled at us from the dark purple door. Aidan knocked it and the lion roared. I grinned. I kinda liked Mordaca already.
But it wasn’t Mordaca who answered. A hulking, shirtless man with wild golden hair pulled open the door. His scowl turned into widened eyes. He stepped back and bowed.
“Origin.”
His deep voice was laced with respect.
Whoa. So shifters took this Origin thing seriously. I assumed he was a shifter. His magic smelled animalistic, with a hint of something else. Something dry—like the desert. Maybe the plains of Africa? I’d never been, but I guessed that might be what I was smelling. With his crazy golden hair streaked through with hundreds of shades, I’d bet lion.
“Lion,” Aidan greeted.
“I am Mathias,” the lion said as he stepped back. “Welcome.”
“Just who are you letting into my house at this ungodly hour?” an annoyed female voice asked from within.
Mathias stepped back, pulling the door farther open. Though the foyer was dim, I could make out the stairs leading upward. The woman who descended looked like Elvira’s cousin. No joke. Bouffant black hair, a slinky, plunging dress of the same shade, and so much eye makeup she looked like she was wearing a Zoro mask.
It was only seven thirty, and she was more put together than I ever was. Her magic rolled over me in waves. She was strong. Not nearly as strong as Aidan, but very powerful. Her magic prickled at my skin—kind of like rolling a hairbrush over my arm. The only other sense I got off of her was the taste of whiskey. I never understood why people’s magic tasted the way it did, but I assumed it meant that her magic burned going down.
“This is the Origin,” Mathias said.
“My friend Claire called about us yesterday,” I said. “We need help with a tracking spell.”
“Oh, yes. I remember,” Mordaca said. “We’ve just returned from LA, and I was about to head to bed.”
So this was evening for her. That explained why she was so done up at such an early hour when she really didn’t look like a morning person. In my head, morning people were always wearing workout clothes and perky smiles. The only thing perky about Mordaca was her tits.