The Necromancer's Betrayal

by Mimi Sebastian

  I stuck close to Ewan as we squeezed our way past the patrons to one of the benches. Rock shelves rimmed the stone pillar, displaying a collection of bottles in various sizes and shapes, all filled with a clear liquid. But it was the items contained in the bottles and jars that caught my attention—things that resembled crabs, snakes, spiders, herbs, snails and anything else that crawled, wiggled, bit, or scraped. There were no large mixed drinks poked with an umbrella and sipped over nachos or onion rings here.

  Ewan pointed at the bottles. “Locals swear the ingredients carry medicinal properties. This stuff will cure you of shaky bones, swollen joints, heartache, even financial woes.”

  “Until you wake up the next morning with a pounding headache,” Damon said with a wry grin.

  Ewan ordered something in demon, and we sat across from Damon and Tivor on benches jammed into a corner of the cave. Cthulhu unwound his tentacles, gripping shot cups carved from garnet-colored crystals. I plucked mine from the outstretched appendage, and it curled back to its owner. Ewan and Damon raised the cups, dipped a finger in the alcohol, and rubbed it on their foreheads before knocking back the drink.

  “What’s with the forehead thing?” I asked, still holding my drink in front of me, not quite sure I’d survive the demon concoction.

  “It’s our toast. May the drink lighten our hearts and balance our minds.”

  I snorted. “I’d say.” I eyed the cup. Well, I was part demon.

  “Here goes nothing.” I raised my shot and hesitated when I caught the devious glint in Damon’s eye. That didn’t bode well. I took a small sip and immediately sputtered the alcohol out in a spray. I coughed while the demons laughed. I swore I heard a weird gurgle coming from Cthulhu. “What is this, lighter fluid?” Just the tiny drops that soaked my tongue had sent my head spinning.

  I met Ewan’s smile and had to smile myself, enjoying seeing his face lit by amusement instead of tension and anger. “You know, you once told me that human alcohol didn’t make demons drunk, but what about this?” I asked.

  He laughed and cocked an eyebrow. “Would you like to find out?” He stood and shouted for more drinks in a display of inebriated braggadocio. Tivor frowned in obvious disapproval while Damon slapped a hand on the Chronicler’s knee. “Tivor, my friend, you remain much too cloistered. How long has it been since you bedded a female?”

  I widened my eyes, but Tivor appeared unperturbed. He carefully lifted Damon’s large hand and responded in the demon tongue without blinking. Whatever he said made Damon frown and sent Ewan into a fit of unadulterated laughter. I smiled at his carefree display. Tentacles delivered another round, and Ewan and Damon tossed it down while I respectfully declined, causing said appendages to quiver in disapproval.

  Ewan’s eyes flashed, and a wicked, unapologetic grin curled his lip. Already, I sensed an air of mischief about him I’d never experienced before. I’d have loved to discover what a drunken Ewan dared. As if reading my mind, he moved closer, trapping me between his heat and the cold stone wall. He leaned over, and I smelled his breath, hot and spiced from the alcohol. He growled. “I sense his touch on you.”

  I closed my eyes, my entire body coiled, ready to spring. My breath escaped in shallow gasps. Ewan continued to surprise me with the many facets to his personality, but I’d never seen this insouciance. The alcohol and seedy location had stripped away the barriers holding him back. He ignored Tivor and Damon, too involved in nipping my neck, as if trying to bite away Ly’s touch, holding the skin in his teeth for a brief devastating moment before letting go.

  Tivor cleared his throat and narrowed his gaze at us. Buzzkill. Ewan gave my neck a parting suck before straightening and giving Tivor a cocky, adolescent smirk. I took careful, measured breaths and chased off the urgent desire to hop on his lap and grind against him. Ewan’s eyes sparked at me, maybe wanting the same thing?

  Tivor darted his eyes around the bar, then leaned in toward us. “Only a council member can remove a record. I checked our logs, and there’s no entry for the removal of the record you requested.”

  “Tivor, please, what can you tell me about that record? You called her a soul collector,” I said. “Who was she?” I asked.

  “Her name was Colette.”

  DAMON PLOWED a path through the crowd in the bazaar. I let Ewan drag me behind him. Tivor’s revelation and the drink had left me in a daze. Why hadn’t Xavier told me about her record?

  Ewan regarded me, concern creasing his brow. “Who was she?”

  “Xavier’s lover who was killed in the genocide,” I said.

  His concern turned to confusion. “I didn’t know.” He shook his head and stopped us when Damon exited the underground tunnel to the outskirts of the city.

  He grasped my shoulders. “I’m not sure you’ll make it through the back door. At the moment, it’s in our version of Antarctica. Damon and I can tolerate it well enough, but you . . . I can use my power to protect you for a short amount of time, but it’s a risk.”

  “What choice do we have?” I said. Panic started scraping at my chest. Until now, I’d never worried about returning home, but the very real possibility existed that I might get stuck here. I’d risk turning into an icicle if it meant returning home.

  “And the portal will probably deposit us somewhere cold in the human realm because of the polarity of . . .”

  I stopped him with my palm. “No physics, please. Let’s just go. Wherever we wind up, Damon can teleport us out, right?”

  “Only after resting a few hours. He’s already expended a great deal of energy ’porting us around. Once in the human realm, travel to San Francisco may require another large exertion.”

  “Can’t you ’port us?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I’ve watched Survivorman. We’ll dig an ice hole.”

  He rubbed his thumb on my cheek, and I resisted the urge to take it in my mouth. He might have read my desire. Something caused his eyes to smolder and spark. I pulled away before we both went up in flames. He inched his lips close to my ear. “Body heat is a proven survival method.”

  My face flushed, but I wasn’t taking the bait. I cocked my head. “You’re right, and Damon looks like he packs lots of body heat.”

  Ewan smirked, straightened, and folded me into his arms.

  “Isn’t holding hands normally sufficient for traveling through the portal?” I asked against his chest.

  He shook his head, but I caught the smile trying to escape. “Not this time. It’s absolutely imperative I hold you, just like this.”

  I laughed. “You’re full of shit.” But I didn’t complain or try to pull away. During this trip, we’d collapsed our defenses and buried the hurt and fear. Our easy banter and sparking attraction came close to the times we’d shared before we discovered I was Malthus’s granddaughter. I loved it, reveled in it, just like I reveled in his smell and the feel of his chest. But I was scared too, because we’d both opened ourselves up, and when we made it back home, we’d have to rebuild the walls around ourselves, around our hearts, again. He rubbed his face in my hair, and I closed my eyes. “Are you ready?” he asked, his voice somewhat raspy.

  Was I? He lifted his head and nodded at Damon who waited just outside. I squeezed my arms around his torso and waited for the cold.

  Chapter Nineteen

  ALL MY SENSES froze instantly. My teeth chattered so hard I thought they’d crack. I sought the velvet hardness of Ewan even if I couldn’t see him through the white haze blinding me.

  Despite his warmth, the cold increased to a deep freeze. It easily invaded my thin layer of clothing and insinuated its glacial icicles into my skin and bones, freezing my fingers, toes and nose. My eyes watered continuously. A frigid wind whipped at my back, and every breath stabbed in and out of my lungs. My body shook violently from a mix of cold and panic.

  I fel
l onto soft mush and, although the cold air didn’t remotely approach the frigidness of the portal, it was still pretty damn cold. I shivered uncontrollably. Ewan wrapped me in his arms, providing some relief, but my body continued to shake, and my toes and fingers burned. I rubbed my nose on his shirt, but failed to cut through the icy numbness. Damon hunched over, the effect of transporting clear on the strained lines of his face.

  “We have to make or find some kind of shelter, fast,” Ewan said.

  I managed to make out a forest of pine trees in the haze created by the falling snow that whispered around us. The fat flakes were enormous enough for me to discern their delicate designs. I stuck my tongue out to catch one, but quickly recoiled when it met the frozen air. If I wasn’t freezing my ass off, I’d find the whole scene quite white-Christmas beautiful.

  “S-s-so, s-s-s, what . . .?” Shit. My chattering teeth made talking next to impossible. “Wh-what demon ability gives you immunity from the c-c-c-cold?” Air puffed out with my words and seemed to freeze in a white cloud before dissipating.

  “It’s the whole bending time and space deal. I can, for a short time, alter how weather affects me, but soon enough, both Damon and I will become affected like you.”

  “I c-can’t . . . f-f-f-feet.”

  Ewan picked me up and followed Damon into the woods. The wind howled through the trees, shaking the pine needles. The forest grew dark as we advanced, and the enchanting winter wonderland turned sinister and cold. Only weak beams of moonlight pierced the canopy of trees.

  Another howl reverberated in the air, but not from the wind. This sound was different—alive and organic with all kinds of intent and savagery behind the high-pitched yowl; it was an old sound that mingled with the trees and lurked, waiting for us. Both demons stopped. Ewan tightened his arms around me. He scanned the forest with the same battlefield alertness I’d seen chiseled on his face in the record.

  A gust of wind rustled the trees, blowing snow off the branches and spinning it into the air. A low growl broke the silence. A multitude of silver dots gleamed in the darkness. Eyes. Lots of them.

  I squinted and made out dark shapes of animal bodies. Wolves, no doubt. Ewan lowered me to the snow, and my feet sunk about three inches into the icy mush. Damon slid over, and the two sandwiched me between their backs, restoring some of the warmth I lost when Ewan had set me down.

  A huge, gray wolf stepped out from the shadows. His eyes gleamed with intelligence, reminding me of the weres.

  “Ewan.” I tugged at his shirt.

  “I know. Weres.”

  “I’m sure they’re not used to visitors, especially ones with our scent,” Damon said.

  As if on cue, the gray wolf growled, baring his teeth. I so hoped he wasn’t the Alpha, because he didn’t seem hospitable at all.

  Ewan stayed rooted in place, knowing the wolf would perceive any movement as a threat.

  “Has Mark ever mentioned a pack in the Arctic wilderness?” I asked.

  “No, and stop—” Before Damon could finish his sentence, the wolf lunged.

  Ewan swung his arm in one precise movement, snatched the wolf’s scruff, and tossed it toward a tree. The wolf twisted, avoiding impact with the trunk, and landed on its paws in the snow, snapping and snarling, eyes glowing silver-red at Ewan.

  Damon wrapped his arm around me and snuggled me closer to his chest. Although the close contact with him felt strange, I turned and hugged him close, reveling in the warmth. The cold was wracking my body. Numbness overtook my extremities, and drowsiness caused my legs to weaken.

  Ewan stood in front of us, facing the wolf. The pack let out a chorus of whines, and the gray wolf dropped to the snow and backed away from Ewan, his snarl turning to a low rumble in his throat. The others turned and took off into the darkness of the trees, snow crunching under their pounding paws. The gray wolf stood its ground until a larger, beautiful black wolf appeared and growled at the gray, who flattened his ears and whined before following his pack.

  The Alpha. It had to be. Please, let him be nice.

  Ewan gave me a concerned look then turned back to the wolf. “We need shelter.”

  The wolf chuffed and swiveled his head toward the deepness of the forest where the others had disappeared.

  “Well?” Damon asked.

  “He doesn’t mean us harm,” Ewan said.

  I nodded in jerks. We had little choice. I’d be dead soon enough whether by fang or freezing. Sensing this, Ewan pulled me from Damon’s warmth and swung my mass of numbed flesh into his arms. I could barely move my arms to wrap them around his neck so I curled against his chest.

  We followed the wolf to a clearing in the trees where a small wooden cabin sat, its roof covered in snow. Ewan kicked the door open and placed me on a couch. He frowned at the fireplace, dark and filled with ashes. The cabin was possibly one or two degrees warmer than the outside. Damon found a blanket and wrapped the scratchy wool around my shaking frame.

  The pack Alpha emerged from a back room wearing torn jeans and an unbuttoned flannel shirt, his body all sinew, shaped and toned by running around the forest and a diet of woodland creatures. “Sorry. We don’t use the cabin much anymore. I’ll see if I can find some wood to make a fire.” He poked around in a closet and said in muffled tones, “My name is Josh, by the way.”

  He returned with three small logs. Ewan clasped his hand. “Thanks for your help. I’m Ewan. This is Ruby and Damon.” Damon tilted his head, and I shivered. Josh didn’t ask us what we were, which was fine by me.

  The demon and wolf started a fledgling fire. I managed to scoot off the couch and curl in front of the nascent flames. The heat revived my numb body, and sensation returned with painful pricks. Damon sat on a rickety wicker chair next to the fireplace, and I stifled a snicker. His large frame engulfed the chair, making it look like a seat more appropriate for gnomes. He didn’t seem to mind and lay back, causing the chair to emit a loud creak in protest. I squinted in anticipation of a loud crash, but surprisingly, it held.

  “We’re going to need more wood,” Ewan said, frowning at the small flames. He left the cabin, Josh in tow. Through the window, I watched Ewan, his shirt off, wielding an axe as if it were a kid’s toy and the tree stumps toothpicks.

  “Why is he outside cutting wood without his shirt?” I asked. Judging by the way Damon was sticking close to the fire, their ability to stave off the cold had to be weakening.

  “It’s his own self-flagellation,” Damon answered then cocked his head. “Or vanity.”

  “Can you tell me more about what happened, the battle?”

  He glanced out the window at Ewan, his lips tight. “We lost all of our comrades in the uprising. His brother was killed and tortured, but we were warriors, and even Ewan, in his grief, understood, accepted Tallor’s fate. But it paled in comparison to the retribution visited upon Ewan’s roa.”

  “What’s a roa?”

  He sighed with impatience at the need to explain. Conversation was not Damon’s strong suit, but I’d certainly want him by my side in a fight. “A roa is a . . . clan.”

  “Different from catairs?” I asked, recalling Malthus’s explanation of the death cults.

  “A catair is a cult. Roa a clan. The council wiped out Ewan’s roa as punishment for his rebellion.” He paused, his expression grim. “Ewan is the only surviving demon of his roa.”

  “Oh my God. Why? Why was the council so severe in their punishment?”

  “Rebellion is not tolerated in our realm. And some resented Ewan. He’d grown extremely popular among our people, and some of the other magistrates felt threatened by him.”

  I looked out the window again. He had to be freezing, but he continued to hack away. He carried all that guilt, made even heavier by being the last of his clan. He’d witnessed his brother bleeding on the polished floors of the dem
on temples, and I’d cried over my mom’s bleeding body on the bathroom floor of an old San Francisco Victorian.

  “He is much more powerful than he is able to demonstrate while in servitude to Malthus. The repression of his full demon power used to represent the more torturous aspect of his sentence . . . until he met you. You fight him at every turn when he tries to help you. He has a need to protect those he loves. It’s his way.”

  A web of electric tingles enveloped my body at Damon’s words. Ewan and I had never used the word love, yet I did . . . love him. But what was the point, now? I lowered my head. “That’s a good quality.”

  “It’s his downfall,” Damon said gruffly, shoving the fire with a brass poker.

  Ewan burst through the door and threw a couple of large planks into the fire, unleashing a cloud of sparkling embers. Josh stacked more planks against the wall next to the fireplace. I noticed a slight tremble to Ewan’s still naked torso. He spread his hands right over the fire and let the flames tickle his fingers, seemingly unhurt by the intense heat.

  I slowly broke my limbs from their coma and stood. After a moment of dizziness passed, I walked to the sparse kitchen and rummaged in the cabinets until I found dishes and pots and pans, all dusty and needing a wash. I opened a pantry and found the essential items to survive the apocalypse: Oreos, hot chocolate, and Spam. The Oreos and hot chocolate were gold, but the Spam . . . ugh. I hadn’t quite reached that level of desperation.

  “I can ask one of the wolves to hunt down an animal,” Josh said. I spun and saw the amused twinge to his lips.

  “And what am I supposed to do with an animal carcass? I’m not the demon barber of Fleet Street,” I said.

  Damon and Ewan laughed, Josh looked confused, and I grimaced while reaching for the Oreos and hot chocolate. I spotted a can tucked in a corner of the pantry. Beans. “No need for bloody carcasses. I have a wonderful and civilized can of beans right here.” I dug out a dented aluminum pot, wiped it clean with a rag, opened the can, and dumped the pinto beans in the pot. Damon joined me and fussed with the propane tank, and a few minutes later we had flame. I boiled some water and mixed in the hot chocolate powder. “Fuck the great outdoors. Give me running water and propane any day.” I was a city girl. I enjoyed the outdoors with amenities.