Demon Born Magic (Ella Grey Series Book 3)

by Jayne Faith

I adjusted the orb that was in my right hand so she could grasp the ring on my index finger. Her hand paused there, and she began to glow with neon pink magic. It was so concentrated, and even in daylight, I had to squint as my eyes began to tear up in the intense light of her power.

  Her fingers tightened on the ring and pulled it off. She let it fall to the dirt, and it hit with a faint metallic ping.

  She began to chant, but I lost all sense of her words as magic began to flow into me. At first, the sensation was a sweet, poignant joy. I reveled in the feel of the power like a junkie in the first seconds of a hit. But within seconds the sensation began to shift. It scraped through me like sandpaper. It intensified, clawing at my insides and filling my head with impossible pressure.

  I gritted my teeth and squeezed my eyes closed, trying to focus on Jen’s voice. Her chanting was my life preserver in a violent sea of magic that threatened to tear me apart from the inside.

  The pain eased by half, and I cracked my eyelids open.

  She’d managed to trap at least some of the magic in between the crystal spheres. A current of silver swelled between my hands, and the stones became heavier and heavier. The spheres now looked mirrored, and magic swam furiously around in them.

  Words spilled from her lips at a hurried pace, barely intelligible. She opened the folding knife and drew the blade across her palm. The cut was shallow, but blood beaded and then dripped to the ground. She let it fall on the charmed ring.

  Within half a minute, the intensity began to swell again. My head felt like an overfilled balloon ready to pop.

  I groaned through my teeth, not sure how much longer I could hold onto consciousness.

  A new sensation caught my attention and sent my heart racing. There was a stirring in the center of my chest. The reaper was awakening.

  “Hurry,” I whispered.

  An explosion rocked the ground and pummeled a blast of freezing air against me. I staggered but kept my feet under me. Dust kicked up all around us, blowing grit into my eyes and making me cough.

  Suddenly the pressure was gone, and the world snapped back into focus.

  Jen had sagged to the ground, her head hanging.

  The most intense sensation was now centered in my chest. It was as if a fist was squeezing my heart. The reaper.

  “Go, do it,” she ground out, gesturing with one hand without lifting her head.

  Zarella’s spell.

  I dropped the crystal orbs and reached for the three black stones, quickly centering them in my palm so I could toss them back like aspirin.

  As I swallowed them, it occurred to me that Zarella had no magical ability. Who had created this spell for him? Whose magic had touched the stones I’d just swallowed?

  They seemed to expand as they went down, painfully pushing against my throat. My stomach jolted, trying to rebel.

  Resisting the urge to double over and puke up the dark stones, I reached for the piece of paper and the match.

  Swallow them. Burn this.

  The next few seconds seemed to stretch out in slow motion.

  With trembling hands, I struck the match against the rock. It flared to life just as Jennifer raised her head.

  I watched the flame consume the paper, hypnotized by the rainbow colors of the fire.

  There was a pinprick sensation in the center of my forehead. It swelled until it was a nail driving into my skull. I dropped the smoking match. The last remnant of the paper slipped from my fingers. It extinguished as it fell.

  The pain in my head felt like it wanted to devour my sanity. Dropping to my knees, my muscles gave way and I fell forward. I caught myself on my palms and stayed there, panting, until the pain receded. As I stared at the patch of dirt between my hands, something dark dripped onto it. I reached up to touch my nose, and my fingers came away smeared with blood. I pulled the cuff of my sweatshirt down over my hand and used it to pinch my nostrils.

  Jen let out a soft moan.

  I went over and squeezed her shoulder. To my enormous relief, she raised her eyelids and sat up.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  She sighed heavily. “I think so. Just give me a sec.” When she reached up to brush her hair from her face, I saw that the cut on her palm had already healed.

  I sat back on my butt, my arms circling my knees. I wasn’t so hot on the idea of trying to stand up just yet. I didn’t think either of us were ready for the hike back.

  Jen and I stared at each other for a moment. She started pushing stiffly to her feet and then stood with her hands on her generous hips.

  “Well,” she said. “How do you feel?”

  I let out a long breath. The stones still felt lodged in my esophagus, like when a large pill goes down wrong. But maybe it was just my imagination. I tentatively reached for magic, and easily caught a thread of earth power. I sensed the reaper’s presence, and I wasn’t dead, so something must have gone right.

  “I can grasp magic, and the reaper hasn’t eaten the rest of my soul, so . . . pretty damn good.”

  She gave me a tired grin.

  “You need healing, though,” I said, noting how weariness seemed to drag at her.

  “I’m not going to argue,” she said.

  I bent to pick up the two crystal orbs and my ring, and she collected her knife and wand.

  When I straightened, she gestured at my face. “You’re bleeding. It might be a good idea for you to see a healer, too.”

  I used my sweatshirt cuff to wipe at my nose. Damn. I hoped the nosebleeds were just a temporary thing. They could be a sign of brain damage from magic overuse . . . no, I wasn’t going to think about it. I was alive and had my magic, and I chose to focus on that victory.

  A curious mingling of buoyancy and fatigue filled me as we made our way over the ridge and back to Jen’s house.

  I had the mark of the underworld, my magic was back, and my reaper was going to let me live.

  For the second time in a matter of months, I felt resurrected. And I was ready to go kick some vampire ass and free my brother.

  Chapter 16

  AFTER I’D SENT off a text to Deb, Rogan, and Damien to let them know that I survived the spells and was back in action magic-wise, I contacted the healer who had treated me after the battle with the Baelmen. I was trying not to dwell on it, but the nosebleed wasn’t a good sign, not for a crafter who’d recently been subjected to some crazy-ass magic.

  Gina, a magical healer as well as a conventional nurse, ran a small supernatural healing clinic out of her home. She said she could fit me in for a session in twenty minutes.

  I didn’t say anything about the nosebleed beforehand because I wanted to see what she might pick up in her healing.

  When she finished, I sat up on the treatment table and looked at her expectantly.

  “I know enough about your recent history to know that you’ve experienced some . . . unique magical stress and strain,” she said tactfully. “Contrary to what you might think, being cut off from your magic for extended periods can actually be quite damaging. It’s not exactly like magical exhaustion, but it’s an unnatural state for a crafter. It’s almost like using magic allows certain supernatural toxins to be expelled, and by not crafting at all, those toxins build up in your system. This is a case where your lower natural ability was actually an advantage. If you were a Level II, you could have some permanent damage at this point. If you were a Level III you’d likely be in a coma.”

  I let that sobering info sink in for a moment. My fingers had curled around the edge of the table, gripping it hard as she spoke.

  “So now that I have my magic back, do I need to worry?” I asked.

  “I strongly recommend you take it easy for the next few weeks at minimum. Use your magic daily, but very gently. Don’t push your natural limit or get yourself into high-stress situations.”

  I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. “What if I do?”

  She lifted her hands. “I can’t predict exactly what might happen, especially i
n your unusual circumstances. You could accidentally blow out the magical sieve that’s been put in place. Or burn out and lose your magic permanently. Maybe trigger a sudden aneurism. The possibilities are all pretty dire.”

  I stifled a sigh. Just when things started looking up, the universe had to deliver another sucker punch.

  I paid for the session and on the way out to my truck got a call.

  “Hi, Damien,” I answered.

  “We got another communication from our client,” he said in a tense voice.

  “Okay,” I said, drawing the word out with apprehension clear in my voice.

  “I don’t want to say anything more over the phone. Come to my place.”

  The line went dead. I stared at my phone for long moment.

  I hated that I could read the tight eagerness in his voice. With a heavy feeling in my chest that had nothing to do with the three black stones I’d swallowed, I headed to Damien’s.

  When he answered the door to his loft, his face was still and he appeared composed on the surface, but his sky-blue eyes flicked around restlessly, gleaming with pent-up energy. I got the sense he’d been pacing as he’d waited for me to arrive.

  Inside, I faced him.

  “Damien, you can’t go through with this,” I said quietly. “At the underworld meeting, Zarella warned me that whatever he offers you will change you, and not just in the ways you’re hoping for. If it doesn’t kill you, you won’t be the same person anymore. He’s dangling this in front of you, hoping you’ll take the bait. Don’t do it. Nothing bad will happen if we don’t finish the job. It’s not like Zarella’s going to sue us for breach of contract or anything. Officially he’s dead. Dead people can’t sue.”

  I finished with a small laugh, but Damien’s tense-eyed expression didn’t budge.

  Misery gripped my heart in a tight fist as I remembered Zarella’s warning. I couldn’t let Damien do this.

  “Please, just say you’ll think about it,” I pleaded in a low whisper. “Promise me you’ll take some time and think it over. I’ve got to get my brother, and then when I get back we can talk again. Okay?”

  “When are you leaving?” he asked.

  “Rogan has some of his demons set up around the vampire compound keeping watch. He’s trying to determine the best time for us to go in. As soon as he’s figured that out, we’ll leave.”

  “You’re not strong enough yet.” His gaze roamed over me, and he gave a slight shake of his head.

  “Come with us,” I said brightly. “We could use you.”

  He gave me a narrow smile. “Wait a month until you’re stronger, and I’ll go.”

  I snorted a laugh. “So now you’re trying to bargain with me?”

  He shrugged sheepishly, and for a moment, his zeal for Zarella’s offer was gone, and he was the old Damien. His eyes shone but only with amusement.

  “Could you at least spare a couple of hours?” he asked. He went to his laptop, which was open on the kitchen island. “We’re actually in the running for a job we bid on with Supernatural Crimes. They want to meet with us as a sort of interview. It would be good to have some work in place when you return with your brother, don’t you think?”

  I couldn’t argue with that. I really hadn’t even thought about the fact that I’d be supporting another person. Not that I minded. I’d do whatever it took to get Evan back on his feet. My apartment was going to be busting at the seams with three of us living there, but we’d make do.

  It seemed a little odd, though, getting into Damien’s Lexus with him and driving to the SC station. It was as if we’d agreed to go through the motions of business as usual, when I wasn’t even sure about the future of our venture. If he went through with Zarella’s job, was there any way Damien would still be my partner? Would I still want him to be?

  When we got to Supernatural Crimes, I actually welcomed Detective Barnes’s sour face as a reminder of a time when Damien and I had been firmly united.

  Detective Lagatuda, in one of his ubiquitous suits—navy, this time—shook hands with both of us.

  “I see you’ve made a recovery,” Barnes said, looking me up and down. The gesture was no small feat, considering I was nearly a foot taller. “Good thing. We couldn’t hire you if you were still powerless.”

  “Nice to see you too, Detective,” I said in my sweetest voice.

  The job we’d bid on involved an odd predicament. There’d been an accident at a construction site when some young crafters had snuck in at night, started fooling around with magic they couldn’t control, and a spontaneous rip had opened suddenly. Although the rip wasn’t large, it was a recurrent one, meaning that it continued to pulse open and closed. Unfortunately, there had been casualties.

  The authorities had managed to retrieve the bodies, but there were a couple of lingering problems. One, the rip itself. And two, the souls of the people killed were lingering. SC speculated that the souls hadn’t been reaped because of the rip. So they wanted us to deal with the rip as well as reap the souls.

  Really, we couldn’t have custom ordered a more perfect job for me and Damien. We had experience with demons and could handle the creatures that flew through the rip whenever it pulsed open. With Damien’s knowledge and strong magic, we should be able to figure out how to seal a minor rip. And I, of course, could reap the souls.

  We finished with the official interview, and Lagatuda walked us to the main entrance. After we bid him goodbye, he called out to me and beckoned me back.

  “How’s your friend doing? Deb?” he asked.

  I folded my arms and narrowed my eyes. “Fine.”

  He drew a breath. “I know this is a little weird, but I’ve thought of her a lot since the Baelmen case, and I was just wondering if she was okay.”

  “She’s doing fine,” I repeated.

  He reached up to rub at the back of his neck. “I noticed she wasn’t wearing a ring. Is she . . . ?”

  I let a second or two pass as his cheeks pinked.

  Finally, I relented. “She’s in the process of getting divorced. It should be final soon.”

  He nodded and cast his gaze off to the side with a sad puppy-dog look.

  I rolled my eyes and stuck out my hand. “Do you have a card or something?”

  “Huh?”

  “Give me your card. And then I will give it to Deb.” I spoke slowly and deliberately.

  “Oh! Yes.” He fumbled around, first checking one of his pants pockets and then reaching into his blazer. He produced a dog-eared business card. “Thanks, Ella. Really, thank you.”

  I took the card and then held up both hands as if to ward off his gratitude. “All I’m gonna do is give it to her.”

  I started to shoulder the door open but then paused to glance back. Lagatuda was still standing there.

  “If you so much as look at her cross-eyed, I will murder you in your sleep,” I said, just loud enough for him to hear.

  His eyes popped wide.

  I shoved the card into my jacket pocket and went out into the December cold.

  “Let’s get a drink,” Damien said once we were in the car.

  “Now?”

  “Sure, why not? I’m pretty sure we’ve got the SC job. We should celebrate.” He gestured to the dash. “It’s after four. Officially happy hour.”

  “Let me check with Rogan and make sure he’s not going to want to take off in the next couple of hours.”

  I sent a quick text.

  After a minute or so, Damien shot me a questioning look. “Well?”

  “Haven’t heard back.” I shrugged. “One drink isn’t going to hurt anything.”

  He nodded and steered to a parking garage downtown.

  We walked down to a pub that was a favorite of Demon Patrol officers, but first shift hadn’t let out for the day so the place was pretty quiet. At the bar, we claimed seats and then ordered beers.

  “So what’s the worst that would happen if you didn’t take Zarella’s offer?” I asked while we watched the bart
ender at the taps.

  He looked down at his hands and traced a stain on the wooden bar top for a moment.

  “Imagine if there was one thing you wanted your whole life. Just one thing that you dreamed about and wished for every night as a kid. One thing you devoted your education and all your free time to, and then one day someone offered it to you.” He lifted his gaze to mine. “What would you do?”

  “I’d think really, really hard about the consequences,” I said.

  Two beers appeared in front of us, and I took a sip and then wiped the foam from my upper lip with a finger.

  “Aren’t there other important things in life?” I asked.

  He gave a shrug. “Like what? I’m estranged from my family. I’m not in a serious relationship. It’s not like I really even have a social life.”

  “Yeah, but those things are choices you made,” I said. “You can’t use them as a reason to throw everything away and lose who you are.”

  He looked at me with eyes so haunted my breath went still.

  “This is all I have left.” He said it so quietly I barely caught the words.

  “Damien—” I started but didn’t know what to say.

  Why was I trying so hard to talk him out of it, if this was the one and only thing in life that he wanted? Was I really trying to help him, or was it more about what I wanted?

  “Look,” he said, straightening. “I’ve been studying magic, and specifically aptitude transformation, for years. If there’s anyone who has a chance to successfully transition from sub-mage to mage, it’s me. It’s not like I have a death wish. If I do this, I’ll put all of my knowledge to work. I’ll do everything I can to do it safely.”

  “That’s true.” I raised my glass in a little salute. I forced back the lump in my throat. “If there’s anyone who could pull through, it’s Damien Stein.”

  He managed a faint grin and clinked the rim of his glass against mine.

  “To achieving our highest goals,” he said.

  With a silent resolution to refrain from nagging him, I took a long pull of lager.

  My phone vibrated with an incoming text from Rogan.

  The vamps have kept the victims inside for the past twenty-four hours or so. I need to see why before we storm the place. Earliest we would leave would be late tonight.