by D. D. Chance
Zach and his demon disappeared in a spitting convulsion of smoke and fire, but not before I leapt into the middle of that blaze.
31
We crashed onto the open plain with its beaten-down, burnt grass, the roiling clouds overhead still smelling of sulfur and fire. I rolled several feet, my hands going wide, barely able to hold on to my knife as the beads in my left hand went flying. I finally came to a stop, then staggered back, wheeling around toward where Zach and his family demon still battled.
They struggled together in a burst of fire and smoke for another thirty seconds as I watched, helpless, the demon screeching in fury. Then Zach, surprisingly, broke away.
He rolled off the steaming husk of the demon and stood—but the demon didn’t. It remained pinned to the ground, and as I stumbled up, I saw its skin was pocked with easily a dozen silver beads. My thrown projectiles had found their target after all and were adhering to the demon’s leathery skin like magnets. As I watched, I could pick out a tiny tracery of fire between the beads, as if the demon was caught up in some kind of net. Pretty cool, I had to admit.
The demon clearly didn’t think so. “You wield the tools of magic at your peril—it is forbidden,” it seethed. Its eyes shifted to me, narrowing to slits as it seemed to see me for the first time.
“Harbinger,” it spat, glaring back at Zach. “This is whom you would take as your lover? She is a defilement.”
“That’d hurt my feelings, coming from anyone other than, I don’t know, a demon,” I offered, which was about the maximum snark I was capable of, while trying to suck down the infernal air. Zach gestured toward me with the slightest twist of his hand. We weren’t quite done with this asshole yet.
“You will not plague my family again, none of you. Your curse is at an end,” Zach ground out, drawing the demon’s attention back to him. “You will die here.”
“You cannot kill me,” the demon sneered. “That’s what you and your father before you, and his father as well, failed to understand. No child of God can actually kill a demon. The best you can do is send me back home, until one day your son, puffed up with pride and lust, will open the door for me to return. Your curiosity has been your undoing, yours and every generation before yours, since that first preacher wrapped his hand around a trinket he coveted more than anything else in this world. He got his gift, boyo. Tools of the mind, of the spirit—even the strength to face down my brethren. But he got the curse that comes with that gift as well. For he could not kill me. And neither can you.”
Zach’s smile was hard and cruel, his dark blue eyes practically sparking purple flame. “I don’t need to kill you, not by myself. Because that was the problem, wasn’t it? They all tried to do it by themselves.”
“They had to.” The demon shrugged, the soul of reason. “No man loves—truly loves— someone stronger than they are. Their very souls reject the idea, the core of what makes them human. Even your harbinger cannot harm me enough to break the curse. She is only good for chattel.”
Something in his voice stuck me as false, though, and Zach heard it too. “You’re wrong,” he breathed, excitement slipping into his words. “You couldn’t be more wrong about that.”
“I held you,” I said abruptly, pointing at the net. “Those beads—I did that. Zach allowed me to be a part of this battle, but it was my strength that held you, my will that bound you.”
The demon sneered at me, though something slithered through its gaze too. Not fear—not yet. But defiance. And perhaps more than that…surprise. “Enjoy your puny victory while you can,” it snapped. “My kin are coming even now to break your monstrous spell, while yours are doomed to lose this fight.”
“Not anymore,” Zach countered. “This time, you die and stay dead.”
The demon rolled its eyes at me, clearly unimpressed, but before it could say anything further, Zach continued. “I know I can’t kill you myself. No Williams can—that’s our curse. That and the pride not to see the truth of it. But I know that pride is bullshit.” He nodded my way. “Even better, I’ve got Nina here to help me. And she is going to kick your ass.”
We were right up on the demon by now, who shifted its gaze back to Zach—and froze, transfixed. Zach’s voice had shifted yet again, and I felt the power of it ripple through me, like tides before a seaborne storm. “So I say to you, begone,” he continued, the words absolute, “and trouble us no more.”
“No.” The demon gasped, breaking free of its thrall at the last minute with a sharp cry of understanding, but it was too late. Zach and I lifted our hands and plunged our knives into the bound demon’s body.
It exploded.
The force of the blast blew Zach and me over onto our backs, the wind rushing over us, screaming across the scorched plain. I blinked, lifting up on my elbows, and Zach watched with equal amazement as the remaining embers of the demon burst upward into the sky—then scattered into the rushing wind.
Another second passed, and even the wind died away. We were blanketed in absolute silence.
Zach groaned and slumped forward. I fell toward him, both of us so exhausted that we simply lay there beneath the angry orange sky a moment longer, staring upward.
“So…” I finally managed, my voice sounding as parched as the ground around us. “I think it’s fair to say you’ve leveled up, yeah?”
He snorted beside me, not taking his gaze from the churning clouds high above. “Are you going to tell me how pretty I am again?”
I sucked in a whiff of hot air, choking on my laugh—when we heard something new. A sharp cry, far in the distance. A shout of pure exultation.
“What is it?” Zach began, then he bolted upright, his head turning sharply. He scrambled to his feet, pulling me up with him. No sooner did we start moving than the air snapped around us, a slice of it sheering away to reveal a swath of blue sky, trees obscured by wispy smoke. I could almost smell the ash and soaked wood in the air—Bellamy Chapel lay through that portal. Had to be.
Zach turned to me as we raced toward it, his eyes wide, his smile broad. “Yeah?” he asked.
I grinned right back at him. “Definitely!” I shouted.
We jumped.
Not even a breath later, we landed at the edge of the smoldering ruins of Bellamy Chapel, a bare fifteen feet away from where Liam was emerging from the little church. Somehow, he’d procured a very official-looking jacket, and he waved us forward with all the gravitas of a professional investigator. That’s when I realized that we weren’t entirely alone. On the other side of the chapel were easily a dozen official vehicles, the swell of activity and shouting finally penetrating my ringing ears.
“Are you seriously kidding me here?” Zach muttered when we reached Liam.
Liam shook his head, the soul of seriousness as he scowled at us. “Do not even start with me, transformation boy,” he said. “I needed to be on scene—”
“On scene?” Zach protested. “Really? You’re going to go with the lingo and everything?”
Liam continued without skipping a beat. “To make sure there wasn’t anything we needed to remove before it was bagged and tagged as official evidence in an arson investigation. Because that’s what they’re going to call this, make no mistake. And the funny thing is, they’re right. I just confirmed it.”
“How is that funny?” I asked. “I thought the demon caught it on fire.”
“A good thought, but demons wouldn’t have needed gasoline as an accelerant.”
That caught our attention. “You’re serious?”
Liam nodded. “If the powers that be suddenly wanted Bellamy Chapel to be gone, there would have been a fire, all right, but we never would have known what caused it. We don’t like to make a big deal of it, but this is a magic academy, boys and girls. There are ways of getting such things done. That’s not what happened here. This fire was deliberately set and made to look like it was deliberately set, or at least not hidden in any way. The demons passing through were just the frosting on this crazy cake.�
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“So who the hell do they think set it?” Zach asked.
“One possibility is the administration, hoping no one would notice the gasoline. That they wanted people to believe it was a side effect of the passage of a particular horned demon we’ve grown to know and love and all his little miniature demonettes yesterday. Another option is our friendly neighborhood anti-monster hunting campaigners, but they would have left a few more signs around claiming responsibility, maybe some glitter paint. You know, the students who aren’t still traumatized out of their minds, anyway.”
“I don’t get it,” Zach said. “You think this was done as an act against us? How do we benefit from Bellamy Chapel being destroyed? Before this week, this thing sat here virtually untouched since the last sunrise ceremony a semester ago. And that’s a demonology class, which covers multiple majors, not just monster hunting.”
“All fair points,” Liam said. “And points I fully intend to bring up to Dean Robbins when he asks, and you can bet your ass he’s going to ask, just as soon as he gets over his own recent demon trauma. My current theory is that we’ll be held accountable for growing unrest on the campus, creating an environment that’s not conducive to the effective learning of our students.”
He said this last with a pretentious vigor, and I could vividly imagine it. It had the air of university bullshit to it and the ring of truth. A deadly combination.
“Mr. Graham?” somebody shouted, and Liam turned as Zach’s eyes bugged out.
“Whoa. Mr. Graham?”
Liam made a show of straightening his jacket. “I will have you know I’m a highly respected part of this investigation, young man,” he informed us. “So you just run along to class, and try to get cleaned up before dinner tonight.”
Zach and I both blinked at him. “Tonight?”
Liam grinned, obviously knowing this was news to us. “As it turns out, we’ve all been cordially invited to a light supper at the home of Mr. Symmes—Wendy’s dad, remember? He’s unexpectedly returned to the city, and his schedule has opened up to accommodate us. Lucky us.”
“Who all is going to be there?” I asked. “What are we supposed to do? What are we supposed to wear?”
Liam waved us off. “You can bet Frost’s putting together a briefing right now. I suggest heading over to the library, I’ll be there as soon as I can. I need to get this scene sealed off so that the only one sticking their noses into it is us, later on tonight.”
“You’re going to be okay here?” Zach asked, eyeing the legitimate cops and crime scene investigators milling around the space.
“O ye of little faith,” Liam protested. “I will have you know I’m wearing an energy disruptor that’s going to leave everyone’s memory of any interaction with me decidedly fragmented. Most of them won’t even know I was here. Which is exactly the way I like it.”
“You are one dangerous dude,” Zach said.
Liam grinned at him, then glanced at me, something inscrutable in his gaze. “And don’t you forget it.”
32
Commander Frost wasn’t at Lowell Library, and he wasn’t at Fowlers Hall—though we did recover my iron box, which we safely locked in Frost’s office. But regarding the dinner at the Symmes mansion, all we had was an invitation that had been texted to all our telephone numbers telling us where we needed to be in Beacon Hill and when. Attire was listed only as “Academy.”
Which was why, a few short hours later, I found myself wearing a plaid skirt and white button-down blouse, knee-high socks, and black boots, while the guys milled around in dark charcoal pants and shirts with Wellington Academy plaid ties. Well, most of the guys, anyway.
“Where’s Grim?” I asked.
Tyler shook his head. “Nowhere to be found,” he said. “We’ll give our apologies to Mr. Symmes, but this kind of meet and greet is a quick way to get Grim expelled, and even Dean Robbins knows it. Grim’s been excused.”
“Grim in a shirt and tie would upset the flow of the universe,” Liam agreed, hiking an elegant leather backpack higher on one shoulder. For Liam, no dress code didn’t include a pack.
Even without Grim on scene, there was no denying that the guys cleaned up well. I felt kind of foolish in my miniskirt and boots, but the guys looked like they’d been born to wear these clothes, especially Tyler and Liam, though even Zach looked more comfortable than I felt.
We loitered in front of Fowlers Hall for a few minutes more, then made our way across the campus.
As indicated, there was a car waiting for us when we reached the center quad. Not just any old car either, but a stretch SUV, complete with a man in a suit who looked big enough to give Grim a run for his money, if Grim had been here.
Then, suddenly, Grim was there, stalking up to the SUV, looking for all the world like the most feral, untamed academy frat boy that had ever graced a college campus. His cadet blue shirt and rep tie hung perfectly straight, his trousers were pressed and crisp, and his boots were polished. And they were nice boots too, not the usual scuffed footwear he’d worn every other time I’d seen him. These looked like they’d set somebody back quite a bit of money.
“Whoa,” Liam said. “Who caught you in a trap?”
Grim curled his lip. “Frost,” he said. “Apparently, this invitation means a little bit more than Frost wants to admit. Everyone is watching. Mr. Symmes doesn’t want to be embarrassed.”
Liam studied him. “Since when do you give a shit about any of that?”
Grim simply regarded him coolly, and Liam’s eyes widened. “You brokered a deal, didn’t you? You got something from Frost in return for showing up. Something that would convince you to dress up in a monkey suit. What was it?”
“Here we go,” Tyler said, and the door of the SUV opened, the beefy chauffeur getting out and opening the back doors.
The man didn’t speak, didn’t make a move toward any of us, merely stood there, watching impassively as we approached. Tyler took the lead and entered the SUV, Liam following, then Grim.
Zach stood by and handed me into the vehicle, where I tucked in next to Tyler, with Grim sitting opposite us. I glanced over to Grim and found him watching me, his pale-gold eyes glinting as he steadfastly held my gaze. There was something unnaturally stiff about his manner. I realized why a second before Liam did.
“Jesus, you’re bleeding,” Liam announced. Tyler sharpened his glance on Grim as Liam brought his pack around.
“I thought it would stop before now,” Grim grunted. Liam yanked out gauze and a narrow bottle that glinted in the cabin lights.
“What did he do to you?” Zach asked. Grim shrugged as Liam rolled up his sleeves, exposing the long, jagged gash.
“I didn’t want to come tonight, and he thought he could convince me otherwise. I decided to let him try for a while,” Grim said. “It took a spelled tool to make this mark, and after that, he was willing to consider other approaches.”
“I knew it.” Liam chortled. He didn’t ask Grim what the deal had been, though I was totally curious at this point. What did Commander Frost have to offer that he would be willing to give up only after he realized he couldn’t beat Grim into submission? I honestly had no idea. Once again, I felt Grim’s attention on me, but when I glanced up to meet his gaze, he’d transferred his attention to whatever Liam was using to seal up his arm.
“Definitely a spelled blade,” Liam muttered. “You’re lucky I come prepared.”
“It isn’t luck,” Grim said simply, and Liam blinked but didn’t say anything more. I got the feeling that was probably the highest form of compliment Grim could offer. I liked him better for it. Which wasn’t to say that I liked him, I decided, even if he had introduced me to the power of fancy magic pellets. I still needed to follow up with him on that—soon. Not now, but soon.
We arrived at the Symmes house in less than five minutes, a distance we easily could have walked, but I got the impression Mr. Symmes did everything for show. His mansion certainly bore that out. It was an enormous bui
lding tucked back onto what had to be incredibly expensive real estate, deep in the Beacon Hill neighborhood. The house itself was elegantly simple, but practically oozed money.
Every light in the place seemed to be ablaze, and as we drove up, Liam let out a short whistle. “This place doesn’t suck,” he muttered.
We remained quiet otherwise as the vehicle stopped and we exited the SUV. We were ushered into the estate by some sort of majordomo, and quickly found ourselves in the drawing room with a man who had to be Mr. Symmes. Wendy’s father was tall and slender, and as monied as his house, with salt and pepper hair swept back from his aristocratic face, a black suit elegantly tailored to fit his narrow form, and glints of platinum at his wrists. Even his shoes gleamed as black as his eyes.
“Welcome, welcome,” he said. “Please, let’s not stand on ceremony. You know who I am, and my daughter has done me the service of describing you all quite thoroughly. Mr. Graham, I have to assume, given the pack?” He reached out and shook Liam’s hand, then turned to Zach. “And Mr. Williams. My sincere thanks for your help in keeping my daughter safe. And you as well, Mr. Perkins.”
He turned to Grim, but to my surprise did not extend his hand. Instead, he nodded to Grim in a sign of respect, maybe? Certainly awareness. What did he know about Grim? What had his daughter told him?
“Mr. Lockton. I was given to understand we might not have the pleasure of your company today. I’m glad you saw your way to being with us.”
Grim nodded back, and I watched the exchange with interest. These were two fighters, I thought unexpectedly, circling each other in the ring. Yet they couldn’t be more different from each other, Grim with his rough-hewn features, his heavy body barely contained by the clothing he wore, while Mr. Symmes looked like he’d never enjoyed anything more strenuous than a rousing game of cricket. What was going on here?