I nodded. “Sure, that could work.”
“I’ll ask the other alchemists for ideas too.” She smiled. “Defensive alchemy isn’t my forte, but I like learning new transmutations.”
“Battling mythics isn’t my forte, but I guess I should—”
I caught a glimpse of movement and forgot what I was saying. Still in combat gear, Ezra walked out from the corner where the basement stairs were hidden, his baldric hanging from one hand. My attention narrowed to him alone, everyone else in the pub forgotten.
His mismatched eyes, dull and tired, flicked to mine and he paused.
Our stares connected, and something close to panic buzzed through me. Visions of crimson magic, both his and the demon’s, flashed through my mind. His secrets, closer to the surface than ever before, hung in the space between us like an impenetrable wall.
Fear skittered along my nerves—fear of him. Of what he might be.
I gulped, then shoved off my stool. Straightening my spine, I strode toward him.
Chapter Twelve
As I marched toward Ezra, wariness ghosted across his face. His shoulders tensed as though he were bracing himself for whatever I planned to do.
I had no idea what I planned to do. All I knew was I couldn’t sit there while fear needled my core. Jaw tightening with determination, I swooped down on him.
Even though I’d had nothing specific in mind to say or do when I got up from my stool, as soon as I got close, instinct took over. Between one step and the next, I reached for him.
He stumbled back a step as I clamped my arms around his neck. Catching his balance, he hesitated, then wrapped me in his arms. I pressed my face to his chest. My spinning anxieties quieted, and the frightening questions faded to the background of my thoughts.
Nothing had changed. He was still the same guy as yesterday. The only difference was that I knew more about what he kept hidden. I’d gone this long without answers, and I didn’t need them now. I didn’t want them. Whatever his crimson magic was, whatever its connection to demons, I’d rather never know.
He crushed me to his chest, then his arms relaxed. I tilted my head back to meet his cautiously questioning stare.
“Are you okay?” I asked softly. “Where have you been?”
“I just needed time.”
My hands tightened on his shirt, then I forced myself to release him and step back.
Hands sliding away from my waist, he searched my expression. “Are you … okay?”
I nodded. We were dancing awkwardly around the truth, around the questions he expected me to ask.
After a final sweeping assessment of my face, he asked, “Where are Aaron and Kai?”
“Still sleeping, last I checked.”
He glanced at the stairs. “I’ll go see if they’re up. Be right back.”
As he hastened to the second level, I turned around—and found Sin gawking at me from her spot at the bar. Er, right. We’d had an audience.
“What,” Sin whispered emphatically as I returned to my seat beside her, “was that?”
“What was what?”
“That embrace. You practically jumped him!”
“It was just a hug.”
“Sure. Your face is flushed, by the way.”
Scowling, I reached over the bar, grabbed a cloth, and started wiping the counter. “It wasn’t what it looked like. We hug all the time.”
Arching her eyebrows skeptically, she leaned closer. “That looked a lot more heartfelt than just—”
“It was a hug, Sin. Would you drop it already?”
Her expression cooled at my acid tone. “Fine.”
I scrubbed the bar in angry silence until Ezra reappeared. Setting his baldric and pole-arm on the counter, he slid onto the stool beside Sin.
“They’re dead to the world,” he informed me, then added, “Hi Sin. How are you?”
“Not bad. How are you after that fight?”
“A bit banged up, but nothing terrible.”
“Glad to hear it.” She glanced at me as I aimlessly folded and refolded my cloth. “I need to get back to work. See you.”
She grabbed her grimoire and tub of potions, then stalked away. I threw the rag onto the back counter, more angry at myself and my temper than her. I should do something productive. My laptop waited at the other end of the bar, the menu proposal open on the screen, but I had no concentration to speak of.
Puffing irritably, I slid off my stool and walked behind the bar, distractedly thinking I should clean something.
“Tori?”
I turned to Ezra, the bar between us. The intensity in his eyes surprised me. “What is it?”
Throat shifting in a swallow, he seemed to hang on something. He opened his mouth—then the bell above the guild door jangled merrily. His gaze darted away, the interruption breaking his fragile resolve. I glanced crossly at the entrance.
Three men walked across the threshold—and cold alarm blazed through me.
Silence rippled across the pub, all eyes turning to the three mythics. Their ugly-ass faces were easy to recognize: Burke, the old contractor; Fenton, the young contractor; and Halil, their hulking champion.
“The Keys of Solomon,” I ground out through gritted teeth. “What are they doing here?”
Ezra said nothing, his shoulders stiff as he watched the men out of the corner of his eye. The previous times a contractor had appeared in the guild, Ezra had disappeared almost as quickly as Darius could vanish, but this time he didn’t move, and I knew why. The moment they’d stepped through the door, the Keys team had fixed their dark, mean eyes on us.
Seemingly enjoying the unwelcome glares coming from all directions, the Keys strolled across the floor, smirking and sneering at the mythics they passed. The three Keys stopped behind Ezra’s stool.
“Oh dear,” I sighed with snide sarcasm, breaking the soundless power they held over the room before they could do it. “Some trash has blown in off the street.”
Burke’s deep-set eyes gleamed under his scraggy eyebrows. “Is that how you greet all your customers?”
“This isn’t your guild. Get lost.”
“This guild is a rest point for everyone participating in the demon hunt. That includes us.” Burke slid onto the nearest stool. “I want a drink.”
Halil took the stool on Ezra’s other side. “Me too.”
Fenton stood behind Ezra, grinning nastily. “Count me in.”
I met Ezra’s terse stare. He was surrounded—and he didn’t like it. If he lost his temper in front of the Keys … if they saw his crimson magic …
“We’re under full prohibition until the alert is over.” I pointed at the door. “So too bad, find another bar.”
Burke tsked. “We just want to wet our whistles alongside our mythic compatriots. What’s wrong with that?”
“You can wet your whistles in a puddle outside. Try one near the dumpster.”
Smirking, Burke turned on his stool. “Ezra, isn’t it? All recovered after your demon encounter yesterday?”
Ezra said nothing, his jaw tight and eyes fixed on me like I was the only safe place to look. I really didn’t like the way Burke was watching the aeromage—like a crocodile about to ambush a gazelle on the riverbank.
I slapped a hand on the counter to distract the old man. “What part of vamoose don’t you understand?”
Burke cocked his head in arrogant challenge and lowered his voice. “Make us leave, girl. Go on. Try.”
My teeth clenched so hard my jaw creaked. I scanned the Crow and Hammer members scattered around the pub, but not a single experienced combat mythic was present—they were either upstairs sleeping or out hunting the demon. Felix had taken Sabrina upstairs before the Keys came in, and the only person at the healers’ station was the apprentice Sanjana. No one stood a chance at intimidating the hardened demon hunter team.
Should I shout for help? What might the Keys do in the minute it took someone to get down here?
While I hesitated,
Burke angled toward Ezra again. “You sure you’re doing all right, boy? No further injuries? It’s quite the miracle you survived the attack, eh?”
Shit. Slipping my hand into my pocket, I felt for my phone, but all I had on me was my Queen of Spades card. My phone was over by my laptop, out of easy reach. I didn’t dare walk away and leave Ezra alone with the Keys men.
Halil pressed in close on Ezra’s other side. “He didn’t just survive, Burke.”
“No,” Burke mused, his feigned thoughtfulness as obvious as his cruel delight. He reached under his coat. “I’d say he did more than that.”
With a flourish, he dropped something on the bar top. It hit the polished wood with a hollow thunk that echoed through the room. Under the red and orange lights strung behind the bar, the ridged black horn, splattered with long-dried blood, looked even more monstrous than when it had been attached to the demon’s head.
“Look what we found in the alley where you fought the demon,” Burke crooned. “Hidden in a trash bin. How strange, eh?”
“Very strange,” Halil repeated, shifting even closer to Ezra, hemming him in. “So, we asked ourselves, who is this mage who can fight off an unbound demon all alone? He must be someone really special.”
Fenton snickered nastily.
Ezra’s expression was unnervingly blank—he was fighting not to react. I could feel a faint chill in the air, almost unnoticeable, but that wouldn’t last. If I shouted for help now, I was liable to send him over the edge and into violence; I’d done it once before by screaming hysterically during a tense encounter.
“You three must be really special,” I sneered in a low voice. “I told you to get out of here or—”
“We were curious about you, Ezra,” Burke said right over me, “so we looked you up. Fascinating stuff, your history—what exists of it.”
My options were running out. Should I slap him? No, that could trigger Ezra too. He had to keep his cool. If he lost it now … I wasn’t sure what would happen, but it would be bad.
Burke withdrew a printout from his coat and waved it like a wad of cash.
“Isn’t this interesting? Your registration paperwork.” Angling the top page toward himself, he read, “‘Ezra Rowe, registered as an aeromage at eighteen years old.’ Eighteen. A mere six years ago! Young mages who fall through the cracks are almost always discovered in early puberty when their magic first manifests.”
“Very interesting,” Halil echoed nastily.
Burke shoved the paper in Ezra’s face. “Says here: ‘six feet tall, one hundred and thirty-five pounds.’ One thirty-five. You musta been skin and bone at eighteen, but it looks like you’ve put on weight since then. At least forty pounds of muscle, I’d guess. Am I right?”
He grabbed Ezra’s bicep and squeezed. Ezra jerked his arm away. Panic kindled in my chest. I had to stop this, but I had no idea how.
“Were you sick, Ezra? That why you were so skinny back then?” Burke gave a leering smile. “Weird thing, though. We did a bit more poking around and … you have no medical records older than six years. No immunization records. No school records. Nothing until six years ago.”
“It’s almost like …” Halil paused dramatically. “Like you didn’t exist until six years ago.”
“At least, not in any government system.”
“Weird.”
“Very weird.” Burke leaned closer, getting in Ezra’s face, and whispered, “What’s your real name, Ezra Rowe? Who were you before all these forged documents?”
Ezra’s lips pulled back, baring his teeth, and I couldn’t afford to play it safe anymore. If someone was going to lose their shit, better me than him.
I grabbed the bar top and jumped over it. Having flubbed the move with embarrassing results before, I’d practiced it on quiet nights when no one was around to witness my failures. I had the move down pretty good now—but, as it turned out, not good enough to pull it off while equal parts panicked and furious.
Instead of landing neatly beside Burke, I slammed both feet into his chest.
He pitched backward off his stool and I stuck my landing without even a wobble. As he hit the floor, I pretended that’s exactly what I’d intended to do.
Burke launched to his feet, but Ezra was up even faster, kicking his stool out of the way and pivoting so we stood side by side. The air had chilled even more, but no crimson magic yet.
“You three and your fugly asses can get the hell out of my bar,” I growled, whipping out my Queen of Spades threateningly, “or you’ll regret it.”
Lips contorting in a sneer, Burke stepped backward. “You attacked me. I have no choice but to defend myself.”
Uh-oh.
A crimson glow lit Burke’s infernus pendant, then magic whooshed out of it. The light ballooned in the tiny space between us and solidified into a stocky, scaled demon with glowing eyes in an emotionless face. Stocky but huge—over seven feet tall with limbs like tree trunks.
A shiver of silence, then someone screamed.
Terrified cries erupted from the mythics in the room, most of whom had probably never seen a demon. Half of them backpedaled, knocking over chairs, while the rest held their ground, uncertain what to do but ready to help if they could.
Beside me, Ezra was rigid, his face as empty as a mannequin’s. I mentally begged him to hold it together. He couldn’t let Burke provoke him. The demon hunter wanted to test Ezra—to see what the aeromage could do, to see how he’d survived the first demon attack. What better way to find out than to attack him with another demon?
I couldn’t allow Ezra to fight it.
The demon’s arm swung up, claws shooting toward us.
“Ori repercutio!” I yelled, pointing the Queen of Spades at the creature.
Air rippled and the demon’s arm bounced back like it’d punched a wall. Whoa. The demon must be so magical that the artifact could reflect its physical body.
Unfortunately, knocking its arm away did as much to stop it from attacking again as shouting boo would have.
It grabbed the front of my shirt, its claws tearing through my brand-new, combat-ready leather jacket. It lifted me off the floor like I weighed nothing.
As fast as the demon, Ezra jammed his fist into the beast’s gut. Wind boomed, blowing over all the chairs and tables around us. The demon staggered backward, its grip loosening. Ezra grabbed the back of my jacket and yanked. Leather tore and I dropped onto my feet.
He shoved me behind him as the demon stepped closer. Halil and Fenton hovered on either side of us, blocking any escape, and Burke was grinning like a madman.
His grin suddenly faltered, replaced by shock. Between one instant and the next, a shining blade had appeared, the point pressed neatly against Burke’s jugular.
Holding it was Darius. He stood between Burke and Fenton, and the long dagger in his other hand dug into the younger man’s throat.
Then Halil hit the floor with yellow magic crackling over him. Girard stood behind the Keys champion, a polished baton in his grasp, the wood carved with runes. His normally sparkling eyes were flat with anger, his expression blacker than a thundercloud.
On the stairs, more movement—Aaron, Kai, and half a dozen combat mythics from the second level were clustered on the steps, alert and waiting. I gripped Ezra’s arm, channeling calming vibes into him. His skin was ice cold, all his freezing power contained within.
Holding both contractors at knifepoint, Darius smiled pleasantly. “Gentlemen. It would appear you’re breaking protocol.”
Standing as stiffly as his demon, Burke swallowed. His throat bobbed and a trickle of blood ran down the side of his neck from the dagger’s point.
“Well, if it isn’t the Mage Assassin himself,” he grunted. “I thought you gave up your blades, Darius.”
“Those glory days are long behind me,” Darius agreed conversationally. “In my sleepy retirement, I’m but a lowly GM pushing paperwork and destroying anyone who threatens my guild.”
Burke paled. “Y
our bartender attacked me. I was defending myself.”
Darius twisted his shiny dagger and more blood ran down Burke’s neck. “Call your demon back.”
Teeth gritted, Burke turned his gaze to his unmoving demon. Red light lit across its hands and feet, streaking toward his infernus, then the light swept over the demon. It dissolved into an eerie red power that was sucked into the pendant.
“Excellent,” Darius said. “Now, listen carefully. If you or any member of the Keys of Solomon set foot in my bar again, you won’t leave alive. Understood?”
“You’d kill us for walking into your guild? If the MPD hears—”
“What the MPD hears or doesn’t hear won’t be your concern, because you’ll be dead.” Darius flicked his knives up, spinning the hilts in his palms. Burke and Fenton both clapped hands over their necks, stanching the flow of blood from newly opened cuts. “Now, on your way. And take your large limp friend with you.”
Furious and silent, Burke and Fenton picked up Halil by the arms and dragged him to the door. While everyone watched their pathetic retreat, I peeked behind me. The broken demon horn sat on the counter, forgotten. I nudged it off the edge and it fell into the garbage bin on the other side, the thump lost in the door bell’s jangling. The Keys were gone.
Darius tossed both knives in the air and caught them by the points. “How unpleasant,” he remarked to the room.
A nervous titter ran through the mythics, and they uneasily righted the disturbed furniture. As Girard joined them, asking if everyone was all right, the people on the stairs descended to the pub level. Aaron and Kai flanked Ezra, standing close.
Darius’s gaze swept over them, his eyes far steelier than his tone. “Aaron, take the other three home.”
Aaron stiffened. “Home?”
“You’ve done all you can in the demon hunt. Now go home to rest. You need peace and quiet.”
“But sir—”
I grabbed Aaron’s arm, my fingers digging in. He might not want to abandon the demon hunt, but I didn’t think the unbound demon had anything to do with Darius’s order. Ezra’s face was still blank, his jaw was set, and a vein throbbed in his cheek. He was the one who needed peace and quiet.
Demon Magic and a Martini: The Guild Codex: Spellbound / Four Page 11