When the demon lowered its hand from its face and leveled a glare at Ciaran, it laughed. Ciaran hadn’t expected the reaction, especially when black blood dripped from its face.
“The witch took your curse, but it was far too late anyway. Now, I took your witch.”
Ciaran saw only red. He launched himself from the floor, arms outstretched, and fingers hooked into claws. The demon was faster. It could have been the demon’s proximity to an open gate or it could have been that he was no longer hiding what he was. Either way, the demon skirted Ciaran’s attack.
He hit the floor and rolled back to his feet. The demon was gone, but its laughter echoed around him. Suddenly, the room filled with people. They rushed toward him, screaming and panicking. They crashed into Ciaran, sending him spinning.
Faces blurred past. He tried to find Samantha in the crowd, but he knew from the pit in his stomach that Samantha wouldn’t be there.
Chapter Sixteen
Samantha knew wherever she was, it wasn’t the manor.
Each step forward was cautious. The walls of the manor shimmered and danced around her, like the ghost of her home. Yet, it wasn’t her home. It was painted in shades of gray and black. The air around her was thick, almost solid. It fought against her every step. It choked her lungs and made it hard to breathe.
This was her home, damn it.
Even if it was hell or the inbetween. It was her home.
The click of claws on the floor, dull and low, told her exactly where she was. The two hellhounds that she’d banished appeared. They were still caked with dried blood, long tongue marks around their muzzles from where they’d licked it clean.
A cuss word touched the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back and turned her attention to the situation. Two hellhounds stared her down, nearly as confused as she was. They knew about as much about the inbetween as she did.
“Look, little beasties, if you help me get out of here, then we can all get out of here.” She didn’t want to use the feather in her pocket. Not yet.
It was her secret weapon, but she didn’t know how many uses she had. There was a chance she could open the portal between the two worlds, but she feared she would be unable to close it. Closing the gates the demon had opened was her priority.
The hellhounds didn’t seem interested in her proposal. They charged toward her. She flung herself at the nearby shelf, grabbing books to throw at the hounds. The books drifted through the thick air, only to land with soft thuds.
Then, a thought occurred to her. She broke away from the parlor and raced toward the nearby stairs. The echo of a grunt stopped her. She skidded to a halt in the living room where two shadows wrestled. A tug in her stomach told her that one of those shadows was Ciaran.
The demon had separated them. Hell, she’d walked right into the demon’s hands.
At least, he’d trapped her in her own home. Samantha might be in the inbetween, but it was still Carver manor. Upstairs would be everything she needed to escape. All she had to do was outrun the hellhounds that had spent a bit more time in this sluggish air.
Their footsteps were sure and quick. It didn’t take long for them to catch up to her. She called out to Ciaran, a confession of love, before leaping up the stairs. Her chest burned with the effort, but she would not be stopped.
The door was only feet away from her outstretched hand when she heard the cackling. It was followed by shrieks that chilled her bones. Samantha hesitated. This was where the demon was leading people, she realized.
The hellhounds stopped and turned toward the sound of the new voices. Murmurs reached her ears, confusion and a touch of alarm. They thought they were in a haunted house. They didn’t know they were one step away from hell.
Beside her, the wall split open and a giant mouth laughed. The breath that hit her was putrid, making her throw her arm over her face. It laughed as it slid down the hall toward the voices. She watched the sharp teeth disappear and felt her stomach sink.
She wanted to get back to Ciaran, but had to trust that he could take care of himself for a while. Samantha jumped down the stairs, two at a time, and landed at the base. The hounds were circling the people. They looked between the growling hounds and the laughing mouth in the wall, with eyes that opened and blinked at them.
Some joked and jeered at their friends, still not yet understanding the trouble they were in. Others shrank back from the horrors around them. Samantha didn’t waste another moment. She ran and kicked one of the hounds. The beast staggered and fell to its side.
The other turned to snarl at her. If one of them bit her, she would die. There was nothing that would save her from its fetid mouth. She didn’t have Ciaran’s healing. Only her own magic.
Her own magic. She wanted to slap her palm to her forehead. She’d forgotten her own power far too easily. The years she’d spent pushing it away, ignoring it, had weakened her. Power was just that, power. It was what one did with it that made it good or bad.
She needed to remember that.
“Come at me, you ugly little mutt.” Samantha reached for a thick thread of the power inside her. Raw and untamed, she circled it around the hellhound’s neck. In the inbetween, her magic took on a visible form. It glowed with violet energy, thorny and crackling.
The power formed a collar around the mutt’s neck. She quickly drew a binding rune on the back of the beast’s head, locking the leash into place. The mutt staggered before becoming still. She didn’t know if it worked, tightening her grip on the rope of magic in her hand.
Samantha always thought she’d live a simple life, reading tarot cards and making up predictions in the shapes of tea leaves. This was not something she would have dreamt of in her wildest nightmares.
Turning toward the unbound hellhound picking itself up from the floor, she shouted at the people to run. They scattered, the mouth in the wall reaching for them, its tongue shooting through the air and wrapping around someone’s waist.
This was not going to end well, Samantha realized. Every time someone screamed, the air grew thicker. Their fear filled the house with palpable energy. It was a battery. Their fear, their pure terror as people around them died, was fueling something.
She let loose another rope of power, feeling her energy drain away, and leashed the second hellhound. It fought for a moment before she managed to draw the binding rune on the back of its head. Once the two monsters settled beneath her power, she raced toward the parlor.
Just as she thought, Ciaran was still there. This might not work, she warned herself, but she had to try.
“The demon hasn’t opened the portal to hell yet!” she shouted.
Her words rippled through the thick air. For a moment, she thought her voice wouldn’t pass the veil, but then the shape of Ciaran’s head twisted in her direction. Samantha didn’t have time to figure out if he understood her. All she could do was hope that was enough and continue on her way. She had a gaggle of people cowering in fear behind her, people she needed to see to safety.
There was a crack in the air. A pink blur raced toward her. Heart lurching, Samantha fumbled back. The tongue in the wall reached for her, but one of the hellhounds leapt and caught it. She stared in astonishment for a long moment before glancing over her shoulder at the people watching.
“Pretty scary, huh? What do you think of this year’s haunted house?” Even though her voice shook from adrenaline and panic, she could see the expressions start to change.
Fear slowly shifted into nervous laughter. They weren’t wholly convinced, but they weren’t shrieking with terror and feeding the demon’s battery anymore. At least, not as quickly.
She could get them all out of the inbetween now that she knew there would be no gate to hell she would have to close. Patting her jacket, she found the raven feather. It glowed purple in the thick air of the room. The tip crackled, sparks jumping from it. Behind her, she could hear confused murmurs.
All she had to do was find the gate that had brought them in. If she coul
d open it and let them all out, then she could close it behind them. She turned on her heel and raced toward the front door. The creepy mouth in the walls laughed and followed her, racing alongside. Samantha didn’t know if she could sleep in this house ever again. She would see that eerie face in every shadow.
Samantha shook her head and ignored the mouth as the bleeding and bruised tongue slipped up her arm. It was just trying to creep her out now. Unfortunately, it was working. Her hands shook as she raised the feather in the air. Sucking in a haggard breath, she pierced the veil with the tip and drew it down. The line she cut was jagged, but fresh air reached her face.
She turned toward the crowd behind her and smiled. It was fake, but they wanted to believe it. “All you had to do was rip the paper over the door.”
Men jostled each other with their elbows, suddenly feigning a false bravado. Women shoved the men through the hole Samantha ripped before she followed. Sound assaulted her ears. She hadn’t realized how muted the inbetween had been until she stumbled back into her own reality.
The hole whistled behind her. It seemed to reach for air, for anything nearby. It was like a hand on the back of her jacket, dragging her back inside. As much as she wanted to close the hole immediately, she still needed it.
The hellhounds stepped through alongside her. They were just as hideous in the light of day as they had been in the inbetween. Their white skin was nearly transluscent, veins beneath beating with the fire of hell, the fire that burned behind their silhouetted ribcage. The only thing that was even mildly endearing were their fat heads, much like exaggerated bulldogs.
They stalked behind her, tethered to the magic she was still grasping in her hand. They were invisible now, the leashes she’d wrought. The scene they made as she walked around the back of the house to the backdoor was laughable. Someone called out over the fence, asking what kind of dogs they were and when Samantha had gotten dogs.
“I’m borrowing them from my uncle for the haunted house. They’re, ah, wearing costumes.”
She had to explain it a few more times before slipping inside the greenhouse. A day ago, she’d fought a demon over a birdcage containing her lover. Now, she retraced her steps with two hellhounds in her control. When had her life spiraled so far out of control?
If it hadn’t been for the lives lost in the inbetween, Samantha wouldn’t have minded. This was the wildest her life had ever been. It made her realize she craved adventure—the kind where people’s lives weren’t on the line, of course.
She pushed open the door to the kitchen. Her wards resisted the hellhounds until she swiped her hand over the sigils and drew back the magic. The fallen ward would signal her presence to the demon, but hopefully he was distracted by Ciaran.
Her heart clenched when she thought about Ciaran. She’d left him alone with the demon for too long. Visions of him burning from the inside out on the pavilion floor after the hellhound attack flashed through her mind. It had been one of the most terrifying moments of her life. Everything she’d hoped for, everything she’d learned to love, had nearly been lost. She hoped he was okay, that she didn’t have to save him again.
“Welcome back,” the voice in the wall whispered.
She shuddered, cutting an annoyed sidelong glance at the mouth in the wall. Great. It was in reality, too. She was tempted to burn the house down just to cleanse it of this madness.
Chapter Seventeen
Samantha, from wherever she was, sounded like she had things under control. It made a smile curl across Ciaran’s lips. He shed his jacket and flexed his arms, foot sliding back into a fighting stance. The demon had tried to shake him, but no one screwed with a Carver witch.
There was a reason they’d been given the name Carver. They were able to carve through anything that stood in their way, from abusive husbands to megalomaniac demons.
The demon, sensing his slipping grip on the situation, snarled. It crouched, becoming something in human altogether. Legs bent in strange directions, more bug than man. With a guttural growl, it launched itself at Ciaran. Bony fingers closed around Ciaran’s throat. The sulfur filled his nose and throat.
“You think you might have won, but I’m going to kill you and then take your witch. It seems like she has the same magic that I need to finish this.” The demon’s grin was wild.
Rage slapped Ciaran. He brought his fist back and slammed it into the demon’s head. The thing’s grip on Ciaran’s throat didn’t loosen. The edges of his vision were darkening. Ciaran knew what it would take to kill him.
He watched the demon’s lips purse and a nearly inaudible whistle pierced the air. Ciaran kicked at the demon holding him, but his back slammed into the floor. The look of victory on the demon’s face faltered, only for a second.
Ciaran strained to hear the familiar click of hellhounds on hardwood floors. At first, there was nothing. Ciaran used the moment to bring his elbow up. It crashed into the side of the demon’s head, where he’d already hit the demon’s eye.
Once more, the demon howled, but didn’t let go. It was determined. He would give it that. The world around him was starting to fade. He wasn’t going to die like this. When the sound of nails on hardwood returned, slowly prowling toward Ciaran and the demon, he poured everything into the last attempt.
This time, he kicked with his steel-toe boot. It collided with the demon’s stomach. The demon gasped, spittle flying over Ciaran’s face. The spindly body of the demon slumped, and Ciaran kicked him away again. The hands left his throat and he swallowed mouthfuls of air. Already, his regenerative abilities were flushing his body with healing.
The demon staggered in one direction. Ciaran rolled in another before bouncing to his feet. The first thing he saw when he looked up were the open mouths of the hellhounds. The demon spared a moment to laugh, as if he’d seen his victory. The laugh quickly faded.
Behind the hellhounds stood a very wild looking witch. There was blood on her jacket, and something else viscous coating the other side. Her hair was free and sticking out in every direction while her eyes burned with the same look of vengeance he’d seen on Imogen’s face the night of the curse.
Ciaran didn’t waste a moment. He kicked at the demon’s legs. As the creature fell, he caught it in a chokehold. He didn’t know if the demon needed to breathe, but he brought it face to face with the hellhounds—who seemed to be working for his witch now.
Samantha jerked her chin. “Front door.”
Ciaran led the way with the demon locked in his arms. His throat burned from where he’d been choked, but seeing the end of this come near filled him with relief. A worry crept into his relief and turned it into static. The demon wasn’t fighting his hold.
He knew the creature was strong. It might fear its own hounds, but Ciaran couldn’t help but fear what the demon was thinking now.
A weird sensation rippled over Ciaran as he stepped outside. It was like walking through a wall of gelatin only to have it disappear. When he turned around, the house had changed. It was gray and bland, swallowing the glow of the sunset behind them. Ciaran realized it was the inbetween when a familiar, stale smell touched his nose.
“In you go,” Samantha said as she pulled the raven feather from her pocket.
Ciaran moved to toss the demon into the portal, but his foot caught, and he tumbled. The demon lurched for Samantha. It grasped her by her hair, drawing a scream from her lips. While his witch grimaced, she kept one hand clutched tight. It must have held the magic that bound the hounds. Once she let go of them, they would be outnumbered.
Before she could command them to attack, the demon held a sharp claw against the thick vein in her neck. His witch went completely still. Behind them, people pointed and watched as if this was an act. They didn’t realize their neighborhood witch could die any second.
“Jump into purgatory, Ciaran. It’s where you belong.” The demon drew a bead of blood from Samantha’s neck, just to drive his point home.
Ciaran’s gaze flicked from the de
mon to Samantha. While the demon looked as though he had won, smug once more, Samantha’s eyes still held that fire of vengeance. She nodded, a barely perceptible movement. He didn’t know what she meant, but he did know he wasn’t ready to lose her.
He stood and took one step toward the open portal. He only had seconds to think. The inbetween tugged at him like a long-lost lover. He fought against the tug while his mind reeled, searching for a way out of this.
They were losing. The demon would run away with Samantha and bend her to his will, forcing her to craft the spell that would eventually open the gate to hell. Every step further into their failure tormented Ciaran. He refused to let this happen. He would not let the demon hurt her.
“Let go of my beasts, dearie,” the demon whispered as it pressed its face against Samantha’s cheek.
Ciaran watched her press her eyes shut, as if in prayer, and swallow. Suddenly, her hand swung up. The raven feather pierced the skin beneath the demon’s jaw. Red blood arched through the air. The demon staggered back, and Ciaran wasted no time.
He grabbed the demon and threw himself into the portal. Together, they crashed to the floor. Ciaran looked back. Samantha held a hand over her throat, blood staining her fingers. Still, she staggered to the doorway and raised the raven feather. It was dark with demon blood now, but it still held the power of Ciaran’s curse.
She began to stitch the hole closed. The demon attempted to get back to its feet, snarling at Samantha. Ciaran yanked the creature back down and held it there. While it struggled in his arms, the portal behind him slowly closed. He couldn’t turn and see the mourning on her face. All he could do was press the wounded demon into the floor.
The portal was nearly closed when she screamed his name. The echo of her voice pulled a chord within him. It echoed, and he felt the tattoo on his shoulders shudder. Feathers burst from his arms, his body shrinking. He flapped and leapt away from the demon.
The Raven Curse Page 10