Nava Katz Box Set 2

by Deborah Wilde

  “I meant,” he said, crushing a twig under his boot heel, “killing Hybris.”

  “No.”

  “Great talk. Grazie.”

  A pair of fuzzy rabbits hopped past and my first instinct was to find Nava to show her. I looked blankly around the forest for a moment before reality kicked in and everything inside me hardened.

  Drio watched me.

  “I asked Nava that same question after she killed Oskar,” I said, picking up the threads of the conversation. “She said it had for a second, but it didn’t give her closure. Didn’t bring Esther back.”

  “Killing Hybris is supposed to quiet this.” Drio tapped his head. “Sort me out.”

  “Dude, fuck your survivor’s guilt.”

  He clapped me on the shoulder. “You’re shit at cheering someone up.”

  I glanced over at Ari. “Try me later.”

  “Nava isn’t dead. She’s like a cockroach.” Drio raised his hands against my glower. “I never meant it as an insult. She’s hard to kill. That chick is a survivor.” A muscle jumped in his jaw. “She didn’t understand what I meant when I told her the cockroach thing. I should have…” He pushed my shoulder. “Don’t fuck it up.”

  “How am I fucking it up?”

  “You’re very rigid and your girlfriend just got mad power.”

  “I’ve never had a problem with her power.”

  “She’s known you as her leader, her babysitter, and a rock star. She’s had more magic but you’ve had higher status in all these other ways that mattered. Now you don’t and you’re gonna have to be chill about all this.”

  “Like you’ve learned to be chill about your happiness?”

  Drio gave me the Italian “up yours” salute.

  Ari yelled that it was time to move out.

  We were through in the blink of an eye, standing in an underground cavern, hewed out like the ant tunnel to end all ant tunnels. It was crammed with demons as far as the eye could see.

  I swear I heard a record scratch as, in unison, they fell silent, staring at us.

  The world swung sideways with a sickening lurch as Ari threw us all into the EC. His mastery of shadow transport was impressive. He bundled us through at light speed, the world a blur, his movements confident and his direction sure.

  He brought us out into an enormous throne room, all marble and fountains. Water burbled in a soothing refrain.

  The knot inside my chest loosened.

  Nava was alive.

  But instead of combat gear, she was dressed in a wedding gown. I never realized how much I wanted to see her like that until my gut twisted at the wrongness of her dressed that way for someone else. I was choked with a hot, tight possessiveness that warred with my revulsion at the entire spectacle.

  At the far end of the room was a throne on which some supremely messed-up looking demon, presumably Satan, handed a gold, jewel-encrusted goblet to Malik.

  This wedding would happen over my dead body. I broke into a run.

  Nava glanced at the ugly-ass chuppah and brandished a small knife.

  “Fuck you,” she said, and slashed her throat.

  “Nooooo!” I roared, a half-sob catching in my chest. The world fell silent, all music gone. The universe couldn’t be this fucking cruel, giving me the ability to finally avenge one woman, only to kill the other one who mattered right in front of me.

  Satan half-rose off his throne, yelling orders to his guards.

  Magic met magic, waves spilling through the room.

  I pushed through everyone, blades out, slashing a path to Nava.

  Malik was on his knees, his hand around her throat to staunch the blood squirting from it.

  I grabbed him by the shirtfront and pressed a blade to his throat. “You’re dead.”

  “No, babe. We need him.” Nava winked at me, tugging a tiny rubber pouch from under her arm.

  She’d deliberately let me live my worst nightmare? I battled the urge to recoil.

  Blithely uncaring of the hell she’d rained upon me, Nava grabbed the overturned chalice next to her and, scattering the drops of Satan’s blood on the floor, smeared her thumb through them.

  There was a loud rip and the glamour on this room fell away. The demon court wasn’t light and airy, it was a dank cavern filled with smoky pits and dark rat-like creatures that flickered in and out of the shadows.

  “I challenge you!” Malik roared and jumped on the throne.

  Satan flamed higher, while the throne morphed from a white chair to the worst Hollywood cliché of bones and skulls. Their hundreds of red eyes tracked us, their toothless mouths leering.

  Nava grinned. “Showtime.”

  What the fuck had all this been? Had Nava and Malik been toying with us? My blood boiled. I jumped a zire, losing myself to the violence swirling in the aftermath of my misplaced fears.

  It felt fan-fucking-tastic.

  NAVA

  Damn it. Snowflake was gone again, replaced by a very angry killing machine. Provided we all lived through this, I looked forward to fighting with him. Make-up sex was the best.

  Satan and Malik were grappling on the throne, black tendrils seeping from the creepy skulls to wind around the demons. Satan looked unconcerned, but Malik recoiled every time the magic touched him.

  “Fight, children,” Satan called out. “Slaughter each other and lay your bones at my feet.”

  I could almost taste the swell of bloodlust as the battle amped up in a frenzy at his command.

  “Malik!” At his quick glance, I made a plucking motion.

  He yanked out one of Satan’s raven feathers and I jumped up to catch it.

  Thanks to Malik’s heads up on Satan’s abilities, some crones in the witch community had been able to provide some antidotes.

  Using the same smear of Satan’s blood on my thumb that had allowed me to break the ward around the throne, I rubbed it on the feather and fired it like a javelin into the barely visible walls at the very far end of this chamber. A sound barrier fell over everyone, good and bad alike, buffering them from Satan’s words.

  His look of shock was priceless. Satan may have been ancient and powerful, but like lots of old entitled dudes, he’d gotten complacent and hadn’t expected me to strike back.

  In order to get close to Satan, I was stuck on the wrong side of the barrier. I girded myself with a magic mental shield, then ripped off the silicon prosthetic that I’d bought at a make-up FX store in Hollywood, because it itched. The skin-like flap on my neck concealed a thin tube that ran into my shirt leading to a blood reservoir taped under my arm that I’d simply pumped to squirt blood after I’d “slashed” my throat with the prop knife.

  All the ways that this could have gone sideways were staggering. Even though Satan only needed to buy my death for a second, that second still had to be convincing. And I’d had to time it to my friends’ arrival so they would be there to witness it.

  Malik and Satan were two enormous flames, weaving and bobbing around each other.

  The throne’s magic had eased off, hovering behind them as if waiting to see who to attack.

  Satan got the upper hand and devoured a chunk of Malik, who sputtered, his flame dying down.

  I fired my gold magic over Malik into Satan’s fiery form, turning my power into claws that pierced the heart of him. With him firmly in my clutches, I swung him off that ridiculous throne.

  Malik’s fire engulfed the throne for a second and then he winked out, taking the black cloud of throne magic with him.

  Oookay. Hopefully, that was part of the claiming process. The skulls lit up like a pinball machine, the light bouncing around crazily. Trusting all was well, I forced Satan away from the throne and the heated battle.

  Witches moved in to hold a perimeter around the throne, taking on the rat demons that swarmed them as if killing demons down in the realm was just another workday for them.

  I was so proud.

  Now for the tricky part. No one knew where Satan’s kill spot was
and magically, even with my new strength, I was no match for him.

  He slipped my hold. A long, malevolent shadow slipped free from his fire form, undulating toward me like a tsunami.

  I threw up a shield. The shadow crashed up against it, eating my magic in acidic spots that spread like spores. I fought my base instincts to patch my shield, allowing the acid to eat away at it, and bided my time. In the split second before my magic failed to be mine and I was at Satan’s mercy, I flung everything back at him.

  The acid magic clamped down on him. Satan’s fire form crackled, hissed, and then was snuffed out, leaving Satan back in his muscled frame.

  He rushed me, grabbing me and spearing me with fire.

  I burned like a marshmallow in a fraction of a second, the smell of my charred flesh barely penetrating the searing agony that stole my breath. My body was yellow and black, the blistering skin burned to a crisp, flaking and curling, exposing the bone beneath.

  The cavern swum around me. I panted through the pain, my pulse a weak flutter as it became harder and harder to breathe.

  I barely had enough strength to slap one charred hand to the side of his raven’s head and pull Satan’s true name from his memories. Thankfully his name was at the forefront of the morass of evil in his brain, because there was no wading through that and coming out sane.

  I slid the real Ring of Solomon onto my left hand. At least, I hoped it was the real ring. If Malik had screwed up and melted the wrong one before passing me this ring while he’d been pretending to stop my throat from bleeding, we were supremely effed.

  “Rimazios. I call you.”

  Satan flinched and I wrenched free, a blackened husk swaying precariously on my feet, clinging to the wave of magic working lightning-fast inside me to heal me.

  “Rimazios, I bind you.”

  He froze in his tracks.

  “Rimazios, I command you to bare your kill spot.”

  The demon cawed balefully at me, then tilted his head, exposing a single band of green on one of his feathers.

  “Awesome. Thanks.”

  Then I killed Satan.

  Not gonna lie, that was crazy satisfying.

  The chamber was empty. No demons, no Rasha, no witches.

  No stupid wedding dress either. My normal clothing had been restored. I stuffed the ring in a pocket.

  The skull-and-bone throne stopped flashing. Malik, in his fire form, slithered out of one of the mouths like a snake, then turned back into his human body and collapsed on the seat.

  He wore the thin, gold circlet.

  The court morphed back to its previous, charming incarnation.

  As did Malik. Hearty, hale, and immaculately groomed as always, he even had two eyes, I was pleased to note.

  “Looking a little rough there.” Malik looked down his nose at me. He didn’t inspire the same terror in me that the former Satan had. Not yet anyway.

  I primped my curls. The dry hair broke and showered at my feet. My skin had sealed up over the exposed bone but that was about as pretty as I got. My healing magic was working as fast as it could, given how exhausted I was. “I look delightful.”

  Malik snorted.

  “Where are my friends?”

  “Not here.”

  I planted my hands on my hips and flinched. I’d read somewhere that third degree burns were supposed to come with nerve damage that numbed the pain. How’d I get that part wrong?

  “I threw them out,” he said.

  I saluted him. “Lovely visit, but I’m off. You’re welcome, by the way, Malik.”

  “Shaitan,” he corrected.

  “Like I’m ever gonna call you that.” The air was like knives against my burned flesh.

  He leaned forward. “Get out of here before I kill you.”

  “Good luck. I still have the real ring.”

  Malik glared at me.

  “Which I would never use on you, o Imperious Evil One.”

  “Which you could never use because you don’t know my true name and never will.”

  I tapped my head. “Unless I do.”

  “I told you, I didn’t trust her.”

  I gasped. “You never told the woman you loved your real name? That’s stone cold, dude.”

  “‘Dude’ me once more. Please.”

  I grinned at him. “We’re going to have such fun.”

  “Go destroy the ring.”

  “Will do. Later… dude.”

  23

  I emerged from the portal into the shadows of the German forest.

  How much loss was acceptable for the victory we’d achieved? One person? Twenty? Or the thirty-three who’d died fighting because I’d asked them to? Was putting Malik on the throne the right decision, even in hindsight? Yes. But everyone who’d died had been a friend, a family member, and now there were holes in all those communities because of me. It was almost worse that none of the dead were my inner circle. Don’t get me wrong, I was beyond thankful that my people had made it, but it didn’t feel right. Why did I get to keep the ones I loved?

  Catriona, one of the triplets who had been in my group, chanted an invocation in an ancient language, circling the body of one of our fallen. The words were unfamiliar; the intention was not. Catriona cycled through the five stages of grief, each section accompanied by a precise movement: the harsh tones of anger with foot stomps, the supplication of bargaining with her hands thrown wide to the stars. With acceptance, her voice fell to a hush. Crouching down, she scooped up a handful of leaves and sprinkled it over her friend.

  From another part of the forest, another witch chanted over another lost comrade. Then Raquel did it for Henri, a Rasha for whom Mahmud clearly grieved. Again and again, the women chanted until every single one of our dead had been claimed and mourned.

  Little by little, the night sky lightened, almost as if these invocations were banishing the darkness and infusing our world with color: faint pinks and purples that crescendoed with the last of the chants until we stood in the hush of sunlight.

  That’s when I was noticed, standing by myself at the back, thankfully no longer a crispy freak show.

  Hex Factor looked at me expectantly.

  I stood on a stump. “Somebody once told me that to win this fight, I had to strip away all emotion. I wish I could, I really do, because every single loss fucking hurts. What’s the plan here? Why does the universe require a balance of good and evil instead of being able to just stamp it out once and for all?”

  Something crackled. Fire leaked out the bottom of my shoes, licking at my ankles. I wasn’t sure it was real until Bao kicked dirt at my feet.

  I tamped down my rage and scrubbed a hand over my face. “It would be nice to face each new adversity believing that the ends justify the means. That the end matters, because the human race matters. Doing whatever it takes to keep evil at bay from the rest of humanity is our duty. I believe that with every fiber of my being, but I don’t want to diminish in any way what you’ve done here or what those who died, sacrificed to protect. Thank you doesn’t begin to cover it.”

  Witches held hands, Rasha slung arms around each other’s shoulders. Everyone was grouped together in solidarity, looking to me to give them hope, when all I wanted to do was hide under a blanket.

  I lifted my chin and gave them the comfort they deserved.

  “This feels like a hollow victory. Maybe those are the only ones there truly are, I don’t know, but what we did mattered and these people didn’t die in vain.” I gave an awkward little half-bow, unsure of how to wrap this up.

  Rohan’s rich whiskey baritone rang out with the first line of Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” that k.d. lang had sang so beautifully at the 2010 Vancouver Olympics. When he got to the first chorus of “hallelujahs,” everyone joined in and so it went for the entire song, Rohan singing the verses with all of us accompanying him for the choruses.

  I’m not a religious person, and until this moment, I wouldn’t have said I was particularly spiritual, but singing i
n that forest after all we’d won and all we’d lost, this new and fragile community lifting their voices in unison, it was a moment touched by the divine.

  The song finished and I sought Ro out, my eyes meeting his across the woods. The heart of my heart, he’d known exactly how to bolster me.

  The love of my life broke our connection and spoke a few words to Ari. My brother replied, but at Ro’s insistent head shake, glanced back at me with a helpless shrug. The two of them stepped into the shadows and vanished.

  Raquel asked for help in bringing the bodies back home to their families. I should have volunteered, but all I could think was, “Okay, Rohan. We’re doing this.”

  “Is there an itemized list of things you’re pissed about right now,” I said, walking into our dorm room, “or did you just want to wing your grievances?”

  He tugged off his shirt, rooting around in a drawer for a new one. “You failed to mention that Malik was going to ambush us.”

  “Because I didn’t know that part. Give me some credit. I would never have withheld that from you.”

  “Really.” He pulled off the shirt.

  “Great, let’s get to what this is really about.” I scanned his body for visible wounds, but while he was bruised, there was nothing serious.

  “I had to watch you die. You couldn’t have maybe warned me about that?” He threw the desk chair against the wall, splintering a leg.

  Greater good, Nava.

  “Your reaction had to be real.” Which was probably the exact reasoning Malik had used for not telling me about the ambush. Fuck. “The only way we stood any chance of Satan believing us was to make it seem like Malik had betrayed us and I’d slit my throat. A sleight-of-hand to distract Satan so he wouldn’t notice I was on the ward line to his throne and we had his blood to cut through it. I couldn’t let that strategy be common knowledge beforehand.”

  “I’m ‘common knowledge?’” He did the quotes.

  “No. You’re the person that means the most to me and out of everyone your reaction to my death had to be genuine. Satan had been keeping tabs on me. You think he didn’t know about us?”