Except this room had been invaded. Violated. Ransacked.
Long rows of floor-to-ceiling metal shelving ran along most of the room, every shelf crowded with boxes, crates, glass cases, and every other imaginable storage container, all of them carefully labeled and placed just so alongside stacks of files, binders, and books. Yet a swath of destruction led from where the portal opened on one wall all the way down the room toward two rows of large tables covered in tools of archiving, conservation, and study. Folders and books had been rummaged through and left askew, some having spilled onto the floor; boxes had been pulled down and their contents strewn about; crates had been smashed, their splintered bits littering the floor, their priceless contents carelessly thrown aside. Several of the conservation station tables had been overturned while their burdens of brushes, papers, pens, and bottles had been knocked to the floor, tread upon, and broken. Unidentified liquids pooled around the upturned tables, an acrid reek of spilled chemicals cutting through the room’s musty scent of old paper, mothballs, and other preserving agents.
For an endless moment, the vision of destruction crushed Lily’s heart and she was overcome by an utter despair that only an archivist would understand. Then the moment ended, and fury beyond measure exploded in her chest. Her blood boiled in outrage and horror as all of her senses zeroed in on the culprits, now at the far end of the room near the only door leading out. The rustle of paper and crack of breaking wood were the only sounds that rose above the buzz of fluorescent lights overhead.
As Lily stalked forward, she was dimly aware of Richard veering off to the left, running crouched and silent through the rows of shelving to find an advantageous position. Sir Kipling peeled off to the right and crept two rows down, then mirrored their progress forward so as to flank the witches. Lily focused ahead, feeling the power running through her right arm and hand as she gripped Madam Barrington’s bony fingers, leaving her left hand—bearing her ward bracelet and power anchor—free to work. She didn’t have a plan, but she didn’t care. All she cared about was stopping this horror and punishing those responsible. She only needed a clear shot. Since the witches were searching among the shelving units, any skirmish was in danger of damaging more ancient history. She needed to draw them out.
Halfway down the room, where the shelving opened up into the rows of worktables, Lily came to a halt, then spoke slowly, voice as cold as the arctic tundra. “How. Dare. You.”
The demon, still in possession of Roger’s body as a vessel for his own form, stopped demolishing the wooden crate he had been effortlessly ripping apart with his bare hands and slowly turned toward them. “Ah, I see you have finally arrived. I was expecting you much sooner.”
“How dare you,” Lily repeated, eyes narrowing, ignoring the demon’s words. “Have you no respect? How could you treat this place of learning with such wanton ignorance, destroying priceless history like it was trash? Why?” Her hands trembled with a rage unlike any other, the rage only a lover of history and preservation could feel at the sight of such destruction. The pain of loss ripped at her chest, the same ache she felt at the thought of the burning of the Library of Alexandria, or the ransacking of the Forbidden Palace. It awoke the “she-tiger” in her, as Sir Kipling called it—that protective instinct mixed with incandescent fury at anyone who dared to harm her precious library books. Any last shred of fear in her fell away.
Nobody messed with her books. Nobody.
The demon seemed to relish her anguish, for an evil smile spread across his face. “Why not? You humans are worthless, weak, and ignorant, nothing but scurrying vermin who do not even make good slaves. Your mere existence is an insult to the rest of creation.” At the word “insult,” he wrenched his hand out of the crate, sending a dozen clay tablets tumbling to the floor where they smashed into tiny bits.
An involuntary cry of horror was ripped from Lily’s throat and she surged forward, held back only by Madam Barrington’s vise-like grip. “Stop it! You filthy—you monster—you—”
The creature merely chuckled, then spoke over his shoulder to his two minions. “Keep searching. It is close by, I can feel it.” With that, he stepped toward them, passing the last row of shelves before the open space. When he reached the overturned tables, he stopped, glowing red eyes examining the two wizards, noting their joined hands. Then he met Lily’s gaze directly, expression curious. She felt a vague pressure on her mind, like a questing tendril pressing against a barrier it could not penetrate. After a moment it withdrew, and the demon’s eyes flicked to Madam Barrington. Fortunately, Sebastian’s ring provided whatever protection she needed to shrug off the malevolent probe, and she made no sound as her icy gaze held his.
His preferred method of attack proven futile, the demon looked back to Lily and bared a mouth full of teeth, stark white against his black skin and each one tapering to a razor-sharp point.
“Stop? Make me, little girl,” he hissed, his taunting words full of malice.
Lily’s eyes narrowed and she shifted her stance, finding sure footing amid the wreckage and putting Madam Barrington slightly behind her as she forced herself to calm down and assess her enemy before launching into action. She knew no “anti-demon” spells, and had no attacks to banish this creature back to hell. She wasn’t sure even Sebastian could have done that, since the demon’s form seemed directly connected to Roger’s body and consciousness, rather than some token or summoning circle. And, despite urgently searching for some feeling, some thread within her to draw upon her angelic magic as she had done in Melthalin, she could find nothing.
With no other option, she resorted to pure destructive energy, launching a series of attacks that honed her magic into narrow spears of concentrated force aimed straight at the demon’s chest. She threw bolt after bolt, the backwash of her attack making the surrounding shelves and their precious burdens quiver. But though the first few made the demon stumble, he quickly found his footing and simply absorbed the energy, laughing horribly as he did.
Panting, Lily ceased her casting, knowing it was a waste of strength and afraid her spells might damage more artifacts.
“Oh please, do not stop. I was just starting to have fun,” the demon taunted, and began to stalk forward. Tendrils of darkness wriggled and crept out from where each foot touched the floor, spreading in a circle of black rot.
A part of Lily shuddered at the thought of what the gunk would do to her gorgeous leather boots, but it did not stop her from stepping forward as well, slowly closing with her adversary. Madam Barrington held back at first, obviously not approving of Lily’s suicidal move. But the only thing Lily had ever seen damage the demon was her bracelet, and if she couldn’t hurt the worthless piece of slime from afar, then she would have to do it up close. Moving forward resolutely, Lily felt her mentor finally follow, adjusting their shields as she went to bring them in tighter and hopefully protect the two of them against whatever that black ooze was.
They stopped mere feet away from the red-eyed devil. Directly in front of Lily, his tendrils split and circled around them, repelled by the invisible shields. The creeping scum wriggled and searched, prodding their defenses. Unable to penetrate the wall of magic, they began to climb the protective shields, as if to cocoon the wizards in darkness. Lily glanced at Madam Barrington, her anger dimming as fear and uncertainty tingled through her.
With unnerving swiftness, the blackness spread and soon she could barely see, the light above blocked by the demon’s black presence. Yet she could still see the red glow of his eyes floating before them, the only light left in a quickly shrinking circle of evil.
“Ethel, what do we do?” Lily whispered, feeling her mentor pull on her power, drawing more and more energy from her to keep their protection from collapsing. Madam Barrington did not answer, but Lily could feel the tremble in her hand. Even together, they were not strong enough, and Lily felt a moment of crippling uncertainty. Should she attack? Should she retreat? Could she still do either without the blackness hurting Mada
m Barrington? She hardly even considered her own life.
A muffled yowl and muted cracks of gunfire reached her ears. For a second, the red eyes flicked away, distracted. But then they were back, their casual triumph replaced by displeasure.
It is over, little girl. Give up, and embrace death. I promise it will be swift.
The voice echoed through her mind, though it came from outside of her. She shook her head, focusing all her strength into Madam Barrington and closing her eyes to block out the vision of glowing eyes.
But the eyes followed her, burning even behind her eyelids.
Cease this futile resistance. If you do, no one else need be harmed.
Lily’s concentration stuttered, her heart in her throat. Listening to the bad guy was always a dumb move, right? They couldn’t be trusted. And yet, what if she refused and got everyone killed?
If you continue to try my patience, I will slaughter every last human in this building—no, in this entire city. You cannot stop me.
Doubt clawed at her and threw off her focus. The blackness around them drew in, inching ever closer.
Yesss, that is right. You are weak, incapable of saving your friends. Submit to me, fall at my feet in supplication and I will spare their miserable lives.
Lily’s mind recoiled, the image of Sebastian hanging from that factory wall intruding on her thoughts. It would be worth it, no matter what happened to her, if Sebastian was safe. Was finally free. But…what would happen if the demon got what it wanted? How many more innocents would die in the long run if she gave in to save her friends? Wasn’t that sort of selfish attitude just what she had been fighting against in her father with his belief that mundanes were inherently less valuable than wizards, so killing them was justifiable for the “greater good”? Even supposing she did give in and this vile creature kept its word, could she live with the blood of unknown innocents on her hands?
Madam Barrington would kill me, she thought, knowing the answer, knowing what she had to do, even as part of her wept and begged for another way. But she had no other option. She couldn’t win, she wouldn’t run, and she wouldn’t give in. So, she had to do the last thing in the world she wanted to do: give up control. She had to trust the power in her bracelet, the power that seemed to watch over her—even though she still didn’t know why. And since it always responded in proportion to the danger that befell her, that meant to get a strong enough response she had to do something very, very stupid.
She had to let the demon kill her.
“I’ll use small words—so you’ll be sure—to understand,” Lily gasped, hoping the demon could hear her oxygen-starved attempt at a defiant last word. “Eat dirt and die—you warthog-faced—buffoon.”
The red eyes narrowed. It is you who will die, worthless ssslave, and then I will consssume your sssouuul. The echoing hiss was like a putrid breath of death that passed through her, freezing her to the marrow. She opened her mouth and screamed in defiance, the blackness around them constricting, pushing so close it almost touched her. Acting on instinct, she pulled Madam Barrington into her arms, wrapping herself around her dear friend as if her body could protect the frail woman. A desperate thought flitted through her mind, taunting her: if this didn’t work, she would never have the chance to say goodbye to Sebastian…or tell him how she truly felt.
Their shield shrank further, flickering weakly mere millimeters from their skin. Madam Barrington gave one last grunt of effort, then went limp in Lily’s arms, her strength completely spent.
The shields vanished.
Black ooze enveloped them, its tendrils wriggling and slithering like snakes, so cold it burned like the fire of hell itself. It tightened, constricting and squeezing the life out of them. Lily tried to scream, but it rushed into her mouth, up her nose, choking her. She writhed and gagged, mind in a blank panic.
Breathe.
Can’t.
Move.
Can’t.
Escape.
I’m dying.
Not yet, a still, small voice whispered in her mind.
Light flared into life behind her eyelids, growing, blanketing all in a brilliance that set her nerves on fire just as much as the icy blackness. She wondered briefly if this was death, this blank nothingness burning everything away into empty light.
But the brilliance grew and grew, inescapable as it expanded in a rush of explosive strength. It filled every part of her, every molecule, pulsing beneath her skin, pressing outward to escape. The opposing pressure from within and without was unbearable, and she struggled against it, desperate for relief. But the light only grew stronger, its power growing and pulsing and burning until she was almost comatose with the pain of it.
And then it exploded.
The blackness cocooning her was shredded into a million ribbons that instantly vaporized in the pure, blinding light that erupted from her every pore. Her nerves shrieked in pain and ecstasy at the release as her head was thrown back and her arms spread wide in helpless surrender to the power that coursed through her, her body a mere conduit for something far greater.
And the bells.
Triumphant peals of glory rang out for an instant in a chorus of victory, before everything—the light, the power, the tumult—abruptly vanished.
Lily collapsed to her knees, falling across Madam Barrington’s prostrate form. Her vision swam with spots, blinded by the flash, so she had to rely on her other senses as a flood of information bombarded her: Shouts. Crashes. Running feet. The stench of burned flesh. The gritty feel of ash coating her hands where she braced herself on the cold, concrete floor. A rough, wet tongue scraped across her cheek and whiskers tickled her nose.
“Get up, Lily. Hurry. The demon is gone—it left Roger in a right state, all singed and covered in horrible burns. We attacked his two lackeys right when they found something that got them all excited. Richard shot the blond one in the arm, I think, and I scratched the big one up bad, but then they ran off toward the door with a clay statue. Roger just got up and went after them. We can still catch them if you hurry.”
Lily groped with her hand, finding Madam Barrington’s neck and feeling for a pulse. It was there, if slow and weak. Hoping she was making the right choice, Lily forced herself to rise, almost screaming aloud at the pain shooting through her limbs with every movement. Her eyesight had returned enough that she could make out the shapes of shelves and boxes strewn about. She stumbled forward, but then felt a hand at her arm, supporting her.
“They’re by the door at the end of the room. I think it’s locked, but I don’t know if they can get through it or not. Are you sure you should be moving? Maybe I can hold them at gunpoint and radio for backup.” Richard’s voice was agitated, but Lily didn’t waste time glancing his way. She surged forward, propelling them both down the length of the room between rows of shelves.
“Can’t—let them—escape,” she panted, reaching desperately inside of her for any last vestige of strength she could still tap from the Source. She saw Sir Kipling race ahead, probably intent on delaying tactics that involved lots of teeth and claws and ear-splitting shrieks of feline rage.
As they neared the door, Lily saw the witches suddenly draw back from it and crouch to the side as if bracing for something. A strange warmth hit her face just as she noticed cracks of crimson light shining around the edges of the door. “Look out!” she yelled, veering wildly to the side and pushing Richard into the space between two shelves.
The door exploded off its hinges under some huge, rumbling impact, twisting and crumpling into a useless wreck that skidded along the floor, passing a hairsbreadth from them in an angry screech of metal. Untangling herself from where she and Richard had fallen in a heap, Lily dared a peek around the shelf.
What she saw froze the blood in her veins.
The corridor was teeming with demons: big and small of every shape, color, and configuration of wicked spines, spikes, and teeth. And the biggest of all, a huge monster that stooped to even fit in the space bet
ween floor and ceiling, stood in the doorway, its massive limbs like scaly tree trunks. The look on its face was hungry and its eyes burned with a hellish glow, though even bent down it could barely peer into the doorway, much less fit through.
Roger stood before it, shouting horrible, grating words that stung Lily’s ears. The greater demon retreated, looking surly, yet cowed, and allowed Roger and his two witches to pass through. The ranks of demons behind its massive bulk shrank back in fear from Roger who—though injured and limping—spoke with an authority that had every creature cringing in subservience. Lily could vaguely see the twisted red of demonic symbols splashed across the floor and walls, creating a massive circle that shimmered with power, as if still active and ready to spew forth more demons as soon as there was room. Behind the crowd of hideous creatures, she spotted the cloaked forms of five human-shaped figures. At Roger’s approach, they parted, then fell in behind him as the entire group made a hasty retreat. Just before they disappeared around a corner, Roger turned and cried out a loud command that reverberated in the close space. As one, every single demon’s head snapped around, honing in on Lily and Richard, their eyes full of hunger.
Richard swore.
Lily didn’t bother.
Stumbling to her feet, she lurched around the shelf, putting herself squarely in front of the door and calling up every last drop of magic she had the strength to control, pouring it all into a physical shield that she threw like a net across the doorway.
“Run, you idiot,” she gasped at Richard, sweat pouring down her brow as the giant demon roared and swung a fist at her spell. The shield held—barely. “Get Ethel and run. Go through the portal. Then destroy the runes on the wall.”
Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Betrayal Page 25