Bloodstains and Bitemarks

by Kyra Quinn

  “Noted,” I say, pushing to my feet. I can’t spend another second in this stuffy room.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I need some air,” I say, moving towards the door.

  “Mind if I take a turn with the prisoner while you’re away?” he asks, something dangerous in his tone. “We might have more success with my methods.”

  My body goes rigid, every muscle in my body tensing at once. Mine. But I can’t say that without Dagon realizing how obsessed with our captive I’ve let myself become. He might try to take away my favorite plaything, and there’s no way I’m losing her twice. Not until I’m finished with her.

  I force a smile. “See if you can drag anything out of her the old-fashioned way. We’ll send in the witch when you’re finished.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Nadia

  My mother waits for me in my dreams again. She stands in the center of the cemetery next to an aged stone mausoleum nearly hidden beneath thick moss and spirals of vines. The full moon bathes her pale flesh in an eerie glow. A cloak hangs from her shoulders, but I can still see the handle of a blade protruding from her chest.

  “Mom.” My voice cracks as I reach for her. “I’m so sorry.”

  She steps away, her eyes darting around the graveyard. “You have nothing to apologize for. But we need to talk fast. It’s not safe here. We won’t have long before someone discovers you.”

  Nothing she’s saying makes sense. My hands ache to reach for her again, but I don’t know how much more rejection I can stomach. I want to wrap myself around her and cling to her legs like a child, to demand she never leaves me again. But I don’t move. I only ask, “Who? What is this place?”

  She gestures to the misty graveyard surrounding us. “Witches refer to it as The Betwixt. It’s the realm between life and the afterlife.”

  “Like Purgatory?”

  She shakes her head. “Purgatory is for souls claimed by neither Heaven nor Hell. It’s a peaceful, eternal slumber for souls neither blessed nor damned. The Betwixt is where souls go immediately after leaving their vessels. For mortals, it’s their ultimate place of judgment. Death himself is the only God that matters here.”

  I blink. “How did I get here? Am I—”

  “You’re not dead, and this is not a nightmare. But Nadia, you are in grave danger.”

  “Tell me about it.” I scoff. “Kane is an absolute monster, but I will put him down. I’ll kill every one of those red-eyed bastards.”

  “You don’t understand. Kane is not who you need to worry about. The Legion aren’t the only ones hunting you.”

  Her words land like a punch to the gut. My throat tightens. “What do you mean? He’s a fucking bloodthirsty demon!”

  I wince the moment the profanity crosses my lips, but she doesn’t scold me. She doesn’t even seem to notice. “Kane is also bound by supernatural law not to spill magical blood unless they force his hand. The Dark Hunt has no such philosophy. And Death answers to no one’s laws but his own.”

  “This is a trick.” I shake my head with so much force I worry it might fly off my shoulders. “Magical blood? My mother married a fucking pastor. She didn’t believe in magic. Hell, she didn’t even believe in God. Who are you?”

  Her lips press together, disappearing into a thin slit. “My greatest regret in life is how many secrets I kept from you. We told ourselves it would keep you safer. I promised myself I’d tell you the truth about everything after you turned eighteen. But your ignorance left you vulnerable.”

  “I’ve heard enough.” I turn to leave, only to realize I do not understand how to escape the eerie graveyard. “This is a disgrace to my mother’s memory.”

  “Naddie, please,” she pleads, reaching for my arm but stopping a few inches away. A look of longing crosses her face, as though she wants to touch me as much as I crave the comfort of her arms. “I don’t have time to explain everything—”

  “Why? What are you so afraid of?”

  “The Reapers,” she says, dropping her voice into a menacing whisper. “This is Death’s dominion. And for reasons I don’t have time to explain, rumor has it Death is searching for you. If his Reapers find you here, you’ll never wake up in the land of the living again. They’ll drag your soul to their master, and your stay will become permanent.”

  A chill spreads through my body and into my bones. I’m still not convinced the figure in front of me is my mother and not some twisted nightmare creature sent by Kane to confuse me. “How do I know I can trust you? Or that you’re even... you know, you.”

  She offers a sad smile. “Do you remember my studio?”

  I wrap my arms around myself and nod. I could never forget the little shed in the backyard she converted into an art studio. She’d filled every square inch of the place with paintings and supplies. I lost track of how many hours I spent in there with her, hiding away from the outside world and watching her work.

  It’s also where I discovered her body. That last memory taints all the others in a somber light.

  “Those paintings hold the secret to everything you need to know. Find them. Find them before the angels or demons do, and they’ll tell you everything I never had the courage to.”

  “How?” An incredulous laugh escapes my lips. My father probably destroyed every one of her paintings the same night she died. He never appreciated her talents.

  Her face falls. “I don’t know. Try. If we had more time, I’d let you interrogate me all night until I convinced you to trust me. I miss you so much, Naddie. I’d trade every drop of magic I had in my blood for more time with you. But I need to return your soul to your body before someone realizes you’re here. Death never returns what he’s claimed.”

  My eyes travel to the blade buried in her chest. My last conversation with my mother before her murder was an explosive argument. She tried to warn me about Kane, but I didn’t want to listen. I stormed out of the house and left her alone for Kane to strike. It’s my fault she’s dead.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you about Kane,” I say, my voice choked with emotion. “And for leaving you alone that night. For everything.”

  She opens her mouth to answer, but a gut-wrenching wail from somewhere deeper in the cemetery silences her. Her face loses what little color it has as her eyes widen.

  “The Reapers,” she whispers, eyes darting around the cemetery. “They must sense you.”

  I spin around and search for an exit, but the rows of headstones and abandoned mausoleums stretch on endlessly. “What do I do?”

  My mother presses her hands together in front of her chest as if praying. She rotates her hands until her fingertips point towards the ground. Her eyes close as she chants something under her breath, the noises strange and guttural.

  A crack of thunder splits the night. She gives me one last pained look and says, “Go. We’ll speak again. I’ve made many mistakes, but I’ll never abandon you. Not even in death.”

  * * *

  I jerk awake with a gasp, my lungs on fire. My mother’s face remains burned into my vision. My heart pounds against my ribs, my heartbeat so loud in my ears I almost miss the menacing chuckle from the corner of the room.

  “Anyone ever tell you you’re impossible to wake?” Dagon drawls.

  I jerk to find him leaned against the wall with a sinister smirk. Tinted shades hide his vibrant crimson eyes, but his stare still burns a hole in me. He’s cuffed his shirt sleeves at his elbows, revealing spirals of black ink trailing up both arms. A silky tie dangles around his neck.

  “Where is Kane?” I ask, my voice hoarse. Not that he’s any less sadistic, but better to stick with the devil I know.

  “Not here.”

  I groan. “Thanks for the help, Captain Obvious, but you’re not the demon I want to talk to right now.”

  Dagon chuckles. “Aye, so I’ve heard. Kane offered you information. How’s it feel, love? Striking deals with demons?”

  “Fuck off.”

  “Kan
e can offer you every star in the sky if it makes you talk.” He winks. “But promises to mortals hold little weight without a signed contract.”

  My blood boils, but I’m not sure if I’m angrier with Kane or myself for trusting him. It’s not like he’s ever proven himself loyal to anything but his Legion. “He’s screwing me over.”

  “I never said that.” Dagon straightens his posture and steps closer to my bed. “If I’m honest, I do not understand what Kane plans to do with you. Consider it a piece of friendly advice for the future. Or, whatever’s left of yours, anyway.”

  I’m in no mood to play mind games with Kane’s more charismatic brother. If he thinks he can charm or trick me into giving anything up, he’s about to find himself disappointed. “Why are you here? I won’t tell you anything I didn’t tell him.”

  His face hardens. “We can discuss the best way to extract the secrets from your skull later.”

  I raise a brow. “So what, you’re here for the pleasure of my company? I’m reckless, not stupid.”

  “Tell me, little one, have you ever had your flesh flayed from your body? It’s a slow and excruciating torture method perfected in medieval Europe some centuries ago. It’s a pity it’s gone out of style, if we’re honest. I doubt so much crime would pollute the streets if these thugs had to worry about having their skin peeled like a banana.”

  The mental picture he paints sends a shiver down my back. But I refuse to play coy in front of this fuckbag. “Is that next on your list of inventive torture ideas? What next, stretch me out on the rack?”

  “Don’t tempt me.” He comes to stand in front of me, his smile all hungry teeth. “Humans lost their creative edge regarding crime and punishment. That’s the actual reason your society is in decay.”

  I roll my eyes. “Right. I’m sure it has nothing to do with the hordes of demons who trick mortals into selling their souls. Or any of the other monsters preying on humans. It’s all the criminal justice system’s fault.”

  His hand flies to grip my jaw. “So cheeky. You don’t resemble her much, but I can see her fire in you when you lash back at us.”

  I jerk my face out of his grasp. “You didn’t know my mother.”

  “Not well, no. Our friendship took a hit when she married your father. She still helped us under the table sometimes, but she severed her ties with her old coven. With your old man constantly breathing down her neck, Alana had to hide her talents in her artwork.”

  The fight leaves my body. “What do you know about her artwork?”

  He leans in until the booze on his breath assaults my nostrils. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  Without thinking, I spit in his face. I expect him to recoil and clean himself off, but he only grins. A hand snakes around my throat, his grip tight enough to send stars dancing through my vision.

  “That wasn’t wise, little girl,” he growls. “When I’m finished with you, you’ll—”

  Footsteps outside the door stop him from finishing his sentence. Kane pushes the door open, Arachne and a woman I don’t recognize on his heels. The muscle in his jaw twitches as his gaze shifts between me and his brother.

  “Are we interrupting something?” Arachne asks, wiggling her eyebrows. A silky black robe is draped over her shoulder, and she slips it off and passes it to Dagon. “Looks kinky.”

  Kane’s hands become fists at his sides.

  “Nothing of interest,” Dagon says, releasing his grip and taking a step back. He hurls the robe at me with an icy glare before adding, “You’re back sooner than expected. I had hoped for more time to interrogate the prisoner.”

  “No need. Mother Miscreance has agreed to help us.”

  “Why else would I be here?” the stranger—presumably Mother Miscreance—grumbles. She shoots Kane daggers with her eyes and adds, “Even your precious Knights of Hell do not command Mother Miscreance.”

  I slip into the robe, grateful for the distraction the stranger offers. It’s hard to decide what to make of the woman. She clutches a cane made from a thick piece of driftwood between her bony fingers. Black hair with flecks of silver frames a heart-shaped face that somehow appears both young and old depending on how the sunlight streaming in through the window strikes her. Despite the blistering summer heat, she wears a heavy wool cloak around her shoulders over a simple black dress. But it’s her piercing green cat eyes that make me squirm away from her stare.

  “I’ve filled her in on the situation and our requests,” Kane tells Dagon.

  “And her price?” Dagon asks, folding his hands together in front of him.

  Mother Miscreance cackles. “Demons and their crooked deals. What are you so worried about? You don’t have a soul to sell.”

  Dagon scowls. “Your reputation precedes you. We’ve heard stories about the fees you charge for your services.”

  “And why shouldn’t I?” She barks another manic laugh. “Opening a door between the living and the dead is no simple task, even for those practiced in the dark arts. One wrong step and everything disappears into the void.”

  Kane clears his throat. “She can help us contact Alana Gray. I’ve already agreed to her terms.”

  “Fine.” Dagon growls. “And what about Hollie?”

  Mother Miscreance gives Dagon an almost pitying look. She rests a skeletal hand on his arm and says, “For you, future Knight of Hell, this advice comes free. I cannot help you contact your witch, because she isn’t in the spirit realm. She hasn’t left this world. Only you.”

  Dagon’s eyebrows furrow. His face twists as if she’s struck him. He massages the back of his neck and nods, his head lowered towards the floor. “Right. You’re certain?”

  “I do not make mistakes,” she says, her tone icy. “The girl is still alive. If the other witches you’ve asked can’t find her, it’s because she’s warded herself against being found.”

  Mother Miscreance steps away from Dagon, moving towards my bed. “So, you’re the daughter of Alana and Adam Gray. Your demon overlord tells me you didn’t inherit any of her talent.”

  I tilt my chin, defiant. “If my mother was so powerful, she wouldn’t have let my father beat on her when he lost his temper. She wouldn’t be dead right now.”

  Mother Miscreance shakes her head. “Death comes for all of us, child. It’s only a matter of when. Few witches unlock the secret to immortality in their lifetime, and even fewer will pay the terrible price attached.”

  Dagon rolls his eyes. “Why don’t we save the discussions of payment for after you render your services?”

  “As you wish. I’ll need supplies for the spell. Blood of the damned. Three white lotuses. A cauldron, myrrh, rockrose, snake weed, and a few drops of blood from your pretty friend.”

  “And that will summon Alana Gray’s spirit?” Dagon asks, arching a brow.

  Mother Miscreance frowns. “No. Your brother informed me that discretion is important. If I open a door to The Betwixt in your spare bedroom, every magical creature in Miami will sense it.”

  “Then what will the spell do?”

  “Collect the ingredients I’ve asked for and see for yourself, demon.”

  My brain struggles to process everything happening in front of me. Mother Miscreance is far from the first witch I’ve encountered, but the energy emitting from her is more intense than anything I’ve experienced on the hunt. Part of me wants to scream at her to leave my past where it belongs, to demand they let the dead stay that way and let her rest in peace. But if my dreams contain any semblance of truth, there’s no peace where she is. I need answers, no matter what it takes.

  Dagon grumbles, but he raises his hand and snaps twice. Crimson smoke springs from the floor. A cast-iron cauldron filled with strange plants and herbs appears in front of the witch’s feet.

  “Everything but the blood,” he says. “I’ll leave that to Kane.”

  Kane shoots me a chilling smirk. “Not to worry, pet. I’ll be gentle.”

  My stomach lurches. A voice in my head screams a
t me to do whatever it takes to keep him away, but curiosity's pull is stronger. I hold out my arm and lift my chin, locking my eyes on his.

  He leans forward and snakes his hand around my wrist. He curves the index finger on his free hand like a hook. The joint quivers as his nail grows into a pointed black claw. He digs the tip into my skin and drags it across my wrist until blood pours from the shallow wound. I wince, but I force myself to remain still as Mother Miscreance scurries over to my side.

  “Beautiful,” she murmurs, holding a little glass vial shaped like a teardrop under my arm to collect the liquid spilling over. “Potent, too. I can smell the magic in you.”

  Kane’s eyebrows draw together to form a V. “She has displayed no abilities.”

  Mother Miscreance shrugs. “You said she’s a hunter, no? Who knows what measures Michael took to stifle her powers? But you’re missing the more interesting question at play.”

  But I’m not. “The Dark Hunt kills witches. Why would they recruit me to fight for them?”

  “Clever girl.” She gives me an approving nod. “Why recruit a witch only to strip her of her powers? Killing you would’ve taken far less effort.”

  “Michael must have had plans for her,” Dagon says, rubbing his chin. “Something that made him believe she’d become more of an asset than a liability.”

  The way they all study me makes my skin feel too tight for my body. I squirm beneath the weight of their stares, wishing I could disappear.

  “We can search for the root of her impotence after we finish the spell,” Mother Miscreance finally says, turning her back to me. “Fresh blood is important for this sort of magic.”

  She tilts the vial and pours the thick red liquid into the mouth of the cauldron, chanting something under her breath. The room falls silent aside from her hushed whispers. She paces around the pot in a slow circle, her palm open-faced over the top.

  “It’s time,” she says after a moment. “Add the blood of the damned.”

  Kane takes his claw, still stained red with my blood, and drags it across his own wrist. His face remains expressionless as his skin peels back and inky black blood pours from his arm. He dangles it over the cauldron and clenches his jaw, watching his ichor drip into the concoction below.