DEMON ROGUE
BRIMSTONE MAGIC - BOOK 3
TORI CENTANNI
Copyright © 2019 by Tori Centanni
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Art by Lou Harper
Created with Vellum
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Thank you for reading!
Also by Tori Centanni
About the Author
Chapter 1
I chased the goblin down the dark alley, struggling to catch up. For a guy with such short legs, he was really booking it.
And he had me at a disadvantage: my leg was sore after a misguided attempt to work out the day before. I’d been swearing I’d go back to the gym for months and finally renewed my membership. Now, as I struggled to chase down the goblin, I was deeply regretting that choice.
The alley was long and cut between two fairly large apartment buildings. It housed four large dumpsters, two on either side.
The goblin reached the end of the alley and turned right just as I hit the center. I forced myself to pick up the pace, ignoring my leg’s complaints.
I made it exactly two strides before I slammed into something. No, someone. A man, who had appeared out of thin air. My face hit him square in the chest and left a dark lipstick stain on the left pectoral area of his silk tunic.
I blinked, staring up at him in confusion. The man wasn’t a witch but he didn’t seem mundane, either. He was tall with sun-kissed sandy brown hair and intense green eyes that stared down at me.
Wait, sun-kissed? Where had that thought come from? Come to think of it, where had this man come from?
I stepped backward and twisted my jaw from side to side to make sure it wasn’t broken. That was good. The last thing I needed was to injure myself on the hard muscles of some random dude who had teleported into my path.
“Excuse me,” I said sharply. I put my hand on the hilt of my sword, mostly to draw his attention to it.
“You mettle in matters you have no stake in, witch,” he said sternly, a slight English accent making his words sound clipped.
I frowned. “Don’t tell me you’re some new breed of alley troll. I’m not paying any tolls. This is public property.”
He was tall and broad shouldered, but not quite as large as the trolls I’d encountered. Even with a human glamour, most trolls were massive. This man was muscular but not built like a sentient stone. He was probably a lower fae lord of some sort. He was dressed for the position, in a silk shirt and linen pants.
“You think I’m a troll?” One of his eyebrows rose and his lips quirked to one side in amusement.
“I think you’re in my way.” I glared at him. He didn’t seem to mind.
In fact, despite his brute strength, he had a fairly easy-going air about him.
“That man you’re chasing is fae,” he said.
Now it was my turn to raise a brow. Goblins were, in fact, fae. But it wasn’t common for greater fae, such as whatever the hell this guy was, to acknowledge that. Like orcs, goblins were the cousins the noble fae races would rather not invite to the party.
“I know what he is,” I said. “He also owes my client a big hunk of gold and it’s my job to make him pay. I’ve spent the last two nights tracking Girak down and now he’s getting away.”
The fae man folded his arms across his large barrel chest. There was a fluidity to his motions that was unsettlingly inhuman. “Perhaps. But as a witch, you have no authority to hold him to account.”
This guy could not be serious. I wasn’t trying to arrest the goblin, just force him to pay up the money he owed to my client, a cold, calculating loan shark named Rian who also happened to be a dragon who only gave his debtors one warning. If Girak wanted to live, cooperating with me was his best hope. If I failed to collect, Rian would take drastic measures that the goblin wasn’t likely to survive. It may not be fun to have a private investigator sent after you, but there were worse things than me to send and they would be next on the list.
Plus, if I didn’t hand over the gold, I wasn’t getting paid. And next month’s rent was due in two weeks. It was mid-September and the happy glow of having paid my September bills had worn off, leaving behind worry about October’s bills.
I tried to step around the man but I couldn’t. He wasn’t moving to block me or anything, I just couldn’t physically walk past him. There was some kind of magic preventing it.
“Who are you?” I demanded.
“Lord Mason Elmwood, of the Seelie Court. But you, my lady, may call me Mace.” He bowed.
I did not bow back. “Should I know you?”
He looked slightly taken aback. Clearly this dude was used to being recognized by name if not by face. I knew fae lords were of higher standing in the fae hierarchy than, say, any old faerie, but as a witch, that didn’t mean much to me.
“Perhaps. I do not generally expect witches to be knowledgeable about my kind but given that you’re chasing one of us down an alley…” He trailed off, examining the tips of his perfectly manicured nails. They glistened in the street lights. The fae had preternaturally shiny hair and nails. Really unfair.
My brown hair was dull, no matter how many drugstore conditioners that promised to fix it I bought.
“I’m chasing a guy I was hired to collect from. Let me pass so I can do my job and go back to knowing very little about your kind.” I met his eyes briefly to show I wasn’t afraid but didn’t hold the stare for long.
Some fae had ways of messing with your head and I wasn’t sure how that power worked. Witches were largely resistant to their powers of persuasion—we see them as their glamours intend mortals to see them, but they have a hard time putting glamours on witches to make us do things—but the more powerful the faerie, the more likely they could hold sway over us somehow.
Lord Barrel Chest dropped his arms. “You’re not with the Council?”
“No,” I said, probably a little too vehemently. I was not with the Magic Council, which should have been obvious by my lack of ugly gray uniform. I’d worked with them last month while fighting against a gaggle of demon-worshipping mages and almost got caught with my metaphorical pants down more than once. I wasn’t eager to work with them again, and I definitely wasn’t affiliated with them. If they ever learned my secret, they’d lock me up in the dungeon, maybe swing me from the gallows. “I’m just a PI trying to pay my bills.”
He smirked again and then stepped to the side, making a sweeping gesture with his arms to usher me forward. I stepped hesitantly, afraid it was a trick. And then, when nothing encumbered me, I quickened my pace and broke into a jog.
When I reached the mouth of the alley, I searched the street in both directions for any sign of which way the goblin had gone. There was none. He’d escaped. I swore under my breath.
“You didn’t give me your name, my lady,” Lord Barrel Chest called.
“Dani Warren,” I said, before I thought better of it. Giving the fae your name wasn’t exactl
y smart but it wasn’t my full name and anyhow, I figured this faerie lord had better things to do that bother me.
“Well met, Dani Warren. Safe travels.”
I turned to say something sarcastic about how my travels were pretty much never safe, but he had vanished as suddenly as he’d appeared. Whatever kind of fae he was, he was powerful, which made it even stranger he was hanging out in Everett, Washington, defending some rogue goblin in the middle of a urine-soaked alley.
Greater fae tended to have plenty of wealth and resources, and they could open portals to and from the Summerlands, meaning unlike lesser fae—like, say, goblins—they didn’t get stuck in our world. Which generally meant even if they came through for a romp or whatever, they didn’t hang around long. Certainly not on the grimy city streets, and never without a reason.
Maybe he was bored. Maybe Girak the goblin was a friend of his. Wouldn’t be the strangest odd couple in the world.
I hurried down the street in hopes of catching up with the goblin, but it was no use. The fae lord’s distraction had given him time to flee.
I kicked a trash can in annoyance. Then I rounded back to the house where I’d tracked him down earlier in the evening, in hopes Girak would have to go back to collect his valuables.
* * *
I’d love to tell you that the goblin lived in a damp little hole that made my one bedroom apartment feel like a palace, but sadly, that was not the case. The guy was renting the bottom floor of a split-level house with a newly renovated kitchen and brand new flooring.
The outside of the house left a little to be desired in upkeep but the inside was clean and neat. The lock, while fairly new, was nothing special and easy enough to pick.
I sat inside his living room on a brown recliner that smelled of Febreeze and looked like it had been salvaged from a landfill. Normally I would have stood but my leg still ached. I’d really overdone it with the leg press on the right side, and all of my pointless running tonight hadn’t helped.
About an hour later, I heard keys in the front door and leapt up, drawing my sword.
Girak came in, clearly not expecting anyone to be waiting for him. I grabbed him by the hair. He snarled and tried to bite me. I pulled my hand back. He had sharp teeth. His skin was green and he had a tuft of black hair growing out of the center of his head. He wore a brown suit that had probably been purchased in the kid’s section.
“If you kill me, you risk war with high lords of Faerie,” Girak snarled.
“I’m not going to kill you,” I said, letting go of his hair.
His big blue eyes traveled to my sword. I lowered it but didn’t put it away. Goblins were fae, after all. They had some magic and the aforementioned sharp teeth. I wanted to avoid a fight if possible.
“Look, I’m just here to get the gold you owe Rian.”
Girak stiffened and shrank back like I was about to hit him.
“Dude, relax.”
“An assassin for that monster tells me to relax!” He squealed, holding an arm up over his head as if he could block the enchanted blade of my sword.
I sighed. “I’m not an assassin. I’m a private eye. I was hired to collect your debt. But if you don’t pay, I’m pretty sure an assassin is the next thing he’ll send. If he doesn’t come after you himself.”
Girak looked up at me from under his arm, really getting a good look at who I was: a witch in her late twenties with sandy brown hair that I’d pulled back into a ponytail, wearing jeans, a t-shirt, sneakers, and a brand new leather jacket that I’d splurged on at the beginning of the month while telling myself I wouldn’t regret dropping that chunk of change later. I didn’t regret it yet, but I would if I couldn’t make rent next month. I had a sword and I was threatening enough—I had one hell of a resting bitch face—but I wasn’t some trained killer. And the goblin couldn’t tell that I harbored a secret and illegal magic.
All and all, I probably looked far less threatening than any assassin Rian had on his payroll would.
He lowered his arm and cleared his throat.
“What if I don’t have the gold?” he asked, staring at the floor.
I slid my phone out of my pocket and checked the time. It was almost two in the morning. “I suggest you get it to me within the hour so I can deliver it before dawn. That’s the deadline.”
He nodded solemnly. “I may have a small stock pile remaining…”
I followed Girak to his bedroom. He had a huge black safe in his walk-in closet (plus, you know, a walk-in closet… I was jealous) and he opened it carefully. He produced exactly one bar of gold. I hefted it in my hand. I’d never held more than a tiny nugget of gold before. It was heavy, but not as heavy as I’d expected. “This it?”
“It’s half of what I owe,” he said.
I glared. “You think that’s going to fly?”
“No. But I think perhaps it will buy me time to get back to the Summerlands. Unfortunately, I need the rest to pay for a portal.”
I sighed. I put the gold into my coat pocket to keep it safe. Then I summoned blue flames in my palm. Demon fire. My secret, special magic.
The goblin gasped and shrank back from the demonic flame.
“Look, I hate to do this, but you need to pay the rest,” I said. And I did hate it. I didn’t want to threaten this poor guy in his own home. But I wasn’t wrong about Rian’s next moves being an assassin who wouldn’t listen to reason. Girak was better off paying now and worrying about a portal home later.
The goblin stared at the blue flames dancing in my hand and, grousing, produced a second bar of gold. I let the flames die and took the gold.
“Thank you much,” I said and let myself out.
Maybe I’d get this delivered in time to get home before sunrise.
Chapter 2
I awoke the next afternoon still tired, but less sore. My leg was more or less back to normal despite last night’s marathon, which was a relief. Returning Rian’s gold had been easy enough. His assistant, a red-eyed woman with scales running down her neck and shoulders, had taken it from me and issued me a check. I stopped by an ATM to deposit the money before heading home. I wouldn’t count on the money until the check cleared, but I didn’t expect a dragon’s check to bounce.
I took a quick shower and threw on jeans and a light blue sweater. I grabbed a packet of Pop-Tarts and headed downstairs to my office with the metal-wrapped pastries in hand.
My office was conveniently located on the ground floor of my three-story building, along with a few other businesses, including a small corner market and a dry cleaner’s. The eight apartment units took up floors two and three of the building, but only three of them were occupied: mine, my landlord’s, and the unit across the hall from me. The other five served as my vampire landlord’s glorified storage units for all of the junk he’d collected over the years.
My office window was newly replaced after it had been broken last month, and my office was finally back in order. A small sign hung over my door that read simply, “Warren Investigations.” The sign was new, too. Silas had bought the sign as a gift and I wasn’t one to turn down free stuff. Plus, I think it was meant to be part of an ongoing and unnecessary apology. He’d gotten possessed by a demon and the demon had attacked me using his body. It hadn’t been Silas’ fault but he felt bad about it.
I tossed the Pop-Tarts on my desk and started brewing a pot of coffee.
I’d barely gotten a cup’s worth in the pot when there was a knock on the door. I turned, surprised. It was only four in the afternoon. Most of my clientele were supernatural and that meant they were mostly nocturnal. If I got any walk-ins, it usually wasn’t until after dark, or at least very late in the evening.
I took a breath and filled my coffee mug. “It’s open!” I called.
A woman walked in. She was a little younger than me, but not by much: she was maybe twenty-five. She had lavender colored hair that looked professionally dyed and brown skin. She wore a vintage yellow dress covered in polka dots with a
white cardigan whose sleeves were pushed up to her elbows and matching yellow flats. She had a brace on one wrist. Her exposed skin—arms, chest, lower neck—was covered in tattoos. She gave me a polite, perfunctory smile but it didn’t reach her eyes, which had a haunted quality to them.
“Are you the detective?” she asked.
“I am.” I extended a hand. “Dani Warren. And you are?”
“Krissy Nunez,” she said, shaking my hand. Her palm was a little sweaty and her eyes darted around uneasily.
I offered her coffee and she declined, so I gestured for her to sit in one of the chairs in front of my desk and went around to take my seat on the other side. She eyed my silver packet of breakfast pastries but said nothing.
“What can I do for you, Miss Nunez?”
She swallowed uneasily, still looking around the room like something might jump out of the shadows. My hackles rose. I’d seen shadows do some weird things in the past month. I blinked into my shadow sight quickly, just to make sure there were no demon shadows hanging around the room and let out a sigh of relief when I saw none.
Krissy watched me with an odd expression, not answering my question. She wasn’t a witch. She lacked the little glow around her aura to mark her as a witch or mage of any sort. From what I could tell, she was human.
“I assume you came here because you want to employ the services of a private eye,” I pressed.
“I do. Or did.” She knit her fingers into the folds of her skirt. “It’s just… now that I’m here, it seems like maybe I’m just being paranoid.”
I shrugged. “A little paranoia can be healthy. What’s the problem? You think you’re being followed?”
“No. Not really.” She scratched her arm and then let out a breath. “I think I’m cursed.”
I raised an eyebrow. Just because I didn’t sense any magic around her or see any demon shadows clinging to her, it didn’t mean much. There were as many kinds of curses as there were leaves in a forest and not all of them left traces a witch like me could easily spot.
Demon Rogue (Brimstone Magic Book 3) Page 1