Demon Rogue (Brimstone Magic Book 3)

by Tori Centanni

  The creature’s horn had pierced my jeans and marred my flesh. The gash in my leg was almost a perfect circle about the size of a nickel. Blood soaked through the denim, which stuck to my leg. That wasn’t good. If I didn’t get it wrapped up and fast, I might bleed out, or at least lose enough blood to be a problem.

  I gathered another fireball, this time pulling as much energy as I could into it. The pooka charged again and I held still, heart in my throat, as it came toward me. I waited until it was too close for me to miss. Then I threw the fireball at it.

  The pooka burst into blue flames. I ducked out of its path and its horns rammed into the stone wall of the alley. It shriveled in the fire and died, its faerie body vanishing in death, leaving only a scorch mark behind.

  I shrugged off my coat and tore a strip off my t-shirt to wrap my wound but immediately, I could tell it wasn’t enough. The material was soaked with blood before I even got it tied off. I swore. I could limp back to Marie’s but that was several blocks, and I wasn’t sure I’d make it that far without passing out.

  Blood thrummed in my ears as it spilled down my leg. I had to do something. What?

  Fire, I thought. I could cauterize the wound.

  It was going to hurt like hell. But it was better than dying of blood loss in some dirty alley.

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Then I gathered a small fireball of demon flame in my hand. I gritted my teeth and pressed the fire against the wound in my leg.

  I bit back a scream as the demonic flame seared my flesh. The pain was blinding and I fell against the alley wall, using it to prop myself up. I let the flame go out and saw the wound had been burned closed. The acrid smell of burning hair and flesh assaulted my nostrils. Bile rose in my throat.

  I pulled my jacket back on and limped away from the alley. I needed to get home and get a healing salve on my leg and shoulder.

  And then I needed to hunt down the fae who was sending her pooka minions after me and make her remove this horrid curse.

  Chapter 12

  As soon as the sun set, I headed to a fae bar. After fighting off the two pookas, I’d gone home and spread a healing salve on my shoulder and thigh. Then I napped for several hours and re-bandaged all my wounds. The tattoo still itched and pulsed, my head felt a little fuzzy, and I was still cursed, but sleep had helped and I was ready to get back on Jade’s trail.

  At first glance, the fae bar Branches appeared to be a total dive bar. It occupied a narrow space with smoke-stained walls, torn vinyl stools, and a beat-up wooden bar that could use a good sanding. The shabby dive was only a front for the real bar behind it that extended deep into a faerie hole, meaning it existed outside of the human world and in some pocket dimension.

  The real door was squeezed between pinball machines with out-of-order signs on them and I stormed through it like I was on a mission. The proper bar was an outdoor space with fairy lights strung up overhead and soft furniture placed around a large veranda. Several faeries surrounded a fire pit, laughing and talking as their human companions, strung out on faerie wine, rolled around the grass-like carpet too drunk to pay attention to anything going on around them.

  I swallowed uneasily at the sight. It always made me deeply uncomfortable to see people so drunk on faerie lies and illusions. Faerie wine caused a deep, dangerous drunk that was hard to crawl out of, especially when you had eager faeries plying you with more of it the moment you started to sober up.

  The bartender was an elegant fae woman with pale skin and pointy ears poking out from under her white hair. She wore an ethereal dress in bright teal and had her fingernails painted black. Or maybe they grew that way.

  “Your kind is not welcome here, witch,” she said to me, as I approached the bar. It was her usual greeting.

  “I’m looking for Jade. She a customer?” I figured the direct route couldn’t hurt at this point.

  The woman stared blankly. “I don’t believe so. Is she fae? Because your kind is not...”

  “Welcome here,” I cut her off. “Yeah, yeah, I got that part. What about Lachlan? He around?” I knew the red cap occasionally enjoyed a good drink.

  She pursed her lips into a tight line. “You have no business asking about fae matters.”

  Whether or not a guy was in the bar having a drink didn’t strike me as a matter so much as a basic question, but I wasn’t going to argue with her. I smiled pleasantly. “Actually, right now my business is all about your kind and until my job is done, I’m going to be asking a lot of questions.”

  She glared at me, lips pursed tightly together, refusing to give me anything.

  “Fine, I’ll just have a look around.”

  A hand touched my shoulder. I whirled around, reaching for my sword. I came face to face with Lachlan, whose grim expression made my heart pound even harder.

  “You don’t belong here,” he said mildly. There was no real rebuke in his tone, just an observation. I was a witch in a fae bar. One of these things was not like the others.

  “We need to talk,” I said.

  He nodded. “Come with me.” He turned on the heel of his black boots, heading for the door. I followed him out through the dive bar facade and into the street, where I felt more on edge and exposed. Even with a nap, I was running on fumes.

  Lachlan was tall with dark skin and a neatly trimmed black beard. He was beautiful, like all the fae, with intense eyes. He wore a hoodie with the hood falling off his shoulders, heavy with the dried blood of his kills. If I were smarter, I’d take that as a sign to stay far away. But Lachlan was an arms dealer in the supernatural world and he tended to know things, making him too valuable a source to give up.

  “You seek the changeling,” he said, leaning against the brick wall of the building. “Did the Unseelie Court hire you?”

  I blinked. “No. Why would they?”

  “Because they’re eager to capture the changeling. She’s valuable. I thought they may even be desperate enough to hire the likes of you.”

  I ignored the jab. “Why is the Unseelie court after her?” I asked. I knew they wanted her dead but I didn’t know why.

  Lachlan gave me a look heavy with disappointment. “Why does a faerie court go after anyone?”

  “Because they want to control them,” I answered.

  “The Unseelie Court wants her out of the way. The Seelie Court would prefer to protect her.” He pulled a phone from his pocket and checked the time before sliding it back into his hoodie. I wondered what I might be keeping him from.

  “Why? I don’t understand. Changelings flee the Summerlands all the time. What makes her so special?” I had a feeling I already knew the answer—witch and fae parentage—but I wanted my theory confirmed.

  “Her mother is someone very important in faerie,” Lachlan said. “And what is it you want with the changeling, witch?”

  “She cursed me.” I tapped my arm, even though he couldn’t see the tattoo through my leather coat. “I want her to undo it.”

  Lachlan raised an elegant eyebrow, his gaze raking over me. “I see. She is a troublemaker. But what did you do to incur such wrath?”

  I groaned. “Nothing. She cursed some mortals, and one of them hired me to figure out what was going on. Now she’s vanished and apparently, everyone in faerie is out hunting her down for their own reasons.”

  “I’m not. But I’d be glad to see her off in the Summerlands, where she can’t be a thorn in my side. This world doesn’t need—” He cut himself off, looking askance before continuing, “It doesn’t need those who are reckless with their power.” He shot me a pointed look.

  “Hey, I’m only reckless when it’s life or death.”

  He smirked.

  “So, any idea where I can find her before she’s hauled off into faerie and I’m left with this curse over my head for the rest of time?”

  Lachlan shrugged. “If you were hiding from the fae courts, where would you go?”

  I had no idea. I may have had a run in or two with a nasty f
ae but never an entire court, let alone both of them at once. “What counts as safe from the fae?”

  Lachlan’s smirk widened. “Darling, there is no such thing.” He tipped his head to me and then turned, heading down the alley. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks,” I muttered.

  Lachlan was barely gone when the arrow whizzed past my ear. I heard it and slapped at it like a bee, only to see the arrow sail past me and into the wall. Its tip hit the brick and it fell to the ground.

  I turned, gathering demon fire in my palm. The archer wore jeans and a plaid shirt beneath a brown vest. He had a hunting cap on. He replaced his arrow and aimed it right at me.

  Ice flooded my veins.

  “Stop!” I yelled.

  He pulled the string and the arrow came flying at me. I hit the ground, hands slamming against the dirty pavement, extinguishing the demon fire. Another arrow landed inches in front of my face. I could smell the acrid mix of moss and clove that meant poison.

  I swore and jumped up, gathering more fire. I threw a fireball at him but it missed. Another arrow came toward me, catching the edge of my coat. I checked to be sure it didn’t pierce it. If these arrows were poisoned, even a tiny cut could mean death.

  “I’m not the changeling,” I screamed.

  “You’re marked with her magic,” he growled. “Tell me where she is!”

  “I don’t know!” I shrieked.

  Another arrow headed for my face. I ducked and gathered a fireball, flinging it at the archer. It missed, flying over his shoulder. He loaded another arrow. He was too damn fast.

  I gathered more fire and aimed for his bow. This time, I hit my mark. The bow ignited in blue flames. The archer swore and dropped the bow as the flames engulfed it.

  But that didn’t stop him for long. Another bow materialized in his hands by sheer magic.

  Damn faeries.

  I shot off another quick fireball and then bolted down the alley, my sneakers skidding on the uneven pavement as I rounded the corner.

  I skidded to a stop. The archer stood in front of me, an arrow primed and aimed at my forehead.

  I gathered more demon fire in my hand but it took longer, and I had to strain harder to conjure it. I was starting to get tired and run out of juice. I made it the size of a baseball and held it up. “How about this? You stop shooting at me and I won’t throw this fire at your face.”

  The archer loosed the arrow.

  “Guess that means no deal,” I muttered as I ducked and rolled, somersaulting under the arrow.

  I jumped up and threw the fire at him. It hit him in the shoulder. He screamed as his shirt ignited. I didn’t know how long the fire would burn.

  I didn’t stick around to see. I took my chance to high-tail it out of there.

  Chapter 13

  The sky opened and a torrent of rain fell as I ran home. It came in thick, heavy drops, saturating my hair and clothes. By the time I reached my apartment building, I was soaking wet and sore, and ready to hit things.

  I opened the lobby door and came face to face with Lana Dorn, a Watcher and Conor’s boss. My pulse raced at the sight of her. I didn’t know what she was doing in my building but it wasn’t anything good.

  Lana was tall and wore a gray skirt suit with knee-length black boots. It was the most stylish version of the Watchers’ drab gray uniform I’d ever seen. Most Watchers wore gray slacks or cargo pants, with matching shirts and cargo vests, but Lana wore all kinds of ensembles in their signature gray color. She held a small gray umbrella in one hand, still wet from when she’d arrived. She hadn’t been here long.

  “You’re a mess,” Lana said. Her tone was friendly, but I didn’t trust it. She and I were not friends.

  “Could be worse,” I muttered. Given that I was cursed, I was lucky all I was dealing with were a couple of injuries and some wet clothes. “What are you doing here?”

  Lana looked at the empty staircase. “Your landlord let me in.”

  I silently cursed Silas, but knowing Lana, she’d made it hard for him to refuse. At least he hadn’t let her into my apartment. Having her here to ambush me in the lobby was bad enough.

  “That doesn’t answer my question,” I said, too impatient to do this little dance. I wanted to get out of my sopping wet clothes, take a shower, and get some healing salve on my wounds.

  “I was looking for Conor. But it appears he is not with you.”

  “We parted ways earlier today,” I said. “Can’t you call him?”

  “He’s not answering his phone. Usually, he’s quick to call back.” She stared at the dirty—and increasingly wet—carpet beneath my feet.

  “Great,” I said. “That’s just perfect.”

  I left Conor only hours before and now he’d gone missing. That wasn’t like him and it pointed to something sinister. Of course, maybe he was just taking the day off.

  Lana raised her eyebrows, face scrunched up as if trying to make sense of me. “I find it rather inconvenient myself. I like to know where my agents are at.”

  “Let me get some dry clothes on and I’ll find him,” I said.

  “That’s not necessary. I can send a team of Watchers.” She collected herself and extended her umbrella. “I merely thought I’d check here first as he seems to spend a lot of time with you.”

  Clearly she wasn’t in the loop, since I’d been avoiding him for the better part of the month.

  Relieved, I agreed that was best. Conor was a big boy, skilled in witch magic and demon hunting. Even if he was in trouble, he could handle himself. And given that his plan for the day had been to ferry me around, I figured he was probably blowing off steam and having time to himself. “Might want to check the New Moon Tavern down the street,” I suggested. If I weren’t in such bad shape, I’d be heading there myself.

  Lana nodded, gave me another once-over, and headed for the door. When it shut, tension released from my shoulders and I made my way up to my apartment to strip down and give my wounds a good cleaning. Then I was going to eat something and get some sleep.

  * * *

  I awoke on my sofa in the early afternoon, my arm bent at an uncomfortable angle beneath me. I’d slept on my side to keep my injured shoulder elevated, but it still pulsed with pain in unison with my thigh wound.

  The sound that had woken me up was a flapping noise, unless that had been part of a dream. I groaned and sat up, stretching to ease my sore muscles as I sleepily checked the ceiling for a big black bird. I assumed the flapping was Penelope, here to deliver news or mock me for being a half-naked mess. I’d passed out after spreading healing salve on my wounds and bandaging them, which meant I was in pajama shorts and a tank top to allow access to all the injuries. I’d meant to put on a long-sleeved shirt, but I’d fallen asleep instead.

  I didn’t see a bird but the flapping started again for a moment and then stopped. I pressed fingers to my temples, trying to ward off the headache I felt forming behind my eyes from lack of sleep and checked the microwave clock. It was almost two o’clock. I’d slept for over ten hours. Not bad, actually. That was more sleep than I’d expected to get when I laid down to rest for a bit.

  Something banged into my trash can in the kitchen and the metal can hit the floor with a crash. I jumped up, injured leg complaining as I put weight on it. I reached for my sword, which I’d propped next to the television. I stumbled around the counter as a pixie emerged from the spilled pile of garbage.

  “What are you doing here?” I demanded, pointing my sword at the tiny faerie. She was about the size of a mouse, with gossamer wings and beautiful green hair, like a miniature doll. She might have been cute if not for the vicious scowl on her face. She gestured wildly, miming out some message that I didn’t comprehend.

  I shook my head. “What are you saying?”

  She huffed in frustration and dug through the trash, which at the moment was mostly discarded pieces of bandage and wrappers from the frozen burritos I’d scarfed down last night. Finally, she found a scrap of paper
and held it up triumphantly.

  I hesitated before lowering my sword, scared this was some kind of trick. The pixie was tiny but they were fierce and had sharp teeth. Carefully, I bent down and slid the note out of her small hands.

  She flew up immediately and I edged back, lifting my sword. But she made for the window and left. I followed her over and closed the window before reading the note.

  It was written in ballpoint pen and the handwriting was elegant, with swoopy letters that looked too fancy for a discarded scrap of paper. The message said only, “I have your friend, witch.”

  My heart dropped into my stomach, sloshing bile up my throat.

  Conor.

  The note didn’t say who it was from but I knew it was Jade. Who else would take Conor and then send a note with a pixie? Why or how she’d apprehended Conor—a Watcher who wouldn’t be easy to capture—didn’t matter. I only knew I had to find him.

  Naturally, she hadn’t included an address. The point of the note seemed to be simply to taunt me: she’d sent a pixie into my home with a note to show me that not only could she get to me easily, but to brag she had my friend. Just great. She was a real piece of work, but a piece of work with power and resources. That made her the worst kind.

  I showered quickly to wash my wounds and then reapplied the salve before bandaging my injuries up again. Then I dressed in jeans and a blue sweater, throwing on my leather coat and of course, my sword. Preternaturally sharp blade: never leave home without it.

  I was out the door before I realized I had no earthly idea where I was going. I swung by a coffee shop for caffeine while I looked up Jade’s name on my phone. Sadly, nothing came up. What I knew about her could fit into a thimble: she was a fae who liked to give people cursed tattoos, and she might be half witch. She had a lot of power and most of Faerie relentlessly hunting for her.

  If most of Faerie couldn’t find her, how could I hope to?