Infernal Magic: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Demons of Fire and Night Book 1) (20 page)

T
he vampire’s
body crumpled to the ground.
Bloody hell, do I really need to cut out his heart?
Maybe F.U. had been a trained killer, but New Ursula didn’t feel like a full-blown psychopath. Just a few days ago, she’d been painting wildflowers on a wall and clothes shopping like a normal person, and now she stood over a vampire’s headless body, trying to decide if she should mutilate it further.

So F.U. had been some sort of master swordsman, but organ carving took her into serial-killer territory. How exactly would a vampire’s head return to his body, anyway? Surely it would take some effort. Maybe a vampire doctor. Perhaps she didn’t really need to
kill
him; maybe it was enough just to keep him out of her way. She ran to grab one of his katanas from the clearing, before running back to stab it hard through his shoulder blade, pinning him to the ground like she’d done with the fae.

She turned to Bael, kneeling by his side. The demon’s enormous chest rose and fell slowly, his head resting against the root of a fir. His dark eyelashes lay closed, just as when she’d first seen him in the Plaza Hotel. Around the base of the bolt, his blood bloomed in a crimson circle.

She knelt next to him. “Bael,” she whispered. He didn’t move.
Dammit, you need to wake up.
If she was going to return to Oberon’s, she’d need his help. And more than that, she didn’t want to be responsible for sending his soul to Emerazel.
Shit.
Why had she forced him to give up his soul?

“Bael.” She said it louder this time, pushing his shoulder. His pale eyes opened, locking on her.

“Get it out of me,” he whispered, eyes closing again.

She looked at the bolt. The wood’s grain was twisted and coiled. Was it enchanted? Hesitantly, she touched it, but no flash of pain shot up her arm.

Setting down Honjo, she drew the dagger from her boot. Carefully, she cut away Bael’s shirt, revealing his muscled chest. Every inch was inscribed with tattoos, astrological and alchemical symbols intermixed with Angelic script. Her eyes flicked to the wound. Blood bubbled from where the bolt had impaled him, just under his collar bone. A few inches to the left, and it would have punctured his heart.

What was her plan? It wasn’t like she could call an ambulance. She’d need to heal him with Starkey’s Conjuration spell. She just needed to rip this thing out first.

Ursula gripped the blood-soaked bolt. This wasn’t going to come out easily. She slid her leg over him, straddling his chest, and closed her eyes.
I’m only pulling a piece of wood from a man’s chest. It’s not as bad as cutting out someone’s heart.
With a jerk, she yanked it free, then tossed it into the woods.

Bael howled, thrashing. Smoke rose from his wound. He arched his back, and she pressed her palms against his shoulders, trying to calm him. “Bael, you need to lie still, so I can heal you.”

The demon’s eyes had gone black, glinting with primal violence, but his body went still.

She leaned over him, touching his skin lightly with her fingertips. “Relax. I pulled out the bolt.”
Like you asked me to.

At the touch of her fingers, he sat up with a start. He gripped her shoulders so hard she thought they might break, pulling her to him. “You tried to kill me.” He spoke quietly, but quiet rage laced his voice.

“I’m trying to help you.”

“Abrax, you bastard. You tried to kill me.”

Bollocks. He’s lost it.
“I’m Ursula. Abrax isn’t here.”

His eyes remained as dark as night, and he growled. “You will never possess the house of Albelda. As the Sword of Nyxobas, I will slay you.”

“Bael, relax. I’m going to heal you.”

He rose, throwing Ursula off him. “The god of night granted me immortality. I was chosen by him—” He swayed, then fell forward, the ground trembling at the impact. His body twitched, and she looked closer at his back.

She gaped in horror. Through his ripped shirt, she could see that fresh blood covered his back. Between sodden bandages, blood poured from the two huge wounds where his wings had been. The fight with Fiore must have re-injured them. Nauseated, Ursula looked away.

What had Bael told her about the wings? He couldn’t be healed, or he’d lose his chance to reattach them. That meant Starkey’s Conjuration was out. Still, she needed to do something to staunch the bleeding. It wasn’t like she’d ever taken a first aid course, but maybe she could just jam up the wound somehow, stop them from leaking blood everywhere. Whatever he’d done back at the Plaza wasn’t working anymore. She took off her jacket. The high-tech fabric didn’t look very absorbent, but her shirt was all cotton. She pulled it over her head, as an icy wind whipped at her bare skin.

Drawing the kaiken dagger from her boot, she began cutting the fabric into strips.

As she stuffed the strips of fabric into his wounds, Bael groaned. Ideally, she would have boiled these first to prevent infection, but she didn’t exactly have that option right now. The strips were staunching the blood flow, but they wouldn’t stay in place on their own. With a bit of effort, she pulled off his belt, and threaded it under him. Then she buckled it into place across his chest.

She sat back, surveying her work. The blood wasn’t pouring from the wounds any more. He could still die, but she’d bought them some time. How exactly could she get his soul back to him? She still wasn’t clear on that point, but she didn’t want him bleeding out before she got the chance.

She glanced up. The rising sun was beginning to stain the sky a dusky rose, chinks of pale light dappling the snow.
Morning already.
She shivered in the brittle air, tugging her jacket tighter around her bare skin. This would be a good time to use Emerazel’s fire to heat herself, but she was far too exhausted for any sort of anger. An icy wind rustled the oak leaves above her. They needed to get out of here before they either froze to death or fell victim to a vampire slaughter.

She dug out the flask of scotch, pushing back the tears. This had been the worst night of her life.
Or at least, I think it was. It’s not like I know for sure.
She took a swig, the whiskey burning her throat. Then she stood and began to pour it in the shape of Emerazel’s sigil.

* * *

U
rsula stood
in the shower’s hot water, letting it thaw the tips of her toes and pound against the tired muscles in her shoulders. She squeezed some shampoo into her hand and began to lather her hair. The scent of eucalyptus mixed with the hot steam.

Bael still slept on the floor of the sigil room. She hadn’t been able to move his enormous frame.

She rinsed her hair. Her entire body ached like it had been pummeled with tiny fists. After she got out of the shower, she wanted to sleep, just for a few hours, so she didn’t completely lose her mind.

She turned off the water, stepping into the bathroom. Her black clothes made a sorry-looking pile on the floor. Of course, she was never putting them on again—they were soaked in Bael’s blood. She wrapped herself in a towel and padded back to her room, where she slipped into a cotton t-shirt and knickers.

Too tired to dress further, she crawled under the covers, her entire body burning with fatigue. Pink morning light filtered in through the blinds, warming the room.

When was the last time she’d eaten? She had no idea at this point. She stared at the wildflowers she’d painted on the wall, but they didn’t feel like home anymore. How could anything feel like home when you had no idea who you were in the first place? She let her eyes drift closed, feeling a wave of sleep wash over her, soothing her body. Her mind filled with images of fields of aster, bathed in moonlight—

A pair of strong hands gripped her shoulders, and her eyes snapped open.

Bael kneeled over her, the strap of his belt tight across his chest. His cold gaze bored right through her. “Where’s Fiore?”

Ursula’s heart raced, and she blinked away the sleep. “Fiore?”

His enormous hands tightened on her shoulders. “Why are we here? Why aren’t we at the lair?”

She pushed his hands away and sat up, having forgotten what she was wearing—or rather,
not
wearing. For a moment, Bael’s eyes flicked down her body before he averted his gaze. She pulled the sheets up around her. “I used Emerazel’s fire to bring us here. You were bleeding to death.”

Bael looked at the window, unwilling to make eye contact. “Fiore cannot hide from me. I will rip his sinews from his bones until he talks.”

“I’m not sure he’ll be talking any time soon. I pinned his body to the ground with his own sword before I cut off his head.”

Bael head swiveled back to look at her, and his eyes darkened. “You did what? I needed information from him.”

“I only cut off his head after he told me me where to find Abrax.”

A hint of surprise flickered in Bael’s eyes. “Where is the usurper hiding?”

“I’m not sure I entirely trust you yet. You did offer up my soul to Fiore, if I recall.”

“That was a tactical decision. Fiore wouldn’t have agreed to a duel if there weren’t something in it for him.”

“What if you’d lost?” She looked him straight in the eyes. “Oh, wait you
did
lose.” Bael let out a low growl, but Ursula held his gaze. “If I tell you where Abrax is, you must promise never to sell me out again. One of those promises on the honor of Nyxobas or whatever you said before.”

The demon’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. Ursula suspected that the nod might have been a tactical decision as well—not nearly as binding as a verbal pledge.

“Fiore said Abrax went back to Oberon’s,” said Ursula. “Probably should have gone back there to begin with, since that was the last place I saw him.”

“What’s he doing with the fae?”

“No one seems to know, except that they’ve formed some sort of alliance.”

“The fae don’t form alliances with earthly gods.”

“Things have changed, I guess. You have no clue what they’d be doing together?”

Bael looked at the window again, considering the question. “If Abrax and the fae were united, they could make a play for Nyxobas’s shadow kingdom.” He coughed, wincing in pain.

“Are you ok?”

“I’ll manage.”

She eyed the belt binding his enormous chest. “I’m not sure if it helped, but I bound your wounds.”

“Of course you did.” His pale eyes threatened to pierce her soul. “You won’t stand a chance against Abrax without me.”

“I did pretty well against your vampire friend.”

Bael’s fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened. “Fiore was a dead man as soon as his second became involved,” he said through clenched teeth.

Obviously, this was a tender subject. She glanced at his shoulder, which seemed to be clotting. “I got out the bolt that they shot you with, but I couldn’t do anything for the wound.”

“You mean the quarrel?” Bael’s fists unclenched a little. “It was carved from a hawthorn tree. Hawthorn wood is an anathema to creatures of the night, especially if it’s forged with iron.”

Ursula winced inwardly, thinking of how the wound had smoked when she’d pulled the bolt from his chest. “You’re better now?”

“Good as new.”

She crossed her arms in front of the sheet. “There’s one little problem. We can’t get into Oberon’s without the invitation of a fae.”

“Ursula. I am the Sword of Nyxobas. I go where I choose.”

“You take that name quite seriously, don’t you?”

His eyes lingered over her bare legs for a moment before his jaw tightened. He turned, walking out of the room. “Seven hells, woman. Put on some clothes.”

T
hey stood
in front of the unassuming grey door—the portal to the fae realm. Bael had ransacked the apartment for a shirt large enough to fit him, though the fabric still strained over his chest, threatening to tear.

“Are you sure this is the place?” he asked, nodding at the rusted door. “It doesn’t look fae.”

“I guess the fae are less concerned with aesthetics than Nyxobas.”

“Nyxobas eschews frivolity. It is a sign of weakness. The fae are the opposite.” Bael’s eyes narrowed, inspecting the stone. “I imagine they simply have this place glamoured.”

Ursula reached to press the buzzer, but he grabbed her hand. “Don’t alert your enemy of your presence before you attack.” He stepped back from the door and studied it for a moment. Then, in a blur of black wind, he slammed his foot into the door. It splintered with a crack of shearing steel.

She gaped. “That won’t alert them?”

“Not as much as a bell,” he grumbled. While Ursula pondered this logic, the demon unsheathed his sword and stepped inside. “Come.”

“Right.”

Ursula followed, gripping Honjo. Bael muttered his orb spell, illuminating the interior with amber light. This time, no doorman waited to collect their jackets.

The enormous wooden doors blocked their path, and their golden Angelic inscriptions glittered ominously in the half light. Ursula’s hands sweated on Honjo’s hilt, as an uneasy feeling settled over her.

“Last time, we walked through those doors and they took us to Oberon’s hall,” said Ursula. “I think they’re some sort of portal. But we can’t get through those doors just by kicking through them. There’s some sort of impenetrable fae magic—”

Bael closed his eyes, chanting in Angelic. Dark magic swirled around his body, whispering past her skin in thrilling tendrils of power. He opened his pale eyes again and pulled the handles. Slowly, the doors creaked open. With a final glance behind them, they walked through.

A cold breeze nipped at her ears, and she stiffened as they stepped into a thick fog. Instead of illuminating a wooden balcony, the glow of Bael’s orb was quickly swallowed up by a swirling mist. The air smelled of wet wood and fresh pine needles.

“This isn’t Oberon’s hall. Do you know where we are?” she whispered.

“No,” he replied, his tone suggesting he was entirely unconcerned by this turn of events.

Oberon’s voice pierced the mist. “I’m so glad you could join us at my high court.”

Bael turned, sniffing the air, and the mist swirled faster. “Reveal yourself, Oberon,” Bael’s voice boomed. “We simply want to parley.”

“Will you swear that on the soul of Nyxobas?”

“I will.”

The mist thinned, revealing the golden glint of fae armor in silvery moonlight. It was night here—maybe it was always night in the fae realm.

Slowly, the forms of at least a hundred fae soldiers came into view. A chill snaked up Ursula’s spine. Each soldier held a pike, aimed at them. They weren’t in the hall; they were outside somewhere, on some sort of wooden platform.

She started to raise her sword, but Bael grabbed her wrist, pushing it down. This was not a fight they were going to win.

The mist continued to dissipate. Beyond the soldiers, tips of trees became visible in the clearing air. Where
were
they? Ursula glanced down and her knees almost buckled as a wave of vertigo hit her. Apparently they were standing on a platform of branches woven together like the nest of a giant bird. Through the branches, she could make out the dark form of an enormous tree trunk—and beyond that, nothing. Just darkness. Ursula had a suspicion that Oberon’s hall was buried somewhere far, far below them.

The king’s voice came from behind them. “What was it you desired to ask me?”

Ursula spun around, her gaze landing on Oberon, who sat on a wooden throne carved into the form of a kneeling stag, its antlers forming his seat. He wore a silver robe, and a small circlet of gold in his pale hair. A golden satchel lay at his feet.

“Is it true that you’ve struck a deal with a whelp of Nyxobas?” Bael demanded, as if he was in a position to demand things.

“I am a hundred thousand years old, as old as the earthly gods,” said Oberon. “I should have the power of a god.” He flicked his fingers and the guards moved to flank them, keeping their pikes trained on Bael.

“And you think Abrax will grant you that?” His voice dripped with disdain.

“He’s pledged his loyalty to me. We will lead his brethren out of the darkness and into the light. Abrax and I will rule the mortal realm together.”

On cue, Abrax stepped from between a pair of soldiers to stand by Oberon’s side. Ursula’s breath caught, as an icy chill constricted her chest. She remembered how Abrax’s claws had carved chunks of flesh from her legs. He’d tried to murder her—twice.

“Give me my wings,” Bael roared, and the platform beneath them trembled. Ursula clamped her hands to her ears, the sound sending a rush of pure fear through her bones. God, he was terrifying.

In front of them the pikes of the fae soldiers quivered and shook like reeds in a storm.

“You can scream all you want, but your wings are mine,” said Oberon, his eyes sliding to the golden satchel. From within, he drew two pieces of skin.

Ursula grimaced.
What the fuck is wrong with these people?
Blood dripped from between Oberon’s fingers. She strained her eyes, just making out a tattooed design on the strips of skin: golden wings.
Those
were Bael’s wings? Yuck.

“If you damage my wings, I will tear your spine through your throat.” Bael didn’t scream this time, but pure venom laced his voice, and somehow, it was worse than his roar.

Oberon ignored Bael, holding the skin higher. “These wings are a direct conduit to the magic of Nyxobas.” The soldiers cheered again. “With their power, we will no longer need to conceal ourselves in this realm. With their power, we will rule the mortals.”

Abrax stepped forward. “Are you ready to receive them?”

“I am.”

“Good. I want Bael to watch.”

Ursula wasn’t sure what was happening, but her stomach turned.

Oberon let his robe drape off his back, exposing his skin in the moonlight. From behind him, Abrax drew a thin dagger from his jacket. The king bowed his head.

“Get away from my wings.” Bael boomed, the timbre of his voice shaking her.

Oberon turned his head to address his soldiers. “If the fallen demon speaks again, incinerate him.” The soldiers began to weave the ends of their pikes through the air, magic hissing and sizzling at their tips. Ursula’s heart raced. This had not turned out well.

Next to her Bael stood, his entire body rigid with tension. She could tell that it took every ounce of his willpower not to charge forward.

Abrax held the dagger over Oberon’s back. “Prepare yourself to join the kingdom of Nyxobas,” he solemnly intoned.

“I am ready for the power of the night god.”

Abrax’s dagger glinted in the moonlight. Then, like a silver meteor, it plunged into the center of Oberon’s back.