This Wicked Magic (26 page)

“I know you said you’ve been monkish, but you’ve had lovers over the years?”

“Sure, but nothing serious. I don’t know that I’ve ever sat on the couch with a woman and just held her, smelled her hair, felt her heart beat against my chest. This is awesome. Better than any magic I could conjure.”

“How many magics have you mastered?”

“Haven’t counted. I can do lithoboly, levitation, transprojectionary dislocation, catoptromancy, allotriophagy—”

“The allotriophagy disturbs me.”

“Yes, but you would be surprised how useful it is to cause someone to vomit up nails or beetles.”

“Don’t ever use it on me.”

He kissed her nose. “The only magic I want to wield against you is the warm, fuzzy kind I’m feeling right here.” He slid her hand over his heart. “I can’t believe I’m talking like this. Such words shouldn’t be natural to a guy who has avoided connection with another person for so long. You’ve put a spell on me, I know it.”

“I don’t believe in love spells. Such false love could never be true.”

“I agree. Mmm, I love you.”

She stroked his erection. No pressure, just soft, sweeping strokes. He could waver back and forth between the ridiculous pleasure of it and their quiet conversation.

“So about your idea of me speaking to War,” she said without stopping her ministrations. “I’ll do it if you think it will work.”

“Really? It could work. And I trust you’re strong enough to handle the situation. Thing is, do I want to put you at risk?”

“I don’t think we have any other option, do you?”

“Other than handing over your souls to Reichardt? I don’t want that for you, Vika. Trust me, coming from a man whose soul is as dirty and dark as they get, I don’t want that for you.”

“Yes, but at least you have a soul. Would it take long for me to...change, should I lose my soul?”

He hugged her and nuzzled his face into her wet hair. She clasped him firmly. “We’re not going to consider it because we’ll try plan A at first sign of daylight.”

“Talk to War?”

He sighed. “Yes.”

With a nod, she resumed her strokes, and within moments brought him to a rousing orgasm.

Chapter 21

V
ika walked around the salt circle. The smell of brimstone prickled at her determination, but she maintained composure. Trapped within the circle was her lover. CJ’s body craned forward, his shoulders cutting through a beam of sunlight that marred the dark ritual. With an unnatural jerk, he straightened, thrusting back his shoulders and lifting his chin. He seemed to take on muscle, bulk and command. Vika knew it was an illusion of demonic possession.

“Who are you?” she asked firmly.

“War,” growled out in sepulchral tones from her lover’s mouth. “Let me out, witch.”

She waggled a finger at the demon. “I want to talk to you first.”

“I don’t deal. I walk or no talk.”

“Then I guess we’ll stand and stare at one another, shall we?”

The demon lashed toward her with clawed fingers, which scraped the invisible wall warded about CJ’s body. It would hold strong unless the salt line was smeared to break the circle. After her experience with Want, she would not again do that.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Vika picked at a nonexistent fleck of lint on her dress sleeve, made a point of exaggerating her yawn, and tilted her head wonderingly at the man she loved, but whom at this moment she feared. Mustn’t show that fear.

It was more worry than fear, actually. If she could exorcise this demon right now she would, but they needed it more than she wanted to get rid of it.

“The dark witch is wise to keep you for his woman,” the demon growled. “You are strong. Tight. We can feel you when he is inside you. So hot. Your moans stir us all.”

Despite how uncomfortable that information made her, she did not flinch, not even when the demon revealed his teeth, which seemed to have grown longer and pointed. Could an incorporeal demon affect her vision of its host? Possibly.

And that was a good thing. She’d never be able to face the demon were he the easygoing, gorgeous man with whom she had fallen in love.

Long minutes passed with her pacing and War glowering at her from inside the circle. Black candles flickered beneath the unlit chandeliers. So bright, too, the sun. The demon was patient. She was more so.

Overhead, the crystals tinkled softly, as if wind were sifting through them, but there were no open windows. The clatter rose, and she realized the demon was doing it. It possessed great power—beyond CJ’s magic. But not enough to harm her while it was contained. She hoped.

“You want your freedom?” she asked. “You must strike a bargain between me and Certainly Jones.”

The demon lifted his chest and looked down Certainly’s long, narrow nose at her.

“I’ve a war for you,” she proposed. “Tomorrow night.”

“The Nacht März the dark witch controls?” The demon scoffed. “That is not a war but merely a massacre of innocent, unprepared mortals. It offers no challenge, no sides standing against one another, no return fire.”

True, but she had to work with what had been provided.

“No mortals will be harmed if you do the job we request of you.”

“Which is?”

“Annihilate any and all demons called forth to the march.”

Certainly tilted his head, mouth open in an uncomfortable grimace.

“Does not the satisfaction reaped through destruction and murder fulfill you? You are a knight of Daemonia,” she said, appealing to the demon’s elite breed and CJ’s suggestion he would consider himself greater than the demons treading this mortal realm. “Would you not care to annihilate so many demons who walk this realm, some claiming lineage from Daemonia, when we know they are but lowly maggots?”

That sparked red light in the demon’s dark gaze. Gone were CJ’s jade eyes; they were now actually black. He nodded, his breath growing raspy with desire. CJ’s fists clenched tightly. “You want me to slay them all? I can do that.”

“I know you can. I would not have come to you with such a challenge did I not believe you could. You and...perhaps Pain?”

The demon’s lip flinched. He rubbed a fist down CJ’s bare torso, dragging the silver-laden werewolf spell to a distorted curve. She risked losing War by implying he needed help. But the more demons involved—even if contained in but the one witch—the better.

“It would be an interesting match. We are pleased Grief is gone. Whiny insolent. What prize are we promised for leading the vanguard?”

“Your return to Daemonia.”

War slapped his palms against the invisible barrier and bellowed, “I want the dark witch’s soul.”

“No deal.”

Vika turned and walked toward the kitchen. Only place to be away from the demon’s sight was in the bathroom. That would appear weak, like a female running to cry in the girls’ room. This was the only way to maintain the facade of power.

“Stop!”

She paused near the kitchen counter, tilting a hip against it but keeping her back to the demon. An inhale drew in courage.

“This imprisonment inside the dark witch has been worse than the mortal hell and Beneath combined. I have no freedom, save the darkness, and yet must battle the others for a few moments of control. I am made of the dark witch, and yet, it is a foul dwelling. In Daemonia, at the least, I will have my freedom.”

Excellent.

“The deal is you will slay the Night March and then vacate the dark witch’s soul,” Vika said, approaching the salt circle. “No amendments, no changes. And Pain must agree. I request to speak to that demon, as well.”

“War grants spoils,” the demon said darkly. “My spoil is a kiss from the red witch.”

Vika’s breath caught at the base of her throat. Seducing the want demon had been easy enough, but to allow this one to kiss her? She could sense CJ’s protests in the flinch of the demon’s hand. He would not wish her to agree. But had she any other choice? It would be as if kissing her lover. Only not.

“Agreed. Allow Pain to speak to me.”

With a cackling snicker, War bowed his head, and in the next breath, the demon slammed his body against the barrier. CJ fell backward, stumbling, and then made a run to the side. The demon slammed CJ’s body from side to side and back, and then smacked his face over and over until the flesh reddened.

“Pain, I presume,” Vika said over the childish antics. She must not wince or show sign of horror at the sight of her lover being mauled from within. “You heard my request. Will you work with War to vanquish the Night March?”

“Can I twist their heads from their bodies and chew their limbs to the bone?” the creature cackled. He dragged CJ’s fingernails down his chest, leaving red abrasions that drew up a macabre grin on his face.

“If it pleases you to do so.”

But imagining it happening while the demon occupied CJ hurt her heart. What was he sacrificing by allowing these demons to control him during the march? His sanity? His life? She hadn’t considered it.

Stop thinking, and do this!

“You may do whatever is necessary to stop the march from harming mortals. Not one mortal must be sacrificed, do you understand?”

The demon pressed its face hard against the barrier, distorting his nose and mouth as it asked, “Me kiss the red witch, too?”

Vika rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Very well. If you can manage a simple kiss without hurting me.”

“Where is the joy in that?”

“Then the dark witch refuses to allow your touch.”

“Wait! I can touch softly. But I do need to taste blood. It’ll be quick, I promise.”

Vika winced, tilting her head away so the demon could not see her reaction. “I want your promise you’ll agree to the terms of the pact. You’ll work with War to annihilate the Night March then submit to exorcism back to Daemonia.”

“Agreed. Me don’t like this realm. Mortals are too soft. Need the challenge of my own kind. And me no able to access this dark witch’s magic from inside. Want my own magic back!”

“Very well. We have a deal.” Vika pressed her palm to the barrier, and Pain gnashed his teeth at it. “Until tomorrow night, gentlemen.”

She flicked the switch on the remote. The chandeliers blasted on to full glow. Pain squealed and flung CJ’s body against the barrier. The dark witch fell through it and landed across the salt line, sprawled and groaning.

Vika knelt next to him and stroked her fingers over his bleeding cheek. “Success.”

“I heard,” he said on a breathless gasp. “And you promised yourself as spoils.”

“Just a kiss. And I know you will chaperone that.”

Certainly chuffed out a weak laugh. “As best I can, lover.”

“So, until tomorrow night?”

He nodded. “
Eine Klene
Nacht März?”

“Oh, that’s bad. You were not meant to make jokes.”

“Sorry, couldn’t resist. I, uh... There’s someone I need to go see today.”

“Stay here with me. Please?”

He kissed her, lingering at her mouth, tendering her softly in the wake of the vile interaction with the demons. “It won’t take long. It’s an idea for backup. Plan B, if you will.”

“But you’re going to keep me in the dark about it.”

He nodded. “You’ll be waiting for my return?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He pressed his forehead to hers. “That’s all I ever wanted to know. The feeling of someone waiting for me, wanting me to return to their arms.”

“It’s a hard thing to endure, the waiting. But I know you have to prepare. Will you at least tell me who you need to see today?”

He stroked her lips then bowed his head, unable to look at her. “Ian Grim.”

Chapter 22

I
am made of the dark witch.

CJ could not stop replaying that statement War had made while contained within the salt circle. Grief had said much the same.

Did he carry these demons inside only because he possessed some element of them already? Of course he grieved, and didn’t every man possess a hint of menace? Lust, why yes. And even carrion he could justify, for though he practiced vegetarianism, his mouth still watered when passing cooked meat.

He wondered if Vika had caught on to that statement, and what she thought it meant.

But War? No.

Really?

You have been warring against Grim for decades.

Perhaps. And now, for the first time, he was considering asking the warlock for help.

He twisted around a corner deep in the seventh quarter that led toward Les Innocents and knelt on the cobbles, tugging a small vial from his pocket. Inside were a few strands of Ian Grim’s hair, collected decades ago when he’d had opportunity. Crushing one with the hilt of his athame and spitting upon it, he then recited the location spell. And waited.

Grim also had DNA from him, probably hair, and for sure the blood taken from the scene of the accident. They generally did not cloak themselves, because they liked the play of never knowing when the other would come looking for them. But CJ wasn’t cheating by cloaking since his return from Daemonia. This was a new twist to their decades-old game. And never before had he involved someone he cared about. New rules had been created. Besides, all was fair when dealing with a warlock.

A raven crowed and coasted down the narrow alley, swooping over CJ’s head. The sign he’d been waiting for. Tucking the vial in a pocket, he took off after the bird.

They skirted the park and wound down an industrial neighborhood that edged the fifteenth quarter. The air was heavy with gasoline fumes and the rush of traffic from the distant ring road. He tracked the raven to an abandoned building covered in graffiti, where he heard a man’s laughter echo out from the glassless windows.

Dropping his cloak would alert Grim immediately, unless the man was too focused on whatever was going on behind the closed door. Worth the risk. CJ whispered the cloak release, and he felt it shed from his body as if a sudden gush of rain falling over his shoulders and dropping at his feet in a splash, without the wet.

Inside, the laughter suddenly ceased—to be replaced with a female scream.

CJ kicked the rusted metal door open.