This Wicked Magic (29 page)

Grim recited an expulsion spell. He was powerful and had somehow overcome Pain, and he was now trying to expel the demon from his body. CJ thought if he could touch the warlock when the final word was spoken...

War wheeled his body away from the warlock and searched the grounds for another weapon. Forcing his body to move with only his mind, CJ managed to thrust toward the warlock.

He slapped his grip about Grim’s neck as the last word of the expulsion spell was shouted. Pressing the fingers of his left hand over his heart and the entrance spell, he held on tight. Lightning sparked between the two witches. Rain showered them. Their bodies juddered, connected through a vile communion of dark and malefic magic. A tribal grunt emitted from CJ’s core, dueling with Grim’s scream.

And CJ felt War leave his body and sluice into Grim as if a dark mist seeping from his pores. No flesh torn, just a tug at his molecules. A simple exit.

He dropped the warlock and scrambled away. The demons were gone from him. He felt lightened.
Free.

No time to rejoice, for they had taken up residence within Grim’s soul. And he could not stand against War and Pain.

Vika. Where was she? Back in the tunnel.

As the yard light flashed in CJ’s eyes, he staggered over Grim’s prone body. The warlock was far from dead, but he’d lost this battle. Spitting to the side, CJ smacked a hand to his opponent’s cheek. He was covered in blood, and not all of it was Grim’s. War and Pain had served him well.

“You earned your reward.”

“To kiss the red witch,” Grim muttered weakly.

“Yes. But I won’t grant it while you are sheltered within this disgusting warlock. Later, Grim.”

Certainly ran out of the train station and toward the city. He had an idea where he was, and he sighted the Metro stop at the end of a triangular block. He raced toward the entry station, shoving aside passengers who scrambled to get out of his way when they saw the blood covering his hands and face. He ran down the concrete stairway and read the map along the tiled wall. She was five stops back. He jumped onto the train as the doors closed.

Half a dozen people stood or sat nearby. He kept his back to them, but he realized his shirt was torn and he was bleeding everywhere. Didn’t matter what they thought. He’d left Vika alone with the Nacht März. Never should he have placed such a dangerous object in her hands. And not because he didn’t think she could handle it, but because he didn’t want to taint her any more than he already had merely by being in her presence.

He had changed Viktorie St. Charles. And he wasn’t sure that was a good thing. Yet she had changed him, and he knew it was for the better.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, wishing the train would move faster. “I’m almost there. Hold on, lover.”

Sweeping his tattooed hand over the healing sigil at his hip, he sucked in a breath as his skin knit in various places on his body. Now that the demons were gone, his magic worked smoothly. He laughed because his renewed strength felt immense. Back to his old self. And so powerful.

The train slid to a stop. CJ saw the red witch lying in a dark corner and jumped off the train, sealing the door behind him so those inside could not follow.

Racing to her, he knelt beside her and lifted her head. Garnet hair spilled over his hands and knees. “Vika?”

She murmured and winced. “You’re...safe?”

“War and Pain are gone.”

She touched his face then glided her fingers down to his neck, where the demon mark was—or had once been. “It’s gone. You’re demon-free?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t matter right now. I’m sorry. I had to throw you to this side to get you away from Grim and the demons. Tell me you’re not hurt. Please, Vika.”

He nuzzled his cheek against her forehead. Her skin felt cool. He didn’t see any bruises, but...something was different.

“The whistle is destroyed,” she whispered, touching his bloodied lips and managing a smile. “Tossed it in front of the train.”

“That’s good. Smart of you.”

Only, that wasn’t good. As much as he’d been hoping to get by with a sleight of hand regarding the soul bringer, now the Nacht März call had not been issued. Vika’s and Libby’s souls were still in jeopardy. Could he find the pieces of the whistle and reassemble them before the forty-eight-hour deadline passed?

“He was here,” she said on a breathless gasp. “Reichardt.”

“What?” He lifted her into his arms and hugged her close. Why was she so cold? Humid air cloaked the tunnel depths. “You should have given him the whistle.”

She shook her head vehemently. “Couldn’t sacrifice all those mortals. Unthinkable. He took...my soul.”

“No, no, Vika, no!”

“I will...survive.” She coiled into him. “Take me home.”

* * *

He’d failed her. He had only wanted to prevent the soul bringer from taking his lover’s soul. And because of his idiot macho rivalry with the warlock, instead he’d handed Vika’s soul to Reichardt on a silver platter.

He set her down on the couch in her living room and brushed aside the hair from her face. She’d walked up the front steps with him, but she was exhausted. She mumbled something about her mala beads in the bedroom, and CJ figured she wanted them. He rushed upstairs to claim the strand of jade beads from the vanity. He draped them over her fingers, and sleep took her as soon as she closed her eyes. He grabbed the red blanket from a nearby chair and covered her to the shoulders.

Salamander jumped onto the back of the couch. The cat mewled warningly at CJ.

“It was my fault,” he said in agreement. “I’m sorry.”

He touched Vika’s pale cheek with his fingers. No rosy blush there. She was cold because she now had no soul.

“Misfortunate lover, mine. I will get it back for you,” he vowed. “If I have to go to Above and Beneath and sort through the eternity of souls within. I promise you.”

He kissed her forehead and stood.

The chandelier was lit, so he flicked it off. It was nearing morning but still dark. Hell, he didn’t need the light anymore. He was free of demons. He should be celebrating. And yet, the inner triumph meant little to him.

He would take on a world of demons in trade for Vika’s soul. And her sister’s soul.

Wondering where Libby was, he pushed open the swinging kitchen door and saw the legs stretched out from beyond the counter.

“Oh, hell.”

He rushed to find Libby on the floor, her hands spread open, eyes closed. Cold to the touch. “That bastard.”

Lifting her, he carried her upstairs to her bedroom and laid her on the bed, covering her with a blanket and making her the same promise he had made to Vika.

“The soul bringer and I are going to come to terms.”

And he suspected one of them wouldn’t survive. But in his heart, he had no idea which of the two of them it would be.

* * *

Ian Grim opened his eyes and stared at the rising sun. Arms stretched out above him and legs sprawled across the gravel, he felt every painful ache, every broken bone and cut that abraded his skin. But it felt...great.

He was healing, slowly. Certainly Jones had taken a lot out of him. A fine match.

But the dark witch had also given him something he hadn’t expected, and he would not begrudge this gift. For indeed, the two demons he felt roil within his soul had been gifts.

“War and Pain,” he muttered, and chuckled at the back of his throat. “I can work with you two.”

Chapter 25

V
ika woke in the cool morning light of her living room. The scent of spice welcomed her with a gentle slap to her senses. A rose-embellished porcelain teacup sat on the coffee table, steam wafting from the amber surface.

“You’re awake,” her lover’s voice spoke from somewhere nearby. He sat in the winged chair across the room where shadows yet reigned. “I thought clove and cinnamon would appeal.”

“Thank you.” She sat up and, almost dropping the jade beads, slipped the strand about her wrist, coiling it a few times. Having the prayer beads close gave her solace. She rubbed her palms up and down her arms, feeling inordinately chilled for the middle of summer. She sipped the sweet brew. That hit the spot. Her core felt frozen, stained by darkness. The tea warmed her a little— “The light!”

What sat across from her in the shadows, acting as if her lover?

CJ stood and approached her, his steps easy and demeanor calm. He didn’t feel demonic, but Vika pressed her back to the couch and absently reached for her grandmother’s nail.

“They’re gone,” he said quietly. “War and Pain. Grim took them out of me.”

“As a favor?” she asked, not believing the warlock would do anything so kind.

“No, I had in mind to put them into Grim when I had opportunity. The demon initially resisted, but then, it was gone. Poof. Like that. I think Grim stole them for himself. All I know is I’m clean of demons for the first time in half a year, and it feels beyond amazing. So light. And now, sitting in the darkness? It’s a comfort.”

“But Grim. What will he do with them? It’ll be nothing good.”

“I’m sure not,
if
he can control them. Which he may have the ability to do. He’s powerful, Vika. But I feel as though he’s out of our lives for now.” He clasped her hand and kissed it. “How are you?”

How
was
she? She felt the same as usual after one had been tossed about and through a tussle. And yet, not warm, or even whole. Empty.

“Soulless,” she said, her heart stilling at the implications. “It had to be done. So let’s not get into an argument about what I should or should not have done. It’s over. The soul bringer got his due. The Nacht März was not issued. The world is as right as it can be. At least until you decide to steal another dangerous instrument from the place of all demons.”

“Never,” he rushed out. “I promise you that.”

“What if Grim wants something?”

“I’ll let him go at it. I swore to you I would not return to Daemonia, and I stand by that promise.”

Did his eyes seem greener? Not so dark. Alive with warmth, they compelled her as had the beads about her wrist. Solace.

“I believe you,” she said, and then tilted up her chin to kiss him at the corner of his mouth. “Thank you, dark one.”

“You have nothing to thank me for. You are without a soul. I could have prevent—”

She put up her palm, and he understood to drop the subject. “Vika, I uh...I put your sister upstairs in her room. I found her in the kitchen.”

“Libby? Ohmygoddess, I didn’t think about her. She was...?”

CJ nodded. “The bastard took her soul, too. You should go to her.”

“Yes.” She handed him the teacup and rushed up the stairs to find her sister just waking on the bed. “Libby?”

Sitting on the middle of the bed, her sister took one look at her and started to cry. “Oh, Vika! I love him. How could he do that to me?” She pounded her breast with a fist. “It’s gone. He took it without a care. After we’d...after... Oh!”

CJ crept into the room, put a hand to Vika’s hip and whispered in her ear, “I’m going to leave you two. You should be with your sister right now.”

She clutched his shirt. “I don’t want you to leave.” She knew she sounded frantic, but hell, she was. After all they had been through, could he so easily walk away from her now?

“I have to. I have something to do at work.”

“You’re not going after Ian Grim. Tell me you’re not.”

“The warlock has nothing I want or need. But I won’t stop until I get your souls back,” he said. “I can’t.”

She gripped his shirt, stopping his retreat and wishing she had some kind of containment magic. “It’s over, CJ. Leave it as it is. Because I know you’ll offer your soul for ours, and what is that going to change? Nothing.”

“My soul may be more valuable to the soul bringer than yours and Libby’s together. I’m filled with knowledge of multitude magics—”

“No! I won’t hear of it. This is not some one-upmanship between you and the warlock. This is me. And you. And I don’t want a lover without a soul. Hell, you just got it clean of demons. Don’t you want that?”

“I don’t want a lover without a soul, either,” he whispered. Brushing a kiss over her hair, he stepped back and shuffled down the stairs.

Vika clung to the door frame, following his retreat. Her heart shuddered against her rib cage, and her skin grew cold, so cold.

Of course. She was damaged now. Cold and soulless. How could any man want that? By tossing the bone whistle before the train, she had sacrificed not only her soul but also her relationship with CJ.

She looked to Libby and saw tears spilling silently from her sister’s eyes. And Vika began to cry, too.

* * *

CJ sorted through the recent acquisitions the archives had received after the raid on Antonio del Gado’s private lair. The vampire leader of the tribe Anakim had been determined to call the Fallen to this earth, with hope the angels would then find and impregnate their muses with a Nephilim. Anakim was a vampire tribe whose members could not withstand sunlight, yet with an infusion of Nephilim blood, their lineage would be strengthened. The leader, del Gado, had failed with his plot. And the spoils had been collected by Council member Ivan Drake and ordered stored in the archives.

The code for Final Days had been locked securely. Various angel ephemera still awaited filing. A notebook with angel sigils and another book handwritten by a muse listed a majority of the Fallen ones’ names. Match the sigil to the name, and a person in the know could summon a Fallen to this realm. That was helpful, to a degree.

The soul bringer had fallen, but not purposefully, and CJ could not find his name on any list. Of course, he didn’t know his angelic name. Reichardt had originally been an angel, expelled from Above to serve as ferryman of souls. He wasn’t the same as a Fallen angel because he had either accepted the challenge to fall and become soul bringer, or he’d been shoved. No book detailed that stipulation. And though his origins were angelic, CJ wasn’t sure if the man was still considered such, or if he was an entirely different beast.

He set the books of names and sigils aside and wandered into the grimoire storage room, knowing it boasted a whole section dealing with Above and all its native inhabitants. The dusty room made him sneeze, and once again he vowed to get an assistant.