This Wicked Magic

Chapter 23

CJ toggled the bone whistle inside his clasped fist. Vika held the prism flashlight directly on his face, which was annoying but necessary. Darkness reigned in the subterranean depths beneath Paris. An essential location to bring forth War and Pain—and other earthbound demons. If they could slay the initial horde—which should emerge closest to the call—then they could not repopulate and spread worldwide.

That was CJ’s theory, anyway.

This task was dangerous, and he risked mortal lives should they not succeed. Should War and Pain refuse to comply—which was likely.

When had demons ever held good on a promise? Never, that he’d known. And with the promise of a kiss from Vika being their reward? Her kisses were amazing but probably not enough to make a demon heel and kowtow to their commands.

It was either this option or surrender Vika’s and Libby’s souls to the soul bringer. He absolutely refused to do so, and he prayed this planned bit of trickery would not be seen as such by Reichardt.

In effect, he was calling the Nacht März to fruition, as Reichardt had requested. But he wasn’t going to allow a single demon to destroy mortals. Mortal deaths hadn’t been an exact stipulation in Reichardt’s command. He had said he would reap the souls, but to specify how to go about that desired result? Certainly was stretching the bargain’s parameters, but he was willing to stand up and fight for what he believed in if it came to that.

Right now, he believed in love.

Yet he felt twisted between the finer emotion and a more menacing desire to destroy.

He could feel War and Pain inside him. Waiting, standing at the edge of his soul, giddy with anticipation and the desire to wreak havoc, punish and pummel. To annihilate.

So long as only demons were annihilated, Certainly could completely get behind their anticipatory waiting. He’d gladly allow them to take over his body and soul.

Pulling Vika into his arms, he kissed her, taking the moment to devour her softness, the lush heat of her mouth married to his. The easy glide of her body against his. The love that filled his being he could not fathom, yet he knew it inhabited his very bones. She had changed him somehow. For had he never met her would he have someday taken out the bone whistle and considered its use?

Never. And yet, if any of his demons had achieved permanent control, he wasn’t sure if his wards would have remained and he’d inadvertently allow them to find the Nacht März.

Vika clung to him, her kisses desperate. He responded with a growl and tugged her closer. War and Pain wanted this kiss also, pressing their command onto her with a bruising touch.

Not yet. CJ broke the kiss, but he did not pull away from the one sweet taste in his life.

He didn’t care anymore what Ian Grim thought of him, or if he could show up the warlock one last time. With Vika in his life, none of that selfish grandstanding mattered.

“I love you,” he whispered, and nuzzled his nose alongside her hair. She smelled of roses and vervain. He wanted to imprint the scent of her within his senses forever. Just in case...

No, he wouldn’t think it.

“Touching.”

CJ’s heart sank. Over Vika’s shoulder, he saw Ian Grim stood not ten feet away, hands in his pockets.

Pulling Vika around to stand behind him, CJ stepped up to Grim. In the distance, a Metro train rumbled and its pale headlight grew stronger.

“Are you going to summon the Nacht März?” Grim asked, pacing before him. He wore a striped shirt and black vest, and long, lean dark trousers slouched at the shoes. Looking trimmer and more stylish than usual. “I don’t believe you’ll do it. You’ve not the cojones. And I can’t imagine what you’d do with an army of demons to your command. You know the streets of Paris will laugh and point at such a procession. Nowadays mortals see a paranormal being and they think it’s a costume or a lifestyle choice, such as those insipid vampire wannabes.”

“You weren’t due to arrive for another hour, Grim.” He flung out an arm, striking the man across the face with a blast of magic. It cut deeply.

Grim touched the wound, dragging his finger along it, which sewed the flesh seamlessly, leaving behind only a dribble of blood.

“You’ve mastered vita?” CJ was not surprised. Nothing Grim did surprised him anymore. The warlock was strong.

And he needed to get Vika out of here. Now.

“Rather simple procedure,” Grim commented, flicking the blood away from his fingers with an elegant twist of wrist. “I’ve eaten the hearts of so many vampires I practically heal before the wound is inflicted.”

CJ felt a quake in his soul. But it wasn’t the warlock’s foul deed. Rather, the prism light Vika held lit him only from behind, and War was getting too close to the surface, clawing for control.

“It’s in your hand. I can feel the power.” Grim held out his hand, palm up, and flicked his fingers.

Certainly felt the bone whistle jitter in his grip. He clutched tightly. This was not going down as he wished, so he’d have to improvise. The ground rumbled as the subway train’s wheels glided over the iron tracks.

He could not allow the warlock to put his hands to such a brutal means to mortal annihilation. Time for plan C.

Turning, he slapped the whistle into Vika’s grasp. Startled, she dropped the flashlight. He lifted her and tossed her across the tracks, using a blast of air magic to ensure she landed on the other side. He saw her land in a stumble, catching her palm against the scuffed concrete floor.

He stepped back from the edge as the train whisked to a screeching stop before him.

The car, lit with fluorescent bulbs, was empty. War growled and cringed at the light.

Grim let out a tribal yell and gripped his outstretched fingers, tugging CJ closer. The warlock used powerful magic to move CJ’s body against his will. The tiles on the floor cracked and crumbled beneath CJ’s boots. The bright lights from the train managed to keep back War and Pain—momentarily.

He could feel War rising to the surface, his chest growing full with anger and sulfur.

Knowing he had but moments to use his magic, CJ spit into his hands, slapped them together, then arrowed his forefingers above his head. He drew down the water pipe running overhead and landed it directly onto the center of Grim’s skull. The warlock stumbled, releasing his air magic from CJ’s body.

The train sped off. War growled, curling CJ’s fingers into claws.

Grim shouted a reverse lumos spell, breaking all the lightbulbs in the area in a rain of fine glass, leaving them in darkness.

“That wasn’t very smart,” CJ said to the warlock, who clutched his head where blood oozed from the crack in his skull. “But then you always do react before thinking. You ready for this?”

“Wha—?” Grim muttered.

War lunged forth within CJ, assuming control with a slash of his fist and stomp of boot. In the same instant, Pain eyed the bleeding warlock and cackled gleefully.

Vika twisted to sit up and spied another headlight beam traveling down the tunnel. Across the tracks, Certainly and Ian Grim battled it out in the darkness. She wondered how well the warlock would manage against the demons, which had both come out as soon as Grim had broken the lights.

The hard bone whistle impressed into her palm. Fashioned from Lucifer’s wing, it was cold and hot at the same time. CJ’s plan had been foiled. It had not been used to summon the dark denizens of this realm.

Relief washed through her, goose-bumping her skin. She’d never wanted him to attempt summoning all demons from this realm, she could admit to herself.

Yet she could now summon the Nacht März—and save her and Libby’s souls. All it took was to blow the whistle.

To do so, or not?

Standing, Vika staggered. She’d landed awkwardly, bruising the skin on the heel of her hand, but she knew CJ had done what he’d thought best by getting her—and the whistle—out of the warlock’s grasp. Across the rails, sparks of magic flew between the two rivals. The demons could not access CJ’s magic, so she had to guess the magic was all Grim’s doing.

She stumbled down the terminal, away from the battling witches. The best thing she could do was to get the Nacht März as far from Ian Grim as possible.

Red safety lights flickered intermittently along the floor edging the drop onto the rails, but the crimson glow wasn’t enough to keep back War and Pain. They must be taking it out on Grim instead of CJ, because a gut-wrenching scream was not her lover’s voice. Maybe?

“Not CJ,” she whispered with hope, and wandered into utter darkness.

Immediately before her, Reichardt materialized. A sheen of blue surrounded him as if an aura. Dressed in his usual black, he became a part of the dark void as the aura faded, yet his hand held out in waiting was visible.

“Give it to me.”

She thrust her fist behind her back, clutching the whistle tightly.

“The dark witch will not command the march now,” Reichardt said over the growing rumble from an approaching train. “Let me have it, or forfeit your soul, witch.”

Vika heaved out a sigh and stood straight. She drew her hand around and examined her fisted fingers. Inside she held a powerful weapon that could call the demons to the streets to destroy any and all mortals who got in their way. Reichardt wanted to collect those poor, innocent souls. An abominable act she could never participate in and still respect the witch’s rede.

And she had only to offer her soul in exchange to prevent such a heinous catastrophe?

The train stopped behind her with a squeal. Headlights beamed on Reichardt’s adamant glare. She sensed CJ and Grim had moved onto the train in the course of their struggles. The interior lights should chase away the demons, which she wasn’t sure would serve to her lover’s success.

Looking into Reichardt’s dark eyes, she saw her future. One day the soul bringer would carry her soul away. To Beneath, for surely she had not gained entrance Above. And if it be sooner than she had wished for, then so be it.

She nodded once. It was the right choice. The only choice.

The train started to roll forward.

Vika tossed the bone whistle before the surging car. It bounced on the iron rail, and a brilliant red light shot out as the wheels pulverized the unholy instrument.

Inside the car, Grim’s bloodied face pressed to the window courtesy of Pain or War, before the train quickly traveled away. She couldn’t see CJ.

Didn’t matter anymore.

Nothing mattered now.

Yes, it did. You love him.

Reichardt stepped up to her and pressed his palm against her breast. “You chose incorrectly, witch.”

Vika felt an incredible pull, as if her insides were being sucked to her core, tearing away from muscle and bone in the most wrenching means possible. She screamed as the pain overwhelmed, flashing brightly in her vision and then draining out to blackness. She fell to her knees.

At Reichardt’s hand glowed her soul. He held it high and opened his mouth, dropping the glimmering ball of her essence down his throat.

Vika collapsed.

Crooning out her favorite country tune, Libby shifted her hips then paused from scrubbing the sink to do an air guitar move, using the pink scrub brush as her instrument. “Rock and roll!” she shouted, and then focused back on the task before her.

She’d missed her calling, but only because she couldn’t carry a tune for more than a few notes. Then her voice wobbled off octave and it all went kittywompus from there. Didn’t matter. She sounded awesome in the shower.

Her senses suddenly prickling, Libby stood abruptly from scrubbing. One gloved hand wielded the scrub brush, the other a shaker of lemon salts. With her wrist, she nudged aside a long strand of hair and turned to find Reichardt standing immediately behind her.

“Oh! You always come when I least expect it.” She tossed the brush over a shoulder, and it landed in the sink with a clank. Tugging out the earbuds, she smoothed her gloved palms over her hips. “What’s up, lover boy? I have cook—”

He pressed his palm to her chest, and for a moment she thought she’d finally gotten through to the soul bringer, had breeched his hardened glass heart.

Screw the cookies; she wanted another kiss.

And then the pain swept her system and she screamed out her sister’s name before collapsing in a heap on the kitchen floor among a scatter of lemon salts.