This Wicked Magic

Chapter 24

The train emerged aboveground as the window smashed out and CJ and Grim flew through it. Propelled by magic and demonic strength, they landed against a telephone pole—Grim’s spine taking the brunt of impact—and dropped to the pebbled gravel below. Somewhere in the train yard, yard lights glowed, yet darkness mastered the air here behind a high garage that housed derelict train cars.

Pain grasped Grim’s skull and twisted, but the warlock was, to Pain’s surprise, strong, and he reacted with magic that shot through his host’s skin with an erotic sting on icy needles. It felt so fucking good, he writhed in ecstasy and let go of his charge.

“Oh, me do love a man who can work my fetishes,” Pain cooed.

The incorporeal demon released its grasp of CJ’s soul, and the next time Ian Grim’s fist connected with CJ’s jaw, Pain hitched a ride on the warlock.

CJ choked and spat up blood, staggering as he managed to remain standing. For the first time since the demons had overtaken his body in the subway tunnel, he felt a moment of clarity, of feeble control. Pain was gone, but War was not, and it still held a grip on him.

“Suck this, Jones!” Grim’s fist blasted his jaw with a strength CJ hadn’t felt before. Pain’s power had been behind it. And as the world began to blur, he felt War rise up and take control.

“We had a deal,” War spouted, as he lifted Grim bodily and tossed him against the brick wall. “You’ve abandoned ship!”

Pain laughed wickedly as he inspected the bloody gashes along his arm, torn there by the rough bricks. “Me get the warlock. You can deal with the dark witch. There’s not going to be a Night March. The witch tricked us both!”

CJ felt War’s anger squeeze about his bones. The demon roared and ripped a steel fence post from the ground. It charged Grim, who stood waiting for the punishment, Pain’s crooked grin twisting his bloody mouth. CJ could not fight War’s strength, yet he could feel it waning. They stood in a slash of yard light. How could the demons withstand the light?

“By your invitation,” War muttered, as he swung and missed the warlock. “We maintain control in the light. Idiot, witch.”

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.”