“Janet isn’t alone,” Mick said, quiet in his anger. “And the succubus wants you, not us.”
“Why don’t we just kill him?” Pamela asked, pointing at Emmett. “He’s human, in spite of all his sorcerer magic. Sheriff Jones can shoot him, and then we can give this demon woman his dead body.”
“Don’t think that isn’t tempting,” I said. “But the demon-goddess wants her revenge, and if I know goddesses, she’ll want to kill Emmett herself. Fremont?”
Fremont shrugged. “It just took a crystal, a candle, and a verse.”
I put my arm around his shoulders. “I love you, Fremont. Let’s do this.”
***
I wasn’t certain the simple spell would work, but I wasn’t about to let Emmett know that. Cassandra fetched a clear quartz crystal from her desk behind reception, and I had Mick light another sage stick, because we couldn’t get a candle going for some reason. The curse didn’t want us to have light.
The verse Fremont used was a simple rhyme, straight out of any “witchcraft for beginners” book. But Mick had taught me that chants and candles or sage and crystals are only vehicles for the witch’s focus. The intent of the spell mattered, as did the mage’s concentration and strength, not whether the candle was red or yellow, whether the witch used sage or myrrh, or whether they spoke complicated Latin verses or a few simple phrases. Those choices could help, but the whole spell was so much more than the sum of its parts.
Fremont, though he had only a touch of magical ability, had focus and sincerity. I imagined that the demon-goddess had heard that sincerity, Fremont’s need to connect, loud and clear, and had homed in on him.
She homed in on him now. In a burst of hellfire tinged with sulfur—which is a cheap effect and not necessary—the succubus-demon-goddess was upon us.
Her aura nearly knocked me over. Fremont must not have been able to see it—to him she’d appear as the black-haired woman who stood before us. No red-clawed siren in black leather, she was draped in modest robes and had a pretty, rather soft face. She looked almost nice.
Except for her aura. That was sticky, gray-black, and foul. I didn’t sense Beneath magic from her, which must mean she was an earth entity—born solidly in this world, not the one Beneath. But she was old. Ancient. I read that in her eyes, an ancientness that had allowed her evil to build, that had knocked out any compassion she might ever have possessed. That and her son being murdered to feed a sorcerer’s power guaranteed she wouldn’t be friendly.
“Hello, Emmett,” she said. “Remember me?”
Blood ran in rivulets from Emmett’s nose and down his silk shirt as he raised his hand. “Die, whore.”
The demon-goddess watched his dark magic come, a little smile on her face. She lifted her hand, and the darkness harmlessly dispersed.
“Don’t be an idiot.” She moved her gaze from Emmett and fixed it on Coyote. “What have we here? Aw, poor dead little Indian god. They always think they’re better than anyone.”
“He died to bring the ununculous here for you,” I said. “In return, you can lift the hex.”
“Now, why would I want to do that?” the demon-goddess asked me. “Much more entertaining to watch you play it out until your own natures kill you. A few of you I might keep alive with me for the fun of it. Like you, Stormwalker. And that one.”
She was looking at Nash, giving him an interested once-over, much as Emmett had.
“A magic null,” she said as she neared him. “I’ve heard the theory but never seen one.”
She touched Nash’s face. Nash didn’t like being touched, but he flinched and took it. I wondered what would happen if she tried to hurt him with magic—would her power be absorbed into Nash’s doubly enhanced magic void? Would Nash be strong enough to contain it? Probably. That was worth a second thought.
The demon-goddess traced his cheek. “What couldn’t I do with you, Mr. Magic Null?”
Maya growled at her. “Take your hands off my boyfriend, you bitch.”
In response, the succubus picked Nash up by the neck and threw him across the room. Nash crashed into the reception counter, toppled over it, and landed on the floor beyond. Maya gave a cry of anguish and ran to him.
“A magic null who is still human,” the demon-goddess said. “Which means he can die.”
I didn’t dare go check whether Nash was still alive. I didn’t hear Maya wailing in grief, so I hoped for the best. Nash was pretty tough.
“We’ll give you Emmett Smith,” I said. “He hasn’t done much to make us like him, so he’s all yours. Take him and lift the hex. I have things to do.”
“Don’t bargain with me, girl. I’ll take Emmett and anyone else I choose. I haven’t eaten a Nightwalker in a long time, and I see he fed off the dragon. Doubly delicious.”
“Stop it!” Fremont charged to us, anger giving him courage. “Just stop it! This is all my fault. I brought you here. Not them, not Janet. They have nothing to do with this.”
The succubus turned to Fremont, but she didn’t try to touch him. Good thing; I’d have broken her fingers if she had, and who knows what she would have done then? “Aren’t you sweet? I really like this one, Stormwalker. He’s got stamina in the sack, believe me. I might let him live so he can please me again.”
I couldn’t tell whether Fremont found her declaration terrifying, flattering, or embarrassing. “Can’t you do something, Janet?” he pleaded.
I wanted to. I thought about what Coyote had said about the Beneath magic in me tearing open the vortexes. I thought about how I’d felt when I’d drawn on it, ready to blast out the wards and bury us alive, and Nash having to smother me to stop me. I might be just as dangerous as the demon-goddess. Which was the lesser of two evils? Her or me?
The best thing would be for us to let her and Emmett fight it out. Whoever survived such a battle would be weakened, and then Mick, Ansel, Pamela, and Nash could clean up. I and my reality-ripping magic could stay out of it.
The demon-goddess turned to me as though she read my thoughts. “It’s difficult, isn’t it? Watching those you love die? I know exactly how you feel, because my own son was torn apart by this monster.” She flicked her fingers, and Emmett’s nose started streaming even more blood. “But I despise you at the same time, Stormwalker. It’s such a human thing, to throw someone to the wolves in order to save yourself.”
If she were trying to make me feel guilty for my choices, she was wasting her time. Coyote was dead, and the grief in me would know no bounds. He’d died for us, and had known he’d truly die—Sacrifice, life and death—it’s all part of the job, he’d said.
This entire situation was about the demon-goddess and Emmett, and if one or both of them had to perish to solve the problem, I really didn’t care. The world would be minus one demon-goddess and a nasty sorcerer. Good.
“You cast the hex so you could get Emmett here to punish him,” I said. “So punish him, already. I’m getting bored, and I want a shower.”
The demon-goddess smiled at me, and the similarities between her and my mother unnerved me not a little. “Don’t you understand? This is no longer your show, Stormwalker. It’s mine. Torturing and killing is what demons do. It’s fun for us, and I plan to have fun.” She focused on Mick, who had his fire in his blood-caked hands. “Him first. He’s the strongest. And I’m at my peak.”
My heart went cold. She could easily kill Mick, and there wouldn’t be any debate about whether I should stop her.
With one flick of the demon-goddess’s slender finger, Mick’s fire died. Mick looked at me with fire-streaked black eyes, while the dragons came to life on his arms. “Run, Janet,” he said in his soft voice. “Just go.”
He was going to turn dragon. He was going to let the huge beast in him erupt in my lobby and take care of this the dragon way. Chomp.
“Down!” I screamed. “Everybody get down!”
r /> I felt the succubus reach into the hex and let it flare. A Murphy’s Law spell—everything that could go wrong with us, would.
Mick wouldn’t be able to contain his dragon, and he’d kill us all, maybe himself, too. Emmett Smith, mighty sorcerer, was cursing as nose blood gushed all over his pristine suit. He desperately held his handkerchief to his face, gasping for breath. No help there.
Cassandra was flat on the floor, Pamela over her. Her half-wolf body contorted, flashing in and out of wolf and wolf-human. Claws raked against Cassandra’s back, and Cassandra cried weakly. Ansel, fangs gleaming, eyes molten red, launched himself at Coyote’s body. There was no one left to hold him back.
My Beneath magic, which had been waiting below my surface, now gleefully sprang forth, knowing I wouldn’t be able to control it.
The demon-goddess sensed my building power and smiled at me. Our battle would be the death of us all—whether or not we opened the vortexes, there would be a smoking crater where my hotel had once stood.
“Bring it, girl,” the succubus said.
I forced my hand down to my side, the incandescent ball of light in it fighting to get free. “No,” I said.
“No? You want to, sweetie. You want to see who’d win this fight.”
“Maybe. But they’d all die,” I said.
“What do you care? They’re far weaker than you, even that pathetic ununculous who killed my son.”
“Coyote died to help us. Sacrifice, he said. If you let the rest of them go, I’ll stay and fight you. Give you a chance to kill me.”
The succubus’s gaze moved to Emmett. “I want the sorcerer.”
“Fine. Whoever wins, gets him.”
“Damn you,” Emmett burbled. “I’m not a prize.”
“You are today,” I said. “Shut up. Your hunger for power has resulted in the death of my friend, and you get to pay for that.” The ball of light flared in my palm, its incandescence making everyone cringe, even the big, bad Emmett. My headache vanished, and I felt whole, healed, and unstoppable.
The demon-goddess’s lip curled. “Do you challenge me, Stormwalker?”
I drew a breath to answer, but before I could, someone rushed past me. Fremont, the least affected by the hex, snatched up the knife Mick had dropped on the floor and hurtled himself toward the succubus.
“Fremont!” I yelled. “No!”
Fremont ignored me. I had to banish my Beneath magic again before I could grab for him, and then it was too late.
“I thought you were an angel,” Fremont sobbed, his voice harsh with betrayal. He plunged the knife straight into the succubus.
It didn’t kill her. She was a demon-goddess, immune to the weapons of man. Coyote had died because his god powers had been somehow stripped away, rendering him mortal.
The succubus was immortal and could only be defeated by magic. Collective magic, maybe. If I could get Cassandra and Mick functioning, maybe Emmett as well . . . If I could make the hex work against her somehow . . .
Without stopping to think, I charged. She smacked Fremont away, and raised her hand to knock me aside. I grabbed the forces of the storm outside and filled the hotel with wind.
The hex made certain it turned into a tornado. Wind ripped through the lobby, tearing the remaining pictures from the walls, overturning furniture. It lifted the coyote statue and sent it flying through the air. The statue smashed through a window, tumbling end over end to land in the parking lot outside. The window immediately sealed itself once again, the hex not wanting the living inside to escape.
The succubus laughed at me. She seemed to stand in a bubble of protection, and the wind didn’t touch her. The knife still stuck out of her chest, and she put her hands on her hips and laughed.
I couldn’t reach her. Screw Coyote’s warnings about the vortexes. I had to end this.
I lifted my hand again, my Beneath magic thrilled to come out. I hefted the white ball of magic. “Hey, succubus,” I said.
The succubus’s eyes widened, but not at my magic. Her chest had started to smoke. She grabbed the hilt of the knife and tried to pull it from between her breasts, but the blade stayed inside her as though welded in place.
I snuffed out my ball of Beneath magic and watched, openmouthed.
Sacrifice. Life and death. Coyote insisting on giving his life so that the rest of us might survive.
Coyote’s blood coated the knife. Fremont had shoved the blade into her heart, or whatever passed for a demon-goddess’s heart.
The blood of a god wasn’t the blood of a mortal. Coyote’s blood held his essence, and now that essence wound itself through the demon-goddess.
That crafty little trickster god. It wasn’t his death that would save us, but the knife that had killed him.
The succubus’s sticky gray aura exploded and splattered all over the room. The aura stuck to the walls and worked its way inside, trying desperately to draw strength from the hex.
Forget Beneath magic. I reached for wind still whipping through the room, drawing the cyclone to me and making it mine. I laughed as I sent it at her dying body.
I ripped her apart. As the succubus fell, a misshapen creature ten feet tall, mottled green and blue, and ugly as hell rose from the wreckage of her body. The demon, in its true form, the succubus’s glamour gone. It screamed at me through a fang-laden mouth as it clutched at the knife.
Mick dragged himself up, his tattoos still going crazy, his eyes flickering red. He blasted the demon with a white-hot stream of fire, and I followed with a burst pure from the storm. The demon succubus fought with renewed fury, its chest smoking, but it couldn’t withstand the two of us, Stormwalker and Firewalker, assisted by Coyote’s blood sacrifice.
The demon screamed once more before it fell to my tile floor in an explosion of goo.
“The wards!” Mick shouted. He redirected his magic to the hotel’s walls, and I followed. The black aura of the dead succubus resisted us, but our poor, battered wards burned with renewed brightness.
Our wards twined happily around our magic like pets welcoming home long-absent humans. The hex crumbled and dissolved, our magic rushing through the walls like a river of fresh blood through shriveled veins. The demon-goddess’s aura dissipated with the hex, until both died with a little shriek on the wind.
Mick’s fire went out. The gale swirled around me once, embracing me, then rushed away, leaving the hotel lobby in silence.
The lights sprang to life, followed by a soft hum as the central heating clicked on. Outside, thunder boomed, and then the storm drifted away on a gentle rain.
I turned to Mick, wiping dead demon gore from my face, but before I could reach his open arms, all strength left my limbs, and the floor rushed up to meet me.
Eleven
I woke in one of my favorite positions, my head in Mick’s lap. His eyes had returned to the dark blue I loved, but the look in them was bleak.
“What the hell happened?” Pamela demanded. She’d reverted to her human form, and she glowered down at me, tall and naked, a Changer woman in all her glory.
“Coyote’s blood,” I croaked.
We all craned to look at Coyote—and found him gone. Vanished, not a trace of him, not even a coyote hair left behind.
“His heart’s blood.” I moved my tongue inside my parched mouth. “Coyote had to die to release it. I guess he figured that whoever we faced would be so powerful we’d need that formidable weapon.”
“So he’s really dead?” Fremont asked.
Who the hell knew? Coyote might have gone back to whatever sacred place gods went to when they left the world, maybe never to return in the form we knew. My heart ached.
“But Ansel tasted his blood,” Pamela said. “I couldn’t stop him.”
I sat up in alarm, clutching my aching head. “Ansel? Is he all right?”
I spotted Ansel o
n a sofa, cringing against the arm as though trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. The red in his eyes had gone, and dried blood caked his lips.
“I’m fine,” he said in a shamed voice.
“So why isn’t he dead?” Fremont demanded. Fremont looked tired, blood all over his hands, but there was a satisfied look in his eyes. The succubus had screwed him over, but he’d gotten even. Fremont might have inadvertently invited the problem into our lives, but he’d also been instrumental in solving it.
I slumped back against Mick, liking the feel of the strong arms that wound around me. “Because Ansel isn’t inherently evil,” I said. “He’s a human being who got turned into a Nightwalker. It’s a different thing.”
Ansel said nothing as he rose and silently faded up the stairs. Nightwalkers could move without sound, and Ansel vanished quickly into the gloom. He’d be punishing himself for a while, poor guy.
Someone stopped next to me. I looked from pristine leather wing tips up cashmere pant legs to Emmett Smith, his nosebleed gone, his dignity restored.
“All this compassion is making me ill,” he said. He gave me a sharp look. “That demon was an ancient one, Stormwalker, born in the brimstone of the earth, created even before the dragons. Yet your storm magic tore her apart as though she were a paper doll. Even with the trickster’s magic and the dragon helping, you shouldn’t have been able to do that.”
I shrugged. “I was provoked.”
Mick’s voice held a hint of steel. “And I suggest you leave before she gets provoked again.”
Emmett straightened his tie. “Yes, all right, I take the hint. One day I’ll meet you again, Stormwalker—or whatever you are. That, I think, will be an interesting day.”
“Yes, it will be,” I said, pretending I wasn’t as weak as I felt. “By the way, if you happen to see John Christianson, tell him you have no idea where Cassandra is.”
Emmett snorted. “Christianson is an idiot. If he can’t find Cassandra himself, then he doesn’t deserve to.” He gave Cassandra a mocking bow. “I applaud you, witch. I’ll meet you again one day, too.” As he spoke, his body shimmered, and then he was gone.