For a Few Demons More (50 page)

“Rachel!” Edden said, louder over the chants of the EMTs who had arrived to push the FIB officers away. “What are you doing?”

“She's getting rid of the focus,” Quen said tightly.

“Why didn't she just do that in the first place?” Edden said, his expression annoyed. “Rachel, come out of there.”

Quen's voice was empty. “Because it will take a demon curse to do it.”

Edden was silent for a moment, and I jumped when I felt his fist hit my bubble. “Rachel!” he exclaimed, then swore as his knuckles met my bubble again. “Get out! Now!”

But I couldn't stop and I didn't want to. Almost having forgotten, I touched my finger to my oozing neck, and, using the blood, I scribed a figure on the unlit black candle. I still didn't know what the figure stood for, and now I never would. Silence ached through me when the EMTs knelt before Ivy, their heads bowed as they slowly put their things away.

Tears spilled, and I started to get angry. I touched the interlaced circles, willing energy to fill them. I didn't even need to use my trigger word—it happened just as I willed it.

Edden swore again as the tainted bubbles rose about me, and I wondered if he knew that the arcs of gold where the circles intersected were what my aura was supposed to look like.

“Will it kill her?” Trent whispered.

Let's find out,
I thought bitterly, not believing I could hold the power of a demon curse. And when they killed me—which they would for working demon magic inside a public building in front of credible witnesses—the power of the curse would die with me. Problem solved.

Except a small part of me really wanted to live.
Damn it, hope is a cruel god
.

Fingers still shaking, I knelt in my tiny space and clasped my hands, willing the trigger words back into my memory. They came. Exhaling, I said harshly,
“Animum recipere.”

Quen's breath hissed, and he pulled Trent back.

The power of the curse flowed into me, warm like sunshine. I stiffened as the scent of burnt amber coated me, tasting bittersweet, like dark chocolate. It felt good. It tasted sweet. My thoughts wailed in despair.
What in hell have I become?

Jaw clenched, I knelt under the table, my unseeing gaze lifting upward and my breath held against the sensations. It felt good, and that was wrong. The power of creation coursed out of the focus and into me, familiar and welcoming. It sang, it lured, it whispered behind my eyes of the lust of the chase, the joy of the capture, the satisfaction of the kill. Within me stirred the need to dominate. I remembered the feel of the earth beneath my paws and the scent of time in my nose, filling my
memories, making me want more.

And this time instead of denying it, I accepted it.
“Non sum qualis eram,”
I said bitterly, angry tears spilling from under my closed lids. I would take the curse into me, and I would keep it. It would end everything. There was no reason not to.

I felt the white candle go out, and I opened my eyes to see a thin trail of smoke showing me the lost path to eternity. I had set the taper with the word for protection, but I was beyond its reach. Nothing could protect me. The focus was empty, and the curse was inside me, beating like a second heart, crawling through my aura and clouding my sight. I could feel it, alive like a twin awareness beside my own. But I wasn't done yet. I still had to seal the magic.

A wild impulse to flee filled me, born of the curse. Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to stay still, chaining the second awareness with my will. But it fought me, slipping deeper when I struggled to keep it separate. Eyes fixed on the black candle, I willed it to go out. With a soft puff, the light was gone. The curse's need to run grew stronger. My hands started to shake uncontrollably.

My bowed head swung to the gold candle. It would seal the curse into me so it couldn't unravel. It flickered in a wind only I felt, and then, as soft and surprising as a butterfly wing upon one's cheek, it went out. The last black candle burst into light. The curse was twisted anew.

A groan slipped from me, and I felt light-headed. It was done. I was a demonic curse. I could feel it within me, poison seeping from my soul to my mind. Now all that remained was to see if it would kill me.

Lips parted in the shock at what I had done, I lifted my head to find Trent sitting under the table in his white tux shirt without a coat. He was watching me, Quen behind him ready to drag him away. I blinked, my chest burning. There was just enough time for me to take a breath, and then the reality imbalance from twisting the curse hit me.

I jerked, my head hitting the bottom of the table and my elbows breaking the circles. Gasping, I convulsed as a wave of black coated me. I couldn't breathe. My cheek hit the cool tile, and I clenched in pain. The curse saw my will weaken, and its need to run redoubled, twining into mine until they were the same. I had to run. I had to flee! But I couldn't move…my damned…arms.

“Will she be okay?” Trent asked, worry and bewilderment in his
voice. “She's taking on the payment for the curse,” Quen said quietly. “I don't know.”

Someone touched me. I screamed, hearing only a guttural groan. The curse dove deep into my psyche, melding with me. There was no way out for it anymore, and it flowed into every facet of my memory and thought, becoming me. I was dying from the inside out. And through it all the smut of the imbalance burned, threatening to stop my heart.

“I take it,” I panted, and the hurt ebbed. “I take it,” I sobbed, clenching into a ball. It was mine. The curse was all I had left. A frightening need to run was filling me. It was the demon curse, but we were the same. Its need was mine.

Why am I fighting this?
I thought suddenly, the agony of the demon smut burning my blood. And with that last, bitter feeling, I let my will die.

My fear vanished in a ping of singular thought, the heartache left in a blink of bewilderment that I cared, and the turmoil of mental anguish evaporated in the sudden realization that everything had changed.

My eyes opened. Peace filled me. It was as if I was reborn. There was no anger, no heartache, no sorrow. My breath filled my lungs in a smooth, unhurried motion. I stared at the world in a pause of time, my cheek resting on the cool tile, and I wondered what had happened. My body hurt as if I had fought and won, but there was no torn-apart corpse lying before me.

And then I saw my prison beside me, knocked askew from where I had placed it behind the trappings of demon magic.
Oh. That
.

Eyes narrowing, I reached for it. It would never hold me again.

“Celero inanio,”
I snarled, not caring it was a demon curse, not caring I didn't know how I knew it. The bone shattered where I touched it, superheated to flake into fragments. I jerked my hands back and sat up, the pain surprising but nothing against my satisfaction. That prison would never hold me again, and I welcomed the imbalance for breaking the laws of physics as it flowed into me, coating me in a comforting layer of warmth, protecting me.
On to other things…

Above me I felt the flat smoothness of wood and above that a crisscross of metal, plaster, carpet, and space. I was in a building—but I didn't have to stay here.

Someone was watching me. Actually, a lot of people were, but one was looking at me like a predator at its prey. My eyes searched the silent, questioning faces until they found the vivid green eyes of an elf, framed by dark hair.
Quen
, I thought, giving him a name, and then I saw the open door beyond him.

“Watch out!” someone yelled.

I leapt for it, tripping on my dress. Someone fell on me to pin me to the floor. I fought silently, lashing out with my fists. A man was yelling at me to be still. The memory of the clatter of pixy wings was like a knife through my soul, and I felt the last of myself, of Rachel Morgan, vanish, hiding from the heartache.

There was a grunt as my fist found a tender spot, and in the slight release, I clawed for the door. Someone grabbed my wrists, and I cried out when they were wrenched behind my back.

Snarling, I fought to be free, then went still as I lay on the floor, a crafty smile curving over my face. I didn't have to fight with my body; I could fight with my mind.

“Someone strap her!” shrilled a pixy from above. “She's tapping a line!”

“Rachel! Stop!” a woman cried, and I whipped my head at the familiar voice.

“Ivy?” I warbled. My breath hesitated at seeing her sitting slumped against the wall, a hand pressed to her neck and pale from blood loss. Reason tried to force its way through my brain, but a heady feeling of power shoved it out. Men stood between me and the door. The woman on the floor wasn't enough to best the curse's demands.

Shivering, I twisted to sit upright. Latin spilled from me, the words coming from somewhere in my past, my future, from everywhere.

“I'm sorry, Rachel,” a gravelly voice said behind me. “We don't have ley line bands.”

I turned, savage in my need to hurt someone. A fist swung at me. Stars exploded, lighting my conscious thought, dying away to leave only the blackness of sweet oblivion.

But as my breath left me in a gentle sigh and I fell, I could swear that the drops of warmth upon my face were those of tears, that the shivering arms holding me from the cruel coldness of the tile had the luscious scent of vampire. And someone…was singing about blood and daisies.

I was moving. It was warm, and I was wrapped in a blanket that reeked of cigarettes. Something was on my sore wrist, and since there wasn't an erg of ever-after in me, it seemed someone had found a zip-strip. Probably the one I had in my bag. The thrum of a big engine was soothing, but the sudden shifts of motion made me sick.

“She's awake,” Jenks said, his voice holding an incredible amount of worry.

“How can you tell?” came Ivy's voice from the front, and I cracked my eyes. I was in the back of a FIB cruiser, wrapped in a blue FIB blanket and slumped across the backseat.

“Her aura brightened,” Jenks snarled. “She's awake.”

My breathing quickened. The fog was lifting, making me even more confused. I was thinking everything twice, almost as if trying to filter the world through an interpreter. A wave of fear took me when I realized it was the curse. I wasn't just holding it, it was a part of me. The damned thing was alive?

“Rachel…” Ivy said, and I winced. Pain iced through me as a wave of panic I didn't understand rose. I could move, but I couldn't, wrapped up tight.

“Where…where are we going?” I managed, then opened my eyes wide when we turned a corner and I almost rolled off the seat. Ivy was up front, and Edden was driving, his neck red and his motions quick.

“The church,” Ivy said.

A barrier of plastic separated us. “Why?” I had to get out of here. Everything would be better if I could just run. I knew it.

Her eyes were black in fear. “Because when vampires are afraid, they go home.”

The curse inside me was gaining strength, and I wiggled. “I have to get out,” I breathed, knowing it was the curse but unable to stop myself.

Jenks squeezed between the ceiling and the divider, and I blinked when he stopped inches from my nose. “Rachel,” he coaxed, “look at me. Look at me!”

My darting eyes, following the passing building, returned to him.

“You're okay,” he soothed, but his voice was making me nervous. “The EMTs gave you something to relax you. That's why you can't move. It will wear off in about an hour.”

It was wearing off
now
. “I have to get out,” I said, and Jenks darted back when I threw off the blanket and sat up.

“Whoa!” Edden said from behind the wheel. “Rachel, take it easy. We'll be there in five minutes, and then you can get out.”

I wiggled the door latch to no avail. It was a cop car, for God's sake. “Stop the car,” I demanded, looking for a way out and not finding it. Panic was settling in. I knew I was safe. I knew I should ease back in the seat and sit. But I couldn't. The curse inside me was stronger than my will. It hurt, and when I moved, the confusion was less.

“Let me out!” I shouted, smacking a fist into the plastic.

Edden swore when Ivy turned in her seat, and with one motion, broke the plastic with a sharp back fist. “Tamwood! What the hell are you doing!” he shouted, the car swerving as he tried to watch the road and Ivy both.

“She's going to hurt herself,” she said, clearing the shards and wiggling over the seat.

I pressed into the corner of the car, scared of her. “Stay away from me!” I exclaimed, trying to get control of myself, but I couldn't.

“Rachel, relax,” she said, but her hand was reaching for me.

My breath hissing in, I moved to block it.

Ivy moved blindingly fast. She twisted her hand, catching my wrist. Yanking me forward, she wrapped her body around me, hauling me onto her lap.

“Let go!” I shrieked, but she had me firmly.

“Edden,” Ivy panted, her lips next to my ear. “Pull over. You have to give her another shot or she's going to hurt herself.”

“Keep driving,” Jenks said. “I'll do it.”

Pulse beating wildly, I struggled. Ivy grunted when my head smacked into her face, but she wouldn't let go.

“Can't you hold her still for a bleeding minute?” Jenks said from in front of me, and I twisted wildly. He wanted to drug me. The little bug wanted to drug me so I couldn't move. I wanted to move. I had to run. It was why I existed, and I couldn't let them take it from me!

“Let. Me. Go!” I grunted.

Edden flipped on the lights and pulled over. Traffic passed as we stopped right on the bridge. The thickset man wedged himself half over the front seat. Grabbing my arm at the wrist and elbow, he held it steady.

“No-o-o-o-o!” I howled, struggling, but he had that one part of me unmoving, and I shrieked at the tiny prick of a needle.

“Hold still, Rache,” Jenks said as I gasped for air. “You'll feel better in a minute.”

“You son of a fairy whore,” I seethed. “I'm going to step on you. I'm going to pluck your wings off and eat them like chips.”

“Looking forward to it,” the pixy said, hovering at my eye level and peering at me. “How you feel now?”

“I'm going to stuff your stump with poison ivy,” I said, blinking as Edden let my arm go. “And buy a terrier to dig you out. And then I'm going to…to…”
God, this stuff works fast
. But I couldn't remember anymore, and I felt my muscles go limp. The curse went somnolent, and I had a brief instant of clarity before the drug took complete control. Golden sparkles blotted my vision, turning black as I shut my eyes. “I thought you were dead, Jenks….” I said, starting to cry. “Are you okay, Ivy?” My voice shook, and I couldn't open my eyes anymore. “Are you dead? I'm sorry. I messed everything up.”

“It's okay, Rache,” Jenks said. “You're going to be okay.”

I wanted to cry, but I was falling asleep. “Kisten,” I slurred. “Edden, go see Kisten. He's at Nick's,” and then my lips quit working. Ivy's arms were around me, keeping me from rolling to the floor as Edden twisted back into the front seat. The siren wailed a short bleep, and he pulled
back onto the road. I heard Ivy whispering softly in my ear, “Please be okay, Rachel. Please.”

The gentle sound of her words became the shushing of my blood in my head, and I listened, hovering on the edge of consciousness, bathed in the oblivion of whatever drug they had given me. It was a relief not to have to fight the curse. I'd made a mistake. I'd made a horrible, immense, irrevocable mistake. And I didn't think there was a way out of it.

It was a shock when I realized my cheek was cold. I wasn't moving anymore either, and the echo of voices came from everywhere, confusing me as I tried to give them meaning where there was none. The warm arms around me slipped away, and I felt dead. I think I was in the church. Yeah, I was lying on the floor like a sacrificial lamb. That was about right.

“I don't know if I can,” a soft voice said. It was Ceri, and I tried to move. I really did, but the drug wouldn't let me. The confusion was starting up again. It seemed as if the more awake I was, the more the curse could exert itself. I was beginning to feel anxious and jittery. I had to get up. I had to move.

“I can help,” came Keasley's gravelly voice, and an unexpected fear joined my bewilderment. Keasley was my friend, but I couldn't let him touch me. He was a witch. A witch could put me back in prison. A witch had done it before. I wouldn't let it happen. I had finally gotten free, and I wouldn't go back!

I could feel the drug slipping away, but I couldn't move yet, so I pretended to be dead. I could be still as well as run. I'd been still for millennia. And then, when the time was right, I
would run
.

“It's not that I can't do the curse,” Ceri said, and I felt someone brush the hair from my eyes. “But her psyche is mixed with it. I don't know if I can lift the curse away without taking a chunk of her. I'm calling Minias. He owes her a favor.”

Panic slid through me. Not a demon. He would see. He'd put me back! I couldn't go back. Not now. Not when I had tasted freedom! I had to get
up
!

I winced at the brush of air and the clatter of wings. “She's waking up again,” that damned tiny voice shrilled.

A presence smelling of aftershave and shoe polish came close, mak
ing the floorboards creak. “She's had enough to put down a horse,” said a man, and I tried to pull back when my arm was lifted. “I don't want to give her any more.”

“Just do it,” Ivy said, and I tried to slow my breathing. “We have to get that thing out of her, and we can't do it if she's fighting us!”

Again the prick of the needle, and I fought it. Blackness swirled, and I was running, running, my pulse strong and my feet moving like water. But it was a dream like all the other times, and I cursed the pain it left behind when a new voice—soft and demanding—lifted through me and stirred me to life.

It was a Were's voice. Low. Strong. Independent. I wanted it so badly I almost choked on my desire to be free. I tried to get his attention. He would take me. He had to take me. He knew how to run. This witch didn't. Not even in her dreams.

“I can legally make life-and-death decisions for her,” the Were said, and I heard the rattle of paper. “See? It's right here. And I make the decision that she will exchange the favor you owe her for your helping Ceri. You will make sure Rachel is herself before it's called done, and you will not harm anyone in this room until it is finished and you're gone.”

I cracked an eyelid, rejoicing in it. With sight came a confusion of double thought. The witch in my thoughts tried to stop me, but I piled pain and confusion on her, and she ceased thinking. This was my body, and I wanted it to move as I said.

A pair of purple slippers shifted on the hardwood floor, about a yard from me. A shimmering band of black was between us, but I knew the terrible stink of demons, a hundredfold worse than the green reek of elves.

“The mark is between Rachel and me,” the demon said, and my hope died. It would put me back in a little box of bone. But I wanted to run. I would be free!

The Were came closer, and I sang to him, but he didn't hear me. “I'm her alpha!” he exclaimed. “Look at this paper. Look at it, you damned demon! I can make this decision for her. It's the law!”

I stiffened at the clatter of wings, hating them. It was that pixy again. Damn it, why wouldn't it leave me alone!

“Guys…” the pest said, hovering at my nose and peering into my eyes. “She needs a little more of that happy juice.”

The slippered feet padded closer, and someone turned me. I stared up at the demon, feeling my hatred grow. His kind had created me. Created me, bound me, and then trapped me in a little box made of bone that couldn't move.

A sliver of satisfaction lifted through me when the demon's eyes widened and he backed away. “Bless me back to the Turn, she really does have it in her,” he whispered, still retracting. “I'll do it,” he said, and I struggled to move. He was going to put me back into my cell. I would kill him first! I would kill them all.

“Sleep,” the demon commanded, and I shuddered as a blanket of black imbalance shifted over me, and I slept. I had no choice. The demon had willed it, and they had made me.