Hell's Gates (Urban Fantasy) (4 page)

“Thanks.” Ugh, I thanked someone. “Send the bill to the bar. Berg will take care of it.”

I strode from the shop, listening for the click of locks and the feel of the witch’s wards sliding back into place. Momma R’s were the only ones that actually ever caused a sting. Everyone else’s more like a soft breeze.

I hoofed it back to Momma R’s with my bag, forced to run on two legs since Papa Percy’s pixie genes didn’t let me banish bags and packages like I did my clothes. Jezze thought it had to do with my clothing and weapons carrying some part of me.

I thought it was because Papa Percy could be kind of an asshole sometimes.

It took twice as long, my unease increasing with every step closer to Momma R’s, and by the time I hit the door, I burst past the wards and into the house. I dropped the bag on the dining table across the hall from the living room.

Jezze met me there and I was quick to question the woman. “How is he?”

“He’s been sleeping peacefully,” Jezze assured me and some of the tension in my chest eased. Some. “He— “

A scream split the night, echoing off the walls and filling the air with pain and desperation. Both of our heads shot up and swung toward the living room. I shot into action first, running across the hall and into the living room, boots sliding over the soft carpet, and then I dropped to my knees beside him.

His mouth remained open, the unearthly sound escaping his tiny mouth and ringing in my ears. It struck a chord deep in my heart and I ached for Bry. Thin rivulets of tears escaped his little eyes and I reached for him, intent on picking him up and giving him whatever comfort I could. But before I could even touch him, his screams stopped, replaced by a gentle coo and sweet smile as if he hadn’t been sobbing. I checked his forehead, hating that his fever was still present, though I was thankful the elf’s charms were keeping the worst of it at bay.

“That was… odd.” Jezze drew out her words, frown in place. “Screaming like he was being killed and then smiling like he just outsmarted you and got a cookie.”

One, the kid never outsmarted me. Occasionally, I simply unknowingly agreed to things. Two, Jezze was right, in a way.

“I know pain when I hear it, and that wasn’t it.” I shook my head, that sound replaying over and over again. “That was fear.”

Terror. Dread. Panic. Emotions my son shouldn’t experience. Ever.

“You’re the expert.” Jezze still sounded skeptical, but I didn’t have any doubt about what Bry just experienced.

We stayed in place, watching him sleep with that tiny smile on his lips. Peaceful. Content. No hint of what he’d just endured.

I pushed to my feet and gestured for the witch to follow me back to the dining room so I could show her what I’d snagged at the Crazy Cauldron.

With every step, the cries replayed, the memory of them sending shivers down my spine. Down my spine and nowhere else within me. Because I wasn’t my mother. I didn’t have another part of me that’d take joy in a child’s scream.

I hated that I kept having to remind myself that we were nothing alike.

Even if I enjoyed beating the crap out of asshole trolls and dems that pushed my buttons. But that was different. Right.

I grabbed my small bag, padded back to the kitchen and found Momma R pulling a pan of freshly baked muffins out of the oven.

I slid onto a seat at the bar and dug through the small bag. “I’m not hungry.”

“Nonsense.” A flick of her finger sent the muffins flying through the air, a cup of tea appearing next to a briefly empty plate. “You’ll eat. You need your energy to get through this.”

She was right. Dammit. Momma R was always right. That didn’t mean I’d say that aloud, though.

“While you were out,” she glided toward the bar, appearing to float rather than walk, “I called a couple of your fathers.”

I waited for my normal, knee-jerk reaction. The annoyance at involving my dads in my business. One dad who knew what was best for his little partially demon girl was bad enough. Five were nearly intolerable. But right now, with Bry in danger, I’d take any help I could get.

“Anything useful?” I tugged the top off the muffin.

“Well—” A knock at the door cut her off and Momma R called out to the visitor. “Come in.” The wards across the door slid away at her voice, granting the visitor entry.

Papa Finn with all his pure unicorn-y glory came in first, his arms overloaded with bags. Arms, not hooves. He spent most of his time on two legs rather than four. What with all of the humans in the world obsessed with unicorn lore. Even dressed in jeans, boots and a ratty t-shirt, he was the image of purity. It flowed from him, the graceful way he walked and the nurturing aura that enveloped him.

Some of my dads were growly and violent—Papa Al who taught me to harness the wolf and Papa Leth who handed me a sword the second I took my first step. They made me tough, made me fierce.

Papa Finn gave me love and enough purity that kept me from being completely damned.

I abandoned my muffin and raced to him, not caring that I was a woman of over six hundred. I was Papa Finn’s little girl at heart and I needed him.

I threw my arms around him, hugging him tightly, and cut right to the chase. “Can you help him, Papa?”

I got a gentle kiss on the top of my head, a blanket of calm drifting over me with that touch, and I released him. I stepped back, giving him space to move into the small kitchen.

“Not directly.” He placed his bags on the table. “I’m afraid there are limits to unicorn magic when it comes to supernatural illness. I can purify most poisons and disease, but nothing crafted by a witch or demon.” He reached into the nearest bundle. “I think there’s another way I could help.”

He pulled out a long stick, two angular pieces jutting out to form a Y. A variety of herbs, flowers, and other things I didn’t want to question soon followed.

“We tried all the healing magic we could,” I said. “But if you think— “

“This isn’t for healing,” Papa Finn cut in. “It’s for dowsing. Normally, when I don’t have Eron with me, I’d use a dowsing rod to find pure, clean water in the wilderness.” Yeah, Papa Eron came in handy during camping trips. Father Earth could always find the greatest stuff in the forest. “I can make sure it’s something safe to drink. But, under the right circumstances, I can identify what’s polluting the supply and reverse the effect.”

I followed his train of thought, trying to keep up with the twists and turns, but my exhausted brain managed to puzzle it through. “So, if you can search the house for something that’s
impure
or tainted, we might be able to figure out if it’s something he touched, ate, or drank.”

Or stuck in his mouth when he wasn’t supposed to. I’d baby-proofed my own house more than once, but Bryony always managed to find something. For a human parent, that might be a stray button or earing. For me, it was a random zombie eyeball or still-twitching finger.

Papa Finn worked with Momma R and Jezze to prepare the dowsing rod for use to hunt tainted magic and I stood off to the side, out of their way—a useless lump of flesh. I’d have preferred having a job—something that involved pain and death. That was when
my
skillset came in handy.

They wrapped the dowsing rod in chains of flowers, sprinklings of herbs, whispered words of power, and finally a light mist of pure spring water from Papa Finn. Between my father’s innate abilities, the rod, and the addition of magic, we hoped to be able to find the magical taint.

When the rod absorbed the last droplets of water, my father took a deep breath and released it slowly, his attention firmly on the device. He carefully reached for the two ends of the Y, pointing the other end away from his body. The length of aged hazel wood pulsed ever so slightly with a pure white light.

“Now,” Papa Finn looked to me, determination in his eyes. “Let’s see if there’s anything in this house that isn’t pure.”

T
he rod swinging
around to point directly at me was not amusing. “Ha. Ha.” I crossed my arms and glared at him. “Hilarious.”

“I didn’t do that on purpose.” He shrugged. “It’s just how the magic works.”

“Well,” I grumbled. “As long as it’s pointing at me because I’m the Princess of Hell and not because of On High’s definition of ‘impure.’” I hadn’t been “On High” pure for a long time. I mean, I’m six hundred years old. A girl’s gonna go around the block a few times after that long. And there’s definitely no shame in this immortal girl’s game.

Papa Finn closed his eyes and the rod pulsed with a flash of pale light. “There. It’ll ignore you for now.”

Then he spun in a slow circle, holding the rod away from his body, waiting for it to react and direct him—us. It became more intense when he faced the back of the house and he carefully moved in that direction. He took one step, then two, then… came up against the rear wall of the kitchen.

“The wallpaper is impure? Really? I mean, it’s a bit old fashioned, but…”

“Young lady!” Momma R didn’t seem to care that I was older than her.

“No.” Papa Finn shook his head. “Beyond the wall.”

I got to the back door first, fingers itching and ready to face whatever was out there in the darkness. My boots thumped heavily on the wooden porch, and that was followed by the sound of the others joining me.

Papa Finn continued his search, slow movements taking him down the stairs and… to Momma R’s trash cans?

“Dammit, Papa Finn.” The wolf wanted me to snarl, but I forced it out of my voice. He was trying to help. “Is there a way to calibrate it a little better?”

If it couldn’t tell the difference between the Princess of Hell and rotting garbage, we were screwed and the rod was useless.

“Hold on.” He had that tone, the one all kids know and recognize. Any whining, any impatience a child may experience was silenced by
that
tone.

He kicked the can over, spilling the garbage onto the ground, and used the toe of his shoe to nudge things aside. He scanned the empty cereal boxes, empty containers of baby food, a few dirty diapers and a scraped clean pie pan from dinner the previous night.

Yeah, all I’d eaten for dinner was one of Momma R’s blueberry pies.

The rod didn’t react to any of it. It remained dormant with every item until… until he got to an empty water bottle. The rod buzzed so hard I could feel it in my teeth, the end practically dancing around.

“Gimme.” I snatched it from Papa Finn and held it up to the light streaming through the kitchen door. I didn’t recognize the brand, but I figured it was something Momma R found on sale at the grocery store. Just because she was the most powerful witch in the Northern Hemisphere, that didn’t mean she had to waste money when the store brand was just as good.

“This is it? It’s tainted?” I stared at the few droplets still dancing around in the plastic bottle. “Something that got into it at the bottling plant?”

I was gonna raze that plant to the ground. Scorched Earth motherfuckers.

“No,” Papa Finn held out his hands, fingers hovering over the bottle, but not touching the plastic. “This isn’t normal bacteria.” His fingers wiggled as if they dipped into the waves of unseen energy. “It’s cloaked magic; black magic.” He narrowed his eyes. “The kind that only comes from dems.”

Demons. Hell damned motherfucking, fucking fuck demons. “How the ever loving
fuck
did dems get tainted water into Orlando?” I waved my arm, gesturing at the city in the distance. “How did no one sense this shit?” How didn’t I sense this shit? “I banished the assholes. If one of them came back to dick with my town…”

I would burn them to ashes. I would burn everything to ashes.

“I don’t know.” Papa Finn’s gaze remained locked on the empty bottle. “But I think I’ve sensed this energy before. Today.”

My mind went back to Sorsha and then Agatha. Others were infected and sick in the city. “Where?”

“Downtown when I was picking up the supplies I’d need. It wasn’t as focused.” He squinted at the empty container. “And without the dowsing rod, I didn’t get this clear of a reading. But I’m fairly sure this is the same magic. It feels the same.”

“Where, exactly?” Because I was ready to track down whoever was behind this.

“The cops were trying to arrest some human.” Papa Finn pulled his gaze from the bottle and focused on me. “He was… rabid. Feral. He attacked some random schmuck, and it took three cops to pull him off. He managed to break free and the last time I saw him, he was running off down the street. I didn’t think it was my business to chase him down and I was too focused on Bry.”

I didn’t blame Papa Finn for not getting involved. Standard operating procedure was for humans to deal with humans and I deal with everything else. Humans had their laws, and I had mine. Mine were a little more painful and occasionally permanent, but the job got done.

Papa Finn gave me the address, and I quirked a brow at him. “Hanging around near the Little Red House?”

He refused to look at me and I decided it was something we’d chat about later. The Little Red House wasn’t strange per se, an adorable bed and breakfast that clung to its historical charm. The owner, however… Well, in a past life, she wore a little red riding hood and it wasn’t a huntsman or a wolf that took out her grandma. Apparently, goody-goody Papa Finn liked him some naughty of the occasionally homicidal kind.

I had what I needed and I moved to stride around the house, already calling on my wolf to take a quick jog across town, but a familiar cry drew me back inside. I vaulted down the hallway, anxious to get to him. He was exactly where he’d been left, encircled by protective charms left by the elf.

He flailed, little arms jerking this way and that as if he resisted an invisible attacker.

“What’s that?” Jezze stepped around me, arm outstretched and finger pointing at one of those chubby arms.

I carefully knelt at his side, brushing his sweat dampened hair off his forehead while I reached for his left arm. And when I saw what stained his white skin on the underside of his forearm, I nearly brought down a raining storm of fire on the house.

It bubbled inside me, anxious to get free, to destroy and maim and hurt whoever did this to my son.

A rune, long forgotten and never recorded, appeared to be burned into his flesh.

Dark. Evil. Black magic.

And it came straight from hell. Its presence teased that side of me, the demon that wanted to come out and play with the pretty, pretty picture. It called to my hell-ish nature and…

Scorched Earth was sounding real fucking good. I just needed to kill something and I didn’t even have any dems on hand to tangle with. I rolled to my feet and carefully made my way outside Momma R’s house. Bry was peaceful again and I wasn’t about to raise the devil and wake him.

Because really, that’s what I was about to do.

I didn’t stop until I stood in the center of the driveway, away from the house but still within the low glow cast from the windows.

“Uncle Luc!” I yelled out to him. “Uncle Luc, what the On High did you do?” I didn’t think it was him toying with my kid or causing an unnatural illness to spread across town, but nothing demonic happened without him knowing about it. Or enjoying the show with a bag of popcorn.

Maybe it was more, what
didn’t
he do. Like, what
didn’t
he stop?

“Uncle Luc!” Still nothing. “
Lucifer Eugene Morningstar
!” I glared at the ground, wishing I could look through the dimensions and down into the bowels of Hell itself.

There was no answer. Of course, his middle name wasn’t Eugene, but it was one I’d given him centuries ago and it’d sorta stuck. It was also an easy way to tell him that I was really fucking pissed or I really needed him. Coincidentally, right now, it was both.

And bless it, Uncle Luc would respond when I called his name directly. He didn’t always show up, but I’d get a response. A small earthquake, grass dying, dead bird falling from the sky onto my head… something. If he was feeling really frisky, I got a psychic door slammed in my face, sending me stumbling back a step while… he caused an earthquake. Nothing funnier than me falling on my ass, apparently.

Except… nothing.

“Something is seriously wrong.” I frowned, staring at the rough gravel.

“Yeah.” Jezze eased closer. She and Uncle Luc have had an interesting relationship ever since I kicked all the dems out. She thinks he’s the greatest evil uncle ever, but hates him in solidarity. “So, now what?”

I looked to her, single brow raised. “Watch Bry a little longer?”

“What are you gonna do?”

I grinned. “Now, I get dirty.” If Uncle Luc wasn’t coming to me, I’d find my answers another way.

A quick jog back inside and then I dug through Momma R’s hall closet. I pushed past the winter coats—it’s Florida, but they were cute and on sale—and umbrellas—the more the merrier—and finally reached the pretty bag in the back. Pretty because it held many shiny things, not because the worn leather was actually nice looking.

A bag didn’t have to be flashy to carry flashy things.

I unzipped it and pulled my happy-fun-times supplies free. I slipped my sword scabbards into place, the heavy weight of my weapons settling across my shoulders. A belt went around my waist, a couple more blades tucked in there along with a gun in the holster. After the zombies last year, I decided some long-range weaponry would be nice.

A knife in my boot, a couple more in my jacket, and I was ready to go play in the mud.

Without another word, I strode from the house and back into the darkness, picking my way through the dense forest that surrounded Momma R’s. The river tinkled in the distance, fresh water that passed right through the witch’s lands. That sound brought other memories forward. Ones that pushed last year’s events back into the present.

Reminders of the last time someone thought it’d be fun to play with dark magic, to attack me, to hurt those I loved. They were dead now. The demon behind Bry’s illness would be, too.

The transition off of Momma R’s lands triggered the wards. The magic stroked over my skin, sizzling against my flesh. Now I was free to do what needed to be done.

I crossed the wide expanse of asphalt, the road completely empty, and headed into the far field. That barren stretch of street represented the outside edge of Orlando limits. I didn’t stop until I was dead center in the grassy, weed-consumed expanse—until I stood in the center of a familiar circle of burned ground.

It was my space, a piece of land I’d claimed long ago. Over the years, the Earth absorbed some of my innate magic and it made casting blessed easier.

I tugged a dagger from my belt, my own personal runes etched into the edges of the blade. I lifted my right arm, pumped my fist a few times to get the blood flowing and cut deep into my skin. Blood welled, painting my pale skin red, and I coated the spelled metal in the liquid.

My wound healed almost instantly—go werewolf blood!—but I’d managed enough to do the job.

I traced the edges of my circle, digging the knife into the ground and making sure it formed an unending barrier between me and the rest of the world.

Now, desperate times called for desperate measures, so I tugged on Hell a little, dipping into the first circle a tiny bit. My blade glowed, blood sparking a fiery red, and I knelt on the barren ground.

Then… I drew a happy face. Magic wielders had to get all fancy with their spell work. I didn’t. My veins had a direct connection to all that fire and brimstone down below.

I pricked my finger, just pushing a droplet from the tip and letting it fall on the nose of my little sketch.

Then the magic happened. Fire roared into the sky, smoke and flames shooting into the air and painting the clouds an unearthly red. Roars and screams poured from the small circle, the agonies of lost souls voicing their pain.

Lucifer—drama king.

“Enough,” I snapped. The howls immediately quieted and turned into annoyed grumbles. Uncle Luc said that if anyone managed to create a portal into Hell, they deserved a little fanfare.

I stuck my hand through the roiling circle, reaching in and groping around. “Come on,” I mumbled. “Someone’s gotta be hanging around.” My fingers collided with something fleshy and hot and I fisted whatever I’d found, tugging it free from the fires of Hell. “Ha! Got you!”

A quivering imp dangled from my fist, my hands wrapped around his chubby ankle. Ever since I’d adopted Bryony, I’d found babies adorable and an imp… was basically a red human toddler with wings, tail, and the cutest little horns on its forehead. Oh, and it was evil. There was that.

They were also the easiest to catch and generally didn’t give up too much of a fight. It was why when I needed something simple, like information, I called on these little guys.

I dropped the imp and it scrambled away, crouching on the ground while hissing and slashing at the air with its cutesy tiny claws. It was like a Chihuahua attempting to intimidate a Great Dane with its itty-bitty bark.

But even an imp could be a deadly creature if left unchecked. How many times had I had to banish an imp and clean up its mess when a teeny-bopper pop group decided they wanted to make a deal with the devil and ended up with an imp instead?

Right now, I wasn’t in the mood. I darted my hand out and grasped the tiny creature by the arm, yanking it close and shifting my grip to its horn. I pulled its head back and pressed my blade to the underside of his chin.

“I’m really not in the mood.” I pricked his skin and he whined, a hint of my blood seeping into the wound. “Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll send you back.”

I wouldn’t even take the time to torture him or anything.

The imp froze, his eyes following the length of my arm, up my body, and then finally focused on my face. It twitched a split second, eyes widening, and then he… snickered.

I frowned. “Do you
not
get what’s going on, little dem?”

“Oh, yes, mistress.” He sounded all humble and downtrodden, and yet I wasn’t buying it.