Infernal Magic: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Demons of Fire and Night Book 1) (11 page)

“Some of that was my natural charm, but some of it was magic. It’s taken me a long time to learn how to bend people’s wills, and I’ve honed the skill well. You were surprisingly resistant to my influence. I don’t encounter that often.”

“I’d had a very bad day.” She eyed him warily. “You can mind-control me?”

“It’s not something I use unless I must. In any case, you don’t have that skill, so you’ll have to rely on your charms.” A smile played over his lips.

“And my razor-sharp wit.”

“Right. Get on with it.”

She closed her eyes, trying to remember how Kester had approached her in her kitchen. His intense eyes had slid all over her body, like he was memorizing each one of her curves. He’d somehow managed to project strength and temptation at the same time. Gazing at him, she stepped closer, letting her eyes trail over his strong arms, and down the front of his shirt for a moment. Just inches from him, she stared up at him, eyes wide and innocent.

He leaned in, whispering in her ear. “Closer.”

She pressed forward, relishing the heat that radiated from his body, and his delicious scent—cedar and fresh earth. It wasn’t hard to feign attraction.

She stared into his eyes. “If you sign now, you’ll get everything you ever wanted. Everything you could desire for the rest of your life.” She had no idea what possessed her, but she traced her finger down the front of his chest, feeling the hard body underneath.

His breathing sped up, and he grabbed her hand, his fingers burning. “That’s good. But you don’t need to touch him. Not if you don’t want to. You only need to lure him in.”

Her body grew hotter, and she could feel her cheeks flushing. “I guess I’ve got the silk thing covered.”

“Good. Now I want to see how you can use your fire.” He stepped away, picking up his sword. This time when he faced her, his smile had turned predatory; hellfire flashed in his eyes. Ursula’s stomach lurched.

His blade whipped at her gut in a blur of metal, but she dove out of reach. “Use your fire,” he said, his voice husky.

Her sword clashed against his, and her heartbeat raced. He was going to disembowel her. “I don’t know how.”

His sword flashed again and she was only just able to deflect it above her head. The sound of clashing steel rang in her ears.

“Use your fire,” he commanded, louder this time, eyes burning with hellfire.

She tried to envision flames blazing through her body. “I’m trying.” She had to leap into the air to avoid losing her legs as his sword passed clean under her.

“Try harder.” He struck at her, and she parried. Immediately he struck again. She deflected, gasping for breath. Sweat broke out on her brow. His attacks grew faster, driving her across the room. She had to call up the flames, but she could hardly focus her attention with Kester’s sword threatening to rip her to shreds.

She stepped back, banging against the wall. Retreating was no longer an option. Kester struck again, locking his sword with hers, and slowly pushed his blade closer and closer to her face. His breath was warm against her cheek, fueled by Emerazel’s flames.

Her arms burned with exhaustion. She hadn’t been training, and her muscles weren’t ready for this. Kester’s blade pushed closer, grazing her cheek.
He’s going to cut my face off.
As panic flooded her, an image burst into her mind: a blood-soaked floor, a crumpled body, twitching fingertips. What
was
that? She didn’t recognize the images, but a hollow opened in her chest all the same, a void so deep and cavernous it could never be filled. Her heart ached.

Kester’s eyes were incandescent, the heat from his body overwhelming. He was going to kill her. She was certain of it. “Get away from me.” Fire kindled in her core, filling the void with a burning sensation. Almost instantly, it turned violently hot, like a dying star. Strength burned through her nerve endings.
I am hellfire, and I will bathe the world in flames.

Fire blasted out of her body, knocking Kester away.

He dropped his sword, holding out his hands. “Get it under control.”

Glorious flames poured from her body in waves. She was no longer standing in the armory. She was in the center of a volcanic maelstrom, blessed with the power of a god.

Distantly she heard a hissing noise. Within moments, the inferno was gone, replaced by snow, and she coughed. But this snow wasn’t cold; it was suffocating. She couldn’t breathe. She fell to her knees, gasping.

Kester stood above her. “Use Emerazel’s fire for strength. Don’t burn down your apartment.”

“Something snapped in me when you held that blade to my cheek.” Whatever spell Kester had used stung like hell, and it tasted awful. The room smelled of burnt straw, and the tatami mats lay scorched. As she turned toward the wall-length mirror, she caught a glimpse of herself covered in white powder.

“I was trying to teach you to use your power. It doesn’t burn me, but it will be burn the shadow demons.”

“It looked like you were about to cut my face off.” She rose, shaking off the powder.

“Why would I do that?”

She cocked a hip.
I don’t know. Why did you leave a man to bleed out across from my bedroom?
“Maybe you wanted to wear it on your next mission because of my considerable allure.”

“I’m pretty enough as it is. And I was trying to teach you how to use your power to fight. Remember, Zornhau’s oil won’t let me hurt you.” He raised his sword, wrapping his fingers around the razor sharp blade. With a grunt of pain, he yanked the sword from his fist. Blood poured from his fingers, and Ursula gasped. But when he opened his hand, the wound had already healed. “It still hurts, but you can’t seriously injure yourself. But if you don’t learn to channel the hellfire, you’ll find yourself trapped in a burning building.”

“I think I need a lot of practice.” She wiped the white foam off her cheeks. “What kind of spell did you cast on me?”

“Not a spell,” he nodded at a fire extinguisher.

“Ugh. I’m going to make use of that shower.” She turned to walk out of the room.

“Ursula. You did well, at least until you exploded. Use that charm on Hugo tonight, and everything will be fine. But if anything happens—if you need me, just use that mobile I gave you.”

“I thought Emerazel wasn’t letting you help me.”

“I can help you. I just can’t go with you.”

“That is good to know.” She flashed him a tentative smile.

Even with her aching muscles, as she strode up the stairs to the bathroom, she felt a little better than she had that morning.

U
rsula leaned
against the balcony’s railing and looked down into the crowd, ten minutes before the start of Act One. She wore a long gown, the slate-grey color of a winter sea, which slid silkily against her bare legs. She’d accessorized with a necklace of black pearls, and finished off the ensemble with a spray of lavender perfume. The scent should have encouraged a sense of calm, but it did nothing for her nerves right now.

She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. Just before she’d left for the opera, Kester had stopped by her apartment again—knocking this time—and had cast a long, approving glance over her outfit, that carnal look sparking in his eyes again.
If only he weren’t a psychotic headsman with boundary issues, he’d be my kind of guy.

She opened her eyes, scanning the lobby. From her perch on the upper level, she had a view of the lower floor and the marble stairs, curving below like the inside of a sea shell. Her hand rested lightly on the wyrm-skin purse, Emerazel’s pen and a pact tucked safely inside, along with her white stone and opera glasses.
Not to mention the small dagger
. Silk and steel were her weapons, just as Kester had said.

In theory, she had everything she needed—except Hugo.
And where the hell is Zee?
She’d arrived early with the hope that she might extract Hugo’s signature before the opera began, but as the minutes ticked by that became less likely. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply, pushing out all thoughts of hellfire and shadow demons. Tonight, she needed to focus, or she’d have to face Emerazel and submit to those horrific flames again. The thought curdled her stomach. Maybe someday she’d figure a way out of this—maybe even a way to save Hugo—but right now, she had more immediate problems. Like avoiding the wrath of a bloodthirsty goddess.

Someone brushed her elbow and she moved to make room.

“Thanks miss,” said a melodious voice.

She glanced at her neighbor, and found herself staring into the face of a gorgeous, man, immaculately dressed in a black tuxedo. Golden skin and pale grey eyes contrasted with his dark hair, and he flashed her an inviting smile. This was the kind of gorgeous man she should be lusting after—a normal, human man who wouldn’t attack her with swords and tell her friends she’d overdosed on heroin.

The man adjusted his cufflinks, and the way his eyes raked over her body made her want to blush. “My name is Abe. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Ursula,” she said, trying to keep her eye on the lobby.

“Is this your first time at the opera?”

With a great deal of effort, she pulled her gaze away from his beautiful face. She wasn’t here to socialize, and she needed to focus on her target. “First time. Yes.” She stared at the lobby, desperate for a sign of the pop star.

“You seem a little overwhelmed.”

Act normal, Ursula.
“Just excited, and a bit preoccupied by work.”
Condemning people to hell isn’t a walk in the park, you know.
Her hands tightened around the railing.

He kept his gaze fixed on her. “Well, I think you’ll find the opera is the perfect place to set aside life’s anxieties and experience something extraordinary.”

“That’s what I’m hoping for.” If only she could set aside her anxieties—her overwhelming fear of Emerazel’s flames, the gnawing guilt at her new role. And what
were
those images she’d seen when she thought Kester was going to slaughter her—the crumpled body on the floor, drenched in blood? She shuddered.

Whatever they were, this wasn’t the time to delve into it.
Focus, Ursula.

The crowd below quieted, all turning to look at the entrance. Ursula’s heart skipped a beat as she watched the crowd part. Hugo and Virginie stepped into the lobby, flanked by three security guards. Ursula’s breath caught. This was her moment to save her own life.

“Ah,” said the man by her side, tapping his fingers on the railing. “A celebrity has joined us.” The lights above flickered, and the lobby quieted. He turned to her. “I think that’s our cue. I do hope you enjoy the show.”

But as she thought of what she needed to do tonight, her blood roared in her ears. She’d come to condemn a man to hell.

* * *

U
rsula hurried
through a warren of red carpeted hallways before finding her seat. Enormous chandeliers hung from the gold-leaf ceiling, glimmering like icy fireworks.

Although the opera was sold out, Kester had managed to buy an entire set of box seats on the second level. Since Zee hadn’t bothered to show, Ursula had it entirely to herself. She plopped into a seat in the front row.

From here, she had an expansive view of the opera hall. Beneath her, patrons in suits and gowns filled rows of red velvet seats. Ushers directed a few stragglers down the aisles. Next to the stage the orchestra readied itself with trills, scales, and arpeggios.

Ursula dug around in her purse and found the set of opera glasses. The miniature brass binoculars would give her a view of Hugo, and she’d be able to intercept him after the first act. With Zee’s help to distract Virginie, Ursula could blink her eyes and lure him into signing.

She took a deep breath, trying to relax.
But where the hell is he sitting? And where is Zee?
She lifted the binoculars to her eyes, scanning the room, but only found row after row of stuffy older couples.

As the chandeliers began to dim, the hall fell silent. In thirty seconds, the entire room would be dark.
Bollocks.
Everyone had stared at Hugo when he’d arrived, but now he’d gone invisible.

She bit her lip. Perhaps they’d still be staring at him.

She glanced at the box to her left. A woman in her fifties, crammed into a red corseted dress, focused her binoculars on an upper balcony.

Ursula followed her gaze. Sure enough, there was Hugo, his cheeks slightly paler than they’d been when she first met him. Maybe he knew what waited for him—that death had come for him at the opera tonight, scented with lavender and dressed in a gown of grey silk.

She loosed a long breath. She’d found her target. Now she just needed to wait for the first act to end, and then she’d sidle up to him and try her whole
silk
routine, all verbal caresses and whispers of eternal happiness.

Only, there weren’t many private places for a tête-à-tête in this place. Was she going to have to follow him into the loo again? When Kester had told her she would need to “keep a low profile, and stay in the shadows,” she hadn’t realized that meant working next to urinals.

The hall was completely dark until, after a few moments, a spotlight beamed onto the orchestra, illuminating a grey-haired conductor. He bowed, and the audience roared with applause. Then, turning to face the orchestra, he raised his hands. With a flick of his wrist, the musicians were off.

As the first notes sounded through the hall, an enormous gold curtain lifted to reveal the set. She’d been expecting something opulent, but saw instead a stage set with a shabby room—a hovel, as Kester would call it.

But the music itself was as lush as the theater, and the violins and trumpets washing over Ursula in a glorious wave. As the music swelled, she leaned forward in her seat. A man with dark hair walked to the center of the stage and began to sing in a rich baritone, full of passion. Another man strode onto the stage, joining him in a clear tenor voice.
If only I knew what they were singing about.

By their costumes, she could tell the characters were poor, but the way they sang to each other suggested warmth between them. As the music flowed around her, she thought of Katie, and how they’d spent their weekends exploring London’s forgotten canals, too broke to do anything else. She’d been happy enough then, right? Perhaps, in her isolation, she was romanticizing, but at least she hadn’t had a bounty on her head and a goddess of hellfire who wanted to torture her to death. And, moreover, at least she’d had Katie. Right now, her loneliness threatened to swallow her whole.

On the stage, the tenor was joined by a young woman, wrapped in a woolen shawl and rubbing her arms as he serenaded her.
Amore.
That was a word she recognized: love. The tenor’s emotional outpouring held no artifice, no silk or steel—he simply bared his soul. The music built, and Ursula nearly forgot to breathe, her chest aching.

As the aria reached its climax, she couldn’t help but imagine someone looking at her the way the tenor looked at his beloved. For just a second, she closed her eyes, and an image rose from the back of her mind—a painfully beautiful man with star-flecked eyes, deep and dark as the night sky.

With a jolt, she realized exactly who she was picturing—the injured demon who lay asleep in her apartment.

What the hell?