Raw Power: An Urban Fantasy Novel (Demon-Hearted Book 1) (13 page)

The nursery was lit up like the Fourth of July. Rather than the ear-shattering pop of fireworks, though, the room was filled with the witch's gasping screams.

She was exploding into flame, with fire surging from her eyes and mouth. She was a jack-o-lantern full of gasoline, a pincushion full of lit sparklers. Before I knew it, she was completely spent, her body falling away into ashes, which were carried out the open window by a cool breeze.

Just like that, the witch was no more.

Incredulous, I held the kid close. He hadn't stirred, despite all the screaming. He hadn't even opened his eyes. I peered down at him, wondering if he wasn't deaf, and then slowly sauntered towards the window, stamping on the remnants of the witch's cloak that still glowed with fresh embers.

A few other dark shapes, just like the one I'd seen before, darted across the lawn and down the street, disappearing into the distance.

The coven was fleeing. They'd fallen into a trap and knew better than to risk sacrificing more than one of their members.

With the witches gone, the SUV came into focus once more, the invisibility spell dropping away like a veil. Kubo stepped out, shouting to me from the street. “OK, now put the kid back. We're going after them.”

I glanced around the nursery. The air reeked of burnt human flesh. There was an immense, oily stain on the floor where the witch had been immolated. Somehow, I felt guilty putting the kid back to bed, but knew the parents would barge in at any moment. Why they hadn't come when the witch was screaming her guts out I couldn't say.

Very carefully, so as not to wake him, I set the child in his crib and draped a blanket over him, which he promptly kicked off. Then, like something out of a fairy tale, I slipped out of the window and bounded down onto the lawn below, falling into a jog as I approached the SUV.

Kubo threw open the door for me, and I stumbled in. He didn't even wait for me to get my seatbelt on before peeling off at great speed. “Change of plans. We're leaving the kid behind, following the rats to their nest. We beat them to the punch and they're fleeing now. While Isabella had us tucked out of sight I turned a little trick of my own and got a trace on one of them.” He narrowed his gaze and then cracked a window to sniff the air. Then, running a stop sign and screaming out of the neighborhood, he held out his hand, one hooked finger extended, and made a movement like he was tugging an invisible piece of string.

“It's just as well,” I replied, winded. “That kid's parents were going to storm in any minute, what with all of that ruckus.”

“No,” said Isabella simply.

I looked back at her, cocking my head to the side. “Yeah, they definitely heard. That witch screamed bloody murder on her way out. By the way,” I said, turning to Joe, “How the hell did you do that?”

He simply grinned, running a hand through his greasy mop and glancing out the window cooly. “Self-combustion happens to be my specialty.”

“No,” repeated Isabella incessantly, leaning forward. “The parents could not hear what happened. Isabella cast a spell that dampened the sound coming from that room.” She started fussing with her hands and fingers again, as though practicing the exact movements she'd made in casting it. “Isabella stuffed their ears with psychic cotton.”

 
Psychic cotton
. I liked the sound of that, and laughed aloud. “Very nice.”

Patting his gun, Kubo grinned. “They're slowing down. We're getting close to the spot. Get ready to knock on Mater Agatha's front door, everyone.”

EIGHTEEN

The scenery was rapidly changing as day gave way to night. I recognized this part of town, on the outskirts of downtown Detroit, as an old warehouse district. It wasn't used as such these days, with most businesses staying the hell out of an area so bleak and rundown. Maybe in the 70's and 80's the grim, tarnished warehouses that lined these narrow streets had been frequented by honest types. The only businessmen that haunted this part of town anymore were probably the ones who cooked meth.

Kubo kept tugging on his invisible thread, like he was reeling in a line. Sometimes he'd relax, let go completely, as if he were giving some far-off fish extra line to play with. It was all a very sensitive process, and when he was reeling in to get a better feel for the witch's current position, he was absolutely silent. A bit of sweat formed across his brow and his face reddened. This was evidently a taxing ability, one that required immense focus. That he could continue driving while practicing his spell craft, albeit recklessly, was a marvel.

We were deep into the knot of old warehouses, our surroundings cut from view by towering, empty buildings that had once been used by the auto industry. Emblems for old car makers could still be seen on some of them.

Kubo dropped his line and then hit the brakes, snapping his fingers and pointing back to Isabella without looking at her. “Do it now.”

Twitching, Isabella undid her seatbelt and started patting the tips of her fingers together. Breathy whispers accompanied this display. Sitting beside her, Joe leaned away, like he didn't want to get too close to whatever it was she was doing.

Then, she clapped her hands. “It's done.”

“What is it?” I asked. Isabella's spells were kind of subtle. She wasn't lighting people on fire, so I didn't really know what to look for. “What did she do this time?”

“She's merely dampened the sounds of our approach. Any sound we make as we walk in will be far quieter. It should help us get the jump on them. Ready?” He parked and exited the car quickly, walking off towards one warehouse in particular, a white one whose only noticeable markings were a series of faded numbers on the uppermost wall, beside the logo for General Motors. “Get your gun ready,” he added, looking to me as I stepped out.

Oops. Freezing in place, I shot him a worried look and then tried to play it off as no big deal. “Actually, I forgot my gun. It's at home. But, you know, it's not like I need it, right? We can handle these witches without it.”

Kubo's jaw tensed visibly. His eyes hit me like daggers, and I have to say I felt bad for disappointing him on my first mission. I hadn't intended to leave the gun behind. It just wasn't something I was used to carrying.

“S-sorry,” I said.

Joe and Isabella passed me by, joining Kubo. Without another word, the chief stormed forward, gun drawn, and motioned to the rest of us to keep our eyes open.

I followed them.

 
The ground here was mostly concrete, except that large cracks had formed over the course of countless seasons and huge weeds had snuck into them. The
swish-swish
we made as we walked through them seemed mighty loud, despite Isabella's spell.

As we marched along, walking the narrow strips between different warehouses, I felt frustrated. This was my first time on the job, my first real mission, but I didn't know a damn thing. I didn't know how all of this magic worked, but I had people on my team employing it all over the place as though it were an obvious, everyday occurrence. We were trailing dangerous witches and I hardly knew a thing about them, either. Wouldn't it have made more sense for me to take a written test, first? Couldn't I have had a few classroom hours; have someone explain to me the particulars of this huge new world I now worked in? A little more background might've been nice. Useful, even. I hated being the rookie on the team, and having to ask “Whoa, what's that about!” every time something even remotely impressive happened was getting old.

“I can feel them nearby,” said Kubo, reaching into the air with his free hand and giving his fingers a slight twitch. If I focused real hard, I could almost make out a tiny, gossamer thread tied around his pointer finger. He was testing something, judging distance with his tracing spell. When he was sure, he nodded and continued trudging forward, turning yet another shaded corner and approaching the front of the warehouse with the GM logo on it.

Before he had a chance to utter his next set of orders or further test his trace, Kubo's attention was drawn to the open door of the warehouse. His eyes and gun were aligned in tandem as if through magnetism.

It was a kid, a boy of eight or nine years, with brown hair and big, blue eyes that reflected the bright moon. He peered out at us innocently, touching the edge of the door and cowering a little.

But Kubo didn't lower his gun. Closing one eye, he took aim and squeezed the trigger.

My frantic cry of “What are you doing?” was drowned out by a gunshot. Isabella traced a shape on her palm with a single finger, and the report of the gun proved surprisingly quiet as a result.

The bullet struck the kid square between the eyes, but no fear or pain entered his expression. He hit the ground, twitching for a moment.

And then his body erupted into a mess of cockroaches.

 
Oh, yeah
, I thought, feeling a touch of relief.
That was a witch's familiar
. It was just like the kid who'd shoved me at the witch's sabbath that first night, a swarm of cockroaches dressed up in a human-shaped illusion. The bugs quickly scattered, and I looked to Kubo, who grimaced.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Get ready, because those little things are about to blow our cover. There may be other familiars around, so keep your wits about you.”

Taking in a deep breath, I took a step forward, hoping to follow Kubo into the warehouse. Joe and Isabella were half-way through the door when I realized I couldn't move my right foot.

I looked down at it, mystified.

“What's the matter?” asked Kubo in hushed annoyance.

I shook my head. “I... I dunno...” It was like my foot had been fixed to the ground by a giant wad of chewed bubblegum. I strained to move it, but it was cemented in place, held fast by something.

 
A bit of shadow, incongruously dark, bubbled out from beneath the sole of my Chuck Taylor.
An enchantment?
I thought.

There wasn't enough time for me to wonder.

The shadow beneath my foot morphed quickly, becoming a large, black spike that tore through the sole of my foot and erupted out the top. I yelped, losing my balance and almost falling over. The black spike continued to rise after running my foot through, till it was almost to waist-height.

My mouth went dry and pain tore up through my leg. The others looked on in shock as I thrashed, effectively staked to the ground by this shadowy spike.

“Oh, God...” muttered Kubo, raising his gun. “You tripped one of their circles or something.”

The witches had evidently booby-trapped their hideout with more than just roach-infested meat puppets. What a surprise.

 
Not.

All around me, small, circular shadows danced across the ground. Then, with no warning, they exploded into long, searching spikes, which began to pierce my body from every direction. The ground beneath my feet was entirely black, the cement and grass eclipsed by the dark trap.

Like rocks rising from the ground in a severe earthquake, the jagged things pierced my legs, my abdomen, my chest and neck.

I was skewered all over, the shadow-borne spikes sailing through my body with ease.

A torrent of blood rushed from my mouth as the others staggered a few paces back. They looked on in horror as my vitals were pierced, one by one, like chicken shish kebabs.

 
No... damn it, no... I don't want to die here...
I wanted to scream, but my neck had been routed by a jet black spike, taking my voice box along with it. The sounds of me gargling with my own blood were the best I could muster. I wondered if Isabella's spell was dampening
those
sounds, too, or if the witches who'd done this to me were secretly getting off to them in the distance.

It was lights out. I was thankful, at least, that the end came quickly. I loosed a final sigh and slumped, embracing cold oblivion.

NINETEEN

And then I opened my eyes.

I looked like something straight out of Hellraiser, like a hunk of meat suspended on far too many butcher's hooks, but I was alive. The demon in me wasn't having it, was somehow sustaining my bodily tissues even as lengths of razor-sharp shadow were currently embedded in them. My body had been raised a few feet off of the ground by the surging spikes and I'd lost a good deal of blood. But, as it had done a few times before, the demon compartmentalized me, ushered me to the safety of the backseat, and took control.

I started to laugh.

I don't know how that magnificent bastard pulled it off without a voice box, but roars of deep laughter spilled from my bloody lips and my bloodshot eyes were thrust open wide, surveying the scene. I looked down at my body, looked at all of the different points where it'd been savagely pierced, and evidently shrugged it off. “Well done, well done. A fine enchantment, this,” I said, still chuckling.

The rest of the team didn't seem to know what to do with themselves. Joe had his back up to the side of the warehouse and was crossing himself repeatedly, looking at me as though I were something alien, something not to be trusted. Isabella's eyes were wider than usual, and her twitchiness had ceased. She stood beside Joe, still as a statue, perhaps hoping that I wouldn't notice her. Even Kubo, hardass that he was, had gone pale, watching me laugh and twitch from amidst the nest of spikes.

“I'd like for the whores who did this to present themselves!” I declared, wheeling my head around at an unnatural angle and glaring at the open doorway of the warehouse where a few stray cockroaches still scurried. “Come and take a bow!”

It's an incredible thing, to go on living when you should be dead. I'd been speared more than a dozen times, but the demon in me couldn't concern himself with that, the anger far eclipsing any fear I'd had of dying.

Wiping at his brow, Kubo pulled a strip of white paper out of his pocket. It was marked in symbols, some kind of foreign writing. “Keep your eyes open,” he warned, his voice a low grumble. “We've just walked into an ambush.” The chief dropped the paper on the ground. Instantly there was a subtle rumbling, which only subsided as the deadly spikes were withdrawn.