Darkness Unbound (10 page)

She watched slack-jawed as Khyan dislodged the candelabra from his chest. Pain and fury etched themselves into his features. With super speed, he jumped onto a pew and then in a pro-wrestler move jumped the daemon from above, lodging his small blade into the creature’s left eye. The beast howled and gut swiped Khyan with a force that launched him into a high-flying arc head first into a wooden column.
One, two, three…
Khyan was down. She worried he’d die from the oozing chest wounds. Her gut screamed at her to get to him, but Javen’s instruction echoed inside her brain.

Javen found his legs during the encounter, but stumbled. She fisted Khyan’s blade in her right palm, hoping Javen would end this in the next thirty seconds. If not, then it was her turn. How the hell did she kill this thing?

Her heart thudded as she mentally cheered
Go, Javen
. She watched what would’ve been a spectacular armrest-gripping movie fight, which ended in Javen doing a header into the wall. He didn’t pop up this time.

No sign of Khyan.
Great.

Her turn. What exactly was she supposed to do? It bled, but could it die from bleeding?

The line Kane reserved for moments when they faced guaranteed hurt on an op slid through her brain:
Sometimes when you fight dragons, you have to step into the fire.

Into the fire I go,
she thought.

While the daemon had its back to her, stalking Javen and probably intent on taking him out of this life, she sprinted up the aisle. Adrenaline ruled. She swiped at the creature’s thick neck in a perfect cut that had its jugular spewing red. Score!

But it didn’t fall. Didn’t weaken. The thing laughed. She dodged as it swiped for her, its blood spraying her face. One of its nails cut deeply up her forearm.
Holy crap, that hurt
.

“Javen? What do I do?” she yelled. “Khyan!”

Nothing. Both probably out cold. No one had granted her a cell phone. So, she couldn’t call Ashor for an emergency one-oh-one on how to kill vicious supernatural freaks. She backed away. It pursued, flashing her a pointy-tooth smile and spewing nonsense. It halted and shuddered, obviously getting a woody from her terror.
Disgusting.

Instinct demanded she release the energy revving in her chest to open the doorway. As it shot from her fingertips, the portal opened. She shouldn’t do this, but she needed instruction. No way would she use the portal as an escape. She wasn’t getting that close to Zannis. A peripheral scan to her left located the slow-opening doorway.
Come on, hurry up.

Only darkness reflected from the portal. She thought,
Where are you, Zannis?

She skirted around three pews and shot down the fourth for the other side of the church. With a glance back at the portal, there Zannis stood. Huge and angry. Relief washed over her.
Relief? He wants you dead, not to mention the bastard lied to you, if he’s married.
Semantics. She needed help. Now.

She wouldn’t allow him to cross. If she did, her life would be in double jeopardy. But maybe he’d lend a little assist. He was supposedly an ex-magi. He had to know what to do.

She thought to him rapidly,
Zannis, what’s that thing? How do I kill it? I know my death is a priority for you, but I’m hoping you’d rather do it yourself. So, if you don’t want it to murder me right here, I need info right now. Oh, shit.

She dodged the creature’s raptor-sharp nails and planted her knife into its chest. Maybe that’d do it. Seemed close to its heart, if it had one. The fiend growled and sent her sailing into the wall with a sideswipe.

Zannis roared, but she didn’t know if he vocalized in her head or out loud. Her ears rang from the wall impact. Her chest tried to remember how to move air.

The daemon leered. The fucker was taking his time. She was easy prey.

“Let me through,” Zannis ordered.

No. The other magi implied you were deranged and dangerous in this world. I just need a little direction on what to do.

“Let me through. The daemon plans to finish you. You are not trained for this.”

She turned his way. “You wanted me to die? Fine. Maybe you can grab some popcorn and enjoy your front row seat.”

Move. Now. Go toward that magus near the front.

Astrid ignored her pain and skirted toward Javen.
Now what?

You need a black blade. The magus’s scimitar. You’ve got to cut off the daemon’s head and then stab its heart.

I already tried that. Didn’t work.

Must be done with the scimitar. Will not be easy. Damn it, Astrid, you’ve got no idea what you face. Let. Me. Through!
He jumped at the portal, only to be thrown backwards into the darkness. He pounded on the invisible wall with his fists. And released a stream of curses.

She pried Javen’s super-glued fingers off his sword. Too bad fencing wasn’t a skill at which she excelled during CIA training. His sword weighed too much for her to easily swing. She’d be lucky to get it in motion. With both hands wrapped around the blade’s wide handle she waited for the daemon to get closer. But the creature halted as if unsure of her plan.
Smart bastard.

After a few seconds it shrugged and propelled itself in her direction. She focused on its neck, thanking the gods that, for once, her height gave her an advantage. With a decisive swing she hit its neck.

But it wasn’t the smooth slice she’d envisioned. The blade got stuck at the midpoint, like she’d tried to hack a log in half with a dull axe. The daemon’s arm knocked her back. It spun, tugging on the lodged blade that must burn, since it howled whenever it touched the weapon. She popped up and grabbed the handle during its next circular rotation. With a yank the sword dislodged, but the daemon stumbled forward, toward her. Its fist hit her chest, tossing her to the ground. The blade skidded a few feet away.

It came for her, head flapping to the side. A human would’ve been toast with the damage she inflicted, but apparently not supernatural freaks. She scooted backwards while it charged her with its head held to its body by a scant few muscle fibers and arms flailing wildly.

She jumped up, grabbing the sword on her way.

Javen moaned from behind her. Now or never. She ran at it with sword toward its chest. The collision knocked her backwards to the ground. As her head ricocheted off the wood floor she heard Zannis’s war-like howl in her heard. Adrenaline pushed her to disregard the spinning inside her head to roll away from the daemon’s path.

She met Zannis’s rage-filled gaze for a second, wondering if he was pissed that this daemon was about to steal her death from him.

Please, Astrid. Let me through!
Zannis demanded.

The daemon grabbed her ankle and twisted. She screamed. And felt the portal snap shut.

Javen rose above her and yanked his blade free of the daemon’s chest with a wet suck. He expertly finished severing the head from the neck. The daemon disappeared in a green mist.

“Is it gone?” she asked, massaging her rapidly swelling ankle.

“Yes,” Javen said coolly. “Where’s Khyan?”

She pointed toward the column beneath which he remained unconscious.

“I have no idea why Dakar puts up with him. I’m not working with him again, if he continues to do this whacked shit. He says he’s bored with it all, but obviously his style didn’t work out so well for him this time. By the way, good job.”

Astrid pushed to a sit and then struggled to stand. She put weight on her ankle. It stung, but supported weight. Not broken. The pain she’d get over soon enough.

She gimped toward Javen. “You give me no instruction on how to kill that thing. Then you get yourself beat to crap, and all you’ve got is an attagirl? Well, fuck you.” She shuffled over to Khyan to assess his damage.

Khyan had an ugly wound that cut deep into his belly. She announced, “He can’t survive that.”

Javen knelt next to Khyan and hefted the warrior onto his shoulder. He grunted. “He’ll be fine, once we get him to Dr. Kira.”

“She’s at least sixteen hours away.”

“None of us get out of this life that easy. If he dies, then lucky him.”

An uncomfortable silence rested between them in the minivan as they drove back to the airport. Khyan remained unconscious in the back. They’d wrapped the oozing lacerations, and she worried he might slowly bleed out or go into shock. Javen remained unconcerned.

Javen cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I should’ve at least given you an overview of this business. Even so, you seemed to have figured out things better than most of us the first time around. Was it just instinct?”

“Something like that. I assume that thing was a daemon, but what exactly is it?”

“It used to be a human. It’s the undead shadow of a person that messed with dark magik when alive. Once killed they’re barred from both heaven and hell. Instead, they’re stuck in a purgatory zone called the Middle Realm.”

A few days ago she would’ve laughed at the lunacy of that explanation. Now, she believed. “How did it get back here?”

“Dark magik dabblers summon them.”

“Why bring it back?”

“That’s a great question. It’s not like daemons can be controlled, especially the European ones which are hands down the worst. I think whoever summons does it for fun or because they’re ignorant. Most of the time, when one is summoned it kills whoever brought it back. A daemon’s sole focus is to obliterate life. It gets a high when it hurts and kills people. So, of course, that’s where we come in. We’re the policemen of daemons. We send them back to their purgatory. Our primary problem daemon is possessing a human body and yet remains sane. We don’t know how he suppresses the daemon killing drive. Djoser kills humans, don’t get me wrong. Just not in an all-out noticeable killing spree like that thing we just sent back would’ve done. To summon one forth requires a death ritual.”

“A human dies to bring one of those disgusting creatures here? I gather a daemon needs to be decapitated and chest stabbed with one of your special blades to take that trip back to purgatory?”

“Yes. We will teach you how to forge your own blade. Takes a long time to get one right.”

So her job entailed fighting monsters and making a sword? The juxtaposition of this antiquated war in the modern world made little sense to her. “Where do you guys get the money to flit around the world and keep you under the radar?”

Javen screeched the van to a halt a few inches past a stop sign. A delivery truck blared its horn and sped past. “One magus was a precog. He got killed recently. But he gave us some investment hints.”

“That’s not cheating?”

“There’s got to be some compensation for dealing with those things.”

“Yeah, this sucks.”

“You can say that again.” Javen massaged the tattoo on his throat.

“One of them grab your throat to cause that?”

“Djoser. Fucker tried to separate my head from my body about a century ago.” He muttered under his breath.

“This guy sounds like a real gem.”

Javen blew out a long exhale. “He’s smart, well funded, and now well connected with the U.S. government. We’ve tried to send him back a couple of times, and failed. Do you have any specific questions?”

“I’m not going to turn into a vampire with weird blood cravings or start howling at the moon like a werewolf or something, am I?”

“I bloody well hope not, unless you were granted an odd extra ability. Might be funny to watch you turn into a dog.” His lips twitched upwards into a rare smile.

She asked, “What sort of weirdness should I expect?”

“There’s the
kem-seki
. It’s this darkness that will slowly press on your brain. It’s the side effect of being so close to the evil radiating off daemons. It slowly consumes your soul.”

“I heard about that. Any cure?”

“Find your
senariai
. Well, I don’t know exactly what we’d call yours since that usually denotes a woman. Each of us is matched to one unique soul for all eternity—our other half. That person holds the secret to controlling the
kem-seki.
If you want to know how it works with your guy when you find him, then you should speak with one of the guys that has his woman.”

“Like Shay to Dakar?”

“Yeah,” he grumbled as if jealous.

She put a hand on his forearm. “I’m sure your girl is out there somewhere.”

“She is.”

“Said like someone who already knows of her.” And has a bad past. Like her. “Why did you choose to be my mentor?”

His gaze slid to hers for a brief second. “I recognized that grind between grief and hate in your brain.”

“You were mucking about in there? I’d appreciate if you’d stay out.”

Javen nodded, but didn’t promise to stay out of her head.

Chapter Seven

“I detect a five-daemon blitz. California, Charleston, somewhere in Texas, and two in Canada,” Ashor announced when they were minutes from landing on the private New Orleans runway.

Five?
Astrid thought, shaking off the exhaustion hazing her mind. She never slept well on planes. The guys had shifted restlessly during the turbulent fourteen-hour flight from Scotland. Khyan remained unconscious, wrapped in a blanket and hooked up to an IV fluid line. But he breathed.

“You think some Hashishin went on a summoning spree?” Nate asked.

Ashor’s head shook a left to right
no-clue
. “Most of our stuff has been relocated already to Mexico. Scott is at the new place with Kane setting up security, but says they need a day before we go. We’ve got two planes.” He scanned everyone. “Cy, you’re staying. Girls stay here. That includes you, Astrid. Kira can do a quick-heal on us and then we’re gone. One of us…V, you stay.”

V frowned. “
Nyet,
I be fine. Give me few minutes for Kira to do her thing. Then my arm will be fine. I’ll be good.”

“I need someone here,” Ashor ordered. “I need you and Astrid on protection.”

V nodded. “Gotcha.”

A half hour later and a few minutes after both planes took off, Kira said, “Your turn, Astrid.” She waved her into the medical room. Most of the equipment was gone, including all furniture other than a rolling stool, one chair, and cleanup equipment in a bucket next to an overflowing trashcan. The smell of recently cleaned blood lingered.