I felt the blood drain from my face. “That’s bad enough.”
He nodded. “I agree, yes. But I have also learned that there is a rival coven which is trying to usurp the Supreme High Witch in Angel City so it can take over this coven and acquire the power she is striving to gain.”
I cocked my head at him in question. “Why go through the trouble to unseat her? Why not just work with the demons themselves?”
“Because they aren’t powerful enough and don’t have the right connections. They need her to complete the power grab and then they will reveal her to the PC and get her taken down. Their plan then is to sweep in and take over what’s left of the Angel City coven and gain an automatic seat on the council for their High Witch.”
I stared at him for a beat, amazed. “Holy gargoyle feet, Raoul, I never knew you witches were such a conniving lot.”
He shrugged. “Neither did I, Astra. This has really shaken me up.”
We both sat silently for a few moments, thinking about what he’d told me. Then I looked across the table at him. “So what are you going to do about it?”
He smiled and it almost reminded me of the old Raoul.
“I want you to go undercover with me to the rival coven, as a married couple.”
“What!” I managed to squeak out.
He nodded. “If we come to them as embittered ex-members of the Angel City coven I believe they’ll reveal more to me about their plans. Then I’ll be in a position to do something about them.”
Chapter Thirteen
Burn Baby Burn
The demon’s homestead smolders now, a shell without a clue,
But our young lady sniffs the air and learns what she should do.
I was awakened the next morning by a disconcerting flick on the nose. I opened my eyes and glared at Myra. She’d been waking me up in that extremely annoying way since I’d been a very small girl.
I hadn’t liked it then either.
“What’s up, angel?”
Myra pulled the covers back and turned away. “Get up, Astra, I’m making coffee.”
This brought both eyebrows up to peak and I rolled reluctantly out of bed. I headed for the food prep area, yawning behind my hand and dropped my weary butt into a chair.
Myra placed a steaming cup in front of me and I picked it up quickly, before she could snatch it back and tell me it was just a cruel joke.
She sat down across from me and sipped hers, closing her eyes in supplication to the gods of the rich, black brew.
I set my cup down and yawned again.
A glance at the universal clock on my wall told me it was six o’clock in the morning. Why the Hades don’t angels sleep in?
Myra stared at me over her coffee cup, knowing from years of experience that if she didn’t wait until I was at least partially awake nothing she would tell me would penetrate the brain fog.
I took one more sip and said, “Okay, hit me with it.”
“Dialle destroyed Demonica last night.”
My heart did a full stop and I held my breath, waiting for it to start beating again. “
My
Dialle?”
Myra lowered her delicate blonde eyebrows and scowled at me. “I’m not sure if
your
devil was involved in the attack but no, it was King Dialle who called for the destruction.
I nodded, more relieved than I should have been under the circumstances, Prince Dialle could still have been involved in the attack, in fact, he probably was. This was not good.
A sudden thought brought my face out of my coffee cup. “Oh dear God, Myra, the hostages?”
She shook her head. “They apparently were not there. At least we can be thankful for that.”
I took a deep breath and returned to sipping my coffee. Slowly but surely my brain was gaining speed. A second thought occurred. My gaze flew to hers. “Alcott?”
Again Myra shook her golden head. “He wasn’t among the vanquished.”
I scowled, not sure if that was good news or not. “How many?”
She shook her head. “No way to know for sure. Most of them were melted in the inferno.”
I grimaced. Dark worlders sucked. Of course, when you piss off something as powerful as a royal devil king I guessed you had to expect to get bitchslapped in a large way.
“So it would appear that Alcott was expecting this and probably only had a few of his less important demons at the club.”
Myra stared at me thoughtfully for a moment and then stood up. “Okay, you’re awake. Get dressed and let’s go.”
I gave a sigh and stood up on weary legs. Taking my coffee with me I trudged back to my room muttering about how those with endless, heaven-derived energy should have more consideration for those of us who had to make do with the pittance of energy stores we’d been born with. My angel of course ignored me and went for a second cup of coffee.
Moments later we shifted to a spot on the street by what was left of Demonica. The first thing I noticed was the smell. It was a cross between campfire and steak house. Since I knew what the burnt meat smell originated from it was enough to churn my empty stomach.
Reluctantly I entered the smoldering remains of the building, Myra at my side in case something shifted and I needed celestial intervention. I grimaced at the wet, sooty mess that I had to slog through with my pretty leather boots and I noticed Myra had gone into float mode when she entered the building. I really wished I could do that. It would save so many pretty boots.
A voice hailed me from across the burned-out space and it wasn’t a happy voice. I heard a soft pop and my angel was gone. I knew she was still there, she’d just gone into stealth mode.
A human firefighter lumbered toward me in a bulky, silver-colored fire suit. I knew from doing some pretty extensive research that the suit was made out of a new alloy comprised of titanium aluminide and steel, for the ultimate in fire resistance and strength. It was also a very pretty, silver color.
In my line of work, I sometimes need serious heat resistance. I’d been looking into my fashion options with the new fabric. At this point in its evolution, they weren’t good. I could either go bulky and baggy or baggy and bulky. Not a good choice range when you’re barely five feet tall. I’d look like a short, metal retaining wall with red hair.
The man pushed his way through the debris and stopped in front of me with an incredulous look on his face. Despite the look of pissed off perplexity, it was a pretty good face.
“Hey!” I said, just a friendly meeting between two young, attractive people.
“Lady, are you frunkin’ crazy? What the hell are you doing in here?”
I tried to look harmless and innocent. I wasn’t good at either. Practically batting my eyes at him I said, “I was just here last night. Do you believe this used to be Demonica?” I gave a low whistle through my teeth and smiled at him.
His face lost a little of its confrontational aspect but he wasn’t entirely sure what he should do with me. “I repeat, lady, what are you doing in this building? Don’t you know it could come down on your head any second?”
I gave him an “I’m sorry” look and then waved a hand vaguely in the direction of where the main room had been. “I left my purse here last night. I wanted to get it back.”
He stared hard at me for a few beats and then touched me on the upper arm and started walking me out. “I think your purse is gone, honey. Maybe you should think about getting a new one.”
I looked around under the pretense of making sure the purse was really gone and I felt him stiffen in an attempt not to laugh. “Maybe you’re right.”
I faked tripping over a large chunk of charred ceiling beam and knelt down, rubbing my ankle while I threw my sensing power around the place. It was hard to get a bead on anything specific with all of the violent energy that was still hovering over the ruined club. But I did get something…
My eyes grew wide and I looked up at the fireman, counting on his need to nurture overcoming his need to protect. “My ankle really hurts, do you think I could just sit down over there on that rock for a minute? Then I’ll go, I promise.”
He looked at the “rock” I was talking about. It was actually a large, stone gargoyle that I remember had been one of twenty that had decorated the large dance room, hanging high over the dancers’ happily gyrating heads with malevolent expressions on their large, rock faces.
He gave a frustrated sigh and favored me with a stern look. “I’ll give you five minutes and then you need to get the hell out of here. This is no place for a dainty little thing like you.”
I heard a soft, tinkling laugh in my ear and knew my angel felt the same way I did about the dainty little thing comment. I just smiled at him in what I hoped was a grateful way. “You are my hero,” I said with another almost eyelash batting.
To his extreme credit, he didn’t appear to fall for my sucking-up act in the least. He reached down and pulled me to my feet and then, the Big Guy save me, picked me up and carried me to the chunk of gargoyle and set me gently on top of it.
My heart sped up and when I looked up into his sooty but very sexy face I was pretty sure my cheeks were pink. It was great cover for my current persona but pretty embarrassing for the real me. “Thanks,” was all I was able to choke out of a suddenly clenched throat.
“I’ll just be over here,” he said and then, giving me a dazzling smile that told me he was on to my act but thought I was okay anyway, he walked away and started sifting through the debris close to the door.
“Be still my heart,” I murmured and heard Myra whisper into my ear, “Amen, sister.”
I grinned. Even the celestial female is a total sucker for the strong male hero type. Especially when he’s cute. I realized suddenly that no race did sexy male hero better than the human race. It’s in their genes to protect and care for anyone they perceive to be weaker than they are and they have such fierce pride in doing the right thing. I suddenly realized that, mixed with a strong and manly persona, it was a terribly sexy trait.
Sighing lustily to clear my clenched chest, I went back to work. I heard a small pop and turned to see Myra standing beside me. A quick glance at my fireman showed that he’d stepped outside the building for a moment to confer with some other firemen.
“Are you getting anything?” Myra asked me.
“There’s something here,” I replied. I upped the power on my sensing aura and scanned the room with it. I felt the usual violent tension like a low level thrum throughout the cavernous space and here or there the violence spiked a bit, telling me there had been a battle before Demonica had gone down, literally, in flames.
But as my power reached the furthest back corner it gave an enormous spike that caused me to jump. I recognized the aura it sensed there. My heart sped up and I felt the blood draining from my face. “Holy shit!”
“What is it, Astra?”
I turned to my angel and she scowled at the look on my face. “The superdemon. He was here. I didn’t vanquish him after all.”
* * * * *
The online news that morning was filled with angry stories about the fire at Demonica. Driven by hard or bad news rather than any particular value system, the press was inherently fond of all of the demon nightclubs, even if they weren’t recognized as demon-run establishments, because they were the most edgy and dangerous nightclubs in the city. Thus they produced the most news on any given night, mostly bad. And since the destruction of one of the largest, most popular and most trouble-strewn demon establishments made the press angry, they were naturally looking for someone to blame.
Apparently, certain “unnamed” sources had given them just that.
Breaking a decades-long practice, reinforced by regular threats from the police, of not speaking openly about the fact that dark worlders walked among us, one particular member of the press wrote a story in that morning’s online news that prompted a decidedly over-the-top headline.
The headline read, “The Devil Forks up Some Demon”.
The story beneath this tasteless banner was no better than its introduction.
Smelling like takeout and looking like a victim of the Great Wars, the demon-run establishment Demonica was burned to the ground last night by a sect of royal devils led by King Dialle the First. According to very reliable sources within the demon ranks, the nightclub’s destruction was only the latest salvo in a war initiated by the royals to keep the demon population under tight control.
In recent weeks the royals have also kidnapped several humans from Demonica and killed a few of them in an effort to put pressure on King Alcott, who up until last night had his home and offices in the basement of Demonica, to give up his bid for freedom and continue to play a reluctant Igor to King Dialle’s Frankenstein.
All efforts to retrieve the remaining hostages have been futile. The Strange Deaths Department of the Police seems to have run out of ideas for locating them.
King Alcott told this reporter that he wishes to break free from the royals so that he can do more to help the community. He references his nightclubs as proof of this desire.
“I provide jobs and entertainment for hundreds of people in Angel City,” says Alcott. “I’d like to do more but I can’t unless I break with the devils.”
Whether you believe the demons or not, it seems that the royals have chosen to put the human race in the middle of a war between them. We can only hope the Paranormal Cops are returning the favor.
“What a bunch of flaming bullshit!” I murmured as I read the page on my information unit. “Igor to Dialle’s Frankenstein? What does that even mean?” I did a quick search on my information unit and saw the ancient human movie and book the comment was based on. “That’s just silly!” I concluded from my research.
Sighing, I realized the war had been well and truly engaged and the current situation unfortunately did have one thing in common with Mary Shelley’s
Frankenstein.
The ending had already been written. But apparently I was the only one who had read it.
* * * * *