DEAD SERIOUS CASE #5
MADAME VIVIENNE
**SPOILER ALERT**
Please don’t read this if you haven’t read Dead Serious 5 as it retells the last few chapters from Harrison’s pov.
BONUS CHAPTER
HARRISON'S POV
The sounds from the pub are muted as the door swings shut behind me. I don’t pause or slow down, even when I almost collide with a couple heading inside. Instead, I duck my head lower and quicken my steps.
​
My phone is grasped uselessly in my hand; Tristan had accepted my excuse of needing to take a phone call. He’d nodded his head absently and gone back to his conversation with Anthony, the pretty older man who was married to Sam’s uncle, Bryan.
Shoving my phone into my pocket, I hurry around the corner of the building and down the narrow path that leads to the pub gardens, which are closed at this time of year, where I finally stop and take a breath.
Sagging back against the cold brick wall, I feel the damp chill through my suit jacket. My head falls back against the rough surface and I glance up. Panic claws at my chest, forcing its way up. I try to breathe in but can’t—it’s caught somewhere around the base of my throat.
My skin prickles uncomfortably as my heart pounds an erratic beat. I’m going to pass out soon if I don’t get a full breath. Even now my vision greys at the edges and the stars in the dark sky above swim in and out of focus.
None of my usual coping mechanisms are working. There’s only one thing left to do. I fumble in my trouser pocket for the neatly pressed handkerchief and lift it to my face, breathing in the scent of the cologne I keep spraying on it.
Sam’s favourite cologne.
I close my eyes and for a second, I imagine I can hear his voice in my ear.
Breathe, Prickles…
Something loosens in my chest, and as the clean, cool night air floods my airways, my vision slowly sharpens and my heart rate begins to settle.
It’s so humiliating. I’d die if Sam knew. How would I even explain it without sounding like some kind of unhinged stalker? That I’d specifically walked into the fragrance department at Boots and methodically sniffed each and every cologne until I’d identified the one Sam uses. That I then compounded the disturbing behaviour by purchasing a bottle because, apparently, the scent of that infuriating man is one of the only things that calms me and pulls me back from the edge when I’m lost in a panic attack.
I don’t want to think too closely about why that is.
A violent shiver wracks my body and a fine mist snakes from my lips when I finally lower my hand. Shoving the handkerchief back in my pocket, no longer neatly folded, I blink back the tears.
There’s no way I can go back in there. I’m too raw, and staving off the panic attack before anyone could witness my humiliating disposition has left me feeling exhausted.
It’s my own fault. I know my limits but I’ve spent too much time around other people today, particularly Tristan. His pain was excruciating to experience, and I had experienced every single second of it multiplied by a thousand. His presence has always been somewhat calming for me, but now his grief is being broadcast at me in high def and I’ve soaked it up like a very reluctant sponge.
Being an empath is uncomfortable at the best of times, but being an empath who is incredibly powerful and also unable to control his ability is just utter torment.
It’s been this way my whole life. Two sides of a coin I never wanted to own in the first place. I lift my hand and, in the dim glow of the pub’s external lights, glance at my palm. Microbursts of magic ripple across my skin and dance along my fingers. I’ve never met another witch like me, never met anyone who can do the same things I can.
It’s lonely.
Some people might think this is cool, like having a superpower, but it comes with a flip side. I may have been blessed with real magic, but I’m also cursed with the ability to feel everything around me. Every single human emotion within a fifty-foot radius. Sometimes, on particularly bad days, that circle widens even further.
I’ve never been able to block it out, which is why I struggle being around people so much. It’s also earned me a reputation for being aloof, cold, judgemental, prickly—I’ve been called them all.
I shouldn’t have come today. I knew it was going to cause me pain, knew Tristan’s emotions in particular would be hard to experience, but I didn’t want him to think I don’t care.
I do.
I blow out a breath and push away from the wall, a little unsteady on my feet. Edging along the narrow path, I peek in the corner of the pub window at the end. From here, I have a perfect view of the table where they all are sat without me. Tristan is snuggled up to Danny, his head on his fiancé’s shoulder, while he smiles at Chan, who is gesticulating wildly and talking.
Sitting on the other side of Danny, Sam takes a sip of his pint and smiles as well. My heart gives a forlorn thud. I wish things could be different.
I wish I could be different.
I’d give anything to be normal. To be able to sit in a pub with friends and laugh and talk. But I can’t go back in there, not tonight. Not even to say goodbye and make an excuse for leaving early. Although the worst of the panic attack is banked, I need some time on my own. They probably won’t even notice I’m gone.
I pull my phone from my pocket and unlock the screen. My finger hovers over Sam’s name. Looking up at the others again, I see the whole table of them laughing, even Dusty, who’s perched on the arm of the chair Chan is sitting on.
Biting my lip and blinking back the tears, I shake my head and stuff my silent phone back in my pocket. They won’t miss me.
No one ever does.
I turn away from the window and start back along the path. I just want to go home, away from the cosy little picture behind me that I can’t be a part of.
Something I don’t want to put a name to aches deep down inside me, but I ruthlessly squash it. I’m just feeling raw from absorbing everyone else’s emotions right now. All I need is a good night’s sleep and I’m sure I’ll be fine.
I’m almost at the end of the alley and can see the empty street, lit intermittently by streetlamps, ahead of me. I quicken my pace, feeling a sudden and inexplicable sense of urgency. An unpleasant crawling sensation is trickling down my spine, making my hair stand on end.
Every instinct in my overstimulated body is screaming at me: Danger! Danger!
Suddenly, my vision dims and a buzzing ripples across my scalp. The path stretches out before me, longer with each step I take. I break into a run as the panic returns. A glance over my shoulder shows me…nothing. The path is gone, as is the pub wall, the external lights, the garden beyond, leaving only a roiling blackness.
I want to cry out but I have no voice. The darkness envelops me, cold and terrifying. My feet stumble over the uneven ground beneath me and I’m falling. Waves of dizziness crash over me, and I’m being swept away, but before I descend into the darkness, my last coherent thought is… I want my Sam.
​
* * *
​
My head pounds relentlessly. It feels so heavy I can’t quite hold it up when I try, causing it to loll backwards like a doll. My thoughts are chaotic, and it takes several long moments for me to piece together what had happened. The last thing I remember was being outside the pub, looking in the window, when something came for me.
Darkness.
I blink, my eyes rolling. All I can make out are blurry lights. As I continue to fight my way up through layers of consciousness, my stomach churns and bile burns at the back of my throat. I can taste it. Dark magic.
A high ceiling comes into focus as I open my eyes fully. I’m indoors somewhere. Fighting back another brutal wave of nausea, I draw in a slow breath through my nose and force it out through my mouth, then repeat the action a couple of times until I’m certain I’m not going to vomit.
My shoulders scream in agony and my body shivers violently. I’m so cold.
When the room finally stops spinning, I recognise my surroundings with a sinking feeling. I’m in the bookshop.
I struggle against the ropes binding my wrists, which are strung up over a hook and leave me suspended a foot above the ground. The ropes I’ve never seen before; tiny white flowers are woven into the twisted fibres and my skin burns wherever they touch. I’ve been stripped to the waist and the same symbols which had marked Vivienne’s corpse now adorn my body. My feet are also bare, my toes almost numb in the icy air of the room.
My gaze trails to the wooden floor and my stomach clenches in fear. A circle has been cast over the demon trap, with lit candles that give off an unpleasant, oily scent placed at intervals around its perimeter.
Suddenly I hear footsteps behind me and try to twist my body, but it’s no use. From this angle I can’t see who’s approaching.
“You’re awake, then?”
The voice is deep and male, and has a rasp to it. Something about it makes my skin crawl. Instead of answering, I wait for the owner to show himself.
A moment later, a hooded figure appears. From where I’m dangling, he doesn’t look particularly tall, maybe average height, and is dressed—rather ostentatiously, if you ask me—in a white, deeply cowled robe. He stops a few steps away from me and draws his hood back.
I blink. It takes a moment for my brain, still foggy from whatever knocked me out, to parse what I am seeing. The figure before me looks like Inspector Byrnes, the police detective who showed up out of the blue and has taken an unhealthy amount of interest in both Danny and Tristan. But at the same time, it’s also not him.
It takes only a fraction of a second for me to look deep into the face beneath. He’s using some sort of glamour spell to change his appearance, but here in this shop supercharged with magic, I can see straight through his disguise to an old man.
And he is old, late seventies, maybe older. I’ve never been any good at guessing people’s ages, but this man has a heavily lined face. His brows are wiry and almost white, his hair the same. When I look down at his hands, they’re twisted and gnarled with age.
“You’re not Inspector Byrnes,” I say.
His eyes narrow and he looks annoyed, his thin lip curled in distaste. “I’m not, and if you’d been a witch worth your salt, you’d have known that from the beginning.” His gaze sweeps up and down over my half-naked and graffitied body. “I must confess, I don’t know why he was so insistent you be kept alive.”
“Who?” I ask as my stomach swoops.
He ignores my question, instead just continuing to stare at me, eyes lost in thought, twisted fingers stroking his bony jaw. “I was expecting you to be slightly more impressive.”
“Well, you’re not exactly catching me at my best,” I mutter. Taking a slow breath, I reach inside myself for my magic, for the light and heat of it, but something is wrong. I can’t seem to access it. Some of my confusion and panic must bleed through my expression because the old man chuckles.
“What’s the matter?” he taunts. “Missing something?”
I glare at him. “What did you do?”
He lifts his chin, indicating the bindings at my wrists, which I’m trying to ignore even as my skin blisters beneath them.
“That’s witch rope. Don’t you know anything, boy?” he scoffs. “You’re not fit to bear the Crawshanks name.”
Something in the loathing of his tone and the resentment in his eyes brings a moment of clarity. “But you are?” I reply coolly. “You’re a descendant too, aren’t you?”
“I am Issac, the true descendant of the Crawshanks bloodline,” his says, his expression imperious. “I come from Cordelia, unlike you, who were spawned from her useless sister.”
“Useless?” I raise a brow. “And yet, Constance was powerful enough to stop her sister and trap a demon.”
The man bears his browning teeth and hisses like an animal. “You dare to think you’re more powerful…more deserving than me?”
“More powerful, I have no idea. More deserving?” I hum a little. “Debatable. Have a more highly evolved moral compass? Definitely.” We stare at each other for a long, silent moment. “Why did you do it?” I whisper at last. “Why did you kill her? We both know unlocking a blood-magic spell only takes a vial’s worth of blood at most. There was no need for her to die.”
Issac’s grin holds no amusement, just sadistic glee. “I’d have thought you’d be glad.”
“Why the hell would I be glad?”
“I did you a favour. She was a whore, getting herself pregnant so young. Then she threw you away like you were nothing.”
I can’t help my flinch as his words hit a little too close, but he notices, which only makes his oily smile widen.
“That’s right. She didn’t give a fuck about her bastard child. You were just a dirty little secret she had to get rid of. She didn’t deserve the Crawshanks legacy,” he growls in disgust. “This place, the fortune tucked away in several accounts.”
I stare at him, not having the words to answer.
“I should have killed her when I killed her parents.” He sighs in a mock lament. “Their deaths were so unsatisfying. I really had wanted to make them suffer, just like I finally did with their slut of a daughter, but the timing wasn’t right. I couldn’t afford to draw too much attention, so I had to make it look like an accident.”
“You killed her—” I suck in a sharp breath. “Why?”
“Why did I kill your grandparents?” He raises one bushy brow. “The same reason I killed your drunken whore of a mother, the same reason I’m going to kill you. Because I hate you. Because I am going to wipe out the whole of Constance’s bloodline.” His smug gaze sweeps the room. “Can you feel the power in this place? There is so much more here than you realise. You have no idea of the secrets it hides. You are unworthy of it.”
“I don’t want it,” I admit. “Never did. And neither did Vivienne, she was trapped here.”
“Aww, defending your mummy?” he mocks. “Even after she threw you away like trash. You really are pathetic. I’d’ve smothered you in your crib if I could.”
“Then why didn’t you?” I reply coldly.
“I was beyond tempted, but that bitch got rid of you before I could find you. Gave you to those two fucking poofs that have the nerve to call themselves witches.”
Anger sears through me.
“Don’t call them that!” My voice reverberates through the entire room like a sonic boom, making the floorboards tremble as if caught in the throes of an earthquake.
Issac’s eyes widen and he stumbles back a pace. “How did you do that?”
The scent of singed twine drifts around me and I follow his gaze, looking up to find scorch marks on the rope and several of the flowers burned to ashes. Unfortunately, although the surge of my magic damaged my bonds, it hadn’t quite been enough to free me, leaving me still dangling from the hook. But at least my wrists weren’t burning anymore.
“Untie me,” I say flatly. “Then we can figure out which one of us is more powerful. My guess is it won’t be you, considering you had to sucker punch me with magic when my back was turned.”
“Shut the fuck up before I sew your mouth shut like I did that bitch of a mother of yours.”
I stare at him calmly. “I’m going to make sure you pay for every moment of pain you caused her. Just so you know.”
“I said, shut the fuck up!”
“Or what?” I tilt my head as I study his flashing eyes and ruddy skin. “Why don’t you tell me why you weren’t supposed to kill me? Exactly who wanted me alive?”
His eyes flick to the floor at my feet and I have my answer.
“The demon?” I stare at him, trying to keep the sudden sense of dread from leaching into my expression. I can’t afford to show any weakness right now. “The demon wanted me alive?”
“He’s always retained an awareness, even after Constance tricked him into that trap.”
“Tricked, or kicked his ass with magic?” I can’t help the words that tumble from my lips acerbically.
“Fuck you,” Issac spits.
“No, thank you.”
“I came here looking for Vivienne and her parents thirty years ago. I was going to kill them and take what was rightfully mine, but instead I heard his voice.”
“The demon?” I frowned. “You could hear him?”
Issac gives a callous smile. “I was chosen. Because he could sense my power.”
Sense your stupidity and ego, more like, I think to myself, but this time I choose to keep my mouth shut.
Even though it scares the shit out of me, I need to know how the hell I blipped onto a demon’s radar and what he could possibly want with me. Why he specifically told Issac not to kill me.
“He wants to be released, to be free, and he needs Constance’s bloodline to open the trap, but he also needs someone powerful enough to wield his magic. Demon magic.” He looks down at his own outstretched hands, his voice taking on a dreamy quality. “He whispered in my ear, taught me his language, his secrets, so that I could free him. He promised to serve me, to bestow upon me powers beyond my wildest imagination.”
“He’s a demon not a genie.” I scowl. “Surely you must know he lies.”
Issac peels back his lips and growls at me again. “Do you think me stupid?”
It is so hard to bite my tongue and not answer that question.
“I know demons lie, but I am of Cordelia’s bloodline. Her control of him extends to me. Only I can command him.”
I don’t believe that for a second, but I’m not going to argue semantics with him. “So you free him and he promises to serve you. Where do I come into this?”
“He wants you.”
“Excuse me?” My brows rise so high I’m pretty sure they’ve just crawled into my hairline.
“He didn’t say why,” Issac admits with reluctance. “But he knew.”
“Knew what?” I ask suspiciously.
“He knew the moment you came into being. When you were conceived in a dirty fumble upstairs with the musician lodger while her parents slept in the room down the corridor. I wanted to put a knife through her belly and be done with it, but he insisted you had to be born. He wouldn’t share his knowledge with me until I promised.” Issac’s mouth curved. “An agreement I will shortly no longer be bound to.”
“What do you mean?”
“The second I release him and he comes fully under my control, I will have no need to bargain with him. He will serve me whether he wants to or not. Whatever plans he has for you will be null and void. I’ll put a knife through your belly and be done with your whole bloodline.”
“Surely you can’t be this naïve? You think he’s just going to jump out of the floor and hand himself over to you? Into slavery to a human? You have no idea if Cordelia’s original spell is powerful enough to extend to her descendant or how extensive her control of him actually was. Have you ever thought he was playing her? That he just pretended to be her tame demon, to give her the illusion of control, because he has his own agenda? He’s a fucking demon!”
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” he scoffs.
“Issac, I know you think you are, but you’re not strong enough to control a demon. It will turn on you the moment it is free, and the whole world will burn for your avarice.”
“I have Cordelia’s blood burning through my veins. It bowed to her, it will bow to me.”
“If that’s true and she did actually find a way to control the demon, it bowed to her because she had The Book of Lala Khal. You. Do. Not.” I take a deep breath. “Issac, it is going to kill you and everyone else that stands in its path. Are you willing to unleash that kind of evil on the world? Are you really that deluded? That power mad?”
“Enough!” he snaps, but before I can say anything else, a familiar sound echoes through the room.
It’s my phone ringing. I look around frantically, not that it would do any good in my current predicament. It rings off and then a second later starts again. I watch as Issac smirks and reaches into the pocket of his robe, then produces my phone and glances at the screen.
“Ah, it seems your PI friend is trying to reach you.” The phone rings off and then starts again. “My, my, he is very insistent. Perhaps I should answer? Oh look, he’s left you a message. Shall we listen to it?”
Panic seizes me. “Leave him alone, he has nothing to do with this. You stay away from him!”
Ignoring me, Issac plays the voice message. “There’s no point in hiding from us, Prickles.” Sam’s annoyed tone echoes in the stillness of the room. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”
“Prickles?” Issac eyes me with interest. “Hmm, your friend seems very unhappy about something, do you think your secret’s out… Sage?”
My tone is glacial as I stare at him. “If you go near him, I will make you suffer like you’ve never suffered before. It’ll make whatever that demon is planning to do to you look like a Sunday fucking picnic.”
“You do have a temper hidden under all those neatly pressed, tightly buttoned-up clothes of yours, don’t you, cousin?” He tuts mockingly but before I can respond, the phone rings again, and this time he hums in pleasure when he looks at the screen. “Oh, it’s Tristan. What do you think? Should we invite the whole gang along? After all, my demon will be hungry after rising from such a long confinement.” His smile is cruel. “I for one cannot wait to see him rip the good detective Hayes into tiny little pieces.”
“I mean it, Issac.” I growl. “It’s me you want, stay away from them!”
My heart sinks as he connects the call and raises it to his ear and listens for a long, excruciating moment. “I’m sorry.” He smiles at me slowly. “Harrison can’t come to the phone right now. My cousin is rather”—his gaze flicks to my wrists—“tied up at the moment.”
***
Issac ignores me from that point on.
I watch as he bustles around the circle, and I don’t bother to try and interact with him. After all, what’s the point? There’s nothing I can say that he’d actually hear. You can’t argue with stupidity, or in this case, a raging case of ego and lust for power.
The fool is going to get himself and everyone else killed—not that I’ll probably live long enough to see it if Issac has his way. The stupid thing is, if he’d been a little saner, a little more pleasant … a little less… well… evil, I’d have given him the damn bookshop. I don’t want the inheritance, I never have, not even the money. Now I don’t have a choice; other than this murdery cocksickle, I’m the only bloody Crawshanks descendant left.
As much as it pains me to agree with anything Issac says, he’s right about one thing. This place has too much power, too many secrets, and is, frankly, just too fucking dangerous to let fall into the wrong hands. It’s my responsibility whether I like it or not, and for the first time since my dads told me about Vivienne and the circumstances of my adoption, I’ve actually begun to understand what it was like for her.
Fuck.
I don’t usually swear this much even with my inner monologue, but I’d say the situation and my impending demise call for some level of expletives.
Am I really going to die? I reach for my magic again, frustrated when it gives a muted pulse but refuses to unfurl. Fucking witch rope, fucking Issac, fucking whole Crawshanks family and their stupid fucking bad decisions leading to a fucking legacy we’re still paying for generations later.
Huh…maybe Dusty is onto something with this constantly swearing. I do feel marginally better. Although it still doesn’t negate the fact that I’m half naked, decorated like a doodle pad, and strung up like a slab of meat.
Okay, I am not dying like this. If my magic won’t work, I’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way. Glancing up at the rope, I can see where the flare of my magic, caused by my flash of temper, had singed it. Several of the tiny white flowers were burned away and the threads have begun to fray. It’s obviously still strong enough to bind my power, but maybe sheer brute strength would make the rope snap.
There’s just two problems with that. One, I don’t have brute strength, and two, I don’t have anything to brace myself against to apply pressure in order to leverage the non-brute strength I do have.
Plan B: Maybe if I just wriggle a bit, I can either make the rope fray further or somehow unhook myself. Taking a deep breath, I start to struggle, undulating my body and trying to pull myself up.
Note to self: Build up upper-body strength.
My arms are noodles and my shoulders are in agony from being in this position too long and from all the thrashing about.
After several moments, I hang uselessly, worn out. My frantic wriggling has achieved nothing except I now spin slowly on the hook like a rotisserie chicken. I look down to Issac watching me with a dry expression. Instead of commenting on my feeble escape attempt, he simply raises his hood and kneels down inside the circle. A bone-handled knife with a wicked-looking blade rests on the floor before him.
He begins to chant low and I can’t make out the words. They don’t seem to be English, but given that he’s about to raise a demon, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what language it is.
“Hey!” a familiar voice calls out, and my stomach clenches with panic and a tinge of relief, which pisses me off. “Yeah, you, Blair Witch Project. Love what you’ve done with the place. Very Exorcist chic. But that’s my little ginger biscuit you’ve got there, so I’ll just be taking him with me.”
For fuck’s sake, Sam, I think as my body flushes with warmth at his claim. God, I’m ridiculous.
“Sam!” I hiss, but it sounds more like a breathy gasp. What the hell is wrong with me? “What are you doing here?”
“I’d have thought that was obvious,” Sam says with a duh! expression, even as his irritation with me bleeds through. “Rescuing you.”
“Are you mad?” I grit out from between clenched teeth as I try to crane my neck in his direction to see him better. “Trying to get yourself killed?”
“Not really,” he replies, and I just know he’s shrugging. “But I’m plenty pissed with you… Sage…”
“That’s not… I’m not…” I kick my legs to try and swing himself around to face him. “That’s none of your business,” I growl.
“I beg to differ. It’s very much my business seeing as you’ve managed to get yourself kidnapped and strung up like a chunk of meat in a kebab shop window.”
“I—”
I’m abruptly cut off by the sound of Issac clearing his throat. He’s now standing and watching us with the knife gripped in one of his hands.
“Oh please,” Issac says from beneath the hood. “Please, don’t let me interrupt you. I have all night. In fact”—he turns his head slowly towards the old desk—“why don’t we ask your other friends to join us?”
The desk shoots across the room and crashes into the wall opposite, leaving Danny and Tristan crouched but completely exposed while Bruce and Dusty hover close to them.
“Surprise,” Tristan says with a little wave of his hands.
“Not really,” Issac replies, his tone droll. “But why don’t you join us? You may as well witness the birth of my new world, Tristan and Danny.”
“You know who we are?” Tris frowns, gasping as Issac lifts his hand and pushes his hood back. “Detective Byrnes?”
“Close, but no cigar.” Issac smirks.
What a fucking wanker, I think to myself, and almost groan aloud as my shoulders give another throb of pain.
“Oh my god, how many glasses of wine did I have? Is his face melting?” Tristan’s eyes widen.
“It’s a glamour,” I reply irritably as I continue to slowly twirl around on the rope.
“A what?”
“A glamour.” I sigh. “Honestly, with all the films you and Danny have watched, have you never seen The Craft?”
“Nineties classic.” Danny nods. “Fairuza Balk as Nancy was suitably unsettling. You remember, Tris, they use a glamour spell to change their appearance.”
“Oh, like a disguise. Why didn’t you just say so?”
“You’re not Patrick Byrnes,” Danny says flatly.
“Well done, Detective Hayes.” Issac sneers. “My name is Issac Crawshanks. I took back the name that was denied me and now I’ve come for my birthright.”
“Mate, you’re sounding a tad entitled right now,” Sam says dryly. “That demon down there doesn’t belong to you, it belongs in Hell, and as for this place, technically it belongs to Harrison.”
Issac bares his teeth in an animal-like hiss of displeasure at Sam’s words.
“Where’s the real Byrnes?” Danny asks.
Issac’s eyes blaze maliciously. “In a shallow grave somewhere in the greater Manchester area.”
“You’re the one who killed Viv,” Tristan says, his expression filled with a sudden realisation. “That day in the mortuary, when Dusty pulled you away from me, you could see her all along, couldn’t you? The whole time you were in that room. That’s why you tried to banish her as soon as she left.”
“Hmm,” Issac hums as he scrutinises Tris, a tiny wrinkle of confusion between his brows. “I did banish her. I’m still not sure how you were able to bring her back. Demon magic has never failed me before. It certainly piqued my curiosity about you and your merry little band of misfits.”
As Issac’s attention settles on Tristan, I see Sam edging closer to the circle. I want to cry out to warn him, but it’s too late. When he tries to cross the edge, there’s a loud hiss, like a spark, and Sam is flung violently backwards. He hits the floor on his back, a move that looks to have knocked the breath from him.
“Sam!” The shout bursts from me before I can censor my concern in front of Issac. I know that if my psychotic distant cousin knows how much I care for Sam, it will only put him in more danger.
“Aww,” Issac tuts insincerely. “Poor little PI. I’m afraid your bright little bird is going to stay trapped in here with me. You didn’t really think I’d allow you into my building if I thought you could stop the rising, did you? The circle is protected and you cannot cross it.”
Sam hauls himself to his feet, breathing heavily. “Why him? You got what you needed from Viv.” His eyes flick to the edge of the circle, and as I turn slowly on the rope, I jolt in shock when Vivienne materialises. Her eyes are wild and feral, and she slowly circles the perimeter of the demon trap. It reminds me of a predator.
“Ah, yes, dear Vivienne. Sadly, she proved to be more wily than I gave her credit for. She’d been dosing her booze with a rather potent little spell. It rendered her blood absolutely useless to me. Harrison, on the other hand, has everything I need and is as pure as natural spring water. His blood fused with mine will break open the trap and the demon will rise, bound to me and my will.” Isaac’s eyes flare hungrily. “The ultimate power.”
Sam growls, bracing himself as he throws himself against the circle again. This time, a bright shimmer ripples over the dome.
“It’s impenetrable,” Issac gloats. “All you’ll do is tire yourself out, and my demon is going to be hungry when he rises.”
“Uh, getting eaten by a demon wasn’t really on today’s to-do list,” Tristan mutters in alarm. “What do we do?” he asks Danny in a panic.
“I don’t know,” Danny replies. He’s obviously just as anxious as his fiancé is.
Suddenly, Vivienne throws herself against the circle and the shield around it blazes and pulses. But that doesn’t stop her—she throws herself against it over and over again, beating her fists at it and clawing desperately.
A screech like a banshee echoes through the room, a howl of absolute incandescent rage that sends shards of ice through my veins, and I just know that it came from Viv, despite the fact that she no longer has a mouth, only an angry-looking symbol etched into the skin of her lower face.
My eyes widen and my mouth falls open when she is joined by the other ghosts. Dozens and dozens of them, surrounding the circle and beating their fists against the shield. Dusty charges towards the circle with only one shoe on, the other stiletto clutched in her hand as she starts to rain down blows using the spiked heel for a hammer. Even Bruce smashes his fists against the dome.
For me, I realise in shock. They’ve come for me. They’re trying to save…me.
Issac stumbles back at the sheer ferocity of the woman he murdered looking like the title character of a horror movie as she fiercely flings herself against the barrier, scratching and clawing at the shield, her nails torn away and her fingers leaving bloody trails against the shield.
Gritting his teeth, Issac glares in the direction of Vivienne and the others. “I guess we should move things along,” he says coldly.
I barely have time to register the knife, and at first, my brain can’t really comprehend the enormity of what he’s done. It feels like he’s punched me in my side.
I dimly hear Sam scream and my vision wavers. My side begins to burn with an intense pain. My gaze slides from the bloodied knife down to my body. Blood spills down my side, soaking my trousers.
I draw in a shuddering breath and see Issac’s gaze lift to the dome-shaped shield he’d conjured. Cracks have appeared, spreading across its surface until it resembles a network of synapses.
With a growl of anger, Issac grips the knife that’s covered in my blood, then wraps his fingers around the sharp blade and slices through his own palm. His white robe is now splattered with drops of crimson as he drops to his knees and mutters loudly, pressing his bloodied hand palm down to the centre of the demon trap.
The intricate designs of the trap burst into flames and the floor shakes. The whole building seems to rock on its foundations. With a loud, cracking sound, the bloodstained wood floor under my feet begins to break open, splintering up and outwards like something is trying to push its way through.
I watch it with a certain sense of detachment. My whole body is shaking, most likely from the blood loss, and my vision is wavering. The next thing I know, I feel strong, warm arms wrap around me. Despite the strength, they cradle me gently. I blink, fighting to stay conscious as the scent of Sam’s cologne wraps around me.
Safe.
My vision blacks out for a second before a searing pain in my shoulders jolts me back. Danny has released my arms and lowered them while Sam still holds me in his arms. The floor gives a frightening lurch, and he stumbles to keep his balance.
It’s all happening so fast and I’m fighting to stay awake as the pain threatens to drag me under. I’m aware we’re moving and then I’m being set down on the cold, hard floor at the edge of the room. Tristan yanks a throw from the nearby sofa and rips off a good-sized chunk, then folds it into a pressure pad, wiping away as much of the blood as he can so he can see my wound. I try not to hiss at the flash of pain that cuts through the now constant throb.
“Roll him to the side,” Tristan orders Sam and Danny. They do, but the movement sends another sharp stab of pain through my body.
“I’m sorry, honey.” Tris winces as he prods at my back while I’m tilted on my side. “Okay, it went straight through.” I feel him press the material against the wound, then they roll me onto my back. Tearing off another piece of material, he presses it to the front of the wound. “Sam, press that tight,” Tristan instructs. “We need to get him to a hospital, but he might be lucky. I think Issac managed to miss skewering anything important. He’s losing a lot of blood though.”
Dusty and Bruce hover over us and Vivienne is close by, although she doesn’t make eye contact. “Bruce,” Tristan says urgently, “we need some duct tape or something. Viv must have had some around here somewhere, she bloody had everything else imaginable.”
“I’ll see what I can find,” he says, looking down at me in concern. Then he disappears.
Danny reaches down and unties my wrists. Removing the magical ropes, he tosses them aside. Sam hisses as he sees the reddened welts and blisters of my burned skin. Tristan yanks his jacket off and covers me with it, but I can’t say anything. I’m drifting as Sam continues to cradle me protectively, and for a moment, it’s almost worth getting stabbed just so I can feel his arms around me. I hear Tris mutter something to Sam, but the floor gives an almighty heave beneath us. Ceiling plaster rains down as Sam shelters me with his body.
There’s another ominous cracking sound, followed by maniacal laughter. I twist my head back towards the circle and the devil’s trap at its centre, and I see Issac kneeling beside the huge chasm that has opened up in the floor.
“You’re too late!” He laughs gleefully. “You’re too late! I’ve waited decades for this moment and it’s finally here! He comes and the world as you know it will never be the same.”
The second the trap opens fully, my body jackknifes like I’ve been hit with a defibrillator. Power floods my blood as I inadvertently absorb some of the demon’s magic. Sam clutches me tighter, his face filled with concern. But I can’t breathe, can’t think. I can feel every single thing the demon does: elation, cruelty, deceit, and a million other things that scare the hell out of me.
In that second, I realise just how much Issac underestimated the demon. Feeling the power and immensity of his presence, the doubts I’ve had that he ever truly submitted to Cordelia, instead using her to further his own agenda, begin to solidify.
I watch in mute horror as an unhinged and grinning Issac leans over the glowing gap in the floor. Suddenly, the smile falls from his face and his eyes widen.
“No!” he gasps as he falls back on his arse, trying to scramble back from the opening. “NO! NO!”
A long, glowing limb shoots out and grasps Issac around the waist. He screams and tries to clutch at the ruined floor to slow his momentum, but the limb drags him across the splintered wood. Whatever has him in its grip is too strong. It drags him over the edge into the burning chasm, and even over the adrenaline-fuelled pounding of my heart, I hear his terrified screaming for an uncomfortably long time as it gets fainter and fainter.
“That sounds really deep,” Dusty says, her eyes wide with fear. “You need to get out of here, all of you.”
“What about you?” Tristan gasps.
“I’m going to hold it off for as long as I can. Spirit guide in training, remember? I’ve got abilities the other ghosts don’t, plus I’m already dead. I can’t bleed.”
“But you can still get hurt,” he snaps angrily. “I’m not leaving you here. Dead or not, you’re my family and family sticks together.”
“Tris.” She grabs his face. “This is not a battle you can win. It’s a fucking demon, and you need to run.”
He shakes his head. “No! Where would we even run to? There’s nowhere any of us would be safe. We can’t let that thing loose on the world.”
“We already have,” Dusty says.
“Tristan’s right, Dusty.” Danny moves closer to him. “We have to stay.”
“What did you just say?” Tris looks at his fiancé in shock. “Danny? Can you see her?”
He nods. “Just like I can see all of them.” He gestures along the outskirts of the demon trap to the hundreds of ghosts forming a pale silvery mist around the glowing circle.
“How is that possible?”
“There’s a hell of a lot of magical mojo flying around in here right now,” Dusty says. “It’s like a supercharged battery.”
“Never mind them, what are we going to do about that?” Sam says, nodding towards the giant flaming hole in the middle of the floor.
“Harrison,” Tris says urgently, “is there any way to close the trap?”
I glance across to the trap. There is a way and I know the price it comes with. Despite the fear, I feel a strange sense of calmness. I don’t want to die, but I’m willing to do whatever it takes to save them.
“Yes. One,” I whisper, and wince as I try to push myself up. “Help me up.”
“What? Why?” Sam scowls. “You’ve lost too much blood. You need to stay there until we can get you to a hospital.”
I shake my head, swallowing slowly. “It was my blood that opened it. It can only be closed with my blood.”
“Harrison, no,” Sam growls. “You’ve already lost too much blood, it will kill you.”
“If I don’t, we’re dead anyway. At least this way you’ll survive.” Unable to stop myself, I lift my hand and cup his beautiful face, my gaze fixing every detail of this moment in my mind. His blue eyes, the scar which leads from the corner of his eye and wrinkles when he smiles, those soft, inviting lips. “You have to let me go.”
“I can’t.” Sam’s face twists into a mask of agony and it hurts my heart. “Ask anything of me but that.”
“There’s no other way.”
“No,” Tristan interrupts resolutely. “No way. We’re the fucking musketeers, all for one and all that shit. No one is fucking sacrificing themselves. We just had my dad’s funeral, and I’m sure as hell not losing anyone else today. Stay out of the fucking light.”
“Right on,” Dusty cheers next to me.
“Uh, Tris,” Danny murmurs with wide eyes. “It looks like a giant naked man may be climbing out of the floor.”
We turn in time to see two thick arms reaching up through the gap, followed by a bald head, then a torso, a pair of buttocks, and, finally, thick legs. The demon stands slowly, its back to us. Its skin looks painful, like it’s made up of lava and covered by a cracked layer of thick, black, crusty, volcanic material.
But even as we stare in mute horror, its skin begins to cool and change. The black, charred layer crumbles away and the raw, burning skin banks, changing to a smooth gold. Jet-black hair begins to sprout on his head, coiling into large waves and curls.
Then he turns around.
“Oh my god,” Dusty mutters.
“Okaaay, so that’s a very naked demon,” Danny whispers.
“Shouldn’t he have horns?” Dusty hisses. “Or a tail?” She leans slightly to the side, trying to see behind him, like she hasn’t already had an eyeful of his very round golden bum cheeks—very much minus a tail.
The demon closes his eyes and inhales deeply, the rounded muscles of his pecs rising as his lungs fill, but when he speaks, his voice is so heavy with power it’s almost painful to hear
“This world smells different.”
He opens his ruby-red eyes and they immediately lock on Tristan, who is flanked by Danny and Dusty and surrounded by ghosts.
The demon looks at them, interest flaring in those red eyes.
“You’re powerful,” he says to Tristan, inhaling again. “You burn so brightly.” His long black forked tongue flicks out and tastes the air. “Delicious. I think I’ll start with you.”
Danny growls and shoves Tris behind him. “Don’t you touch him.”
“You’ll get your turn, human.” The demon’s mouth curves. He flicks his hand and Danny is thrown back and pinned against the wall. He struggles to move but he can’t seem to free himself.
The ghosts mutter angrily and surge forward, but the demon simply blows in their direction and they dissipate like desert sands caught in a violent wind.
“Oh, hell no.” Dusty steps in front of Tristan. “If you want him, you’ll have to go through me.”
“Hmm.” The demon cocks his head and looks at Dusty as if he doesn’t quite know what to make of her. “You’re something different.” He hums, giving a small flicking motion with his hand, and Dusty stumbles back as if she’s been struck.
Her eyes are wide in shock as she holds up her hands and looks at them. Slowly, they begin to disintegrate into dust. “Tris,” she says in a small, scared voice. She takes a step towards him and collapses into a pile of ash, which then blows away.
The demon grasps Tris by the throat, lifting him clear off the floor. I struggle to push myself up, reaching weakly for my magic as Sam helps me.
Suddenly, there’s a bright light. It glows brighter and brighter. The demon shrieks and releases his grip, dropping Tris to the floor. The pure white glow surrounds all of us and I sag back against Sam in relief.
I don’t need to look to know who that is. I can feel his love directed straight at his son.
“Get your hands off my son,” Martin Everett says coolly, and when I see his face, his expression is so much like Tristan that I want to laugh hysterically, or maybe that’s just the blood loss.
“Dad?” Tristan whispers hoarsely.
“Hello, Jelly Bean.”
***
The demon stares at Martin in disgust. “You smell like a higher being.” His red eyes skim over all of us who are surrounded by the light emanating from Tristan’s dad. “You may be able to protect them, but you cannot harm me.”
​
“I can’t,” Martin says calmly, “but I know someone who can.”
​
My skin begins to prickle, the hairs on my arms rise, and I feel another punch of magic, this one way more powerful than the demon’s. What the hell is more powerful than a demon?
​
The moment the words leave Martin’s lips, there’s a violent swirl of lavender smoke, the air crackles with energy, and two figures appear, one of them familiar.
​
“Lucien,” Tristan croaks.
​
The huge, hulking wolf of a man nods. “Hello again.”
​
His companion is a woman—average height, slim, in her early thirties maybe. She’s pretty, with long, dark wavy hair, smooth skin, and whiskey-coloured eyes, and dressed casually in jeans and trainers, a leather jacket over her hoodie.
​
Her gaze quickly skims over all of us. The corner of her mouth quirks slightly before she turns her attention to the demon, but her expression is calm, like she sees this kind of thing every day.
​
“Well, looks like I showed up just in time.” Her accent is American, which surprises me for some reason.
​
“Who are you?” The demon growls. “I don’t know what you are. You smell human, yet you are something…other.”
​
“You demons, you’re all the same.” She huffs. “Smell this, sniff that. You’re like a pack of dogs.”
​
“Hey,” Lucien says indignantly.
​
She sends him a look and turns her attention back to the demon. “Okay, since you’ve been stuck in that trap for, what, a century and a half? I’m going to cut you a little slack because you may not be aware of certain current events. With that in mind, I’d like to officially inform you that the Hell dimensions are under new management. That would be me. I’m the new management... Olivia Beckett-West.” She gives a little wave.
​
“I will enjoy crushing your bones in my teeth.”
​
“Demon scum,” Lucien snarls, “kneel before your queen.”
​
“Lucien.” Olivia gives a long-suffering sigh and pets him affectionately, almost as if he were a dog. “I thought I asked you to stop calling me that.”
​
He scowls in response. “But you are my queen.”
​
“Hell has no queen,” the demon sneers. “It’s Lucifer’s domain.”
​
“Ah, yes.” She nods. “Um, funny story, but Lucifer is no longer in charge of Hell. In fact, he’s no longer even in Hell. He escaped.”
​
“What?” Tristan blurts. “The actual, real Lucifer? And what do you mean he’s not in Hell?”
​
“Long story.” Olivia shakes her head. Her gaze hardens as she watches the demon. “Now, as for you. Do you really think I don’t know who you are… Ishaan?”
​
He stares at her with pure hatred in his eyes.
​
“I also know Shiva cast you down into Naraka where you dwelled in eternal torment until you were raised up to Earth by a witch,” she says with a sigh. “I’m sorry, but it’s time for you to return. You don’t belong on Earth.”
​
He bares his teeth and gives a feral hiss, his fingers curving into claws. “You are not sending me back. I will burn this world to ashes before I return to that torment.”
​
“See, I really don’t think you understand who you’re talking to,” Olivia says, and there’s no mistaking the authority in her voice. “I am the Guardian of Infernum.”
​
“Lies. Infernum is lost,” Ishaan rumbles, but he looks a little less sure of himself.
​
“No,” she replies evenly. “Not lost. Simply hidden for centuries.”
​
Olivia lifts her hands and they burst into flames, but the flames are bright green.
​
Sucking in a sharp breath, I feel Sam’s grip on me tighten, as if he’s attuned to everything I’m feeling, but I don’t spare him a glance. My whole attention is fixed on the woman who looks tiny next to the towering demon but whose presence somehow fills the entire room. I find myself staring at the green flames she’s conjured from thin air and my heart begins to hammer. I’ve never met another person who can manifest flames like I can. Of course, I’m nowhere near as powerful as she clearly is, and I’ve never conjured fire of that colour. Come to think of it, I’ve never seen flames that hue outside of a chemistry lab.
“That’s demonfire, in case you were wondering,” Lucien remarks conversationally.
​
Olivia gives an almost negligent gesture and a ring of green flames suddenly encircles the demon Ishaan. He opens his mouth and howls in rage, trying to step forward, but he can’t seem to cross the circle of fire.
​
She is beyond impressive. I watch absolutely fascinated as her magic radiates from her. Her eyes glow gold and her hair whips back from her face as if caught in an unseen wind. She raises her hands and pulls her fists apart, causing a bow of sapphire-coloured flames edged in black to burst to life in her grip. Notched in the flaming bow is an arrow of pure black.
She takes aim.
​
“Ooh, hellfire, good choice,” Lucien mutters.
​
Ishaan struggles against the demonfire that has him trapped. Unable to escape and clearly realising the power of the woman before him, his eyes widen in panic. “Please, don’t send me back.”
​
“I’m sorry,” she says quietly, and she does seem truly remorseful. “But you don’t belong here, and Shiva’s sentence stands.”
She releases the arrow and it hits him dead centre in his chest. He opens his mouth to scream, but it’s filled with flames. I watch as his entire body is engulfed in fire, and then he’s pulled downwards, disappearing through the floor, still clawing uselessly to stop his momentum. But it’s too late.
​
Olivia whispers something under her breath that I can’t hear and then it’s over. The demon is gone, the hole in the floor closed. For a second, no one moves or speaks, frozen in shock.
​
“Where did you send him?” Tristan whispers.
​
“Naraka.” Olivia sighs. “I don’t like to interfere with Shiva’s choices and Ishaan didn’t belong here. I can’t have demons roaming the mortal world.”
​
“Is Naraka really eternal torment?”
​
“There’s always a path to redemption.” Olivia shrugs. “But in my experience, demons generally don’t want to be redeemed. The longing for chaos and destruction is too deeply ingrained in their nature. But…who knows? There are no absolutes and the world is a strange place.”
​
“You’re not kidding,” Danny mutters, looking shell-shocked.
​
“Who are you?” Tristan asks. “And what is that thing you mentioned, Infernum? And how did you do get rid of that demon? And just what the hell is going on?”
​
She just smiles at him. “It’s a really long story.”
​
I shift and groan at the throb of pain in my side.
​
“A little help here,” Sam says. “Harrison needs medical attention.”
​
“I’ll go help your friend,” Olivia says to Tristan as she smiles at Martin. “I think someone wants to talk to you.”
​
Tristan turns to his dad but I don’t pay any attention because I’m watching the woman as she makes her way over to me and drops down at my side.
​
“Okay, let’s see what we have here,” she says matter-of-factly, moving Sam’s hand away from where he is still applying pressure to my wound. Her gaze momentarily flicks to the now closed demon trap, then back to me. “I’m guessing whoever gave you this was related somehow?”
​
“What makes you say that?” I hiss as she prods the deep tear in my skin.
​
“Demon trap, sealed for centuries by blood magic, suddenly springs open, and you’re the only one around here with a hole in his stomach that’s bleeding all over the floor?” She raises a brow. “Call it a hunch.”
​
“Cousin.” I grit my teeth as she lays her palm over the uncovered wound.
​
“I’m sorry,” she says, her eyes sympathetic and her tone sincere.
​
I give a half-hearted shrug, which causes me to wince in pain once more. “Several times removed. I didn’t know him, never met him before he decided to stick a knife in my ribs.”
​
“Not quite your ribs.” Olivia gives a small smile. “You’re lucky your cousin has shitty aim.”
​
“Not sure it was luck. I’m pretty sure he was planning on taking his time carving me up after he got his pet demon under control.”
​
Sam growls. “He’s lucky his demon tossed his arse in that fiery pit or I’d be carving chunks out of him with his own knife.”
​
“Easy there, tiger.” Olivia grins. “Trust me, whatever is happening to him down there is way, way worse than anything you could do to him.”
​
“That does make me feel marginally better,” Sam says somewhat sulkily. “Shouldn’t we be taking Harrison to a hospital?” He frowns. “And not being funny, but I don’t think you should be touching an open wound with your bare hand.”
​
She snorts. “Don’t worry, I’ll have him fixed right up. Nice that you guys have a national health system but fortunately, you’re not going to need it today. Now, Harrison, is it?” I nod. “I’m gonna need you to hold still and try to relax. The more relaxed you are, the quicker the magic will work, okay?”
​
I nod again. She takes a breath and her eyes seem to glow slightly, not as much as before when she was kicking a demon’s arse back into whatever Hell he came from, but enough to see she is something else entirely.1.40.5
A warmth spreads through my body, centred around the wound and my stomach. “Huh, he did make a bit of a mess. What did he use? A steak knife?” She scowls. “Still, at least he managed to miss anything important, although you do have a slight nick to your liver.”
“You can tell that?” Sam blinks in surprise.
Olivia winks at him. “So, while everything is knitting back together, why don’t you tell me how you ended up getting stabbed by your distant cousin, then, and why your blood is tied to a demon trap. Bet it’s an interesting story.”
“It’s an embarrassing story involving my very messed-up biological family,” I mutter sourly.
“I hear you. If it makes you feel any better, I’ve got a messed-up family too, and I had my own demon trap buried beneath the woods right next to my house.”
I draw in a tired breath. “Both me and Issac were descended from a family named Crawshanks. I don’t know where they originated from, but they lived in India for a while during the height of the British colonial empire before coming to London and settling in this property. There were three siblings, a boy by the name of Cornelius who was a very famous—or rather, infamous—Victorian medium. He had two older sisters. Cordelia, the eldest, who was a witch, and then Constance, the middle sibling. She was very powerful too, from what I understand, but very kind and quiet. The eldest daughter, Issac’s ancestor, had stolen a book of magic.”
“A book?” Olivia’s brow piqued in interest. “What kind of book?”
“I’m not sure exactly.” I shift again, feeling another pulse of warmth through my belly. “But from what I understand, it contained very powerful magic. Cordelia called it The Book of Lala Khal, although from my own research, I can tell you it’s not named after the village in India she stole it from, but rather the region that village was located in.”
“I see,” Olivia mused. “Go on.”
“Cordelia used the book to raise the demon, although I’m not convinced she ever had any real control over it.”
“What makes you say that?” Her gaze sharpens.
“Just a feeling,” I admit. “And something Issac said.”
“What did he say, Prickles?” Sam asks.
“Prickles.” Olivia grins. “Oh my god, you guys are too cute”—I shoot her a withering look—“but go on.”
“Apparently, the demon knew the moment I was conceived, right here in this building. Issac wanted to kill me while my mother was still pregnant, but the demon wouldn’t let him.”
“Wouldn’t let him?” she repeats, her smile fading.
“That’s what Issac said,” I reply. “The demon said I had to be born.”
Olivia’s expression shifts into something I can’t quite put a name to.
“What?” Sam asks in concern. “What is it?”
“I’m not sure yet.” Olivia stares at me thoughtfully. “This book? The Lala—”
“The Book of Lala Khal,” I correct.
“Yeah.” She nods. “What happened to it?”
“I don’t know. Cordelia’s siblings, Constance and Cornelius, managed to take the book from her before she could do any more damage, then used it to trap the demon. After that, I couldn’t say where it ended up. There was a rumour that Cornelius hid it.”
I shift again uncomfortably, only this time there’s no pain, just my arse is numb from laying on the ground propped up in Sam’s arms. I glance down as Olivia removes her hand. The symbols on my skin are gone, leaving me as pale and freckled as ever, and while the wound is not gone completely, it is healed, leaving a small, puckered scar.
“Sorry about that,” Olivia says. “I’m not really a healer. It was the best I could do. You’ll always have the fading scar, but everything on the inside is as it should be.”
“Thank you,” I whisper hoarsely.
Now that Olivia’s magic is no longer warming my healing body and I become very aware of how exposed I am, I shiver. I reach up and fold my arms across my chest self-consciously, not wanting Sam to see my pasty white skin or the hundreds of freckles littering my arms and torso. But before I can say anything, Sam removes his suit jacket and wraps it around me.
“Thank you,” I mutter, certain my face is on fire. It probably would be if I had enough blood left in my body, instead of half of it is currently on the bookshop floor.
“You’ll be fine,” Olivia says as if reading my thoughts. “You’ve lost a fair bit of blood. With anyone else, it would probably have been a trip to the ER and an emergency blood transfusion, but that’s the beauty of magic. You’re in no danger of dying unless you’ve got any other homicidal distant cousins on the loose.”
I frown. “I really hope not.”
“What does he need?” Sam asks worriedly. “Are you sure he’s going to be okay? Not to downplay your magic mojo or whatever, but what if he takes a turn in the night?”
“Takes a turn in the night?” I say primly. “What am I, a ninety-year-old? I’m perfectly fine.” I push away from him and sit up, but as I do, my head spins and I sway.
“Whoa, take it easy,” Olivia says, and I feel both hers and Sam’s hands rest on my back to steady me. “Blood loss, remember? It wouldn’t hurt to have someone with you tonight though.” She looks at Sam.
“Don’t worry, he won’t be alone,” Sam says, his tone resolute.
Olivia nods. “Give him plenty of water to drink. He needs to rehydrate. Also getting some food into him would be good, nothing too heavy, and rest. Above everything else, he needs to sleep.”
“He’s sitting right here,” I say waspishly.
Olivia grasps my chin with warm and gentle fingers. I’ve just watched this woman appear out of thin air, stuff a demon back into Hell, and heal my internal injuries without so much as breaking a sweat, and now she’s watching me with a kind of big sisterly amusement.
“Honey, you need to take care of yourself,” she says in a warm but firm tone. “You and I are going to be spending some time together.”
“What? Why?” I ask in confusion.
She smiles and reaches for my hand. Lifting it between us, she turns it palm up. I watch curiously as she places her hand above mine. The space between our palms suddenly crackles with magic, with tiny little microbursts of brightly coloured fire and pulses of energy sparking.
“What the?”
“Magic, Harrison, is not as common as you’d think. There are plenty of witches in the world. They understand magic, they respect it, some of them even flirt around the edges of it, but there are so few who actually possess it. Even fewer who naturally have the kind of gifts we do. There is so much power inside you. It’s raw, undisciplined.” She laughs softly. “You remind me so much of myself before I met Theo.”
“Who’s Theo?”
“My husband.” She smiles. “Anyway, like I said, there are few witches with true power. Like it or not, you are part of a very select group and trust me, we take care of our own.” She glances up at Sam. “A courtesy that will no doubt extend to your friends.” She looks over her shoulder at Tristan, who is now talking to Dusty, and I blink rapidly to make sure I’m not hallucinating. She appears to be wearing some sort of wedding dress and a tiara big enough to dislocate her neck while Bruce stands next to her looking baffled as he clutches a huge bouquet of rainbow-coloured roses. “I have a feeling they’re fascinating to get to know.”
“You have no idea.” Sam chuckles beside me.
“Olivia?” I say, drawing her attention back to me. “What did you mean when you said you were a guardian? What’s a guardian? And what was that other thing you mentioned? Infernum? That’s a Latin word that means Hell, isn’t it?”
“It’s another long story and it’s getting late, but I’ll give you the short version if you like.” I nod. “Once upon a time, before the beginning of…well, time.” She grins. “There were five books. These were no ordinary books and no one really knows where they came from or how they came into being. But they contained within their pages power and magic beyond your understanding. The books were so powerful they each developed an awareness. I don’t mean they were fully sentient beings, but they had a consciousness. Not quite fully developed, sometimes quite primal and almost childlike.”
“I’m not sure I understand.” I frown.
“It’s okay.” Olivia shakes her head. “I didn’t either, at first. Like I said, there were originally five books. Infernum, the Hell book. Caelum, the book of the heavens. Purgatorio, the song of purgatory. Spiritus, the book of the spirit realms, and lastly, Terra, the book of Earth.”
“What happened to them?” Sam asks, just as enthralled by Olivia’s tale as I am.
“Well, that’s the question.” Her lips curve. “Infernum is mine. It came into the possession of my bloodline hundreds of years ago. My ancestors hid and protected it while it waited for its guardian to claim it.”
“Each book has a guardian, then?” I ask, absolutely fascinated even though I’m tired and still hurting a bit. I feel like a child up past their bedtime, begging for another story. Something I always did, which probably drove my dads nuts.
“It’s a triad,” Olivia replies. “There are always three. Each book has a guardian and each guardian a protector. Theo is mine. He was pulled through time from seventeenth-century Salem and literally dropped in the middle of the road in front of my car.”
“Are you serious?” Sam blinks.
“Oh yeah, damn near run him over too.” She laughs. “A seventeenth-century witchfinder and a twenty-first-century witch. It wasn’t easy at first, nothing worthwhile ever is. But now, he’s my whole world and I’m his. Being in charge of all of the Hell dimensions is a lot and Theo has my back always, no matter how crazy or unbelievable our lives get.”
“Yeah, I think we can relate to that,” Sam says as he looks at me.
“Anyway, I’m getting off topic.” Olivia waves her hand. “The book chooses its guardian. I think fate has a hand in there somewhere too. But mostly it’s the book. Infernum contains within it all the magic and powers and secrets of all the Hell dimensions, and it chose me to be its guardian. I share its power and knowledge, it shares my body. It’s a completely symbiotic joining. We’re not two individual beings. We are one. It’s as simple and as complicated as that.”
“Wow,” I whisper. “What about the other books?”
“Purgatorio was damaged, mutilated beyond recognition by religious zealots and men who desired power above all else. They’ve never seemed to be able to grasp the concept that, in the immortal words of Spiderman, with great power comes great responsibility. I may have phenomenal cosmic power but I still serve. It is my duty to care for all the souls of the underworlds, no matter how damned or damaged.”
“And you signed up for that?”
She huffs lightly. “Not exactly, but it’s the hand I was dealt and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. For all the bad things that have happened in my life, there have also been so many great things too—you kinda can’t have one without the other. It’s the flip side of the same coin. Trust me, no matter how difficult things get, fate has a way of rewarding those who take the harder but more worthwhile path.”
I nod. I get the feeling she’s trying to tell me something, but my brain is too fuzzy to take anything other than at face value, so I switch back to the original subject. “So, Purgatorio no longer exists?”
“We’ve managed to recover a few of the surviving parts to it, but it will never be what it once was. Spiritus and Terra were also destroyed. Humans are so destructive, especially when they don’t fully understand the power they hold in their hands. Infernum and Caelum are the only two that survived intact.”
I stare at her. “That’s…fascinating.”
“I think that’s enough for one night.” Olivia climbs to her feet and reaches down for my hand. “You need rest, Harrison. There will be plenty of other opportunities to discover just how big the supernatural world really is.”
Sam stands, and between the two of them, they help me to my feet. My legs feel like jelly and I’m not going to lie, the room spins a bit. Exhaustion washes over me and I haven’t even got the energy to feel bad that I’m leaning so heavily on Sam. He doesn’t seem to be complaining either. He simply wraps his arm around me to keep me steady as we cross the room and join the others.
“I got the full whammy!” Dusty declares, throwing her hands up and casting, of all things, a rainbow in the middle of the devastated shop. “I’m like a supercharged, next-level, higher being. This shit is awesome!”
“Well, your friend seems very happy,” Olivia remarks.
“Harrison! Are you okay?” Tristan asks in concern.
“I’m okay,” I say quietly, really wishing for a bed to lie down on.
“We should get you to a hospital.”
​
“No need.” I shake my head, and another wave of dizziness causes me to sway again. Fortunately, Sam still has hold of me and tightens his grip to stop me from face-planting the floor. “Olivia healed me.”
​
“You did?” Tristan’s eyes widen. “You can do that?”
​
She shrugs. “I’m not as good at it as my great-aunt was, but I can manage the basics. Harrison will be fine, he just needs a few days’ rest.”
​
“Thank you,” Tristan says. “I don’t know what we would’ve done if you hadn’t shown up.”
“You’re welcome.” She smiles and then glances over at the wrecked floor. “The trap is closed and dormant now, but it held a demon and the ground will always bear the scars.”
​
“What was that thing you did with the purple smoke”—Tristan gives a strange gesture with his hand—“when you first arrived?”
​
“It’s witch smoke. You must have seen it loads of times? Your friend…” She glances at me. I shake my head, feeling a bit embarrassed. “You can’t travel by witch smoke?” I shake my head again. “God damn Brits.” Olivia rolls her eyes and gives an exasperated sigh. “What the hell are they teaching you over here?”
“Not the cool stuff, obviously,” Dusty mutters as she stands with Bruce.
“You ready to go, Olivia?” Lucien says in his low, growly voice. I’d forgotten he was even here.
Olivia looks down at her watch. “Shoot, I have to go. I have cookies in the oven.”
“You bake cookies in Hell?” Tristan looks really confused.
“No,” Olivia replies in amusement. “I bake cookies in Massachusetts, where I live.”
“Oh.”
“Anyway, I really do have to go. My husband, Theo, will be home soon. He went to collect the twins from soccer practice. But, hey, if you guys are ever in my neck of the woods, look me up.” She hesitates for a moment. “Just…don’t actually go wandering in the woods near my house. Hades has a habit of leaving me little gifts of the mythological creature slash killing kind.”
​
“They’re very protective of Olivia, Theo, and the kids,” Lucien agrees.
​
“Hades?” Tristan repeats incredulously.
​
Olivia nods, then her gaze drifts to the edge of the room, and I swallow hard.
​
It’s my mother.
​
The symbols are gone from her arms and neck, and her mouth is back exactly where it should be. Her dark hair is glossy and without a touch of grey, and while she’s still wearing her long tie-dyed dress and bangles, her skin is now rosy and healthy. She’s watching me nervously.
​
“Does she belong to you?” Olivia asks me softly.
​
“She’s my mother,” I whisper.
​
“Well, take some advice and go talk to her,” Olivia says. “Trust me, no one understands mommy issues like I do, but if you don’t make your peace with her, you’ll always regret it. The demon spell that was used on her was one of the cruellest, most inhumane forms of magic that can be used on a soul. It locked her within herself so she couldn’t communicate, but inside she was in torment, drowning in her own pain and unable to escape or feel a moment’s peace. But the moment you were trapped in that circle and in danger, she managed to break through. You have no idea the strength of will it took to break through demon magic. It’s damn near impossible for a regular human soul. She would have been in absolute agony. But all she knew was that her child was in danger. So whatever she did or didn’t do while she was alive, don’t ever underestimate a mother’s love, even if it comes with complicated strings attached.”
​
I contemplate her words, and she’s right. I may not get another chance.
​
“Okay, my work here is done.” Olivia winks and turns to the others. “I’m sure we’ll all meet again sometime. Just try not to let any more demons loose.”
​
Then both Olivia and Lucien disappear in a swirl of the strange purple smoke they’d arrived in. I shuffle towards Vivienne, really glad Sam’s there by my side holding me up.
​
“Sage,” Vivienne says quietly.
​
“My name’s Harrison.”
​
She gives me a shy smile. “I like it. It suits you.”
​
“Why did you do it?” I blurt out. “Why did you give me up? Why didn’t you want me?”
​
“Oh,” she whispers, her eyes filled with sadness. “I didn’t give you up because I didn’t want you. I gave you up because I loved you…I gave you up to save you.” She looks around the wreckage that was once her bookshop. “I wanted to spare you this, so you would not be trapped here like I was. I never wanted you in harm’s way, and I’m so sorry that in the end you got hurt anyway.”
​
“I don’t know what to say to that,” I murmur as I watch her. This is so much harder than I thought it would be. “I understand, I guess, but…”
​
“I’m so sorry,” she says again, her tone pleading. “I wanted you to be safe and happy. That was more important to me than my own happiness. I gave you to Dr Stanford and his husband because I knew they’d love you as much as I do. That’s all I wanted for you, to have a life filled with love.”
​
“I did.” I nod, suddenly feeling so grateful she did find two incredible men to love me and raise me. She may not have been able to keep me, but she gave me an incredible gift. She gave me them. “I do. My dads are amazing, although they’re going to be pretty pissed off when they find out about this.” I glance over at the debris from the demon trap.
​
“Vivienne,” Martin says gently. “It’s time to go. They’re waiting for you.”
​
She nods and gives me one last longing look. “Have a beautiful life, and know that I always have and always will love you.”
“Wait.” I instinctively reach out to her as she turns away, causing her to look back at me. “I…I wish things had been different. I wish I’d gotten to know you. But I do understand your choices, even if I’m not sure I’d have made the same ones, but thank you for giving me to my dads. They really are the best.”
​
We smile at each other, and in that moment I think we come to a kind of understanding.
​
“I know what you’re thinking, Jelly Bean,” Martin says to Tristan. “But you needn’t worry. We’ll see each other again.”
​
“Soon?”
​
He just smiles at his son. “I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise. Come on, Vivienne.” Martin holds out his hand to my mother and she takes it, allowing him to guide her into the light. “Do you like Scrabble?”
​
The light disappears and the room is silent apart from Dusty humming the Miss America song under her breath.
​
“Well,” Sam says, lightening the mood. “That’s the craziest funeral I’ve ever been to. I think we’re going to have to redefine the parameters of the Everett scale of weirdness.”
​
Tristan snorts but I sag further against Sam. I honestly think at this point that if Sam wasn’t actually holding me up, I’d just slide bonelessly to the floor and be asleep before I was even horizontal.
​
“Are you guys going to be okay?” Sam asks Danny and Tristan. “I need to get Harrison home.”
​
“Absolutely,” Danny replies. “Make sure you take care of him.”
​
“I can take care of myself, you know,” I mumble, too exhausted to summon any kind of indignation to my words.
​
“We know you can, Prickles,” Sam murmurs.
​
Tristan steps closer and cups my face with his hands, rising on tiptoes and placing a kiss on my forehead. “Thanks for not dying.” He smiles. “I’d have been really pissed off and would totally have sent Dusty into the light to drag you back here.”
​
“I’d have done it too.” Dusty cackles from somewhere behind him.
​
“Uh, you’re welcome?” I say, not really coherent enough to know what I’m acknowledging thanks for.
​
“Get him home, Sam,” Danny says, his voice laced with affection, which I think is directed at me.
​
Everything spins a bit when I feel arms loop under my legs and lift me. Next thing I know, Sam is holding me effortlessly in his arms.
​
“Put me down,” I murmur sleepily. “I can walk. I’m not a baby.” But my head lolls against his firm chest and my eyes start to close.
​
“Go to sleep, Prickles.” His soft voice rumbles against my temple. “I’ve got you.”
​
“And you’ll stay with me,” I whisper before I can stop the words from slipping out, and as I slide down into warm comforting sleep, the last thing I hear is one word.
​
“Always.”