Chapter 11
Blessedly, the car came to a stop. Luke released the grip he had on his elbows.
Clint had told him to hold onto himself after he accidentally dug his nails through the leather of his seat.
“We’re either here or we’re dead. If I open my eyes, am I going to see a volcanic hellish landscape or Chicago streets? ”
“Chicago,” Clint said.
“That’s just what a demon would say.”
“Luke, we need to hurry.”
“Right.” Luke sighed and opened his eyes.
They were parked on a street that was otherwise a little too empty.
He popped his door open at the same time that Clint did.
A hint of sulfur was on the air, and a magnetic pull drew Luke’s focus toward a building at the far end of the block.
Just looking at it made something crawl in his skin.
“Please tell me that the place we want is that dormant bakery across the street.”
Clint stepped forward with his staff in hand. His coat was ordinary; if he’d had a cape on, Luke was certain it would have billowed behind him just out of courtesy to Clint’s heroic demeanor. Despite his battle readiness, Clint’s emotions pulsed with a desire for peace.
As much as he can rain down destruction, he doesn’t want to. Luke slowly shut his car door, careful to make little noise with it.
“I know we have a deal, but you don’t have to come with me any further. I’ll uphold my end,” Clint said. But a flicker in his wants said that he didn’t want to walk into the battle alone.
He actually wants me with him. Luke wasn’t a fighter. He should turn tail and wait, but a long time had passed since anyone had counted on him. With all his bridges burned, he couldn’t help relishing that he was building a new one with Clint. I can’t abandon him to his fate.
But he couldn’t let on how much he liked that Clint wanted him around, either. What lay ahead of them was dangerous. Being eager about it was foolish, bordering on suicidal. Sarcasm, that was the way to go. Luke grinned wide. “Dead men don’t write checks. I have to protect my investment.”
“You could get yourself killed,” Clint said.
“At least I’d be going out in good company.”
Clint snorted, but he also had a hint of a smile.
A tremor in the air, an invisible vibration that rolled over Luke, stomped the mirth out of their moment of camaraderie as their circumstances pressed their way into being at the forefront.
A wind was kicking up and dark clouds were rolling in overhead.
Even the light pollution of the major city couldn’t make the sky less foreboding.
Luke scanned their surroundings and caught moving figures outside of the building they were aimed at.
“How far does your respect for life extend?” Luke asked quietly.
“The mages in there intend to release a danger and won’t hold back against us,” Clint replied in the same somber tone. “If they won’t stand down …”
“We’ll be forced to get our hands bloody,” Luke finished. “For the record, I don’t relish killing people.”
A swelling desire rose in Clint, but Luke couldn’t quite figure out what the intent behind it was.
Though he had easier access, some parts of Clint remained shrouded as if covered with a heavy curtain.
Luke wasn’t about to rip it aside. Clint had trusted him with his blood.
Abusing his advantage would ruin whatever might grow between them.
Clint whispered, “Sadly, this isn’t the first time I’ve had to deal with a cult bent on harming the world for its own gain.”
“Yeah. People suck.” Luke gestured toward the building. “They must have guards stationed outside. How do you want to handle the approach?”
“We need to take them out—knock them unconscious if possible. We don’t want them to swarm in behind us.” Clint squared his shoulders. “I’ll draw attention. You attack from the shadows. Once the outer guards are down, I plan on walking through the front door. And you do what you do best.”
“Break in somewhere else,” Luke said.
“Exactly. Our first goal is to stop the ritual. We shouldn’t have any trouble dispersing the cult if they can’t get their demon out of his box.”
“We have to split up.”
Clint nodded. “I’ll see you inside.”
Luke took a few steps. He couldn’t help feeling like he was striding out onto a tightrope, and though he had the dexterity to make the trip across, he was worried about Clint. So he took a moment to look back at him and smile. “You better make it through this. You owe me a conversation.”
And because his heart couldn’t risk seeing any flicker of doubt or rejection from Clint, Luke swiftly turned around and headed out into the night. Recently fed, he was faster than he’d been, and he melted into the shadows quickly and quietly.
Clint was about to wish Luke good luck when he took off in the blink of an eye.
The words had caught in his throat. He’d thought he’d had more time, even if only a second.
We’ve only known each other a few hours.
Watching him leave shouldn’t hurt like this.
Shouldn’t make me worry. Clint was a lonely stalwart.
Needing someone around—wanting someone close to him—that was a folly.
Yet part of him wanted to chase after Luke and ensure he made it through the battle unscathed.
Luke is cunning. He’ll be fine. Clint had to trust him and focus, or they would surely lose. I can overanalyze the ache in my heart after we stop the ritual. Clint took a deep breath and strode toward the building. As he went, he cast a shield around himself.
The invisible magic snapped into place, the faintest hint of its presence making itself known as the slight blurring of edges of the world around him.
The magic was just in time, too, as three bolts of blue shot out of the dark night and pinged off his shield.
Clint followed their trajectory back to a figure on a nearby rooftop.
Clint spun his staff, preparing to fire arcane bolts at his attacker, but Luke reached out from the shadowy area near the fire escape and hauled the other figure backward.
Voices alerted Clint to the presence of others. He brought his attention back to the street level and strode forward. He rounded the corner of the building.
A ball of roaring fire came hurtling through the air at him.
Clint made a quick gesture with his hand and infused his will into a spell.
A bead of energy zipped from his finger at the ball of fire, and the flames whooshed into nothingness.
Another slew of arcane bolts—these a bright purple—bounced off his shield.
Two mages wearing red robes stood in front of the large factory double doors. Both had grim, determined glares in their eyes.
“You can walk away,” Clint declared. “Forget this ritual and this misleading path, and go back to your lives.”
“Fuck you!” one shouted back before maneuvering her wand. Her companion brought his wand up, too.
Clint swiftly adjusted the angles of his shield. When her arcane bolts ricocheted off his spell, they struck her and knocked her down. The other mage was a half second behind her in casting and sent dark blue bolts Clint’s way. Those bounced off and harmlessly hit a wall.
Exhaling, Clint sent three bolts of his own white arcane magic at his attacker. The mage crumpled to the ground. As Clint passed by the fallen two, he noted that they were still breathing, though the boy had a bad wound to his right shoulder.
He reached the large double doors and attempted to yank one open, but they were locked. So he took a few steps back, rolled his shoulders, and blasted the damn things open.
A wash of sulfur raced out into the street. The pungent odor carried a thick pressure in the air.
The ritual was nearing completion.
Striding through the empty first room into what had been a factory floor at some point in its life, Clint reinforced his shield and summoned energy into his staff.
Valgaruz’s ebony cage sat in the center of three circles.
Lying beside it was a crumpled figure dressed in dark clothing.
Seven mages in red robes were in a ring around the outermost circle, and they continued to chant in unison.
An eighth person, Oz, was part of the ritual, but Oz wore street clothes instead of the cult’s attire.
“Enough!” Clint shouted. “Stop before you damn the world.”
“What does the world care for anyone?” one of the mages declared. The figure closest to Clint turned around and pushed back her hood. She was one of the mages from Price’s security photos, Miranda.
“Serving a demon is not the way to reconcile the harm the world has put upon you,” Clint said.
“The demon will serve us. Not that you’ll live to see our victory.” Miranda gestured with her hand.
Three other mages and Oz stepped away from the ritual and turned to face Clint. All five pointed their wands at him. The remaining three were still chanting. Their voices were reaching a pitch as if they were nearing completion.
Clint lifted his staff, readying for battle. But the situation was grim. If he focused on taking down the mages attacking him, the ritual would continue. But if he went after those in the ritual, he would leave himself open to attack. He needed help. Luke, you’re my only hope.
The night was a living thing in a way that Luke hadn’t known since his early nights.
But then, he’d never drank as potent blood as he’d had that night.
He had always been stealthy, always crept up on others or into places undetected, but he seemed to fade from even his own sight.
The mage he grabbed didn’t have a clue he was there until Luke dragged him backward and sank his teeth into his neck.