Chapter 11
I continued scouring the world for leads on the Celestial Coven, sending out waves of manifestations to search for any possible clue.
Since I hadn’t had much luck on my own, I allowed a manifestation to trail alongside Gladiatrix, who’d found herself in London yet again.
For a woman assigned to Chicago, she found every excuse in the book to fly across the ocean and help out the UK witches.
Granted, this particular visit might’ve been warranted. Maybe.
Long, sharp claws slashed at my translucent form, and I instinctively leapt back. Glowing red eyes studied where I’d been a moment ago.
Demons really did have a knack for tracking magic, anything to feed their insatiable hunger.
Perhaps this one sensed my manifestation in the atmosphere.
It wouldn’t matter. The magic used to project myself in this way remained incorporeal for a reason.
It prevented me from intervening physically, but it also protected my psychic forms from damage, which would inevitably injure my core self.
Gladiatrix lunged through the horde of vampires infesting the streets of London. She hacked through dozens at a time, swinging powerful fists fueled by a combination of her unmatched strength and waves of banishment. One by one, the vampires erupted, exploding demonic energy in every direction.
Following her trail, King Liberty raced to quickly remove the fiends and wisps that formed from the leftover energy.
Another masked vigilante accompanied him, banishing demonic energy too.
Her fiery red curls were knotted into a long braid that went well past her waist and whirled wildly as she zipped through the streets, flying close behind Gladiatrix.
These vigilante witches were top-notch, and still, they struggled to keep up with Gladiatrix.
Admittedly, I stopped chasing after her, allowing my telepathy to flow through the streets of London.
Bystanders who caught glimpses of the Global Guild witch filled my vision, helping me determine her next movements.
Somewhere around forty or so vampires, I lost track of how many demons she’d slaughtered.
Once every ounce of demonic energy had been purged, Gladiatrix finally stopped moving.
She stood in front of a large clock tower and caught her breath.
Most wouldn’t notice, but I’d trailed alongside her for months now, and I could spot the subtle signs of exhaustion she kept hidden behind a strong stance and confident face.
“Well, she’s something for sure,” the redheaded woman said with a thick Scottish accent.
She wore a mask similar to King Liberty, except the facial expression had a dramatically giant smile and clownish makeup. It was further accentuated by the jester hat on her head.
Queen of Jesters! That was her name. The mask was scarier than it was funny.
There were too many vigilante witches to recall them all, but it seemed the most famous came out to work alongside Gladiatrix, which made sense.
If America sent one of its best and brightest, then Britain wanted to highlight some of their best as well.
Though the Queen of Jesters wasn’t a favorite of the Crown.
The original one came into place around the 1940s when the royal family realized the people wanted easier ways to become licensed.
You know, instead of signing over their life and service to the royal family.
So, those in charge proposed entertainment licenses for witches with magic that could be used to perform for the royal family and other elites, as opposed to serving in their private army.
Thus, Queen of Jesters was born, a mockery of the offering the royal family gave.
The original Queen of Jesters possessed a cosmic branch that created explosive colors, sort of like fireworks, which she used to prank every noble’s party for the better part of a decade until the license policy was expanded so the people wouldn’t have to simply serve as soldiers or clowns for the royal family.
“I can’t sense any demonic energy in the city,” Queen of Jesters said with a whistle. “Not a trace of demon or wisp.”
“You two did most of the thorough cleaning,” Gladiatrix said. “I just slapped around soap suds.”
“If you say so,” Queen of Jesters replied. “But I say we take you on tour, clean up the whole nation.”
“You’d have to get the Global Guild to sign off first.”
“Goddamn bureaucrats,” Queen of Jesters replied with a shameful tsk. “They ruin everything.”
“They offer as much as they deprive,” King Liberty said, nodding with gratitude at Gladiatrix. “We appreciate them bypassing the red tape so you could offer assistance.”
“Always.” There was a softness in Gladiatrix’s voice. A nervousness in the word that slipped from her lips. “Vampires can be a headache. Trust me, we’ve had a spike in the states, too.”
“Really?” King Liberty asked quizzically. “They’ve been all over Europe, bouncing country to country faster than nations can rally their forces.”
“Springing from one major city to the next, night after night,” Queen of Jesters added.
“And just vampires?” Gladiatrix asked.
“Yeah, which is odd,” King Liberty replied. “London doesn’t get many demons in general, but the fact that they’re banding together, and doing so with such extreme coordination, is bothersome.”
“Well, it’s not really coordinating,” Queen of Jesters said. “They’re all vampires, of course, they work together.”
“Demons in general are typically isolated hunters,” Gladiatrix corrected.
“And vampires are notorious for being more solitary than other demons,” King Liberty said. “They’re the sharks of the demon world.”
“Aren’t all demons sharks?” Queen of Jesters laughed.
“Yes, but vampires are among the deadliest.”
It reminded me of the only other time demons had banded together for a major assault—under the chimera’s leadership.
He was long since dead, thanks to my Doppler self, but there was one other individual who could strike such alliances.
“Welp, as much fun as this has been”—Queen of Jesters curtsied dramatically—“I should be taking my leave.”
“A pleasure, always.” King Liberty nodded.
“And an honor to make your acquaintance.” Queen of Jesters shook Gladiatrix’s hand. “I’ve never been fond of the Global Guild, but I suppose some of their members are worth a bit of gratitude.”
“Well, thank you.” Gladiatrix gently shook the vigilante witch’s hand and tipped her head politely.
King Liberty waited for his fellow witch to take her leave before he casually moved in closer to Gladiatrix, leaving very little space between the two.
“Now that she’s gone, we can have a bit of fun,” he said with a bright smile. “I thought perhaps you’d like to see a bit of the town.”
“I’ve seen plenty,” Gladiatrix teased. “I quite literally ran circles around it for the better part of the night.”
“Yes, but you haven’t experienced London. And the city at night is something quite beautiful to behold. Almost as beautiful as you.”
She considered it momentarily. Her time with King Liberty sent a shiver of excitement through her, coursing with a surge of anticipation and a dizzying delirium as she debated.
“You’re cute,” she answered. “But I don’t do DL relationships.”
“Oh? You wish to go public, my sweet?” King Liberty tilted his head, shooting Gladiatrix a minxy smile that made the powerful witch weak in the knees.
I very much understood the struggle of saying no to a sweet man who used his charm in the best and most obnoxious ways.
“I’d gladly hold your hand for all to see.”
“King Liberty might, but I want a man brave enough to hold my hand without his mask.” Gladiatrix’s mind whirled with his identity. The name she couldn’t call him hung on her lips, the face only she got to see, and only when no one else was around.
Temptation brought me closer to her thoughts, attempting to learn who King Liberty was underneath the mask, but when Gladiatrix clenched her fists, I backed away. It was doubtful she knew I was here, but given her enhanced senses, I didn’t want to get some lecture on my eavesdropping.
King Liberty frowned, and his mind swirled with the politics surrounding his position. Damn. His thoughts must’ve been rampant with worry since his mind was mostly shielded from my telepathy thanks to the protective wards stitched into his costume.
It was a bizarre thing to have front row seats to their most private conversation and only grasp about a quarter of what was left unsaid between them.
“In order to honor King Liberty and the freedom the people of this nation deserve, I don’t get to be brave or public.
” He cast his eyes downward, unable to meet Gladiatrix’s gaze.
“You deserve everything. You deserve a man who will give you everything. But I can only give what little is left from carrying the mantle.”
“And sadly, I understand your position.” Gladiatrix kissed King Liberty lightly, savoring the soft press of his lips and the gentle lick of his tongue. “But I can’t give you my heart or feelings or my time if all you can offer is the leftover pieces of King Liberty’s life.”
“Wait, Alicia—”
With that, Gladiatrix vanished in a blurred bolt of speed. Flying or running across the ocean, I could barely track her presence. Her frustrated and heartbroken thoughts echoed in waves before fully dispersing now that she’d left.
Now that Gladiatrix was gone, there was nothing anchoring my manifestation. I floated aimlessly through the streets of London, gaining a crisper sense of the nearby minds now that all the demonic energy had been purged.
I wandered on the edges of the psychic plane where I’d quickly travel back to my core self. There was nothing in London any longer. No demons. No leads. No Celestial Coven.
“…”
Wordless thoughts whispered.
“…”
They called out.
“…”
They taunted me.
A chill ran through me; a familiar and frightening voice whispered in the darkness. Haunting and unreal. It couldn’t be real. Still, if even the faintest chance existed, I needed to move forward.
Flying through the streets, I trailed the eerie thrum until I reached an abandoned building. An empty block, more like it. Few minds dwelled nearby, but the one at the center whispered a wicked hello.
Could he sense me? Was this some type of trap set by the Celestial Coven?
I froze, collecting myself, because I needed to investigate, to get answers.
Even if this was a trap, a trick, it wouldn’t harm me.
Not in this fragmented state of being. Besides, the chances of this being real were slim.
All this could be some British psychopath with a similar horror to their thoughts.
It might not be the most horrifying man I’d ever had the displeasure of meeting.
When I managed to compose myself, I floated into the dank building and made my way through the rundown rooms until I reached a dark cellar. Fuck me. Of course, I’d have to go into the depths of the dark.
Light flickered at the bottom of the staircase. I followed the lights, spotting hundreds of candles illuminating a red pentagram that I desperately hoped had been drawn in paint and not the alternative.
Knelt on the floor in the center of the pentagram was Theodore Whitlock. He kept his eyes firmly shut as he held his hands in front of his chest, channeling magic. A smile crept onto his face.
“Well, well, well,” he thought. “If it isn’t my favorite psychic.”