Chapter 1 #2
What happened earlier today was unchangeable. All she could do was move forward, kill this demon, kill another, and another, and hope that someday, they would create a pile high enough to outweigh the other sort of magic she’d had no say in receiving.
To start, she had to find the trail.
Pippa shook out her arms and repositioned her hands.
Breathed. There was the moon, the sleeping birds, the hungry bat.
As she focused, she began to sense the demon’s aura.
All otherworldly creatures had them, and over the years, Pippa had compiled somewhat of a compendium in her mind.
Succubi evoked the sensation of bare skin gliding across heated silk, ghouls were icy and bitter, wood fairies felt as fresh and clear as a summer rainstorm.
Pippa concentrated on this demon’s presence. Thorns and grease. It crept along her skin and settled high in her stomach.
There you are.
She delved into that sensation and when she opened her eyes, a wavering path of murky red flickered along the concrete. The trail left behind by the demon’s aura appeared dim where she stood but brightened as it passed through the broken wall of a warehouse up ahead. Easy enough to follow.
Broken glass littered the ground where she crept into the warehouse, and she rose to her toes in order to step cautiously between the shards.
The building was silent except for a wet chomping sound that came from high up in one corner.
She let her concentration drop, and the trail faded out of sight.
The thin moon did nothing to illuminate the warehouse.
At her position by the door, she could see cobwebs floating through the air in front of her face, yet her eyes wouldn’t adjust to the darkness, and the far half of the building remained pitch black.
The large glass windows lining the walls were nearly opaque from dust and dirt.
The stench of fresh blood wafted past her into the night and, combined with the stronger aura enclosing her like a shroud, made her regret eating so soon before her hunt.
Pippa swallowed hard in an attempt to keep her dinner in its place. She could ready an attack, but where would she aim it? And what exactly was she trying to hit?
Her fingers tapped the knife in her pocket as she thought.
Different demons had different susceptibilities: a blast of fire might take out a blood-raged ghoul, but it would only encourage any number of other things.
She just had to stay quiet. Maybe she could make a distraction to lure it outside, let her see it before it saw her.
If she could brighten the building, she could—
Right then, Pippa stepped on a chunk of brick, and her shoe let out a loud, farting squeak.
The chomping stopped. A beat of silence, and then the sound of something landing hard on concrete and sprinting in her direction.
Pippa grabbed on to a handful of nearby magic, twisted it, and hurled it into the air above her head.
Light blasted out from a single point, but in her haste she pulled too little, and the light flickered out quickly.
Yet in that brief flash, it lit up the demon long enough for her to see a sickly pale face, twin curved horns, and an impossibly large gore-streaked jaw unhinging wide.
She threw herself to the side and heard it smack the wall behind her. Its low snarl rattled through her bones.
“I do not like my meals interrupted, witch.” The demon spoke in an indistinct, slow way that implied its jaw was still hanging loose.
Pippa couldn’t see more than shadows. Adrenaline scalded her veins.
“Yeah?” she said. “I didn’t know dog tastes better if you eat it all at once.” She’d seen the torn collar, the little tag for Billy.
The demon hissed. “It was a stringy creature. Its hairs are stuck in my teeth.”
Its voice twisted in disgust, and Pippa took advantage of the temporary diversion. She pulled more magic to her.
This time, when she hurled power into the air, light exploded outward and glowed bright and steady enough to illuminate the entire warehouse.
Scattered bricks and beams littered the concrete floor, and the demon staggered across them as it threw one pale arm over its face.
It wore a pair of sagging pants tucked into heavy boots.
Its torso was bare, and though the demon’s body was gangly, its stomach pouched in the sort of way that implied the size of its dinner.
Two long spiraling horns curled along its scalp from its temples, and the pointed ears beneath them twitched backward in anger.
A Tro’grath. Before she’d been humiliated in yet another interview, the Ash Coven had mentioned that a new group of these demons had moved into New Hawkshead’s underground several weeks past. They were known for their intelligence, but also their violence.
This one was young, since it only had a single set of horns. Older Tro’graths could have several sets sprouting from their heads.
More adrenaline trickled up Pippa’s neck.
Young demons were volatile. Even though they compensated for their lack of years and wisdom with rashness and stupidity, their strength outperformed that of their elders.
She’d heard tales over the years of witches beginning fights with young demons under the supposition that “young” just meant “careless,” only to become a cautionary tale for others.
Better be careful, then.
She let the magic around her flow over her hands, reveling in the strength it brought and the way it brightened the light overhead. The demon staggered and hissed at her like a cat sprayed with water.
“And what about the people you killed yesterday?” she said, surprised that she managed to keep her voice from trembling. “Were they pitiful too?”
It lowered its arm and blinked in the light. Something glimmered in its skin, and Pippa looked closer. Were those jewels embedded in its forehead? Two sets of eyelids shuttered quickly over milky pink eyes, and its pupils, like black pinpricks, settled on her.
It twitched its mouth in a grotesque parody of a smile. Red flecks adorned its bared fangs.
“No,” it said. “They were delicious.”
Pippa quelled her rising revulsion, even as magic continued to flood along her fingers. “The coven that protects this city can let an owned animal’s death slide occasionally. But killing humans? You crossed a line when you ate them.”
The Tro’grath snorted, then began to circle her in a wide arc. Those pink eyes fixed on her neck a little too firmly.
“Go on then witch,” it said. “Tell me more about lines. You can speak of them as I gnaw on your spine.”
Pippa frowned. “Gross.”
That’s when it lunged, spittle flying from its mouth, jaw open far enough to reveal the second row of fangs ringing its purpled tongue. The screech that burst from that awful maw was like the piercing agony of metal scraping against slate. Muscles bulged beneath its sickly skin.
Pippa was ready.
She forced the gathered magic out of her hands. It shot from her, spraying up and out in a wall of shining air that formed an arced shield. As the demon collided with it, the force rattled her arms.
The Tro’grath tumbled onto the concrete, its eyes wide. Black blood trickled down from a wound on its temple near one of its horns. It stared at her as if utterly shocked she would dare fight back.
Rage twisted the mottled lips into a snarl and it lunged for her again, but Pippa pulled on the magic, reorienting the shield to bring it down onto the demon. The magic crushed the Tro’grath into the concrete. She felt it writhe and twist beneath the magical pane, and she pushed down harder.
She didn’t notice the demon had grabbed a brick to throw at her until she felt the impact of it on her shin.
Pain lanced through her leg, and she staggered with a cry. She scrabbled to keep the magic together, but she had been distracted for a second too long. The shield wavered, fractured, then fell over the demon as if it had been made of dust.
The Tro’grath erupted out of the shining cloud, all bared teeth and flashing claws.
When Pippa turned to dodge, she landed on her injured leg.
The blossoming bruise on her shin erupted into a pain so sharp that her graceful move became an awkward stumble.
Claws raked across her sweatshirt, her skin saved only by the baggy bulging of the material.
She ducked beneath another swipe and pulled her knife from the sheath within her sweater, then propelled herself forward and embedded the blade in the demon’s chest.
Different demons had different weaknesses, but she’d learned long ago that if in doubt, always go for the heart.
The demon let out a furious screech. When it scuttled away from her, she saw she’d aimed too high: the handle wobbled below the creature’s shoulder, far from its heart.
It wrapped one clawed hand around the knife and pulled it from its body. Smoke wisped from the wound, and the Tro’grath gave Pippa a look somewhere between indignation and shock.
“You dare?” it said. “You dare to strike me with your fey-blade?”
If it was offended by being stabbed by her, it would be outright horrified to know the “fey-blade” was just a kitchen knife from a pawn shop doctored with a hasty spell to make it act like silver.
Despite her now-throbbing shin, or perhaps because of it, Pippa couldn’t contain all of her laugh, and a small snort escaped.
The demon heard, and its face grew purple with fury. “You laugh, witch, the way a mouse laughs in the jaws of a beast.”
It hurled Pippa’s own knife at her, and as she flung her body to the side to avoid it, the demon sprung at her and raked its claws over her stomach. Two claws made it through the sweatshirt.
She cried out and pressed a hand to her midsection. Not mortally deep, but . . . deep. Blood welled beneath her palm and slipped over her fingers. Magic waited at her fingers, ready to pack into the wound and guide quick healing. She urged it along her arms and down her torso.