Night Huntress

Staring at his prone form, I tried to summon up some feeling of regret, but the only thing I could think about was rescuing Chase, and how this man might have been the one to cut off Chase’s fingertip. I wiped my blade on his back and turned to help the others.

Roz had cut down the man in front of him, and Menolly had taken care of her opponent. For the moment, we were alone again.

Camille walked over to their swords and picked up one. “These could come in handy. Not iron—but sort of alloy. The enchantment’s to make them stronger and more deadly. I don’t think its aimed at any one particular race or species.” She tossed one to Morio, one to Roz, and offered the third to me. I took it, staring at the curving blade.

“I dunno, I’m used to my dagger. It would be hard to run with this. On the other hand, it’s good for holding people at arm’s length. Vanzir, you want it?”

Vanzir looked at the blade with a hunger I seldom saw on his face. “I’ll use it to cut out his heart,” he murmured, and I knew he was talking about Karvanak. He took the sword and swished it around. Obviously the dude had experience from the way he made it sing through the air.

I glanced at Morio. “You don’t have any clothes that you could spare in that bag of yours, do you?”

He grinned. “Don’t like looking like a hoochie mama? I have a spare karate outfit. The pants will be short, but it’s got to be better than what you’re wearing.” He zipped open his bag and tossed me a pair of black pants and a white top, along with a belt, also black.

“Thanks,” I said, yanking off my togs of torture. Everyone stared. I was buck naked beneath the lamé. “Look all you want, but right now, I don’t give a shit. I just want out of that crap and into something that won’t give me jock itch.”

Camille laughed as I yanked on the pants, which came up to my shins, and belted the top. “Feel better?” she said.

“Much. The material’s a lot heavier than that crap,” I added, kicking the glittering hooker togs. “At least my skin can breathe now.”

“Take them with you,” Camille warned me. “Morio, put the pants and halter in your bag. They’ve got her scent and essence on them, and there’s no way in hell we want anybody who might work magic to get hold of that.”

“Good point,” he said, snagging them up. He stuffed them in his bag, then zipped it shut.

“Okay, let’s find Chase. We’ve still got a bunch of bloatworgles and venidemons to deal with.” I led them into the hallway that branched off from the living room. The house reminded me of the one in which we’d fought the venidemons, though it looked in better shape. I also doubted we’d find a portal here; the energy wasn’t strong enough for that. At least, I hoped we wouldn’t.

I opened each door as we came to it. In one room, we found stacks of expensive rugs: wool, hand-woven, and beautiful. The next was a bathroom, and the third was a bedroom. Lush and opulent, the room smelled like Rāksasa. I was about to cross the threshold when Camille stopped me.

“Wards—strong wards. You’ll blow your head off if you go in there. Let’s find Chase and get him out of here.” She pulled me back from the door, and I nodded, looking around.

“Where’s the basement, Fraale?” I didn’t want to waste time running around like a chicken with my head cut off. Camille was right: Get in there, get Chase out, and then come back for Karvanak.

“See that door over there—the one that looks like it might lead to another bedroom?” She pointed to a door on the other side of the arch leading out of the hall. “That’s it. The basement is unfinished, so it’s cold and dank. I have no idea where the venidemons are. Karvanak was pretty clear about not letting them loose down there. The creatures are mindless and would have tried to use your detective as an all-you-can-eat diner.”

But the bloatworgles weren’t mindless . . . dangerous, yes. Disgusting, definitely. But mindless? No. I reached for the door handle.

“Be on your guard. My guess is that the bloatworgles are down there. Don’t go in without your defenses being up. By the way, Roz saved me from getting toasted by the one on our property. Remember, they breathe fire.”

As I opened the door, a fetid smell wafted up. Oh yeah, bloatworgle stench. Delightful. A pair of glowing eyes gleamed from the darkness below.

Those sure as hell aren’t cat eyes, I thought. With a shout, I decided to play Han Solo and ran full tilt down the stairs, screaming at the top of my lungs and waving my dagger like a crazed berserker.

Apparently, blind and foolish courage has its advantages, because I landed right square on the stomach of the creepy critter before he could shake himself out of his astonishment and skedaddle.

It was a bloatworgle, all right, and he looked like he’d just swallowed his tongue. Before he had a chance to open his mouth, I raised my dagger and brought it straight down on his eyes. While his hide was tough, his eyes were not, and I drove the dagger deep. A spray of gray green mucus sprayed up on me.

“Ewww.” I grimaced. Grungy and gross, yes, but there was no time to worry about the crap staining Morio’s karate suit. No time to worry about anything. I was on autopilot: Seek and destroy the enemy. Rescue the valiant knight locked in the castle dungeon. Any sense of remorse or hesitance had flown the coop, and my body was chugging along on adrenaline and instinct.

I leapt to my feet as the others joined me. Where was the next little creep?

A flash of movement caught my eye, and I whirled just in time to see a second demon open his mouth and let loose with a scorching blast, hitting Vanzir straight in the stomach. Vanzir didn’t seem to even flinch, and I wondered what the hell dream chasers were really made of. We’d never seen him in his native form. He let loose a low growl in his throat and moved in, his sword making contact long enough to carve a nice little niche in the bloatworgle’s arm before the blade bounced away again. Man, those suckers were tough!

“Move,” Morio said, sounding a little like Smoky. He was shifting. Within seconds, he went from five eight to eight feet tall, his nose and chin morphing out to a muzzle with drool dripping off the fangs. I stared, always impressed by his youkai form. Unlike Weres, he remained bipedal, though his head was vaguely vulpine. Though he was covered with a downy reddish fur, his hands and feet remained humanoid. Yet his eyes mirrored Morio’s spirit, through and through. Altogether, he was one scary-looking mutha.

I jumped out of the way as he dove for the demon, catching the potbellied creature up in his arms. The bloatworgle let out a squeal and made a nosedive for Morio’s muzzle, its mouth open to land a bite.

Before it could make contact, Morio grabbed the thing around the neck and sent it smashing against the wall. The house shook, and the bloatworgle let out a gurgle and slid to the floor. Morio turned toward Camille, who nodded.

It was then that I saw the door in the back of the basement. Chase was in there; he had to be. I raced toward it, heedless of whether there were any other demons in the room. As my hand touched the doorknob, I heard a scuffle behind me and glanced over my shoulder. Menolly and Morio were taking out another bloatworgle, playing volleyball with the demon as the ball. I ignored them—they could handle it—and yanked open the door.

I flipped on the light, and cockroaches scattered in every direction. The inside of the room was small, not much bigger than a utility room. A cage had been built in the back. A cell, really, with floor-to-ceiling bars. There was a bare incandescent lightbulb screwed into a ceiling fixture, giving off all of forty watts. The room was empty save for a chair near the door to the cell, and a layer of grime covered the walls. The place smelled like shit and blood and rotting food.

I swallowed the lump growing in my throat and stepped forward, my gaze glued on the cell. In the corner, huddled beneath a thin blanket on a mattress, sat my Chase. My sweet Chase.

He raised his head, his eyes glazed over. When he saw me, a look of disbelief crossed his face, and he began to cry.

“Chase! Chase!” I yanked on the cell door, but it was locked. “Wait here. I’ll get someone to bend the bars.” I ducked back out into the room. The third bloatworgle was dead. “Menolly, come bend these bars for me. I found Chase.”

Menolly sailed to my side, her feet barely touching the floor. She raced inside the room. A grimace washed over her face as she looked around, but her focus was solely on Chase, and she grabbed the bars and began to bend them.

“Wait!” Morio rushed in, back in his human form. “Let me cast a Dispel Illusion spell just in case.” A bright light filled the room as he conjured the spell, but nobody proved to be anything other than what they were.

Menolly immediately went back to the bars, and they screeched as she slowly forced them apart. Her hands were blistering—there must be iron in them—but she didn’t show any pain or hesitance. After a moment, the bars were big enough for her to squeeze through.

“Let me do this. I’m stronger than you and can carry him out without a problem.” She stepped through without another word and knelt by Chase, murmuring softly to him. He nodded as she gathered him up in her arms and, hoisting the man who was a good foot taller than she over her shoulder, she carried him to the bars.

Taking his arm, I helped him to step out of the cell. The bloody stump where they’d chopped off the tip of his finger looked like it might be infected.

I had to force myself not to burst into tears. I had to be strong for him. I had to be his anchor right now. The gods only knew how terrified and adrift he probably felt at this moment.

As he leaned against the bars, shaky and pale, he whispered. “Delilah, I’m so sorry—I’m so sorry—”

I pressed my fingers to his lips. “Hush. Just hush. There’s time enough to talk later. The important thing is to get you out of here where we can treat your wounds.” I wrapped my arm around his waist and led him out of the cramped room. Camille gasped, but at my look, she stayed where she was.

Zach moved forward.

Chase stared at him. His eyes were worn, he looked like he’d been to hell and back, and I could only pray that a severed finger was the worst that Karvanak had done to him. Chase glanced at me, then at Zachary.

“You—you . . . I understand . . .”

Once again, I pressed my finger to his lips. “Shush. There’s nothing so important we have to discuss it now. We need to focus on getting you out of here before Karvanak returns—”

A bolt of fear washed through Chase’s eyes. “He’s still alive?”

I was about to speak when a voice from the stairs answered for me.

“No, they haven’t been able to kill me,” the voice said. “Just like you weren’t able to fight me. You tried your best, Detective, but you couldn’t do a thing when I was holding you down. When I made you kiss my feet.”

Karvanak was standing there, in his Calvin Klein suit and polished shoes, his wraparound sunglasses hiding the cruelty in his eyes. The light glinted off his shaved head, and he gave me a soft smile.

“Mistress Cat, you’ve stolen my toy. Haven’t you heard what curiosity does to kittens? I suppose I’ll have to teach you. And Fraale, you dare to turn on me? Both you and Vanzir will live in my hell for a long, long, long time, and you’re going to rue every moment of every day that you still draw breath.”

And then, in back of him, a tall man appeared. Dressed in a long, black robe, he looked vaguely Chinese, but it was hard to place his background. This was no biker, no FBH thug. No, power drifted off of him in waves, setting off an internal alarm that shrieked so loud I thought I was going to scream.

And then I knew—somehow I knew. I stared at the creature who looked so human but was so far from humanity that there was no center point on the line where the two could meet. One of the Scytatians, summoned from the deepest bowels of the Netherworld. A Scythe Reaper.

Karvanak nodded, looking pleased. “Oh, yes, be afraid. I know who you are, Death Maiden, and I know that you’re young. You can’t hope to fight a Scytatian, and neither can your friends.”

I stood frozen in my tracks, the tattoo on my forehead shifting and pulsating in response to the being’s appearance.

Never moving my gaze, I said to the others, “Scytatians are from the realm of Death, the realm of the Harvestmen. I know this in my core. I can feel him. None of you can fight him—only me. And only because I have a direct connection to the realm of the Netherworld, so if I fall, get the fuck out of here. Because I guarantee you, if that thing touches you, it will rip out your heart and swallow it as a snack.”

And so we stood for what seemed like an eternity, waiting for that moment when the dam breaks and the battle begins.

CHAPTER 27

Every battle is different. Every fight has its own spirit. Every haunted battlefield is rife with not only ghosts of the dead but the soul of the battle. And just so, every sword has a consciousness. Every blade, a name. Sometimes steel and silver remain silent until they are gently coaxed out of hiding. Sometimes they never reveal themselves. And sometimes, they wake up on their own.

My dagger tingled in my hand as I stared at the Scytatian. I sucked in my breath. Could it be? My blade had never spoken to me before, but now I heard the whisper of a woman’s voice, delicate and ethereal and cold as ice.

“Lysanthra,” she whispered. “I am Lysanthra. And I am your blade.”

Without moving my gaze, I answered as silently as the message had reached my ears. “I am Delilah. I’m Fae, human, and Were. And . . . I’m a Death Maiden.”

I might hate the term, but I had to face it. Not only did I belong to three realms—Fae, human, and the realm of felines—but I also walked under the shadow of Death. I followed in the tracks of my master.