Shades of Wicked

My laughter was knives sharpening against each other. Even insulated by the incredible power of my other nature, grief found its way to me. “You probably could do all that. But you won’t. I almost took your word about saving Ian’s life earlier. Look how that turned out for me.”

More slivers of pain slipped in, drawn by the grief spreading like poison through me. Talking about Ian was dangerous. It fueled my vampire half, which was screaming and beating against its new cage with all its might. I could drown that half with more of this power. I should do that. It would insulate me from its weakness, grief, and pain. When had it ever brought me anything except those three?

“I can bring Ian back,” Dagon said, sounding desperate now. “Only me. Kill me, and Ian stays dead forever.”

The demon would say anything to save his own life. Pathetic. Why hadn’t I killed him already? Why wasn’t I sending the bone-encased ice knives into his eyes right this moment?

. . . could have loved you, could have loved you, could have loved you . . .

The new cage housing my vampire half shattered. So did the ice knives. Water and bits of bones rained over Dagon as all my pain, grief, hope, love, fears . . . everything that was me roared back on top. It shoved my other nature beneath it, winding countless chains over it to keep it down. Gods, it burned to feel everything again! For a moment, I didn’t think I could stand it. At once, that powerful numbness tempted me. If you let me free, it promised, I will protect you from all this.

I couldn’t. Not if Ian still had a chance. I channeled all my scorching feelings at it, their intensity forcing it back and forming ever more chains over it.

“I don’t trust you, Dagon, but there is someone who might be able to do everything you said,” I found myself saying.

Dagon peeked out from behind his hands, eyes widening at the water and bone fragments now covering him. “Don’t bother.” Even soaked with bloody water, his laugh was a dry wheeze. “Your father doesn’t care enough to help you.”

“He might not,” I agreed, continuing to shove my other half down and fling every inner chain I had over it so it wouldn’t control me again. “But I’m going to find out.”

Chapter 43

I jumped on Dagon before he healed enough to attempt teleporting. The web around the park had fractured with Ian’s death since his magic had powered some of it. Then I grabbed two larger pieces of demon bone from the many shards around him. Before he could react, I stabbed one through his eye and held the shard over his remaining eye. Dagon screamed, cursing and threatening me in more languages than even I knew about how I’d regret this.

I ignored him as I twisted the blade in his smoking, blackened eye socket. Slowly, blood began to drip out. I kept twisting until I had the amount I needed. Only blood from someone at the edge of death would work for this ritual. Then I left the knife in his eye socket to give myself a free hand. I wet my finger in his dripping blood, then began drawing the first of a dozen symbols that would summon the Warden of the Gateway to the Netherworld.

Yes, I could kill myself to get to him faster, but that would mean leaving Dagon alone and giving him a chance to escape. I wasn’t doing that. Not with Ian’s soul inside him.

Each time I finished a symbol, white-hot pain shot through me. That pain grew until it felt as if I’d submerged my body into a pool of fire. By the ninth symbol, I was trembling from it, and I fought to keep those shakes from my hand. Each symbol had to be flawless, or I’d need to do this all over again.

Dagon shifted beneath me, almost causing me to miss a stroke in the tenth symbol. I shoved the bone shard closer until it nicked the jelly in his eye. “Don’t think I won’t kill you before I let you leave. And if you burn up Ian’s soul to resurrect yourself, I’ll stab your eyes out a thousand times if needed until I know you’ll stay dead.”

“Fool,” Dagon hissed. “This will gain you nothing even if you do succeed. Ian never cared for you. He only pretended to, so he could use your affection to his best advantage. That’s what Ian does. He did the same to me, remember?”

A month ago, I would have agreed with Dagon. Now, I knew better. I let out a grunt as I finished the tenth symbol. “Are you trying to talk me into killing you this instant instead of waiting to see if I can save Ian? If so, don’t bother.”

“I’m trying to speak sense to you,” he snapped. “Release me. I’ll take my life as reimbursement for my murdered men and count the score even between us. That is the best deal you could possibly make.”

“I don’t think so.” I began drawing the eleventh symbol. More agony sliced into me, and my vision briefly went dark. When it returned, Dagon had tilted his head. Now his eye was a centimeter away from the bone shard instead of beneath it.

I shoved it back until a pearl of crimson touched the tip. “Move again, and you’re dead.”

Then I tried to clear my mind from the merciless pain. One more symbol. That’s all I needed. My hand shook as I wet my finger in Dagon’s blood. It still shook when I began to lower it to draw. The blood wavered, about to spill and ruin the spell. I held it over Dagon’s chest so if that crimson drop fell, it wouldn’t mar the other symbols.

What if I couldn’t do this? I had never attempted to summon my father this way before. I only knew this spell because Tenoch had forced me to learn it. It was how he’d summoned the Warden after he’d first rescued me. If I had to start over while in this much pain, I’d never be able to complete this ritual!

But . . . I could use my other nature to finish this last symbol. Pain wouldn’t register to me then. Nor would the fear I felt over what would happen to Ian if I failed. I could do that. I only had to let my other half back on top for an instant—

It surged against its chains, sensing freedom. I felt one of them snap and I shuddered. Then I threw more over it with force of sheer will. Tenoch had warned me what would happen if I ever fully let this nature out. Looked like he’d been right. I’d siphoned power as needed from it before, but now that it had gotten a taste of being in control . . . nothing less would probably satisfy it.

And I shouldn’t have to need it to complete this ritual! Tenoch had done this when he first saved me without having a more powerful other nature. Mencheres had done it once, too, though he denied it to avoid being punished by the council. Ian hadn’t, but he’d mastered a grave magic spell well enough to redirect the wraiths from me to Dagon, all without needing a half-celestial nature of indeterminate origin for help.

If they could do those things with vampire power alone, I could, too. I wouldn’t risk everything simply because using my other nature was easier at this particular moment.

I took a breath to steady myself, giving Dagon one last warning glance. Then, whole body shuddering from geysers of agony going off inside me, I forced my hand steady as I dipped it into Dagon’s blood again. What I’d had before was now drying.

“You’re going to fail,” Dagon snarled.

I didn’t reply. I slowly, carefully drew the final symbol without making a mistake. That was all the response he deserved.

The bodies nearby and the splintered remains of the roller coaster around us vanished. A river cut through it, dark as deepest despair. A long, thin boat rode on it. For a moment, I saw two Dagons: one at the helm, and one beneath me.

Then the figure at the helm changed, morphing from the false god I’d been tricked into worshipping as a child into the being that had fathered me. His silvery hair with its gold and blue streaks rustled in a wind I couldn’t feel as that lightning-like gaze met mine. Then he took in the bone shards on Dagon and around me.