Ann Aguirre - Devil's Punch

I cast a questioning glance at Greydusk. “What’s this made of?”

“You don’t want to know.”

Oh, man. I imagined I could make out glimmers of bone in the mortar, and my flesh crawled. I can’t go in here. Chance shoved open the door, less squeamish, and I fixed my gaze on his back. It’s for Shannon. I’d gone through the caves and the portal, and followed a lizard-dragon-worm through the earth. What was an apartment building made of blood and bone?

Inside, it smelled. Nothing I could pin down, but it was…unpleasant. It made me think of dark things, musty rooms, foreboding whispers and cold fingers on the spine. I’d never encountered an odor that carried so many feelings before. But it was more than just the scent of the place—it was like moments had burned themselves into the walls, flashes immortalized in the chipped and peeling paint. The furnishings had mostly been broken or carted away. They lay in bits of wood and scraps of cloth, mementos of another time.

“What is this place?” Chance asked.

“Hard telling now. It used to be a club, but that was a long time ago.”

I raised a brow. “A club…like with music and dancing?”

“Not so much. More of a special-interest group.”

By the way this room felt, I had some idea what that might have been. I made a mental note not to let my focus slip while we prowled around inside. The revelations might scar me for life.

Shadows moved on the far walls—without a light source. Cold darkness stalked toward us. There was no time to think, only react. I’d fought these creatures in Laredo. Shades. They hated all life, human or demon. Once, I thought they must come from Sheol. Either way, someone had left these for us as a surprise. That likely meant we wouldn’t find Shannon here at all; it was a trap.

And it was time to fight.

Chance whispered a word—the command Greydusk had taught him—and flames flowered around his fists. The glow showed clearly how many we were up against, but it didn’t faze him. He grinned in pure delight and then ran at the shades.

“Careful! If they touch you—”

“Don’t worry. I’m fast.”

And he was. That edge I’d been noticing translated to speed. As I watched, he danced around, just outside their range, burning them down with the power of his demon-fueled fists. Each blow sizzled and ate into the size of the shadow. Each time, he wheeled away, sometimes spinning, flipping, sweeping low. I’d never seen anything like it, and he’d kicked some ass with me before.

“Can you help him?” I asked Greydusk, racking my brain for a spell that would have any effect on these things.

Freeze wasn’t cold-based; it stopped physical, kinetic motion, and these creatures were energy. So really, I needed some kind of drain or absorption spell, and I didn’t have one. Even with Chance’s startling prowess, we were outnumbered, and if he got hurt or tired, one lucky strike—

Fortunately, Greydusk did not seem worried. “These creatures are an inconvenience. We shall prevail.”

That’s right; he’s a soul-stealer. So he might’ve absorbed some ability that would kick some tail right now. We needed it, as I still couldn’t think a single spell that would turn the tide one way or another. They had no eyes, so blindness was out. In Laredo, they seemed to track us by heat—

Genius. I had a plan.

Beside me, the demon’s skin boiled. Bone crackled. Joints popped. Shape-shifting looked horrendous…and painful. It wasn’t an ability I would want, but if it could help Chance, well, I looked away. Accepted it. And pretended I didn’t care at all what the Imaron did in our names.

Needs must. Devil drives .

I whipped out my demon athame and it responded with an excited buzz. The spell I wanted was deceptively simple and not one I’d expected to find useful. It was one of the five I committed to memory because I thought it might help us elude pursuers. I’d never envisioned deploying it like this. Bracing myself for the burn, I dropped my blocks and let the power come. It fell on me like a dark rush, a swarm of locusts chewing through my veins, and my head went dark and heavy.

Nausea rose in equal measure to the energy. Yeah, no question, this wasn’t good for me. I pushed on, bringing the magick to my fingertips. As I cast, Chance destroyed one. Or banished it. A second managed to brush up against him, and he cried out. I knew all too well how that numbness spread, how fast the cold could pull you down. He stumbled back, clumsy.

I fought the tremor in my hand as I etched the sigil in the air. Fear would make me careless; worry would kill us all. I had to be resolute. I whispered the Latin word for steam and released the demon magick in a devastating rush. My whole body went weak, and I almost blacked out. Staggering, I rested my trembling body against the wall. Shit, I’m not ready for this. I’m not trained. I don’t know how much power to use or how much to give each spell. It’s a wonder I didn’t cook us .

But my intent had been clear, so I produced excess volume, not heat, and the room filled like a sauna. I’d hoped the shades would have a hard time finding us if we blended with the ambient temperature of the room, giving Chance an opportunity to recover and Greydusk the time to finish its transformation and wade into the fight.

For my part, I scrambled back toward the door. The steam made it impossible for me to tell what was happening, and it would be the height of stupidity to wander into it, giving a shade a chance at me. Better to hold still and trust in my people. My men would win this war for me. They existed to serve me, after all.

The moment I registered the thought, I froze, despite the heat washing over my skin. Damp heat. Sticky. And I was cold as ice. That couldn’t have come from me. I didn’t feel that way. I didn’t . There was no war. I wasn’t trying to win anything.

Just to find Shannon and go home.

When we had a free minute, I really needed to talk to the Imaron about what the hell it meant by “ascending.” Clearly it was some kind of transformation, but would I become a demon or what? It was a little too murky for my peace of mind how the Old King had gotten his power over demons. The stories weren’t clear. Kel had told me it came from the archangels, which meant it wasn’t a bad thing, but if the demons were on board with my arrival— some of them, at least—then that seemed to call everything I knew into question.

Muffled noises reached me, but I resisted the urge to investigate. It took every iota of self-restraint, and it felt like forever before Chance stumbled out of the cloud and toward me. I reached for him since he was cradling his right arm against his chest.

“Numb?” I guessed.

He nodded.

“It wears off.” I raised my voice. “Are you all right, Greydusk?”

An enormous shape lumbered into sight. Horrible. Monstrous, even, but the arms like swords gleamed with magick, darklight capable of destroying even shades. Whatever this creature was, clearly the demon had drained it at some point and gained the ability to take its form. And its power. Beneath my weary gaze, it slipped into its own form. It looked easier this time around, as if its body sighed a little with relief at being permitted to resume its natural lines.

“Well enough. The hide on this Swordwraith was thick enough that the drain takes longer. I told you all would be well.”

Though I wasn’t sure this would work, I gave it a shot. Not a spell whose forms and rituals I’d memorized. My mother’s charms shouldn’t work anyway, so clearly I was driving without a license, practicing demon magick here. Best to see what I could accomplish when our life didn’t depend on it. Clutching the athame, I called the power to me again. It enveloped me, still cloying and unpleasant, and it tried to smother my head. I forced it down and out to my fingertips, where I held the blade. Then I whispered a single word and let it go. More delicately, as if it were a silken rope lowering an inch at a time. In response, a puff of wind swept the room, blowing away the remaining steam. This time I felt a little sick, but not on the verge of puking or passing out, as I had when I’d summoned the steam.