A Touch of Brimstone by McKenzie Hunter

19

It took a while to take in the spacious living room from the entryway where the elevator had deposited us. To my disappointment, our destination from the Underworld didn’t put us in the alleyway of Books and Brew. I wanted to see the end results of their cleanup work. And Emoni’s five texts asking me to call her and checking in on me didn’t ease my concerns despite Dominic’s assurance that everything had been handled. His version of “handled” differed greatly from mine.

“I’m fine,” I texted. “You?”

“Have you heard about the store?”

Throughout the day, I had gone over how I’d handle this if asked, but now faced with lying to my best friend, it was more difficult than expected. I’m protecting her, I reminded myself.

“Yes, Cameron left a message. Store vandalized.” I added an angry emoji. “Sometimes I hate people.”

“Me too.”

I was about to send a message when Emoni’s ringtone sounded. Her calling set off alarms. She definitely preferred texts or video calls.

“Luna,” she rushed out as soon as I answered.

Dominic appeared to be busying himself, straightening up things in an already immaculate kitchen. He managed to change the spice rack from one side of the stove to the other. The kitchen looked like it had never been used and the spices were for staging purposes only.

“Are you okay?” she asked, concern drenching her voice.

“Yeah, why?”

“Your ex”—the word held the same level of disdain as if she’d said “jackass”—“was in the coffee shop today, urging me to talk to you.” Knowing how Emoni felt about him, Jackson approaching her probably made the situation seem dire.

“I’m fine.”

“Are you with Dominic?” Calling him by name and not referring to him as the handsome man from the coffee shop meant that Jackson had done more than just urge. He probably gave her a Jackson version of the encounter with Dominic and the events of yesterday, if the Dark Caster or the Conventicle crew hadn’t spelled him to forget.

“No.” That lie hurt. “But I’ve hung out with him several times. He’s—” I looked Dominic straight in his face, because he’d given up pretending he wasn’t listening to the call and was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, wearing a crisp, tailored olive-green shirt that complemented his eyes. Making me aware of his enviable long lashes. Perhaps I’d purposely ignored them in my effort to dismiss his allure. Why force people into the Underworld? I was sure he could just entice them into following.

“He’s not as strange as I imagined. Rather interesting, and of course anything Jackson has to say about him is fueled by jealousy.”

Silence.

“Do you have plans today?” she asked.

Yep, I’m getting magic, undoing a spell so I can recapture prisoners from the supernatural prison in the Underworld. Then I plan to sit in front of my TV, watch the lightest, funniest show available while shoving chips and M&Ms in my mouth, and mainline margaritas while devouring tacos. What about you?

“Nothing much, why?”

“Can you stop by the coffee shop for a few minutes? I… I… I’d like to see you. Please.”

It was a strange request, but the anxiety and urgency in her voice made me want to do whatever was necessary to ease it.

“Of course. I’ll see you in an hour,” I told her when Dominic mouthed a time.

“Great.” Relief flooded her voice.

After I disconnected, Dominic was expressionless. The peach glow from the sun through the floor-to-ceiling windows that made up one wall of the apartment created a halation backdrop against his figure.

Pulling my eyes from his, I took in the curved white leather art deco chairs that wouldn’t look out of place in a museum. They were for looks, not function. The clean lines of the wood coffee table. The large artworks hanging on the neutral walls. The rug was the only thing in the living room that looked comfortable. I leaned down to touch the soft material. I could see a sitting room to my right that was just as pristine.

“Helena and I share it. The bedrooms look more lived in,” he admitted.

I looked at him suspiciously, not missing the invitation in his statement.

“Can you take me to the coffee shop, or should I call a Lyft?”

“I’ll take you. I think it’s a good idea for us to stay together until this is over.”

As I followed him down to a garage with a silver BMW sedan, black Audi R8, and a Range Rover, he turned to me and said, “It’s private—came with the apartment.”

Emoni’s eyes brightened when I entered the coffee shop. There weren’t any customers, so she came from behind the counter and hugged me.

I pulled from her hold and studied her. Hugging was another uncharacteristic thing.

“Can you believe this?” She waved a hand toward the bookstore, where the door was closed and there looked to be a team of people repairing things. The display shelves and books had been moved to the coffee shop, along with whatever saleable items had survived.

The items took over a small section of the coffee shop but didn’t seem to bother the few customers. With coffee in hand, they perused the additions while Lilith stood behind the register, waiting to help them with their purchases.

“I wonder why the bookstore was the only store hit,” Emoni mused with a frown.

“What?”

She looked at another barista and mouthed for her to cover. Turning back to me, concern creased a frown in her face, giving her a stern appearance. Her thick, tightly coiled curls were worn back off her face with a Puff Cuff; she looked younger.

“This might sound ridiculous… You know what, I’ll admit it’s bananas, but Jackson said that Dominic’s obsessed with you. He thinks Dominic vandalized the store so he could have more time with you. Jackson’s convinced that you’ve been spending all your time with him.” Once it was out, she covered her face. “Ugh, it sounds even more ridiculous saying it out loud.” And she let out a mirthless laugh, spreading her fingers to look at me through the spaces.

“I have spent a lot of time with him. He’s interesting.” Not a lie.

“And hot as hell,” she added.

“I’m not going to deny that.” I grinned, still unable to shake a suspicion that she might have been compelled, as Jackson had been. But no, this was Emoni, a sardonic quirk in her lips, expressive eyes, and that charismatic presence that allowed her to get away with snarky and poorly veiled insults to “faux coffee lovers.”

“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” she admitted.

She led me to a table a few feet from Peter, who had taken over a table in the corner of the store, legs out, books, papers, tablet, and an uneaten sandwich and muffin in the middle of the table, making it uninviting for anyone looking to share.

Shaking my head, I jerked my chin in his direction. “Someone is definitely an only child.”

“Or a self-centered ass.”

“Possibly, but he seems nice enough. Just weird.”

She looked unconvinced and moved her attention to the window. “It’s nice out. Let’s go for a walk. Catch up. I feel like we haven’t talked in so long.”

Familiarity eased in. We took many walks around the eclectic neighborhood to people watch, admire the unique fashions, take in the smell of food from the restaurants, and make predictions about whether the dog spa, hemp bakery, or ‘I really didn’t think this through” store would be around the next year.

“Sure.”

Dominic was seated outside on the patio of the restaurant across the street from the coffee shop. Unless she was looking for him, he’d go unnoticed. Based on Emoni’s line of questioning, it was good that I’d suggested he stay away.

“This way,” she said, pointing away from the main street, through the alleyway. “We always take that route. Let’s go down Kern Way. I want to check out that new coffee shop,” she said when I hesitated.

Okay. Her smock was still on; she was going to broadcast her reconnaissance efforts.

“Tell me about Dominic,” Emoni said as she pointed at our destination, the coffee shop signage of a steaming cup of coffee next to the name Café Intermezzo. Would it appeal to Americans, or would it be considered pretentious?

“I don’t know a lot about him. He’s broody and standoffish.” Not a lie.

“So he doesn’t think you’re a witch?” she teased, turning to look at my expression.

“He changes the subject when I steer it toward that. He believes I am, but I think he knows the absurdity of it.” Lie. But I didn’t know what to tell her, and the guilt of lying to protect her left a heavy pit in my stomach. Emoni didn’t seem to notice any change in me, and the conversation quickly moved to her asking if I liked him. I gave a very unconvincing no. She let that lie slide. It was more complex than just a simple no. I couldn’t like the Prince of the Underworld. But denying my attraction to him was ludicrous.

The ardency of his promise to make sure I survived this had changed the way I saw him. I doubted he made many promises that involved protecting a life. Rather, he was definitely the type of person to make vows to take a life in the most painful manner possible.

Letting all thoughts of Dominic slip from my mind, I realized how much I’d missed being with Emoni, talking, the normality of it.

“The owner of the Kingmakers would like our band to be regular,” Emoni told me after we got a coffee from Intermezzo. I wasn’t sure if the sneer on her face was from all the shop’s designer coffees and super sweet desserts: frosted cookies and muffins, fudge and candy. “This isn’t a coffee shop, it’s a bakery,” she complained under her breath after the barista gave us a judgmental eyebrow cock at our black coffee order and rejection of pastries.

“Really.”

“It was the woman I was speaking with at Books and Brew after my performance.”

There was a hitch in her voice. Apprehension. Where she should have been excited, she wasn’t.

“She booked the band for twice a month,” she admitted. The heartache was so heavy in her voice, I stopped walking and looked at her. “And me and Gus on Wednesdays, as a duo.”

I blinked once and made my face emotionless. A blank canvas to give her what she needed.

“Does she want you to do covers, like you two did at Wine-Down?”

She nodded. “On Wednesdays, twice a month. She believes it will be a good fit with the Wednesday crowd. You know how I feel about covers. It’s fun occasionally but I need to do my own music. Songs that I wrote and I let her know that.”

“And?”

“She agreed if I’d do a mix.”

“What are you thinking about doing?”

She guided my elbow as we took a different route back to the coffee shop, one with noticeably fewer people around.

Taking a sip from my coffee, I waited for her to speak. She seemed to be having an internal debate.

“A few artists have been discovered. Performing without the entire band seems like a betrayal,” she admitted. “Gus is on board—he doesn’t see it that way.” She rolled her eyes. “But maybe she saw something in just the two of us performing that I missed. The two of us might find more success. It will give us an opportunity to write more songs for the both of us. Two days a week, I’m turning my back on my band.”

She shrugged and blew out an exasperated breath. “I’m twenty-six and unfortunately—” She frowned the rest of her statement; we’d gone through this a thousand times. She was always pointing out that her race, age, and “exotic” look might limit her. I wasn’t sure about the others, but her looks definitely would not hold her back, but it wasn’t the time to point that out. Her biggest complaint was that people were placed in boxes and artistic expression was limited for a myriad of superficial reasons.

She looked at me earnestly. “It’s a great opportunity and could open doors for me.” There was still a hint of hesitation. “What should I do?”

I gave her the impression of thinking about it for a long time, although the moment she asked, I had the answer. “I think you should do it.”

Something snapped against my back, pushing the wind out of me as I fell face forward onto the ground. I quickly rolled onto my back, spilled coffee soaking into my shirt as I moved. Four supernaturals sped toward me. A vampire was to my right. Her finger under Emoni’s chin, she drew Emoni’s eyes to hers.

“Thank you, Emoni, for bringing her to us. Forget that you saw Luna today. You called her and she said she’s visiting family. Return to the coffee shop.”

She continued instructing Emoni, implanting a new situation in her mind. She wouldn’t remember our conversation or seeing these creatures. Anger and fear warred in me. I didn’t want them exposed, I wanted them gone.

I scuttled back on my butt, trying to put some distance between me and the supernaturals, and looking for anything I could use as a weapon. Nothing. My coffee had spilled. My phone was in the car.

Stopping the vampire from further compelling Emoni had to be my secondary objective. I wanted her to forget this.

We had navigated to where factories and businesses had been converted to industrial-looking lofts. No one was around. Even if anyone wanted to come outside, magic would be preventing them.

One of the four, a shifter, approached, his cold, predatory eyes fixed on me. I was cornered. He was about to shift, when his head snapped toward the vampire who had been staked. The vampire’s dusted body speckled the air. It was the first sign of Dominic’s presence. His claw sliced the vital arteries in the shifter’s neck. He collapsed to the ground, covering his neck, waiting for his preternatural healing to kick in. The silver blade Dominic shoved into his stomach would make that more difficult.

No longer under the dead vampire’s compulsion, shock cut Emoni’s scream off. Open mouthed, her eyes widened at the violence before her, at Dominic’s violence. I hurried to her.

“It’s okay,” I soothed, but it only made her direct her disgust to me.

“Luna, what the fuck have you gotten yourself into?” She wouldn’t let me get close to her, shuffling back several feet for every step I took toward her. I felt the magic against my back, heard the violence of a gasp being cut off, and if I hadn’t already seen variations of what was taking place behind me, I would have been able to imagine the brutality from what was playing out on Emoni’s face.

Wind gathered, whipping in the air, its cyclonic pull tugging us toward it. I looked over my shoulder. The remaining supernatural—a witch, her fingers whirling around. Emoni and I ran, fighting against the growing force. Before we could get any distance between it and us, the small cyclone disappeared and the elemental witch collapsed face forward on the pavement.

Emoni had no problem with her scream this time. It resounded like an alarm. I launched at her, slapped a hand over her mouth. “Stop. Please. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

No part of this was okay. And nothing in my voice made it seem that way. She had seen the violent underbelly of the supernatural world. She was an unwilling pawn in an attempt to assassinate me. This was so many shades of wrong, and I didn’t have the skill to make it out to be anything other than the massive clusterfuck that it was.

Her scream became a soft whimper against my hand as tears gathered in her eyes and spilled, wetting my hand. I knew the feeling.

Dominic was on the phone; I assumed requesting a cleanup. Who knows, maybe he was feeling a little peckish and was ordering a pizza.

“What’s going on?” Emoni breathed out in a weak voice once I removed my hand.

“It’s going to take a while to explain.”

“You can’t do it here,” whispered Peter, who had managed to sidle up next to Emoni, a protective hand on her back. I wasn’t happy to see him because he’d be another person pulled into the damage control process. I wasn’t sure what they’d do to him to clean up the situation. Whatever he witnessed hadn’t rattled him to the extent it had Emoni. Perhaps he missed the violence and display of magic and only saw Emoni’s response.

“Let’s get away from here,” he urged, still in a whisper, but it was enough to carry to Dominic, who was removing identifying information from the fallen assassins and looking at their faces as if committing them to memory. His head snapped up and he stood quickly, racing toward us at full speed.

Emoni and I looked back and forth, trying to make sense of it. Dominic’s face. It was twisted into a cruel and wrathful sneer. Emoni focused on the sphere of fire forming in Dominic’s hands. She missed the yellow illumination of magic and the innocuous mask fall from Peter, the Books and Brew book nerd. His eyes darkened several shades and the otherworldly feeling I had felt when ensorcelled by magic wafted from him. Feeling it again made me recognize there had been hints of it when I spoke to Jackson outside the store.

I whipped in his direction. “It’s you!” I moved back.

“I really didn’t want you to find out this way,” he admitted. His hand reached out to the air, smoothing the fire that Dominic had launched at him. When he returned an offensive-looking sphere of gray and white that looked like oxygen-siphoning magic, Dominic darted out of the way. Clearly, he wasn’t immune to Peter’s magic.

I grabbed Emoni’s hand, pulling her closer to me. And once she was next to me, I moved to put my body in front of hers. Peter wouldn’t kill me, but I wasn’t sure what he’d do to her.

The footsteps were barely audible. It was the whip of the sword through the air that announced Anand’s arrival. Peter grimaced, turned, and hurled a string of white illuminated magic at Anand. It smashed into him, sending him careening back several feet. Peter concentrated. The magic wove around Anand. His body relaxed to the ground, his breathing noticeably shallower. He was killing him.

Dominic’s claws were exposed on one hand, so he used the other to toss fire at Peter, ending with a rapid fire of magic pelts. Peter responded with disinterest, his hand reaching up and snuffing out the magic as if it were merely a nuisance.

Something pulled his focus. He grumbled his disdain, turned in my direction, smiled, and vanished. Reappearing behind Emoni, he whispered something, pressing his hand to her throat. She choked out a gasp before collapsing to the ground.

Flashing Dominic a taunting smile, he said, “You can’t save her and come after me.” Then he disappeared again.

Anand rolled to his side, lethargic but alive. He’d lost his grace of movement as he lumbered to his feet. “The repellent has been broken. It needs to be restored,” he told Dominic.

“It’s up again,” Madeline said from a few feet away, showing her dissatisfaction at the sight of me and Dominic.

Dominic didn’t care about her displeasure; he was debating whether to go after Peter and he wore the indecision on his face.

Cradling Emoni in my arms, I called out to him. “Help her,” I demanded, my words sharpened by my anger and his clinical assessment. He’d found the Dark Caster; he could go after him. She was one life lost to catch the big bad. “Now,” I snapped.

Reluctantly, he kneeled next to her. He examined her and frowned. Shaking his head, rage flooded from him.

“A necri,” he explained to Madeline.

Her face contorted to the same look of disgust and contempt. “It is used to simulate death. A difficult spell to perform and one of the few that are illegal with no exception.”

Peter wasn’t abiding by any of their rules, the very thing the Awakeners wanted the freedom to do.

Watching the unhurried and measured way in which Dominic undid the spell, I knew it was dangerous. Like defusing a bomb. I wasn’t sure how long it took. It felt like hours although it might have been minutes. My heart was beating so fast it had to be distracting.

When the veil of death lifted from Emoni, a silver light unwinding around her, she sat up. Apprehension filled her eyes. She attempted to scoot back away from us when Dominic called her name. It was an unearthly, captivating sound. Melodic. It wasn’t just Emoni being urged to hear its lure and respond.

Madeline stepped back, preoccupying herself with removing all signs of the assassination attempt. Her efficiency was a reminder that they did this all the time. Too many times.

Tears formed in my eyes, watching Emoni be bespelled, as Dominic manipulated her memories to make her believe she saw me today and we had coffee in Books and Brew. She then followed him to Café Intermezzo, where I was sure he’d manipulate more thoughts to explain her standing in front of the café.

The only solace I could find was that at least we knew the identity of the Dark Caster.