Hell's Belle (30 page)

If eyes were the windows to the soul, how could I have missed the hollow where Wellsy’s spirit should’ve been? The difference had been there for me to see when I’d bumped into him at Tulane. I could have slapped myself. I hadn’t wanted to see the man for what he was: A shell. A shell housing a hungry darkness bent on destruction. A lot like the one getting ready to kick my ass if I didn’t pay attention.

“Peter’s out for a bit. You may call me Titus.” His words had a very odd accent that I couldn’t quite place. He smiled. The smile and tone might’ve once been considered charming. But death, undeath, or whatever existence he currently inhabited had changed that. His gums were so shriveled that his teeth resembled pikes, tall and jagged, rising from a bloody, muddied battlefield, and the voice was hollow and flat, wheezing from lungs decayed from lack of use. He lifted his legs, turning, but like a marionette whose strings were being pulled, his other parts did not follow.

“Titus it is then.” I nodded slightly, never taking my eyes from his.

Titus’s movements were slow, below human standards. Fera had said he was fast, and I didn’t doubt it. He was playing weak, judging his prey, waiting for the right moment to strike. But I’d seen too many Louisiana gators lunge from seemingly calm bayou waters to fall for that trick. And the analogy fit. With his stiff features, dark unblinking eyes, and sharp teeth, the Peter puppet resembled a cold calculating croc. I couldn’t help but think of the crocodile from
Peter Pan
who’d always been accompanied by the foreshadowing
ticktock
of a clock, which was a true comparison. His appearance here and now meant time was running out for us all.

Titus, tired of waiting for a response, haphazardly tossed the black-magic sphere over his shoulder. I heard a shriek and snarl as the volley struck its mark but didn’t dare look. Titus’s dark magic began to coalesce again, this time elongating into a sword. He didn’t stop forming the undulating, black weapon until it was at least six inches longer than the steel gripped in my own hands.

“Oh my, mine’s bigger,” he said drolly.

I snorted. Apparently, even dead men had penis envy. “Yes, but do you know how to use it?” I stepped back into a classic defensive stance, body turned, left foot forward. Titus mirrored my actions. His words were confident. So were mine. But we were both cautious. Our weapons would do more than cut each other, and we knew it.

“It’s been awhile, I’ll admit. But they say it’s like riding a cycle. You climb back on and start pumping.”

Titus’s sexual threats didn’t create the distraction he’d anticipated. I kept one eye on his weapon and the other on his eyes, standing my ground. There was one thing I was certain of: this man’s plumbing hadn’t worked in a long time.

The storm’s first arbitrary winds blew the strong odor of rotting flesh in my face, and I nearly choked, bile rising in my throat. Death didn’t mix well with the smell of clean pine and sweet honeysuckle.

Just as the first fat drop of rain landed on my cheek, Titus leapt forward, his sword slashing at my head. I sidestepped, countering. Black-magic slid against my flaming steel, its cold chill whooshing past my right bicep. My injury from my bout with Sarkoph flared, a deep, pulsating ache. Darkness called to darkness, even if it was only the memory of darkness contained in a fresh scar.

Titus’s momentum carried him past, and I pivoted, continuing my blade’s motion. He continued on, going for my back. Two could play at that. It was bad form to attack a man from behind, but we weren’t exactly fighting by the rules. I did a half-turn, slicing my blade around in a shoulder-high, two-handed arc, keeping it close to my body for better control. He was quick, but speed without restraint was a liability.

Titus’s stolen body had overcompensated for the stiff muscles with deteriorating joints that flopped like rubber. To keep all his body parts going in the same direction at the same time, he had to turn wide, putting him still facing away from me when I struck. At the last moment, I extended the blade, cutting through his shirt. He hadn’t anticipated my speed, and the lapse cost him. I smelled burnt meat and scorched wool.

My hungry fire had bitten him.

Little wisps of smoke rose as licks of flame continued to move over his back. There was no flinch—no reaction—to the small, carnivorous fires that I’d intentionally transferred to him. Long dead, this one didn’t feel pain, but I was willing to bet he’d be more careful from here on.

Titus twisted around, bending nearly backward, his sword flashing out at an impossible angle. I stepped back, knocking his blade aside with a downward sweep. Sparks flew as our magic clashed. Everywhere they landed, tiny embers glowed. A few in the dry pine needles. One on his left shoulder. Others spread out in an occasional patch of tall grass.

Thunder sounded closer. More rain fell. The water didn’t put the tiny flames out, but neither did they grow. Titus hit me harder. Harder again. My arms strained to hold back the escalating onslaught. Sweat burned my eyes. I blinked it away, focusing on other senses. Beneath the sounds of battle, I heard rushing water. Then it made sense. I was being forced down the old path to the creek. Titus thought to douse my fire with a dunking.

We were getting farther and farther away. Too far to call for help, and I was being pushed farther still. Penned in on both sides by dense woods. Water at my back. Sorcerer at my front.
Piece of cake.

I gritted my teeth, raising my sword to block another bone-shattering blow. Maybe I was in over my head, but I’d had time to consider this fight. More time than I’d had for any of my previous run-ins with the demonic. I, too, could be a devious devil when I put my mind to it.

As we moved, I saw the embers follow and smiled in gruesome satisfaction. Titus could roll us both over Niagara Falls in a barrel if he wanted. It wouldn’t change a thing. More raindrops fell, this time steadily, plopping as they hit the ground. Titus smiled in joy then confusion, noticing my unconcerned expression.

That’s right. I didn’t care if we got a little wet. In fact, I was counting on it. This was one fire that liked to swim.

As Titus steadily pushed me back, I began to pull my magic in. My sword’s flames died slowly. When the last fiery tear fell he shrieked in triumph, charging forward, thinking I was finally weakening. And in truth I was, but we weren’t done just yet. Dirty blond hair darkened with water matted to Titus’s forehead, but contrary to logic, as the rain came down, the little ember on his shoulder started to grow. Fireless, I parried his last lunge with nothing but Damascus steel and determination.

At the creek’s edge, my feet slipped on the wet rocks and I stumbled backward into the water. It flowed cold and heavy into my boots, weighing my feet down as they slid on the sandy bottom. I kept moving until the water reached my knees, blinking as rain ran into my eyes, plastering my escaped locks to my neck and face. Titus stood on the bank, a half-ring of fiery embers surging, growing mere feet behind him.

“End of the line, girl.” He took a step forward.

My first ward fizzled out. I took another step back. The second ward dropped. Titus’s smile grew. The fear on my face was real. This was going to be close. If I was wrong, I was dead. I stepped again, this time sideways. The cold water was rising, pulling stronger as the storm flooded in. Nearly waist-deep now, I fought to keep my footing. Any deeper and I wouldn’t be able to fight the current. I took another step, careful to stay parallel with the bank, putting distance between myself and the dead man. My third ward popped and disappeared.

Thunder pealed loud overhead. Lightning cracked close by, and I barely heard Titus say, “So, the only question now is how to best amuse ourselves. Nicodemus doesn’t care what condition he receives you in…alive…dead…
sane
.” He paused. “So long as he has a taste.” With each word, he came farther into the water. “And it may be hours before my nesreterka finish your friends. My brother’s not the only one who’s hungry.” A long, black tongue swept across purple lips and broken teeth. “So how best to spend our time, hmm?” As Titus spoke, he waved his magical sword like a baton. I had to hide my smile as the growing embers behind him flowed back and forth, following his unintended conducting.

I held my last ward with will alone…waiting. I should’ve known he’d want to talk. They
always
wanted to talk. I inched away. The ring of embers was almost to the water’s edge.

“You know,” I said, “I don’t remember receiving an invitation to this party. Could you have the wrong girl? You were chasing a blonde, remember?” I took another half-step. “Completely understandable—I hear they’re more fun.”

“No, we have the right girl.” Titus stepped closer, the water now nearly to his knees. “Nicodemus wants you, Cate Delacy. It was my good fortune that your people grabbed my brother’s vessel. Two birds with one stone, eh?”

His use of my name made the hairs on the back of my neck rise. “I’m really not one for travel. Why should I go?” My voice trembled. Shivering, I wiped the now pouring rain from my eyes before wrapping my arm around myself. I wasn’t exactly faking. This damn creek was getting colder by the minute. Without my fire to warm me, I was chilled to the marrow.

Titus took another step forward. A new light entered his eyes and his demeanor did an about-face. “Come,” he said almost gently, holding out a hand. “We’ll join my brothers and servants. You’ll be a queen amongst our people.”

As if.
I’d been trying to cut the man to bits only minutes before. Now he thought I’d go with him willingly? We women really needed to do something about this rumor that double X chromosomes engineered fickleness. It obviously led to some sort of male-induced insanity.

My fourth ward dropped.

With that last shred of protection gone, I began to shiver uncontrollably. Strange, the water had been warm this time last year. No doubt the evil man standing only six feet away, nearly to his waist in water, had something to do with the unusual temperature.

As he edged forward, I gathered all my courage, standing my ground.

Five feet. Four.

Too close. Too close.
I took a deep breath, sliding one foot back. “These nesreterka, they’re your pets?”

At my change of subject, Titus’s expression was puzzled, but his weapon began to decrease in size. Since it was a metaphysical rather than physical appendage, the miraculous shrinkage likely had more to do with my helpless posture than our frigid bath.

“Mindless creatures from the Illtrath plane. They live only to breed and hunt. They do as they’re told, nothing more.” Titus’s eyes said,
unlike some
. He took another step forward. A red wave slowly crested behind him, the embers plopping one by one into the water.

I blinked more rain from my eyes and dropped my sword into the creek with a splash. “I ask because I always wanted a pet, but it took years before my mom would get me one.” I lowered my voice to the sexy drawl I’d used more than once to mesmerize. Becca wasn’t the only one who could use her mouth to good advantage. More plops blended in with the sound of heavy rainfall as wave after wave of embers flowed into the water.
Goddess bless. There were so many.
Hundreds more than I’d anticipated. There would be some explaining to do when this was over.

I began to discreetly inch away from Titus and toward the bank. “Have you ever watched that movie,
Gremlins
?” I knew Titus wouldn’t have, but I needed to temporarily distract him. Having him search Peter Traylor’s stolen memories should do it. Titus stood completely still, listening. I spoke slowly, keeping my eyes locked with his.

Four feet. Nearly five.

Like a snake charmer, I played my pipes for the cobra. “Well, I finally got a pet one year…a birthday gift. But unlike a gremlin, its rule wasn’t about when you fed it…only how much.” Water rushed against the back of my legs with an ever-increasing force, and I had to fight to remain standing. It was hard to keep my voice low and steady when my teeth wanted to chatter. “You see, the boralis are a lot like fire. They tend to grow and spread if you give them too much, and they’re
very
fond of biting the hand that feeds them.”

I saw the moment he realized what I was talking about. Even in the seven levels of Hell, those little buggers were well-known. Titus’s eyes widened in rage, magic flashing outward. I pushed diagonally, riding with the current toward the creek bank. My feet slipped. I gasped a breath before going under. Cold magic hissed through the air where only seconds before my head had been. I opened my eyes, peering through the murky water, and kicked my feet. It wasn’t so deep that I had to swim, but underwater seemed the safest route.

Black-magic hissed and crackled in the water close on my left, and I veered right, heading downstream as miniature pulsating red lights streaked past me. I winced but kept moving as a few took little nips out of my skin. I’d intentionally bottled my magic away, keeping the wards from touching my skin, funneling everything through my sword to keep as much residue as possible off myself and prevent such love bites. Before my sparring with Brittan, I’d spent a good hour taking the hottest shower I could manage to sweat out every bit of magical residue created by last night’s confrontation with Luke. Either I’d missed some, or sparks from our dueling swords had landed on me.

I came up quickly, gasped in one breath, then ducked back down, trying to ignore the icy water pricking my skin like razor-thin needles. As soon as the last boralis flitted by, I turned, staring at the school now circling Titus. Distracted from chasing me, he peppered the rising water with black-magic. That might’ve worked if he’d thrown the orbs farther out to lead them away. Instead, he was tossing the magic at the fish nipping at his heels. It was like pouring buckets of dead, chopped-up fish into a sea of sharks…without having the luxury of a titanium cage between yourself and the hungry jaws.

Titus was merely whetting their appetites.

With the storm’s fury, the light had dimmed. From underneath the murky water I could only distinguish ripples as each blast hit. But I knew what he was doing because with every strike the magical piranha fed, increasing their glow. Although the embryos/embers had moved earlier, they hadn’t fully hatched until being submersed. They’d been weak then—another reason they hadn’t bothered me as I swam through. But Titus was giving them the power they needed to mature. In essence, he was giving them everything they needed to eat him alive…or, in the case of our unwelcome visitor’s walking corpse, to eat him…dead. And this time, he’d stay that way.