AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Etched against one of the timbers that was still standing were brilliant runes, the color of flame, the color of white-hot fire. Mesmerizing, they lined the wood, difficult to look at and yet more difficult to look away from.
Camille reached toward them, then stopped. “Daemons. These are not demonic, but they are akin to it—it has to be daemon in origin.” Daemons were akin to demons, but usually less chaotic and more organized. They had different natures, that much was for sure, though neither of them tended to be very pleasant to deal with.
Delilah let out a sigh. “Lowestar? He’s the daemon at the top of our list right now.”
“Probably. I do know that I am reluctant to touch them.” Camille backed away. “Something tells me that touching those runes would be very, very bad. Any other thoughts on the matter?”
Shade returned, holding Iris well above the floor.
She examined the runes. “This is it. These activate the portal to the realm of the Fyrun Fae. It’s intimately connected with the Elemental plane of Fire, but a step to the side, you might say. And you’re right, if any of you touched these, it would suck you in and you’d be so much toast.”
With a glance at Shade, she added, “Put me down. I need to be on firm footing to do what I’m about to do. And the rest of you back away. No telling what will happen when I blast those suckers.”
“Be careful, Iris.” Chase knelt down. “Please, be careful. Bruce and the babies need you. Astrid and I need you.”
She gave him a tight-lipped smile and patted his cheek. “I am made of tougher stuff than you may believe, dear detective.” And then she motioned for him to move away.
We backed off, watching. Camille and Delilah were breathing tightly, I could hear the shallow intake, see the tight rise and fall of their breasts as they tensed, waiting for Iris to act. If I was a breather, I’d be right there with them. As it was, I poised myself to move, whether it be to throw myself on Iris to protect her, or run like hell if everything blew.
She stepped back, tested her footing against the debris on the floor, then aimed her wand at the runes. She closed her eyes, lowered her head, and began whispering a conjuration, a combination of song and chant. Her voice was clear and light, and though I didn’t understand the words, the force behind them was sovereign.
A stream of frost came from the wand, narrowly focused, and she trained it on the center rune, which was a little bigger than the rest. As frost met fire, the runes began to fill in with ice, and a crackling static rattled the air. A low rumble began to shake the hall as the frost worked its way through each rune, freezing them into stillness, quenching the fire within.
The rumble became a quake beneath our feet, yet still Iris stood steady. When she reached the top rune, a gust of flame burst out from it, shooting over her head. If she hadn’t been so short, it would have hit her in the face, but as it was, all it did was shower her with sparks, which sizzled into vapor before they reached her hair.
And then, as the last rune completely filled in, all the runes blazed bright bluish-white, the shimmering blue of ice in winter, and they exploded, shattering into a thousand shards, which flew every which way.
Iris shouted, but when I would have run to her, she held out her hand. A moment later, the fragments of ice fell to the ground as a cloud of mist rose. They began to melt. The wall where the runes had been inscribed was gutted, as if it had burned right through to the core. But no sparks remained, no sign of the magical flames that had caused the gaping rectangle of a hole. Instead, the drywall and wood surrounding it looked saturated, as if a surge of water had thundered through.
When the air cleared from mist and smoke, Camille was already by Iris’s side. Delilah and I joined her, anxious.
“Are you all right—do you need help?”
“Did you get hurt?”
I swept Iris up in my arms. “You look exhausted.”
And she did. Her face showed the strain of the magic, and she leaned against me, her arms nestled against my chest, her head on my shoulder. I could feel her weariness, and the electricity that still charged around her body. A faint scent of ozone lingered around her like a perfume—like the smell before a snowstorm. As I shifted my grasp to hold her better, she let out a long, slow sigh.
“I don’t think I can stay awake much longer.” Iris gazed into my eyes. She wasn’t afraid of me. I knew she respected me, and she never seemed repelled by my nature, nor did she show outright fear. “I’m so tired, and my breasts ache. My babies will want their feeding, and so will Astrid.”
I nodded for the others to move as I carried her out of the building, cautious so as not to jolt her. At the limousine, I slid her into the backseat. “Take Mistress Iris home, please. And make certain she has help getting to the house. She’ll need a long rest tonight, and food. Tell Master Bruce that… tell him we couldn’t have saved the day without her. That she saved our asses.”
With a grin, the chauffer tipped his hat, made sure she was belted in, and then pulled into the silent night, ferrying our friend home.
I turned back to the others, who had joined me. “So we have a daemonic gate into the realm of the Fyrun Fae. I wonder if there was one in the Wayfarer. And if so, is it still there?”
“We’ll look. But for all we know, if there was, it might have been rigged to recall them after a certain time.” Shade stared at the parking lot. “Lowestar Radcliffe’s prints are all over this.”
“There are other daemons around, but Trytian knows that if we found out he was doing something like this, we’d crush his balls.” Camille leaned her ass on the back of the Lexus, looking exhausted. “And given Lowestar is attempting a coup on Seattle Supe-owned businesses, and that he’s attempting to open a gate to Suvika, the demigod of vice and finance, yeah, I think we’re on the right track.”
My stomach lurched. Lowestar was not only a white slaver, but also a murderer. In my gut, I knew that he was the one who had ordered the arsonist to torch the Wayfarer. And that meant he was responsible for Chrysandra’s death, and the deaths of the other patrons who had lost their lives in my bar.
I wrapped my arms around myself. Though the chill didn’t bother me, I felt empty and cold and angry. And I wanted revenge. For me, and for all of Radcliffe’s victims.
Chapter 6
By the time we got home, we were all done in. Bran split off, heading out to the studio where he was staying for the time being. Relieved that he decided not to join us, we trailed through the door and straight into the kitchen.
