Chapter Eleven
The blast threw Cassie across the porch like a rag doll. Bruised and shaken, she climbed to her feet. The oaken staff lay at her feet in pieces. She was covered in soot and powdery grit, her nose filled with a god-awful stench—the sickly-sweet smell of rotting flesh combined with smoke and ash—and her ears rang from the explosion.
She felt wrung out and punch drunk from channeling so much power.
Greasy black smoke rolled over the house in thick, choking puffs. Cassie coughed and looked around. Strips of sizzling demon flesh hung in meaty icicles from the porch eaves. Gore splattered the plank floor, windows, plantation shutters, and railings, and pieces of bone were scattered around like shards of broken china. Fat pooled in rancid puddles on the floorboards and congealed in globs on the lawn.
It looked for all the world like someone had blown up a whale.
Not a whale—a demon. Cold terror washed over Cassie as the memories flooded back: Duncan riding the demon like a bucking bronco, his sword upraised; the demon rolling, crushing Duncan underneath before lifting him in a scaly claw; the hideous mouth opening in a bristling yawn.
Flames had belched forth to engulf Duncan, and Cassandra realized that she had wailed, an animal sound of terror that went on and on. Then the ogre had clomped up, ludicrous in a harlequin coat, red and black knee breeches, velvet slippers, and a plumed hat, and had grabbed the demon by the throat. The demon made an almost comical sound of distress and—
Dear God. The damn thing had detonated, and Duncan had been at ground zero.
Cassie staggered across the porch. The rails on either side of the steps sagged drunkenly. “Duncan?” she screamed, frantic. “Duncan?”
There was no sign of him, but the ogre stood in a circle of blackened lawn, a vacant look on his doltish face. Fires dotted the grass around him and tendrils of oily smoke smudged the air. The ogre’s coat of many colors was a smoking ruin, and he was missing a belled shoe. The creature’s feet were huge, the size of a compact car. The gray skin of his bare foot was blackened, curling like crepe paper. Burnt ogre smelled a lot like Boston butt.
So much for eating barbecue any time soon. Maybe ever.
His beribboned hat was gone. Tossed aside by the blast, it sat at the bottom of the slope, a festive straw yurt adorned with ribbons. The jaunty feather was wilted and smoldering.
Cassie eyed the mammoth askance. This was not her first encounter with Monster Evan. She’d met him once before, the day her mother had tried to kill her—there was a reunion she’d never forget. Monster Evan had come to the rescue. He’d been big and ugly then, too, but he’d been naked, not dressed like a mummer.
With the help of a troop of vengeful fairies, he’d chased the Hag into the river, and that’s where Cassie’s mother had died. There was a certain serendipity in that. Mommy Dearest had been eaten by the giant catfish she’d raised from a guppy. Karma was a bitch with razor-sharp teeth, and she was eternally hungry.
Cassie hurried down the steps, giving the ogre wide berth. “Duncan? Where are you? Answer me, dammit.”
“I have him,” a melodious voice answered. “The explosion sent him into the river. And a good thing, too, for he was a-fire.”
The wind shifted, blowing smoke into Cassie’s face. She rubbed her stinging eyes and saw a tall, lovely woman dressed in suede leggings and boots wade out of the river. Her long, thick hair flowed around her hips, and she fireman-carried a large bundle of singed rags over her shoulders.
A thrall? Something hot and uncomfortable unfurled inside Cassie, but she shoved the ugly sensation away. She and Duncan were over years ago, and last night, she’d burned that bridge to the ground. She had no right to be jealous. Besides, this gal’s air of confidence and the predatory grace with which she moved screamed warrior, not succubus.
Cassie ran across the lawn to meet her. “Is he—oh my God, is he—”
“Dead?” The redhead lowered Duncan to the ground beside Jeb’s empty granite plinth. “Nay. A bit singed around the edges, but he will soon recover.” Her gray eyes glinted with cool amusement. “Methinks his pride will smart longer.”
Cassie scarcely heard her. She fell to her knees beside him, her heart chugging like a piston engine. Duncan was unconscious. His clothes were in shreds, and he was covered in blood and demon gunk. One ear was missing, and half his face was badly burned, as though he’d turned his head at the last second to avoid the blast. The skin of his seared cheek was white and waxy, the edges charred and dark, and leathery in texture. Dear God, was that cheekbone peeking through the burnt skin? She shuddered and turned her attention to his other hurts. His jeans and boots had protected his legs, but his torso and arms were a mass of oozing bite marks. Ugly red and purple streaks ran from the ragged wounds.
She pointed to a particularly nasty gash. “What are those?”
“Demon bites,” the redhead said. “Djegrali attack. There were a multitude.” She spun about, knife drawn, at a sudden clatter from the far side of the river. “By the vessel, what is that clamor?”
“The carpenters must be back,” Cassie said, distracted with worry. She pressed her ear to Duncan’s broad chest and heard a fluttering thump. “Duncan’s building a house.”
“Verily? ’Tis his intent to abide here, then?”
“I guess. Ask him.” Cassie sat back on her heels. “Right now, the important thing is that he’s alive.”
“I told you so, did I not?” The redhead arched a superior brow. “I am Taryn, a Kirvahni huntress. And you must be Cassandra.”
“Yeah. Listen . . . er . . . Taryn. The Dalvahni are badass and bulletproof, so why isn’t Duncan healing?”
Taryn frowned. “I do not know. Demon fire is exceedingly hot. Regardless, he should have recovered in a trice. Death comes to our kind but rarely, and when we are harmed, we quickly mend.” She pursed her lips in thought. “Perhaps the chocolate he imbibed last e’en has somehow slowed the healing process?”
“What?” Cassie gave her an incredulous stare. “What’s chocolate got to do with it?”
Faint color climbed up Taryn’s cheekbones. “Though it pains me to admit it, ’twould seem our races are susceptible to the substance. Duncan was warned of its possible effects. He ignored that admonition and became inebriated on chocolate last e’en.” Pausing, she added with scrupulous punctiliousness, “Or so I have been told. I was not there.”
“Duncan drunk. On chocolate. Why on earth would he do something so asinine?”
“I do not know.” Taryn’s steady, gray gaze was disconcerting. “I thought perchance you could tell me.”
“Me? Why would I—” She recalled her angry words to Duncan the night before and his bleak expression when he’d left. Her cheeks flamed. “We had a fight, okay?”
“I confess my astonishment. In physical appearance, you seem singularly ill-matched.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We had an argument, not a fistfight.”
“You quarreled? That I can readily believe. The Dalvahni are irascible. What was the source of your dissension?”
“It doesn’t matter now. Help me get him to my truck. We have to get him to a hospital.”
“No. He is Dalvahni.”
“But he—”
“Think of the uproar should a human physick examine him.”
Mentally, Cassie kicked herself. “You’re right. Of course you’re right. I’m not thinking straight.”
Duncan wasn’t human. The kith avoided human doctors and hospitals for the same reason. Their demon blood set off the machines and raised too many questions. Unanswerable questions. The norms would have a field day if they got their hands on a demon hunter.
What should she do? She had to help him. Anxiety and dread beat at her. Think, Cassie. Think. She was a mage—when things were working right, that is—able to wield the power that flowed through earth and stone, wind and water, and growing things. She ran a bustling trade in homeopathic herbs and medicines with the norms, but she didn’t know a thing about Dalvahni physiology. She couldn’t heal Duncan.
The hell she couldn’t. She had the enhancer.
Cassie surged to her feet. “Where’s Verbena?”
Taryn gave her an odd look. “Who?”
“Young woman with blond hair. She was standing behind me when the demon erupted. I have to find her. Verbena’s talent makes others—” Cassie shook her head. “There’s no time to explain. Let’s carry Duncan up to the house. You grab his shoulders, and I’ll take his feet.”
“To what purpose?”
Cassie gritted her teeth. “I told you. We need to get him inside.”
“You wish to convey him into yon abode?” Taryn shrugged. “’Tis a small matter.”
Taryn waved a slim, long-fingered hand, and Cassie caught the familiar, sharp scent of magic. Duncan’s body rose from the ground and wafted slowly toward the house.
Show-off, Cassie thought, watching Taryn stride away. Swallowing her spleen, she hurried after her. The demon blast must have knocked her stupid. The Kirvahni were like the Dal—super strong and magically gifted.
Or Taryn could have told you. But that would’ve been too easy.
“Absolutely,” Cassie muttered, hurrying up the hill.
Hands on hips, the Kir stood at the top of the slope in the stupefied ogre’s shadow. A few feet away, Duncan’s limp form bobbed in the air. “What ho,” Taryn said, gazing up at the behemoth. “Here is a beef-witted lunk.”
“His name is Evan Beck,” said Cassie. “When he’s not an ogre, I mean.”
“We are acquainted.” Taryn’s voice was dry as unbuttered toast. “His twin sister is Rebekah Dalvahni. She goes by the sobriquet ‘Beck.’”
“That’s right,” Cassie said, regarding her in mild surprise.
“You know her, then? Perhaps she has mentioned that Evan took her diminutive as his surname in homage to their familial connection.”
“Nope. Beck doesn’t talk about Evan. They had some kind of falling-out, I think. I take it you and Evan are friends?”
“Are we?” The Kir seemed to consider this. “He is a scamp and a wag. Rude, crude, and selfish. Abominable, unpredictable, and invariably annoying. The varlet even threatened to vomit on my boots. And yet, I have not killed him.” Craning her neck, she regarded the ogre. “What say you, Sir Lunk? Are we friends?”
He answered with a wrenching groan. Swaying, he toppled to the ground with a dull boom that shook the house. The massive form shimmered, and Evan lay on the lawn. His clothes shifted with him, conforming to his diminished size.
Or what was left of them. The jacket was pretty much a goner, and the breeches were crusted an inch thick in demon slime. The smell of cooked fat and demon made Cassie’s stomach churn.
“At least he’s wearing clothes,” Cassie said, hurrying over to him. “The last time I saw him in Hulk mode, he was running around naked.”
“The ogre is quite large. His raiment, I suspect, cannot withstand the sudden and violent change.”
Cassie indicated Evan’s old-fashioned garb. “Yeah? So what’s up with the ridiculous costume?”
Taryn shifted in sudden discomfort. “When I happened upon Evan this morn, he was bare as a newborn babe.” Her mouth tightened. “As he takes great delight in playing the trickster and fool, I decided his manner of dress should fit his behavior.” She made a rueful face. “I regret that I lost my temper, but Evan has a rare talent for raising my ire.”
“Yeah, Beck says he’s a pain in the ass. Wait. You made these clothes? Like . . . with magic?”
Taryn inclined her head. “It was nothing. The Kirvahni are adjusters. We make many things.”
“Magical clothes. Good grief,” Cassie said. “That’s why they shrink and stretch.” She knelt to examine Evan. “He’s burned.”
“Of a certainty, he is burned, the care-for-nothing cheese wit.” Taryn’s tone was savage. “Killing demons is what I do, what I was made for. He should have left the matter to me.”
Evan’s eyelids fluttered at the sound of her raised voice. “Red?”
“Be quiet.” Striding over, Taryn scowled down at him. “I am exceedingly wroth with you.”
“Exceedingly wroth.” A strange smile played about his sensual mouth. “I love it when you talk dirty.”
His eyes drifted shut again, and his face went slack.
“Out cold.” Cassie got to her feet. “Can you float two at a time?”
“What?” Taryn was staring at Evan.
“Duncan and Evan,” Cassie repeated with thinning patience. “Can you float both of them?”
“Yes, of course.” Taryn waved a hand, and Evan’s body rose from the ground.
“Okay,” Cassie said. “Let’s get them in the house.”
She led the way, stepping over debris and chunks of smoldering demon. The scorched grass crunched beneath her feet, and the smell of blasted decay was cloying. Climbing to the porch, she waited as Taryn guided the injured men up the steps.
Cassie held the door wide. “My room. Down the hall and to the right. I’ll be there as soon as I get some supplies.”
“Supplies? To what purpose?”
“A party,” Cassie snapped, stepping aside to allow Taryn to enter with the patients. “What else?”
Taryn gave her a hard stare, then shrugged and steered the two bodies down the hall.
Cassie started after her, halting when she heard someone call her name. She stepped back onto the porch and saw Verbena lope around the house like a startled gazelle.
“He’s gone, Miz Cassie.” Verbena’s violet eyes were wide. “Done lit out. I hollered at him, but he kept a-going.”
“Who kept going?”
“That feller with the big peanut.”
“Oh, Lord.”
“Knowed it weren’t good,” Verbena said, taking this as affirmation. “Followed him a ways into the wood. Saw he weren’t gon’ stop and hightailed it on back.”
Cassie gazed at Verbena in horror. If the norms laid their peepers on Jeb, there’d be forty kinds of trouble. She had a sudden vision of Jeb in a standoff with the National Guard, a metallic Godzilla surrounded by a sea of reporters and television crews, fending off helicopters with his giant peanut.
This was not good. This was definitely not good. Kith mandate number one: Draw no attention to their kind.
Draw attention, hell. She’d taken out an ad and put it in lights.
Cassie shook her head. “I can’t worry about that now. Duncan’s hurt.”
“He is?” Verbena cried. “Oh, no.”
“Evan, too.”
Verbena’s brow wrinkled. “When in tarnation did Miz Rebekah’s brother get here?”
“He was the ogre.”
“Oh.” Verbena’s eyes widened in comprehension. “Oh. If that don’t take the rag off the bush.”
Mentally, Cassie was cataloguing the items in her storeroom. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m going to need your help.”
“Me?” Verbena shrank. “I don’t know nothin’ about sick folks.”
“I’m no great shakes at it either, but we’re all they’ve got.”
“But I—”
“You’re the enhancer.” Cassie fixed her with a challenging glare. “So enhance.”
She left Verbena standing open-mouthed at the foot of the steps and strode into the house. Entering her workroom, she paused, her mind spinning with the tasks ahead. First, the men would have to be stripped and bathed, then their burns treated. The shelves in her storeroom were laden with the dried plants and herbs she used in her various spells and homeopathic remedies. After some hesitation, she selected aloe, lavender oil, and calendula and put them in a basket, throwing in ajar of manuka honey for good measure.
Dear Lord, she couldn’t do this. She was a wizard, not a doctor, and Duncan’s injuries were beyond her meager skills. She knew some folk medicine—that was all they’d had, back in the day—but she’d never had any formal training, unless you counted herb books and the Internet. She knew a few basic healing spells, but she’d never treated anyone with injuries as serious as Duncan and Evan’s.
Panic gripped her, making it hard to think. What would a norm doctor do? That was as good a place as any to start.
Smoke inhalation, she told herself, straining to remember her days in the field hospital. Must check their airways and breathing sounds. Hydration was important, too. She’d have to figure out a way to get fluids down them.
Pain—they’d need something for pain. Duncan’s face . . . his poor, beautiful face, and those vicious bites, as if one of Torquemada’s inquisitors had gone to town on him with red-hot pincers. Evan’s hands and foot were in bad shape, too.
Swallowing a sob, she grabbed a bag of dried poppies to make tea and threw it in the basket.
She stared blindly at the shelves, her mind on the injuries peppering Duncan’s torso. The wounds had festered and already leaked a foul-smelling green ichor. Were demon bites poisonous? Though she was half demon, she was working in the dark. No kith school existed where demonoids learned their history and the secrets of their race, but there should be one.
Filing the thought away for future consideration, she decided to make a poultice of marshmallow root to draw out the demon toxins and promote healing. Quickly, she added the necessary ingredients to her basket.
Going to the farm sink, she scrubbed her hands and arms. As she soaped up, she thought back to her initial inspection of the two patients. Of the two, Evan’s condition seemed better. The ogre had a hide like a rhino, and consequently, his burns were superficial and largely confined to his hands, upper chest, and left foot. And he hadn’t been a demon hors d’oeuvre.
The demons had shredded Duncan.
The breath caught in her throat. Duncan was going to be fine. He had to be.
Why the sudden drama? the knowing voice asked. You wanted to be rid of him.
“Not like this,” Cassie said out loud. “Never like this.”
The workroom door opened, and Verbena slipped inside. She gave Cassie an odd look, as though she’d heard her talking to herself, then silently took her place at the sink.
When the girl had washed, Cassie picked up the basket of herbs and bandages. “Ready?” she asked, swallowing her anxiety.
Verbena nodded, though she looked ready to bolt. “I’ll do what I can to help Mr. Duncan.”
“We both will.” Cassie straightened her shoulders. “Okay. Let’s go.”
Leaving the workroom, the two of them hurried down the hall.