Touched by Fire (Demons of New Chicago #1) - Kel Carpenter Page 0,8
I opened fire. The glass cracked. Pieces fell away as I shot in a wide circle. The only thing worse than what I planned to do was getting stabbed while doing it.
The second orb of fire winked out.
My backpack barely touched the stone roof before I ripped it open and pulled out a grappling hook attached to forty feet of rope. I kept one on me for most missions, just for moments like this. Grabbing the end of the rope, I pulled, and it all unfurled.
The third orb blinked out, the glow from below now muted.
In a single motion, I turned and hurled the hook over the edge of the cathedral.
I couldn’t wait for the light to go out completely. If that happened, it was all over. Without checking to see if the hook caught, I took a deep breath.
Then I jumped.
4
My coat flapped in the wind as I rushed toward the ground.
The screams of the night sky didn’t fade so much as it was replaced by the ominous chanting of the Antares Coven.
Thirteen members spoke in ancient Hebrew, a language I was uncomfortably familiar with. A chill ran through me right as my left arm pulled taut. The burn in my shoulder as the muscle stretched too far to stop my impact was minor compared to the jarring sensation of being suspended twenty feet above the circle.
I’m going to pay for this later. It was my only thought before I let go entirely.
I bent my knees and rolled when I hit the ground, thankful for my jacket when I felt the small shards of glass press into it.
A less experienced coven would have stopped. If they were lesser prepared, they would have run. These weren’t amateurs, though, and my arrival didn’t scare them in the slightest.
I looked around the circle at each hooded figure. I couldn’t see their faces, but I could see they held athames. Their palms were already cut. Blood dripped from their self-inflicted wounds.
Those scarlet drops splattered the marble floor as their chanting reached its crescendo.
One long note filled the cathedral. Like a battering ram to my memories, it shattered every coherent thought.
Pressure built as magic from another plane flooded the circle. It filled me just as it filled the girl, not yet a woman, who sat on her knees across from me. They’d dressed her in white. She was supposed to bow like the little lamb led to the slaughter. Instead, she’d watched me jump. She saw me land. Our eyes locked as the magic entering this world intensified.
Pain filled her features. Pain and a sudden terrible understanding, as if she only just pieced together why she was actually here. A coven of thirteen could summon a demon with their combined power, but it would drain them, and they needed a funnel. She would get the worst of it.
Under normal circumstances, the sacrifice always died.
Maybe she wouldn’t, though. Maybe my presence would be enough.
Light gathered in the center of the circle. Embers of red and orange grew, swirling around each other faster and faster.
There was no way to brace myself for what was coming. I knew it in my bones.
The magic released in a wave of blinding light.
It rolled through me, and I noted the lack of pain only a moment before she began screaming.
Steeped in shadow, a naked figure knelt in the circle where before there had been only light.
Cold rolled through the cathedral as the demon lifted its head.
I could not see its face. Only strong shoulders and dark hair, but I knew it was male by its sheer size.
The screams of the girl quieted. Uneasiness settled in my gut, followed by dread. I hoped I was wrong. I hoped—
“Who is it that calls to me?” His voice was deep as the ocean and expansive as the sky. It was dark and deceptively soft, yet . . . enticing.
A shudder ran through me.
“We have,” another voice said. One of the robed forms stepped forward and lowered his hood. He had light brown hair that was thinning into a widow’s peak and flat brown eyes. His chin was too pointed to be attractive. His skin was drawn tight in certain places and hung flaccid in others.
He was old and ugly and . . . he hadn’t aged a day in the ten years that had passed.
My lips parted as shock ran through me.
My heart pounded in overdrive.
It was him. Claude Lewis. The warlock who could fix her. If I could somehow capture him and—