Chapter One
Death stank of piss and rotten flesh. Death also had wings—Felix tilted her head, peering out through the crack in the pantry door—and possibly horns.
Horns? Fuck.
What had she been thinking? Yes, she was trained—she winced—sort of. But nowhere near enough to take on a farmhouse full of high-level horned demons.
Harbingers of Death. Apprentice slang had them as Bringers. Mentors often insisted they shorten their full title simply to ‘Death’, a reminder of exactly what the demons were to flesh, to anything earthmade. In that moment, she had no problem with following that command. Especially as it was likely to be her death.
Felix wet dry lips and fought to bring her wild pulse under control. She needed a clear head. There was at least one Bringer still caught within the wards she’d erected around the sprawling farmhouse. And she continued to stare right at it. Because she was stupid and had panicked and used every shard of bloodstone she had to protect the walls of the old stone building. To encase them. Rather than first expel the enemy.
She pushed down the mortification at her own failings and focused.
Primary training. Identify the demon hulking at the far end of the kitchen.
She held down a groan as she unfolded her legs. Magic had to flow through her flesh and she was practically a knot. She’d been cramped, curled over and hunched in what was little more than a shallow shelved cupboard for what felt like hours. The pantry-cold tiles worked through to her flesh, chilling her skin even through the tough material of her apprentice breeks.
Trapped in the cramped space, it was the only time she’d ever been happy to be short. She doubted any other member of her year could fit under the bottom shelf of a pantry. She winced. Though they’d also be happy to live without the heavy stink of uncooked, muslin-wrapped meat just above their heads.
Not focusing. Scatterbrain. She scowled. His bloody voice. As if she needed Zacharias Mael in her head.
Pressing her lips together, she added another layer of magic to the power already infusing the thin bands of jasper bound around her wrists. She had to mask her energies before she sought out the demon. But they were only apprentice layers, a thin dusting that pricked at her senses and screamed, “Not enough, you stupid girl!” Screamed it in his voice.
She closed her eyes and drew in long, slow breaths, exhaling silently, and began to practise the singular skill of a magus.
The warmth of her energy swelled under her skin, tracing over the varying protecting crystals grown into the muscles of her arms, across her collarbones and down her sternum.
Power plucked at the cool shards of sapphire, consuming them, transforming the magical energy in her flesh to magic she could twist and turn for her own use.
And it would be untraceable. Her body-wards protected her from the beast that would happily feed on her. She had to believe that. Completely.
Her awareness expanded. A shining rush, pulsing around her, the earthmade shapes gleamed, limned by subtle shades of colour. She pushed her astral self out beyond the heavy pantry door, now edged in brilliant green, to the farmhouse kitchen.
Autumn sunlight cut through dusty windows to draw gold over the long, wooden table with its plates set for lunch. A shadow passed, tipping the room into brief darkness. The shape drawn against the kitchen cupboards suggested a mirror of her Bringer. Shit. Was the beast in the kitchen one of a pair, or a triad? Or a quad? How many more had she trapped within the house?
The space presented her with colours. From the green of the kitchen table filling the room, the silver of the limestone floor, or the deep grey of the granite work surfaces. Plastics stood out in brilliant searing whites, as unnatural to her magic as a Bringer itself.
Steam rose in slow curls from the kettle sitting on the counter, proving that her sense of time was skewed. Her magic stroked over the tough plastic and she breathed against the bite-back of the sour, synthetic material. Time and energy rolled through her, offering information. It’d reached boiling point only fifteen minutes before. Fifteen minutes. Was that all? Her concentration almost faltered, magic snapping quickly against her thoughts.
Felix’s jaw tightened and curse words burned on her tongue. She ignored the sharp pinch of pain. She’d thrown herself into this mess. Failure meant death. Most definitely hers.
What breed was this Bringer? She’d seen horns…maybe? Which put it at the fourth breed. At the very least. Her fingers curled into her palms, short nails digging into soft flesh. The pain kept her fixed. She would not lose herself in how bad this was. How very bad.
This was just her level of luck. Felix almost snorted. She should be used to it.
The scrape and gouge of plaster grated against her senses and drew the focus of her power finally to the demon. Shaped through the lens of her magic, long, curved talons tore at stone. They were clean and free of demon runes. No help.
Their unnaturalness fed back into her, chilling her blood. The demon ached to feed his endless hunger—he would certainly eat her whole—but he also fought to get to his brethren circling the old stone farmhouse.
With her heart thudding, she slipped closer. Identify. Determine weakness. Destroy. The simple rules of being a magus didn’t offer much comfort, much certainty when she was faced with a horned demon.
A snarl, dark and cold, ripped through a layer of protecting magic and Felix fought her panic. She pressed a hand to her mouth to quiet her quickened breaths, to deny any gasps and involuntary noises. The demon hadn’t turned. He hadn’t sensed her. But she had to be careful, had to remember everything, every sound, every touch, even the decayed stink of its almost-flesh brought death.
Felix willed her fast pulse to slow. She could do this. She’d faced simulations in her training. Carcasses bespelled by her mentors…but nothing prepared her for the real thing. Especially when her magic neared him, a lens that would sharpen his unfinished body.
The icy prick of death stabbed at her, swirling around the half-formed beast, with his deadly white wings, whiplike tail and slender frame. Hunger pulsed. An eternal hunger for life, for living meat, for anything earthmade.
Harbingers of Death devoured. They mirrored the magi, with magic in their flesh...yet theirs was selfish, hoarded, converting and transforming the energy of crystals, metal, anything grown into food. And a magus’s flesh and magic, to a Bringer, was the sweetest meat of all.
Closer, she needed to be closer. Taking a slow breath, she twisted her courage and slipped her magical form between the wall and the demon.
Tears ran onto the fierce press of her true-hand covering her mouth. Fuck, it hurt to be so close, but she had to hold her position. His skull would identify him. An agonising heartbeat later and his writhing form snapped into a firm shape. The pain of searching lanced her, racing hot needles through her magical pathways. Her sternum, collarbones and arms pulsed with a ferocious white fire.
Focus. The word beat against her brain.
The Bringer’s skull was pure bone. White. Two demon runes scored his cheek. His clan name. Thorunn. And his given name, Feoh. Beneath the runes was a single stroke. A one. Feoh was first amongst his brethren. Fuck. Fuck. She stared into darkened eye sockets, yanking her attention away to a pair of pale, twisting ram’s horns pushed out from his temples. A third breed Harbinger. Dagon. And they came in quads. Were there three of his brethren caught within her wards?