And then out from the darkness stepped three men.
No, not men, but humanoid demons by the smell of rot that rolled off of them. They were all dressed in the same expensive-looking gray suits, like they’d just stepped out of a high-end lawyer’s firm.
I raised a brow. “Okay—not vampire.” Crap. Where did they come from?
Heart thrashing, I struggled to ignore my sudden panic and focused on these demons. A smart witch always knew it’s best to know your enemy if you wanted to defeat your enemy. It was the first rule in the Witch Club—not really. I just made that up.
With my pulse racing, I took in all their details. Broad shouldered, they were all the same height and build, maybe six feet with lean and agile bodies under their expensive suits. The same short white hair topped their heads, their faces gaunt and eerily identical like clones. At first glance they looked human, but the grayish-blue skin and faint black mist that emitted from their bodies were all demon. Black midnight eyes glared back at me with so much hate and promise of pain the hairs on the back of my neck stood up.
Oh. Shit. I knew what these baddies were.
Higher demons.
Though I’d never faced one before, I knew only one demon race paraded as clones, as doppelgangers, because well, in some sick demonic way, they felt like it.
Higher demons were a race of humanoid demons from the Netherworld. They were demon lieutenants, leaders of demon troops and high in the demonic army rank. They were also powerful bastards with the authority over lesser demons like ghouls and imps.
I also knew they had supernatural strength, speed, and enhanced endurance. Adding in the fact that they were highly intelligent left me with an extremely dangerous combination. Double crap.
My gut clenched. I should have stayed home.
“If I had known this was a costume party,” I said, happy my voice was even. “I would have brought my broom and pointy hat.”
Higher demons were usually out for angel souls. Something about the thirst for their angel essence, kinda like a vampire’s thirst for blood. So why were they all looking at me with that hunger in their eyes? I ain’t no angel.
One of the higher demons broke free from his brethren and stepped forward. “It is a party,” he said, his voice disturbingly human. An evil grin flashed across his face. “A fête for your witch soul. The celebration of your death.”
Figured he would say that. I looked to the sky, saw only black shadows and mist and shouted, “Poe! You all right?” Damnit. Where was that bird?
“Right here,” answered Poe, making me jump. His voice was just a few feet behind me, though I couldn’t see him. “Sam, I don’t like this one bit,” said the raven from the darkness.
“That makes two of us,” I answered, squinting through the dark haze while trying to find his shape.
“Uh, Sam? I’m not feeling so hot,” he added, his voice low and tired, like he was about to pass out.
I froze, alarmed. “What do you mean?” I tried to look for the raven while keeping my focus on the higher demons in case they did something stupid, like lunge at me.
“There’s something in the black mist,” I heard the bird say, and my pulse hammered. “It’s making me... dizzy.”
I felt the blood leave my face. “Poe? Poe! Answer me.”
But I only heard the blood pounding in my ears. Oh my god, Poe!
I glared at the demons. “What did you do to him, you bastards!”
Together, the higher demons laughed, sounding like a pack of hyenas, and my anger skyrocketed.
“Sam,” breathed Poe, his voice barely a whisper, “I think I’m going to take a little nap.”
“Poe!” I took a step back towards his voice. “Poe, where are you?” I scuttled backward, straining to see through the mist and trying hard not to step on my familiar. That’s all I needed—squishing my raven to death.
Was he going to die? Fear was sharp and hit deeply.
The higher demon’s low, mocking laugh grew in depth but then faded with a bitter sound. “Don’t worry,” he purred. “Either he’ll wake up just as he was in an hour, or he’ll die.”
Keep it together, Sam. “You did this on purpose. Why? What the hell do you want?”
Fear slid through me, but I pushed it away. Hatred nearly dripped from me through my pores as I eyed the demons. If they’d killed Poe, I was going to repay the favor.
My gaze rested on the closest higher demon. “You higher demons are a long way from home.”
The same higher demon smiled, his gray teeth matching his skin. “We’re here to collect your soul, little witch.”
“You already said that.” Reaching my awareness to my rings, I tapped into their magic, readying the power I was going to use if they moved another inch.
My shoulders stiffened. It was three against one, and with odds like that, with a different kind of opponent, I wouldn’t have given it a second thought. But with three higher demons, things just got a lot more complicated. I knew if I shot a spell at the first one, by the time I’d even thought of conjuring another—I’d be dead.
I was so screwed. Why were these situations always happening to me?
“Vorkol says hello, by the way,” said the nearest higher demon, a snicker in his voice. He was so very close now, he only had to leap, and he’d be on top of me.
Vorkol? “Never heard of him. Is he a black-eyed bastard like you?” At that, all the higher demons laughed, and a chill dropped down my spine. Damn, they were creepy.
The higher demon flashed me his teeth. “I haven’t tasted the soul of a witch in a very long time.” He lifted his chin and sniffed the air, as though he was trying to catch my scent. “Not as sweet as the angel-born,” he commented, his black eyes on me, “but we’ll make an exception tonight.”
“We’re here on business,” said the higher demon on his right.
“Nothing personal,” added the higher demon on his left. His hard body was poised in anticipation.
So, the bastards wanted my soul, eh? Not going to happen.
“Too delicious to pass up,” intoned the closest higher demon, and with a flick of his wrist, a dark dagger slipped into his hand. Black mist emanated from the shaft, the blade as sharp as a scalpel.
My pulse thrashed at the sight of two more blades appearing in the hands of the other two higher demons. Death blades.
Death blades were believed to have been forged in The Black Wastes of the Netherworld. But that wasn’t what had bile rising up in the back of my throat. It was the fact that their demonic power was derived from the souls the blades destroyed. That’s what the black mist was—the remains of previous victims’ souls.
The blades were also poisonous to angels. Again, I wasn’t an angel. But that didn’t seem to matter to them.
If they thought I’d just stand here and let them kill me, they were even more stupid than they were creepy.
The higher demon in the middle brought his blade to his face. His gray tongue flicked along the blade in a suggestive way, licking it slowly while keeping his black eyes on me the entire, disgusting time.
Cold seeped up my back. “Yikes. Now, why the hell did you do that? You think that’s going to turn me on? You sick, creepy demon.”
“Perhaps,” he intoned. “Perhaps we’re going to have a little fun with you before we kill you.” He gave me another deviant smile that put me on edge and had my head screaming—run!