Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

" R eally? This isn't some practical joke or some weird demon shit, is it?" I ask, my hands propped on my hips as I stare at the very old, abandoned, creepy church. The place looks like serial killer heaven or a demon's lair.

"Hey, I have more style than this," he mutters at my side.

"Hmm. You prefer soft blankets and large TVs. Who knew demons were so lazy?"

"Exactly—hey, I am just a demon with particular tastes, okay? I like to be comfortable and warm," he protests at my side, "but this is where I found the hand."

"The one currently in my underwear drawer," I remind him. It had been a whole argument, but we might need it, so the hand stays.

I was sad Phrixius left, or more accurately, that I freed him. I mean, he didn't even stick around to say goodbye. We have more pressing matters, however, as my demon reminded me, like hunting down the mask and then stopping the creature I might have accidentally summoned and released, which is why we are here, at the church. I can be annoyed at the god later. We're not dumb though. We waited until morning. I don't know why, but it feels safer. After all, dark magic works best at night, or I'm presuming. I don't actually know, but that feels correct. It's totally not because we were both scared of what could hide in the dark.

Not at all.

"Then let's do this." Rolling my shoulders back, I head towards the church, demon in tow. I don't hesitate at the door, knowing if I do I will run away like a chicken.

I remind myself I'm a badass witch with a demon sidekick.

I stop on the next step, turning my head to find him so close our cheeks touch. His hands are on my shoulders as he dogs my steps behind me. "Are you using me as a human shield?"

"Well, better you than me, little witch," he mutters.

"You are a demon."

"That doesn't mean this place doesn't give me the heebie-jeebies," he mutters.

"Heebie-jeebies? That's not very demonian."

The huff he lets out makes me smile, but he straightens and moves to my side. "How would you know? You only know one demon, which is me. Maybe we all say stuff like that."

"Sure, sure. Are they all such scaredy cats?" I ask.

"Woman, look at this place and tell me you're not creeped out. Like I said, even demons have standards. I mean, have they ever heard of a housekeeper? And the blood sacrifice? All wrong. Where's the screaming virgin and the?—"

"Okay, okay, enough." I slash my hand through the air, plunging us back into silence as we head to the altar at the end. "I mean, would it kill them to have some curtains and soft lighting?" I say nervously.

"I know, right? Maybe a rug? Even some artwork would be fine." I know we are chattering out of nerves, but we can't seem to stop. When we reach the bloody altar, we both turn silent.

"See? Creepy," he whispers.

"Creepy," I agree. "What did it do?"

"I don't know. It felt . . . wrong and dark. It was different from me, but powerful. I tracked it all the way here. Whatever they are, they are using some seriously strong dark magic. The only thing that could get through the barrier is?— "

"Death magic," I murmur. "You don't think . . ." I glance at him just as there's a loud bang, startling us.

We both let out a scream at the sudden noise, and before I realise what has happened, the demon jumps into my arms and I'm holding him up as we face the threat.

Which happens to be a pigeon, cooing in the open doorway where it flew in and knocked over a metal post.

"Really?" I look at the demon as I grunt under his weight and drop him. He poofs away in midair, reappearing next to the pigeon and looking down at it with an unreadable expression before glancing at me.

"No," I say straight away.

"Why not? It could be a cute pet, and you already said no to the crocodile," he snaps. "Look how cute—no! It flew away. Come back and let me love you!" he shouts after the bird that is flapping away.

"Smart bird," I mutter.

"I just wanted to love it. I could have got it a little hat with matching horns. It could have flown into battle with me or shit on people I don't like. What we could have been." He sighs wistfully.

"If you're good and help me stop the end of the world as we know it from happening, then I will consider letting you get a cat."

I jerk back when he appears before me, grinning widely. "Really? They are the height of indifference. I love them so much, and they are so cute."

"Uh-huh, I know. I had to watch the presentation you made on them. Remember last year when you tried to convince me? Now, can we get back to why we are here before whoever left this suddenly appears and strips skin from our bones and wears it like a cape?"

"Okay, okay, fine, save the world first, pets after. Either way, whatever did this is long gone, but it proves one thing," he offers.

"What's that?"

"They knew what they were doing," he says, looking around, "and they knew where and how to get that mask. If this is real and this is death magic, then there is only one type of person who could pull it off." Our eyes meet as I swallow .

"Necromancer," we both say reluctantly, as if giving life to the word will make them appear.

Necromancers are the darkest of magic users, using blood and sacrifice to reanimate the dead, often creating armies. It's said they can even control people using their magic, though I'm not sure how true that is. There is a reason they were hunted into extinction. If one is here now, then we are all fucked.

I swear I hear something that sounds suspiciously like a . . . groan?

"Did you hear that?" I hiss.

"Stop trying to scare me. It won't work," he snaps before his eyes widen and he darts behind me as the noise comes again. "I heard it this time. Quick, little witch, save us."

"After this is over, we are talking about the fact that you use me as a shield," I warn as we slink to the front door and look out. The groan comes again, louder this time, and we head around the back of the church, only to stop. Our mouths drop open.

There are more overturned graves here, but stumbling between the headstones is a . . . zombie.

My demon groans. "A fucking zombie."

The zombie in question is about six feet, probably well-built when it was alive, and missing one of its ears. Its skin is a decaying yellowy colour and seems to be sliding off its frame. "It looks like melted Jell-O," I comment.

"Like when you accidentally put someone's favourite flowery plastic plate in the microwave," my demon adds.

"I knew that was you!" I snap, turning on him before glancing back at the zombie as it groans again, smacking into a gravestone and falling over. As it does, one of its leg bones snaps, making us both wince, but it stumbles back to its feet, dragging the bone behind it like it's nothing.

"I mean, you have to give it credit, it's determined. Once, when you hit your toe, you were down all day," I remark. "But if this is the thing that stole the mask, then I expected . . . I don't know . . . more? How did this get in and out unnoticed?"

"It seems disoriented, like when you get lost without a map," my demon observes helpfully, disappearing and reappearing on top of a gravestone, kicking his legs. "Come here, little zombie. That's it, good zombie."

I watch in open-mouthed fascination as the zombie stumbles towards my grinning demon. "You'd be better with a dog than a cat."

"That's it, good zombie. No, no biting. I taste delicious, but it's not that type of party." He snaps his fingers and rope appears around it, thrusting into the ground and dragging the zombie down to its knees. It groans, looking around as if it's confused. Are all zombies like that?

From the stories I've heard of necromancers, I thought the undead armies were intelligent, sure, and strong. This one is smelly and slow. As if following my thoughts, my demon hops down and circles it, cocking his head as his forked tongue darts out to taste the air.

"Black magic for sure, but long gone. I think its master cut its strings. The only reason it's still alive and moving is because of the spark of power they used to bring it back," he muses, cocking his head. "I wonder if its master can still affect it or see us through it."

"We better not find out. Let's . . . Wait." I still. "Why would they see us through it?"

"Well, it might be useful," he starts with a sly grin.

"We are not keeping this one! It will shed its skin everywhere. It's enough that I have a demon who files his horns in my bathroom," I warn, pointing at him. "I draw the line at zombies. We have an arm, that's enough."

"Good point, this one isn't missing an arm."

"Which means . . ." We both look at the zombie in horror. "There are more of them out there." My eyes land on the overturned graves. "A lot more, and this is only one cemetery. There must be hundreds in a fifty-mile radius."

We share a look, and at the same time, we say, "Fuck."

"So this is a necromancer, and he used a zombie to steal a mask that is possessed by evil spirits, and they probably plan to take over the world, right? Just to get us both on the same page."

"Sounds about right." My demon scratches his head as he peers at the zombie. "We should go back before whoever is behind this returns. We can't just leave it here like this though, can we? That's cruel."

"Alright, let me see if I can cut the magic." I move closer, wrinkling my nose at the stench. My demon is right. It's cruel. This was a person.

"Wait, no, just leave it. I was wrong." He appears before me, his spread arms blocking my path.

"No, you're right. This was someone's loved one. We should lay them to rest." I slide under his arm, but he appears again, stopping me from getting too close.

"No, leave it. It doesn't care."

"Demon, what is going on?" I ask, crossing my arms and narrowing my gaze on him.

He's unnaturally serious for once. "It's fine. Let's leave it. We don't know what you are playing with or what that magic inside will do. We don't want to risk it."

I tilt my head, watching him. "That's not the reason. You are lying to me."

"I'm a demon. I lie all the time," he counters, but his eyes shift away.

"Not to me, and not about important stuff." Stepping closer, I force his eyes back to me. "Why don't you want me to free that thing?"

"Because I'm scared," he admits softly, peering into my eyes like I am pulling the truth from him. His voice is pained. "I don't know what your darkness will do when it touches that thing, and I don't want you to find out."

"My darkness?" I whisper.

"The one you hide, the one I feed on when it becomes too much. The darkness we don't discuss, the one you are afraid of. I don't know what it will do to it, and I don't want to, nor do I want whoever is behind its strings to see you, so leave it," he begs. "Please, Freya, let this one go. Let's go home and forget this ever happened."

I can't. I stumble back, my heart hammering. My entire body turns cold and clammy. "The darkness, you know what it is."

He swallows, dropping his arms as he stares at me. "Freya?— "

There's a groan, and the zombie falls to the side, pathetic and abandoned—just like me. Maybe that's why I do it, or maybe I want to know once and for all what I am.

And that is how we end up adopting a zombie.

Every time I get close to the zombie, it focuses on me, seeming to grow stronger. I hide on my bed, watching it. We locked it in a cage, which my demon created out of thin air. Once I'm not close, it seems to go back to being dormant, but it's more than that. It's the feeling I get when I draw nearer. The darkness inside surges up as if called to it.

It terrifies me, but I'm tired of running.

I freed something evil, and a zombie recognises me.

My demon knows, and I need to as well.

My ears seem to buzz, and my soul tells me to stop and turn away, like watching a car crash, but I can't. I need to know. I have to know. All this time, I thought I was just battling something everyone had inside or an effect of my magic, but the way the demon was talking . . . It's like he thinks it's more.

His fear should have me crawling back to bed and ignoring it as best as I can, but I'm so tired of pretending and hiding from the truth. Maybe if I know, then I can stop whatever is inside me.

"Demon," I call, but he ignores me, pretending to read a book. He doesn't realise it's upside down. "Demon, do not ignore me." With a twist of my fingers, I burn the book to a crisp and drag the chair closer so he's before me. He warily meets my gaze.

"How about I cook us some—" He tries to hop up.

"Sit down," I demand, and he slowly sinks into the chair. "Tell me what you know. Now, and I mean it."

"I know, that's what scares me," he mutters slowly, watching me carefully. "Knowing will not help, Freya. It will only make it worse, as if acknowledging it will give it power."

"I live with this thing inside me, it has enough power already, so tell me. I want to know what you know. Please," I beg, taking his hand. " I feel like I'm going crazy all the time, running from something inside me that I can never outpace. I need to know what will happen."

"You have hidden from it for so long, without realising you released it via pleasure to stop it from building up. You have spent your entire life like a clenched fist, but if I release that fist, I don't know what will happen," he admits. "I sensed it when I first met you."

"You know what it is?" I press.

"I suspect, but I will not tell you in case I am wrong. You do not want to live with that." He holds his hand up to stop my anger. "What I do know is that it is strong and dark. It has an edge to it, like my magic. It's born from darkness and evil, but that doesn't mean it's necessarily evil."

My body goes cold all over, while my skin seems to erupt with a thousand goosebumps at the same time. My heart begins to ache like it's shattering inside my chest and those broken pieces are cutting me open from the inside.

"Evil . . . I have something evil inside me," I whisper.

"Darkness is not all evil, and evil doesn't mean you will become so. Look at me. It's what we choose to do with it that matters, Freya," he tells me, cupping my cheeks so I'll look at him. "I am worried, though, because darkness senses darkness, and I think whoever is behind this could feel your magic interact with theirs if you used it on the zombie. We just need to be careful while we are hunting, that's all."

"I'm scared," I admit, and he presses his forehead to mine, peering into my eyes.

"I know, but I will never let you get hurt, little witch, not ever." He vows it so vehemently, I believe him, but that's not my biggest worry.

I whisper my deepest fears between us. "But what if this darkness gets out and I hurt someone else? What if I become evil?"

"Then we will be evil together."

I can't help but laugh, and he grins, his lips quirking as he watches me, and then he leans in, kissing me softly. "You will always have me, little witch, and we will stop this together. When it's all over, we will figure out what you are safely."

"Together." I nod.