Chapter 20

Ursula poured herself a cup of coffee, her mind rejoicing in the rich aroma. An old rock song played on the radio—Iggy Pop, The Passenger. She loved this song, and even through the fog of exhaustion, part of her wanted to dance, just to feel human again. Clearly, she was running on some kind of insane adrenaline at this point, trying to drown out all thoughts of the man or demon upstairs.

She’d gotten a few hours of sleep—if fitfully rolling around, trying not to think about impending doom, was considered sleeping. There’d been just one period of rest between two and six a.m., until the sound of her dagger falling to the floor woke her with a shout.

Morning’s arrival had been a blessing, restoring some sense of normalcy. After she’d climbed from her sheets, she’d slipped into a pair of thin grey trousers, her thigh-high boots, and a bright blue top—one of the few bright things Kester had bought her. She’d pulled up her hair into a high ponytail, and carefully applied her eyeliner. Monsters be damned, she would wrench back some sense of control and normalcy over her own life.

She took a long sip of coffee and cast an approving glance at her reflection in the chrome coffee maker. So maybe I live in a hellish new world of monsters and headsmen because F.U. sent me here. I’m not going to let myself fall completely to pieces.

The caffeine rejuvenated her. With the radio on, she almost felt like herself again, and she let her hips sway to the music, dancing along as Iggy Pop sang about stars coming out in the night sky. She loved that part…

Footsteps clacked over the floor, and she whirled, nearly spitting out her coffee.

Kester stood in the doorway, wearing a black T-shirt and dark jeans. It would have been a perfectly sensible ensemble, if it weren’t for the sheathed sword at his waist, and the strange alchemical tattoos covering his forearms. “I like the way you move.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You can’t just stride in here whenever you want.”

“What are your plans to find Hugo?” he demanded.

“Is there any way you can start knocking, or at least calling first?” What she really wanted to ask, but resisted, was Hey, can you tell me about that gorgeous and terrifying man upstairs? The Headsman clearly wasn’t in a mood for insubordination from a novice hellhound today.

“What is your plan?” he repeated.

“I’m pouring you some coffee first. You seem cranky.” She grabbed a ceramic mug from one of the cabinets, filling it with coffee. “I’ll approach Hugo at the Metropolitan Opera this evening. He’s going with some French model. I’ll get his soul.” She slid the coffee across the table.

“And you think he’ll be more agreeable tonight?” His gaze roamed over her fitted blue top.

Is he checking me out? “My plan is to do whatever it takes so I don’t have to burn for eternity.” She hated what she was becoming, but self-preservation came first. She’d have to sort through the ethics later. “And I was hoping Zee could come again and use her fairy magic.”

“Of course.” Kester arched an eyebrow, pulling out his cell phone. “God knows you’ll need some help.” He tapped on his phone, then took a sip of his coffee.

“Seriously, though. You need to knock. I could have been in my underwear.”

For the first time in two days, he flashed a smile. “That’s hardly going to put me off.”

“Do you want me busting into your apartment?”

“Fine. I’ll knock next time.” His phone buzzed, and he flicked open a text. “Zee says she’d love to go to the opera. She’ll meet you at seven p.m.” Kester put his phone back in his pocket. “Right. Now that that’s settled, I believe we have some training to do.”

Barefoot,Kester stood in the armory, inspecting the blades. “Choose your weapon.”

She picked up Honjo from the rack. Ursula’s gaze flicked to his powerful arms, tattooed with the same glyphs and astrological signs that covered the walls in the sleeper’s room. “Why are we training with blades? Am I supposed to force Hugo to sign at knifepoint?”

“If that’s what it takes,” said Kester. “But this isn’t for Hugo. He’s not the only thing you need to worry about.”

“What do you mean?”

He leveled his green eyes on her. “We’re not the only monsters out there, Ursula. There are legions of demons who want us dead, and if they ever scent your fear, they will tear you to shreds. For whatever reason, Emerazel won’t allow me to accompany you on your mission, but I’m going to make sure you don’t die. And that means you need to know how to protect yourself. Understood?”

Ursula raised her eyebrows. “That sounds comforting and ominous at the same time.”

“I’m your mentor. Whatever Emerazel’s problem is, you’re my responsibility, and I’ll keep you alive. I’ve seen you use a sword, and you look like you’ve had some serious training already. It’s a good place to start.”

Maybe he was on her side, even if he was the Headsman. She really had no clue at this point. “When you said there are other monsters out there… ” Do you mean monsters like the bleeding guy across from my room? She was desperate to ask about the sleeping stranger, but she bit her tongue. “What types of monsters do you mean?”

A muscle tightened in his jaw. “I forget how little you know.”

“The only things I know about this world, I’ve learned from you. Which is basically fuck-all.”

“We don’t have time to go into the whole history, but I can tell you this. Light demons have been warring with the dark ones for a hundred thousand years. Our gods are in a race to collect souls, and that means you’re a prime target for the shadow demons.”

A shiver crawled up her spine. Is that what is sleeping in the room across from mine? “What makes them dark? Are they more evil?”

“No. It’s just how the universe keeps magic in balance, with equal amounts of light and dark magic, like day and night. Only the fae are neutral. What you need to know is that you can kill shadow demons with certain weapons—especially those made with iron. They must be charmed with the right spells.”

She suppressed a shudder, thinking of the sleeping man upstairs, and the ancient magic that coiled off him in electrifying midnight tendrils. “And some of these shadow demons might be after me tonight?”

“Perhaps. And that’s why you need to learn to fight them.” He pulled a small glass jar full of amber liquid from his pocket, then a handkerchief. He poured some of the oil onto the cloth. “I’m going to anoint your sword with Zornhau’s oil. It’s a salve that protects a blade from damage. Also prevents you from seriously injuring your opponent—limits the chance of an accidental coup de main considerably.”

He held out his hand for the sword, and Ursula handed him the hilt. Kester rubbed the blade with the cloth, holding Honjo with a casual confidence that told Ursula that he was an experienced swordsman. Once the katana glistened with gold, he handed it back to her. “Just remember to clean the sword thoroughly when we’re done. The steel is useless with the oil on it.”

Backing into the center of the room, he drew his own sword from the sheath at his waist. It was the same blade Ursula had used at her battle with the Moor fiend, already glistening with amber oil. “Are you ready?”

Ursula gripped the Katana, planting her feet in a fighting stance. “Whenever you are.”

Kester lunged, his sword striking hers like the fang of a venomous serpent. Ursula deflected his blade with a deft parry, but he stepped back before she could counter. She danced closer, looking for an opening, but he sidestepped, staying just out of range. Their swords clashed, though Kester didn’t break a sweat.

He pushed in, striking. “I spoke with Zee about your encounter with Hugo.”

“Oh?” Apparently Kester was planning on incorporating a bit of chit-chat into their bout.

“She told me you argued with him about bathing suits.” His tone was somewhere between a joke and an accusation. She slashed at him, but he parried easily. He was trying to throw her off her game by bringing this up now.

“Yes, Hugo was saying that he broke up with his girlfriend because?—”

But before she could detail Hugo’s misogynistic attitude towards woman’s swimwear, Kester cut in. “I don’t care what he said. My point is: you need to lure people in. Make them think they can trust you, that they want to please you.” He flicked his blade, and she had to leap to the side to avoid being skewered.

“He seemed to like it when I told him I prefer to swim nude.”

She caught a flicker of interest in Kester’s eyes. Two can play at the distraction game. She hadn’t failed to notice his eyes lingering on her cleavage whenever he got the chance.

“Nude?” He parried, and a thin sheen of sweat covered his forehead. “Is that so? You like the feel of the water against your bare skin?”

You’ve got him, Ursula. Keep going. “Yes, and I eat ice cream nude, because I like when it melts and drips down my breasts.”

Nope. That was just weird.Really, really weird.

Weird or not, Kester faltered. With him off balance, Ursula stabbed at him. He dodged, but not before the tip of her katana nicked his ribs.

“Touché,” Kester swiped the blood from the hole in his shirt and sucked it off his finger. He lifted his sword again. “We’re not done.”

“You want more of that?”

His sword clashed off Honjo. “You got off on the wrong foot with Hugo.” He began to circle her, fire flashing in his eyes.

“Is this some sort of interrogation?”

“Yes.”

Kester feinted at her head and then slashed at her knees. Ursula just barely deflected the blow with a downward swipe. He moved out of range before she could counter. She couldn’t keep up with him.

His fiery gaze was hypnotic. “To succeed as a hellhound, you need both steel and silk, weapons and charm. You can’t always force a signature. Sometimes you must lure in a debtor, convince him it’s in his best interest to sign over his soul.”

She thrust her sword at him, but he dodged. “You think I can’t do that?”

“Zee said you have all the social graces of a water buffalo.”

What. A. Bitch.“That’s a load of bollocks.” Ursula said it confidently, but inwardly she knew he’d touched on something. How many foster families had she been through? Four? Five? She’d lost count. Even the people she’d loved had told her the same thing.

Rufus’s voice rang in the hollows of her mind: “The truth is, you’re a sad cow who won’t make anything of your life.” Hollowness welled in her chest. Worst of all was the dawning realization that this character deficit might explain her amnesia. Was she some sort of magical reject? Forced to forget her past and then cast aside because she put everyone off? Was it possible that no one had ever loved her?

She felt tears prick behind her eyelids. Bloody hell, Ursula. Do not cry. Do not cry. Not in front of Kester. She needed to prove she had both the skill and character to be a hellhound, or she could forget about that whole “self-preservation” thing.

“So—” Kester held up his hand and then laid his blade on the mat indicating that the sword-play was on hold. “Prove it.”

“Prove what?”

Kester stared at her like she was off her meds. “Prove that you know how to charm people. Look approachable.”

She scowled. “How am I supposed to prove that?”

“By not making that face, for one thing.”

She lowered Honjo and straightened. She pushed out her chest, smiled and cocked her head.

“Much better, but your smile doesn’t look genuine. You’ll need to soothe him. Keep him from panicking.”

Ursula felt a familiar heat rise within in her. First, she had to force people to sign away their souls. On top of that, she had to condemn them with a lullaby, cooing at them as she consigned them to hell? How much would she end up hating herself if this was the person she was to become? But she couldn’t say that out loud—not to Kester.

“Put down your sword.” Kester stepped closer, his green eyes drinking her in. “Ask me to sign the pact.”

She tucked her sword in the corner of the room before straightening her shoulders. She tried to force a pleasant smile onto her face. “You just need to sign here.” She pointed to an imaginary pact in her hand, using a firm but gentle voice, like she was a police negotiator convincing a suicidal man to step away from the edge of a bridge.

Kester answered in a perfect impression of Hugo’s posh British accent. “No I don’t want to sign. This must be some sort of stunt. Are you having me on?”

“This is not a stunt. Hasn’t your career taken off since you asked Emerazel for her power?” The content was good, but Ursula stumbled over the last few words.

He continued to ape Hugo’s accent. “I’m not doing it. I’m not giving my soul away.”

“You have to. You agreed to the bargain.”

He shook his head. “Relax your shoulders. You’re supposed to look alluring.”

“How did you do it, when you broke into my kitchen? I was ready to bash your head in with a frying pan, and then the next thing I knew, I wanted to do whatever you wanted.”

“Some of that was my natural charm, but some of it was magic. It’s taken me a long time to learn how to bend people’s wills, and I’ve honed the skill well. You were surprisingly resistant to my influence. I don’t encounter that often.”

“I’d had a very bad day.” She eyed him warily. “You can mind-control me?”

“It’s not something I use unless I must. In any case, you don’t have that skill, so you’ll have to rely on your charms.” A smile played over his lips.

“And my razor-sharp wit.”

“Right. Get on with it.”

She closed her eyes, trying to remember how Kester had approached her in her kitchen. His intense eyes had slid all over her body, like he was memorizing each one of her curves. He’d somehow managed to project strength and temptation at the same time. Gazing at him, she stepped closer, letting her eyes trail over his strong arms, and down the front of his shirt for a moment. Just inches from him, she stared up at him, eyes wide and innocent.

He leaned in, whispering in her ear. “Closer.”

She pressed forward, relishing the heat that radiated from his body, and his delicious scent—cedar and fresh earth. It wasn’t hard to feign attraction.

She stared into his eyes. “If you sign now, you’ll get everything you ever wanted. Everything you could desire for the rest of your life.” She had no idea what possessed her, but she traced her finger down the front of his chest, feeling the hard body underneath.

His breathing sped up, and he grabbed her hand, his fingers burning. “That’s good. But you don’t need to touch him. Not if you don’t want to. You only need to lure him in.”

Her body grew hotter, and she could feel her cheeks flushing. “I guess I’ve got the silk thing covered.”

“Good. Now I want to see how you can use your fire.” He stepped away, picking up his sword. This time when he faced her, his smile had turned predatory; hellfire flashed in his eyes. Ursula’s stomach lurched.

His blade whipped at her gut in a blur of metal, but she dove out of reach. “Use your fire,” he said, his voice husky.

Her sword clashed against his, and her heartbeat raced. He was going to disembowel her. “I don’t know how.”

His sword flashed again and she was only just able to deflect it above her head. The sound of clashing steel rang in her ears.

“Use your fire,” he commanded, louder this time, eyes burning with hellfire.

She tried to envision flames blazing through her body. “I’m trying.” She had to leap into the air to avoid losing her legs as his sword passed clean under her.

“Try harder.” He struck at her, and she parried. Immediately he struck again. She deflected, gasping for breath. Sweat broke out on her brow. His attacks grew faster, driving her across the room. She had to call up the flames, but she could hardly focus her attention with Kester’s sword threatening to rip her to shreds.

She stepped back, banging against the wall. Retreating was no longer an option. Kester struck again, locking his sword with hers, and slowly pushed his blade closer and closer to her face. His breath was warm against her cheek, fueled by Emerazel’s flames.

Her arms burned with exhaustion. She hadn’t been training, and her muscles weren’t ready for this. Kester’s blade pushed closer, grazing her cheek. He’s going to cut my face off. As panic flooded her, an image burst into her mind: a blood-soaked floor, a crumpled body, twitching fingertips. What was that? She didn’t recognize the images, but a hollow opened in her chest all the same, a void so deep and cavernous it could never be filled. Her heart ached.

Kester’s eyes were incandescent, the heat from his body overwhelming. He was going to kill her. She was certain of it. “Get away from me.” Fire kindled in her core, filling the void with a burning sensation. Almost instantly, it turned violently hot, like a dying star. Strength burned through her nerve endings. I am hellfire, and I will bathe the world in flames.

Fire blasted out of her body, knocking Kester away.

He dropped his sword, holding out his hands. “Get it under control.”

Glorious flames poured from her body in waves. She was no longer standing in the armory. She was in the center of a volcanic maelstrom, blessed with the power of a god.

Distantly she heard a hissing noise. Within moments, the inferno was gone, replaced by snow, and she coughed. But this snow wasn’t cold; it was suffocating. She couldn’t breathe. She fell to her knees, gasping.

Kester stood above her. “Use Emerazel’s fire for strength. Don’t burn down your apartment.”

“Something snapped in me when you held that blade to my cheek.” Whatever spell Kester had used stung like hell, and it tasted awful. The room smelled of burnt straw, and the tatami mats lay scorched. As she turned toward the wall-length mirror, she caught a glimpse of herself covered in white powder.

“I was trying to teach you to use your power. It doesn’t burn me, but it will burn the shadow demons.”

“It looked like you were about to cut my face off.” She rose, shaking off the powder.

“Why would I do that?”

She cocked a hip. I don’t know. Why did you leave a man to bleed out across from my bedroom? “Maybe you wanted to wear it on your next mission because of my considerable allure.”

“I’m pretty enough as it is. And I was trying to teach you how to use your power to fight. Remember, Zornhau’s oil won’t let me hurt you.” He raised his sword, wrapping his fingers around the razor sharp blade. With a grunt of pain, he yanked the sword from his fist. Blood poured from his fingers, and Ursula gasped. But when he opened his hand, the wound had already healed. “It still hurts, but you can’t seriously injure yourself. But if you don’t learn to channel the hellfire, you’ll find yourself trapped in a burning building.”

“I think I need a lot of practice.” She wiped the white foam off her cheeks. “What kind of spell did you cast on me?”

“Not a spell,” he nodded at a fire extinguisher.

“Ugh. I’m going to make use of that shower.” She turned to walk out of the room.

“Ursula. You did well, at least until you exploded. Use that charm on Hugo tonight, and everything will be fine. But if anything happens—if you need me, just use that mobile I gave you.”

“I thought Emerazel wasn’t letting you help me.”

“I can help you. I just can’t go with you.”

“That is good to know.” She flashed him a tentative smile.

Even with her aching muscles, as she strode up the stairs to the bathroom, she felt a little better than she had that morning.