Chapter 9

With the crackling of a thousand cinders uniting, she reconstituted in the center of a circular room, atoms and molecules joining together again with the force of an exploding star. She rested her hands on her knees, her body shaking as she retched. Whatever the fuck she’d just done, she was pretty sure human bodies were not meant to do it.

Her skin crackled with electrical power, and an odd buzzing noise sounded in her head. Each one of her nerve endings blazed in rebellion.

Kester glanced at her. “Are you all right?”

As she straightened, she looked around at the circular room in which they stood. A wrought-iron chandelier, blazing with candles, hung from a towering brick ceiling.

She glanced down. At her feet, a few tongues of flame licked at the edges of an encircled triangle carved into the floor.

Bits of hot ash burned her throat like she’d just pulled too strongly on an unfiltered cigarette. “Bloody hell.” She coughed. “What was that?”

“That was sigil travel. You can travel between Emerazel’s symbols by knowing the right spell, and envisioning where you want to go, but it’s not the most comfortable method of transportation. I recommend actually holding your breath next time.”

She rubbed her eyes, still trying to get her bearings. Between three tall windows, the walls were painted with strange frescos of dancing nymphs, satyrs, and occult symbols. On one part of the curving wall stood a mahogany door carved with stars and flames.

Ursula wondered if they might be in some sort of antechamber to the underworld, until the windows caught her eye. Distant lights twinkled through the glass. On the other side of a park, a cityscape glimmered. Entranced, Ursula stepped toward the glass, watching the falling snow that blanketed the treetops and distant buildings. Where am I?

She searched for the usual London landmarks: the London Eye, the Thames, or the pointed tip of the Gherkin.

But this wasn’t her city. The buildings lining the park were far too tall for London’s skyline.

Dizzy, she stepped back from the window. “Where are we?”

“New York City.”

She shook her head, trying to clear the confusion. It didn’t seem possible—then again, she’d just defeated a demon and travelled through a blaze of fire and ash. Clearly, she needed to rethink what was possible. “So, so…” she stammered. “I’m looking at Central Park.”

“Yes.” Kester traced a gloved finger over the glass. “It’s dark now, but on a clear day you can see the roof of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and beyond that, Harlem.”

She gaped at him, wondering if this was all some kind of dream. “The fire you lit transported us here. With magic.” She felt stupid saying the words out loud.

He pulled off his gloves, turning to the sigil. “Precisely. I can call on Emerazel’s power with her symbol. With the right spell, it is possible to travel between them.”

“I need to let Katie know I’m okay.”

“No. There is no Katie anymore. You need to leave your old life behind. I’ll take care of the explanations to anyone who knew you.”

She eyed him. “You’ve got to be joking. I can’t contact my best friend?”

“You don’t want to test me on this. There are worse things than death, and they’ll be waiting for you if you defy that order.” His voice sent a shiver over her skin, putting an end to that conversation.

Her skin felt hot, and she pulled off the coat Kester had given her, trying to think of what to say next. I was burnt to ash, and then I traveled to New York through a flaming sigil. Magic, demons, hellhounds… Her mind raced in a jumble of confused words that she couldn’t process. F.U., you were a raging lunatic. “Where are we standing right now?”

“This room has been properly prepared to receive those who travel by Emerazel’s fire,” he said, pointing at the markings on the walls. “It’s on the top floor of the Plaza hotel.”

“The Plaza Hotel. Right. And witches and demons are real, and you eat raw sheep and steal souls.”

“We don’t say ‘witch’ in our world. ‘Philosopher’ or ‘mage’ are the preferred terms. And I am your new mentor, so you’ll need to watch that unpredictable attitude, or you’ll find yourself on the wrong side of my wrath. Are we clear?”

She choked back a retort, forcing a smile. “Clear as day.”

“Good. Come with me.” He pulled off his jacket, tucking it under his arm as he walked through the door. “I think you’ll find this place an improvement over your usual haunts.”

She followed Kester down the hallway and into a cavernous main hall. Bloody hell. She let out a low whistle. The place looked like some sort of medieval castle. Is this where he lives?

High above, the ceiling’s arches gave the room an almost cathedral-like quality. Persian rugs carpeted the floor, and rich taupe velvets upholstered the sofas. A baby grand piano stood in a far corner. Above the fireplace hung an antique portrait of a beautiful ivory-skinned woman, her raven hair threaded with wildflowers. On a small plaque pinned to the bottom of the gilt frame was the name Louisa.

Fancy as it was, a musty smell hung in the air. Dust coated the floor, and flowers in a vase had dried into drooping husks. This place had clearly been unused for quite some time. What a waste.

Kester waved a hand. “The living room.”

“Who lives here?”

“We’ll get to that.”

“It looks… fancy.” She glanced around furtively, feeling like an intruder in a rich person’s home. “But how do you get out of here?” Admittedly, escape routes were a bit of a preoccupation, but since she’d been attacked by two different creatures tonight, she thought she could be forgiven for a little neurosis.

He pointed to a doorway. “The elevator is through there, but the Plaza’s security is excellent. No one is coming in here unless you want them to. You’re perfectly safe. Come with me.”

Ursula followed him down a hallway, gaping at the vibrant paintings of pale, ecstatic women dressed in gold and crimson gowns. The place was decadent, but intensely beautiful.

He stopped by an open door, flicking on a light switch. “This is the library.”

Ursula peered inside. Distant streetlights flickered through a single window at the opposite end, and a comfortable window seat nestled under it. A small table stood in the center, and dark bookcases lined the walls, their shelves filled with leather-bound volumes. She had a sudden desire to lock herself in the room and page through each book for the next month. “I love this room,” she breathed. Maybe she wasn’t much of an intellectual, but the room’s coziness called to her.

“You’ll have time to look around later. There’s more to see,” said Kester. He strode to the end of the hall, and she followed. Through another door, he pointed out an enormous kitchen with marble countertops.

This was a kitchen made for something a little more delectable than buttered bread. Her stomach rumbled, but Kester had already moved on.

Down the hall, he flicked on a light through a doorway. “The armory.”

Ursula’s pulse quickened. Weapons. She’d grown quite fond of that sword tonight.

She peeked inside. The armory was as large as the main hall. A mirror lined one wall, and beige tatami mats covered the floor. A wooden sparring dummy stood in a corner. Across from her, a magnificent collection of daggers, swords, and spears hung on wooden racks. Grinning, Ursula hurried across the room to inspect them.

“Take your time,” said Kester. “I’m going to see about some food. I can hear your stomach rumbling from here.”

Ursula’s eyes went wide at the gleaming collection. There was a Viking sword like the one she’d so recently used to fight the shadow stalker, pointed blades for puncturing hearts and lungs, stubby Roman swords, and even a Scottish claymore. But it was the rack of Asian weapons that most drew her eye: a sword for chopping the legs off of charging horses, a pair of daggers, two long spears, and a wicked-looking katana. She had no idea why, but these swords called to her.

She bit her lip, fighting the urge to steal a few daggers. She didn’t know where she’d be resting her head tonight, but sleeping with a cold blade by her side might not be a bad idea. Especially since her new mentor had the disturbing tendency to grow claws and fangs. Maybe he was being civil to her now, but he was clearly dodgy as hell.

She reached for the katana. Black silk wrapped the hilt, and the guard was forged in the shape of a dragon. The blade shone like a viper’s tooth.

It was perfectly weighted. She hurried to the center of the room and sliced the blade through the air in a practice swing, thrilling at the feel of the steel. She swung again, and the muscles in her shoulders loosened. Home. This feels like home. Her arm still throbbed where the shadow stalker had broken it, but with the sword in her hand, the dull ache began to ease.

Turning toward the mirror, she caught a glimpse of herself and winced. Her auburn hair lay matted to her head. Blood and dirt stained her shirt and jeans, and her black eye makeup formed two dark semi-circles below her hazel eyes. I look like a goth clown—definitely worse than a drunken KISS fan.

At least the sword was beautiful. With a faint smile, she raised it above her head. She sliced downward with a yell, halting when the blade was parallel to the floor. As she lifted her arms to take another swing, Kester’s voice interrupted.

“I see you’re making yourself at home.” He leaned against the door frame, staring at her. “I would ask how you learned to wield a sword like that, but I’d wager you have no idea.”

“You’d wager right.” She turned and pointed the sword at him. He stood ten feet away, and she could be there in two steps. Before he’d have a chance to blink, she could bury the sword in his chest. After stopping his heart, she’d just take the elevator to the ground floor and disappear into the New York City night. Would it be so hard to start over as a waitress in New York?

But something stopped her. It wasn’t just his pretty face. As insane as he sounded, Kester had actually been telling the truth. Magic is real. She’d seen him transform into a hound, summon a shadow stalker, and whisk them to New York through a flaming sigil. She felt it when she lifted the sword, and what was more, some sort of magical fire now flowed in her veins. And if Kester was telling the truth, that meant there was no escape from Emerazel and her infernal flames.

She lowered the blade, wiping the makeup below her eyes on the back of her other wrist.

If Kester suspected that she’d just run through the pros and cons of stabbing him to death, his face didn’t show it.

He nodded at the sword. “I see you’ve acquainted yourself with my friend Honjo Masamune. I know he’s quite charming, but he can wait until morning. Dinner is served.”

With a heavy sigh, Ursula crossed to the racks, placing the katana in the empty spot. Until we meet again, my friend.