Page 116 of Bedeviled

An idea comes to me then, one that is a tad unhinged but just might work. Sheathing my blades, I focus on the soles of my feet, then I move my focus lower still, deep into the ground. I’m familiar with the magic here—I used to draw from it when I was Roxilana, and if the demon spoke true, then my spirit must’ve existed down there for some time, which I refuse to fucking dwell on.

Right now I cannot see what lies deep in the soil, but I can sense that resting within that gritty, fecund earth is power. Power the Hungering Ones cling to.

Power I need.

I cast my awareness beneath me like a net, and then I draw it up, through the layers of strata, past dormant seeds and dead roots and webs of mycelium. All that moist earth has the potential for life, and now I funnel that power to the fungi I sense, willing them to grow. I draw them up, up, until the first mushrooms sprout at my feet.

I coax the next several of them to curve around the nearest demon—the one that tried to attack me—until a neat mushroom circle forms. There is still blood on my arms from the gouges the demon cut into my skin. I dab a bit of it onto my finger, then smear it onto the nearest mushroom head.

“Bind this circle so that nothing may escape.”

I feel the rush of power sweep across the circle and see the faint arc of the spell’s barrier as the walls of it come up. The demon inside is nothing more than a headless body, but it is still powerful, still capable of hurting others. Once the spell circle is activated, it bangs uselessly on the walls of its prison.

I weave through the thick fog of Memnon’s magic, raising circle after circle, activating each one with a smear of blood. From the thick swathes of Memnon’s magic Nero prowls forward, his fur damp with the blood of demons.

He silently joins me as I move from creature to creature. I grimace as the scent of sulfur ripens in the air, and thin, oily tendrils of dark magic drift up from the creatures like unholy smoke.

Several times, in order to confine the demons—and only the demons—I have to move them away from the ravaged bodies of my sisters. More than once it’s my tears, rather than my blood, that brings the spell circle to life.

The nightmare for these witches should’ve been over now that the Fortunas and their trafficking ring had been dealt with. Instead, another looming menace chose to come after them—after us—and on the full moon of all nights, when dark magic should have the weakest hold.

It takes a small eternity to make every last one of these circles, and I’m swaying by the time I finish the last of them.

It’s only then, once I’ve finished imprisoning the disarticulated demons, that Memnon releases his hold on them.

All around me I hear wet, sickening thuds as the bodies of demons that were caught in the grip of the sorcerer’s power now fall to the ground, many of them mangled.

The indigo smoke of Memnon’s magic clears, and though there are no more orbs lighting the field, the full moon gives me a stark and unsettling view of Slain Maiden’s Meadow.

The field where I clasped hands with coven sisters on Samhain and danced with them during the Harvest Moon is now the site of a massacre. Several of those coven sisters I shared a roof and meals with now have their throats and abdomens ripped out, their innards speckling the ground.

Even the sight of the imprisoned demons lying trapped in broken heaps isn’t enough to soothe my heart. It just seems to add to the nightmare of it all

And amongst it all is Memnon, his hair rippling, his eyes glowing amber. Black blood flecks his face and forearms, and his T-shirt and black pants are splattered with gore. He looks every bit the mythical warlord he once was.

I give him a sad, tired smile, and then I cant sideways, nearly toppling into Nero. Memnon’s magic catches me before I collide with my familiar, and then the sorcerer is there, holding me up.

He gazes down at me for many long seconds while his hair slowly settles and his eyes gradually dim. The moment his power truly releases him, his entire body shudders.

Memnon draws in a shaky breath. Then, ever so slowly, he reaches out a hand and cups the side of my face tenderly.

“Brave, reckless woman, running into battle right after cheating death,” he whispers. He swallows thickly.

“I’m glad you didn’t stop me,” I breathe. If he had, who knows if there would’ve been more casualties.

Memnon’s gaze touches on the rings of mushrooms around us. “What you did was incredibly clever.”

I lean into him a little then, feeling so very tired. I had a little help, I say softly across our bond.

He gives me a soft smile before his eyes return to the field. “There might yet be some survivors. If you stay here with Nero, I will seek them out and heal them.”

“I’m coming with you,” I say stubbornly, even as my legs tremble from overexertion.

He gives a dark laugh. “You’re not.”

His magic spills from him then and twines around me, coaxing my body to the ground. Whatever leniency he felt earlier in the woods is gone, replaced by the Memnon of old.

I glare at him.