Hell's Gates (Urban Fantasy) (3 page)

Bryony is mine.

They’re gonna die for touching him.

I
was
gonna wait for news from Sorsha, really. I planned on sitting around like a human parent and watching my kid breathe, begging his little chest to rise and fall, each wisp of air rattling in his lungs.

I even did that for a little while. I mean, past experiences taught me that running off without a plan was only gonna get me in trouble. Right?

Fuck, but my give a shit was still busted. I wanted to solve my problems like I always did—kicking ass and making someone bleed. The
thing
who did this to my son deserved all that and more.

A
more
that had me even considering calling on hellfire. It’d been a year since I’d tapped into the circles of hell, danced on the edge of evil, and it was damn tempting to dip my toe in.

My shoulders itched, skin stretched taut across my back, and my arms prickled with goose bumps. My wolf. It was anxious for its own taste of blood. It wanted to hunt, to maim.

“Caith?” Momma R’s concern flowed over me and I nearly snarled at her, nearly snapped at the woman who’d been more of a mom to me than my own. “You need to calm. Bryony will sense your emotions and that’s not good for him.”

Right. Calm down. “I…” I clenched my fists and my wolf’s nails pricked my palms. “I’m going out.” I pushed to my feet and just stood there for a second, staring down at my son.
My son
. A purple glow surrounded him, a reminder of the protections laid by the elf. The rage swirling inside me bubbled a little higher, creeping toward the edges of my control, and I knew staying here wasn’t a good idea. “Yeah, I’m going out.” Before I snapped. “Call me if anything changes with Bry.” I turned to the two women I trusted most. “Keep him safe.”

I strode toward the front door, torn between the need to hunt whoever had started this mess and sitting and waiting for Sorsha. I was never a patient child.

“You sure, Caith?” Jezze rose and followed me, her bare feet quiet on the aged wood floors. “I mean, what can you do?”

Nothing. Everything. Anything.

I walked out the door and pulled it shut behind me, careful to be as quiet as possible. I felt an almost inaudible snap in the air, a rubber band against my back, as Momma R’s wards fell back into place. The home sealed behind me against any threats.

Did I really wanna leave Bry while he was ill? No, but if I didn’t do something with this energy, it’d be Chicago all over again. That hadn’t exactly ended well. What with the burning of over three miles of the city. The whole thing had been blamed on the O’Leary cow when it’d really been me. Betrayed by my lover, catching him in the act with another woman, sent me over the edge.

One spark led to another and another, until the city was ablaze with the Great Chicago fire of ’71.

I’d been heartbroken, devastated.

And the two women in that house had been at my side, picking up the pieces of me that’d been left over. Unafraid. Caring. Loving.

If I was going to leave Bry with anyone, it was with Jezze and Momma R. I trusted them more than anyone else with my kid. I trusted Momma R more than my own mother.

And for just a second I thought about what my mother would have done if I’d ever gotten sick. Whether she’d call a true healer or ask for help. Would she cry or feel anything?

No. Wasn’t her style. She truly was the devil’s sister, and the biggest bitch the world had ever known. If anything, she would have rejoiced in my pain.

It was a good thing two of my fathers passed on a lot of their purity and love genes—a unicorn and Father Earth. It gave me the ability to feel love for Bry, to not find joy in his suffering and to instead feel rage and a need for retribution.

Okay, admittedly, the rage and retribution thing came from two of my other dads. Letholdus—Papa Leth—was the first warrior into Jerusalem during the crusades and my werewolf dad—Papa Al—was the High Wolf of North America.

Dad number five—the Pixie King—gave me the ability to laugh and have fun with Bry, to find joy in life.

Unfortunately, at the moment, none of their genetic donations—I was conceived in a petri dish, not in a magical gang bang, dammit—helped with my unending need for violence.

I took a deep breath of the midnight air, letting it sink into my lungs. The wind caressed my skin, as if Papa Eron was trying to send a little of his soothing my way. The trees danced in the gust, rustling leaves and creaking branches adding to the lulling of nature’s song.

“Not gonna work, Papa Eron,” I murmured. I was too far gone, the wolf unwilling to be shoved aside.

I walked right past my car, the cooling vehicle still parked right in the middle of Momma R’s prized petunias. The flowers were pissed at me, the magic infused plants already creeping and crawling over the car’s tires. There was no way to get it free without harming the little buds and it was Papa Eron’s influence that had me staying my hand.

Getting behind the wheel would be a mistake anyway. I’d speed, a cop would pull me over, and then I’d just be looking for a reason to start shit.

Nah, I’d run. Let the wolf free and chase down some prey in the forest surrounding Momma R’s. I’d drop to all fours and become one with the night, sleek and hiding in the shadows, leaving nothing more than a question in the minds of any humans I encountered.

Was that a dog?

Yes, of course. It was a two-hundred-pound black wolf with glowing eyes.
Of course
.

My fingers cracked and bones groaned, the animal creeping forward as if it was afraid my human mind would push it back. Claws pressed against my fingertips, and I knew without looking that my pretty manicure was ruined by midnight nails.

A flare of bright white light slid across me, shining in my eyes for a split second before the vehicle turned and shined its headlights elsewhere. A sleek, black BMW pulled up in front of the house and rolled to a stop beside my beat up car. I kept my gaze trained on the car, the big hunk of shiny metal that tempted my inner pixie. How much fun would it be to run my wolf’s nails along that pristine paint?

I paused in my shift but didn’t push the wolf away completely. There was no way to tell if the newcomer was a threat to my crumbling world. If they were, I’d shift and be on top of ‘em before they got both feet out of the door. I needed an outlet for this energy? It looked like it’d just arrived.

Screw pizza delivery. I had prey delivery. Fun.

The man who emerged didn’t look like an immediate threat though that didn’t do a bit to ease my tension. He was a pretty boy, dressed in a custom tailored suit—no way was he getting that fit off the rack—shining gold cuff links, a red silk shirt, and no necktie.

The tie thing shouted “demon,” but I wasn’t getting that vibe. Ties were a joke in dem-land. Back in the good old days—when I still rocked the Morningstar name day to day—ties had started as napkins worn by the upper class.

High-class bibs. No lie.

And they’d stuck around. I’m pretty sure that’s Uncle Luc’s doing, though. All it would take was a whisper from the devil and a human would dance to his tune. I’d tried it once and by the time all was said and done… corsets were a thing.

I made my way toward him, gravel crunching under my boots. “I know you’re not a dem,” I voiced my thoughts aloud. “Because even the dumbest dems know that Orlando’s off limits.” I stopped when I reached him, shifted my weight to one leg and propped a hand on my hip. I tapped my fingers on the leather that sat low on my waist, making sure the wolf’s claws were visible. “And if they’re so stupid as to forget, they are smart enough to steer clear of me. So…”

A wicked grin parted his lips, revealing pristine white teeth. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked me up and down without a hint of fear entering his expression. From my leather combat boots—Prada—to my indigo-streaked hair—Joico.

“Definitely not a dem,” he practically purred the words, pursing his lips in approval at what he saw. “But you could say I’m from the same neighborhood.” He extended his hand, smirk gracing his lips. “Killian. Killian Howe.”

“Well
Howe
about you get lost?” A girl liked to be ogled, but whatever game he was up to, I wasn’t in the mood. My downtown area hadn’t been in the mood for a long time. A year if I wanted to put a number on it. Basically since I’d found my mate standing over Bry’s crib, the taint of my uncle coating him in pure evil.

Yeah, I wasn’t going back to those memories. Not while my emotions were so raw and nearly bleeding.

I strode past him, the wolf pacing in the back of my mind and anxious to get its fur on.

“Your uncle sent me,” he called out and I paused mid-step.

I slowly turned to face him once more. My fingers twitched, claws ready to burst free and dig into the man and send him back to my uncle in tiny pieces. “Uncle Luc needs to develop better timing. I’m busy.”

“Understandable.” That smarmy smirk remained in place while he reached into his jacket. I tensed, waiting for some sort of attack, but all he pulled out was a business card. He presented it to me. “I’m your uncle’s attorney. There are a few pressing business matters we need to discuss as soon as possible. Give me a call, whenever it’s more…” Those desirous eyes stroked me once more. “…convenient.”

I’d show him convenient with my foot up his ass.

I snatched the card from his hand and gave it a quick glance. Seriously? “Great,” I drawled. “An honest to Hell devil’s advocate.” I snorted and rolled my eyes. “Funny.”

“I assure you, this isn’t a joke,” Killian added. “Your uncle wouldn’t have sent me if the matter weren’t urgent.”

Right.

“Uh-huh.” I shoved the card in my pocket. “Message received, warning delivered, and request presented. Now, run back to Lucifer and let him know he—and his dems—can go fuck themselves.”

The reminder about Uncle Luc, what I lost and what the wolf still pined for, pushed away any remaining patience I had. Without another word, I broke into a run, putting distance between me and that asshole. I let the wolf burst free, clothes vanishing with a thought, whisked away by magic inherited from my pixie dad. Pixies thought disappearing clothes was a fun joke. I just found it convenient. I could bring ‘em back when I was done with my run and there’d be no scramble to cover up pink bits like regular werewolves.

I embraced the animal, letting it take over and run. It wanted to race and hunt, to pounce and rip something to shreds. But it also had other ideas, other pup-related ideas. It was anxious for the brownie I’d adopted as my young and mourned for his illness. For the first time since we’d lost our mate, the beast wasn’t pining which… was kinda nice.

I darted through the forest, ignoring the sounds of scattering animals and the crunch of dried leaves beneath my paws. I didn’t slow as I approached the road that bordered Momma R’s land, darting across the asphalt and into the woods on the other side.

I cut through side streets and down sidewalks, ignoring the humans I passed and the surprised shouts I left in my wake. My jet black fur melded with the shadows and darkness, and I was nothing more than a blur to the tweens I came across. The humans thought I was a dog, but the tweeners knew. They could sense my werewolf tendencies and the other parts of me that made me Caith Morningstar.

They knew and kept their distance. Fear was a very powerful motivator when it came to controlling the town, and they feared me. I could send them down to Uncle Luc, or worse, banish them entirely.

Which meant they knew better than to tell me no or deny any request I made. I wasn’t a total maniacal dictator. It wasn’t like my requests were odd or over the top… generally.

I didn’t think waking the witch who owned my fave magic shop in the middle of the night as over the top. And it was only my opinion that mattered.

I shifted back to two legs, the wolf quickly retreating since it knew exactly why we’d come to Crazy Cauldron. It’s the famous mouse’s hometown. It had to have a catchy name. One knock turned into two and then turned into a dozen before the owner finally answered the door.

Agatha took one sleepy look at me and then tugged the door open, muttering. “Jesus, Caith, do you know what time it is?”

I shuddered. “Yeah, no relation.” Though On High had tried to setup a little field trip for me once. That hadn’t gone over well. “And I need help. Bryony is sick.”

I explained everything as best I could. The fever, my son’s little jolt of hellfire and brownie origins. Anything that might be important.

The witch nodded, not looking surprised in the least. “If you had Sorsha treat him and he’s with Jezebeth and Helene, he’s getting the best care. I can see what I’ve got left that might help.” She frowned. “But there’s been a run on healing charms these past few weeks. Same sort of symptoms.”

That had me pausing. “You’ve had other customers who were sick? Like Bry?” I mean, I’d heard the elf’s words, but I guess I hadn’t
heard
them. Did he catch something from another tween? But there hadn’t been anyone new around him and—

“There are always people getting sick just like there are always humans buying the crap on my shelves.” Agatha waved at the retail area. A lot of what she stocked was for the humans who fancied themselves witches, looking for the magical bullet to make their lives better.

She kept digging through her drawers, tugging out a few charms, blessed candles and incense, a mummified dove, and a bottle of cough syrup. “There’s been an upsurge lately, but I haven’t heard anything about a cure or treatment.” Agatha shrugged. “I don’t usually though. I only get visits when they need help, not after whatever’s wrong has been fixed.” The witch slid the final drawer shut. “If I get any rumblings though, I’ll let you know.”

My wolf growled, the sound vibrating my bones and making my entire body subtly tremble. The back of my neck itched and I recognized the feeling for what it was. There was something going on in my town. Something different. Not a sorceress playing with zombies or a sorcerer wanting to open up the mouth of hell beneath that singing boat ride in the local amusement park. Which, FYI, the world might be small, but hell wasn’t.