Page 49 of Demon Heart: The Complete Series

ROMAN

“ B utterflies?”

The insects fluttered around a naked man with rich copper skin and purple hair, his private parts covered by a purple leaf.

A feast for the eyes, proper buff, and totally unexpected.

“What the fuck?”

I couldn’t make out the guy’s face. His features were blurred, as if grease had been smeared across the lens of this poxy dream. The whole scene was like that, smudged colors all around me, far too messy for me to pick out any clear shapes aside from the butterflies and most of the man’s body.

“Can I wake up now?” I asked the dream, while also dreading opening my eyes to the waking world again.

The last time I’d been awake, I’d gone back in time after being shot by my boss—Witch Queen Margarite.

Weird rainbow energy had burst out of my chest, a whole magical rewind kicking in, bringing Xavier the spider demon with me.

We’d ended up in the demon realm, encountering a past version of Xavier and his ex, Ismael.

Before we could even begin to figure out what the hell was happening, I’d jumped between the past and present a few times, then passed out in the present to end up in this dream.

Great.

Just fucking great.

Xavier…

Was he okay? Still in the other time? Or was he back in our time again, standing over my collapsed body waiting for my eyes to open?

And there wasn’t just that mess to cope with, but the mess of my queen’s actions. I’d burned bridges with her, and she’d burned them with the rest of the world. She wanted revenge for the death of her son and husband—the utter destruction of the demon race, and of anyone who didn’t side with her.

She’d declared war, thrown fire onto the engines of hate. Chaos layered on chaos, sprinkled with a lovely dusting of bullshit.

I wasn’t her Shadow anymore.

I was… What the hell was I now?

Being here delayed dealing with the impending drama.

Being here pissed me off because the time jumping made zero sense.

Just like this damn dream.

Butterflies and an almost-naked man with purple hair? Right. Awesome. Next!

“Can you speak?” I asked. My voice sounded as if it was being sucked into a desk fan on the highest setting.

The man didn’t respond, only lifted a hand for a butterfly to land on his palm.

“Can you hear me?” I tried.

Despite the blurriness, I knew the man watched me, his hidden scrutiny making my skin crawl.

“Why am I here?” I asked. This wasn’t a regular dream. This was something more prophetic or whatever. I knew that like I knew my bladder suddenly needed emptying.

Dream Me winced at the irritating onset of pain in my groin.

If I pissed myself in the corridor of those dungeons under Buckingham Palace, I’d be writing a strongly worded email to those in charge of the universe. Or kicking some serious arse for the humiliation.

God. What the hell was I going to do? So many elements pressed against my defenses, waiting to break through and obliterate me. So many questions collided in a maelstrom within my skull.

Maybe I should just stay in butterfly land.

But Xavier’s not here…

“You…come…” The man’s voice came out as a gravelly rasp, broken as if digitally glitching.

I took a step forward, every hair on my dream body suddenly on edge. “What did you say?” The grass beneath my feet rippled like the surface of a lake disturbed by a thrown rock.

“You…come…”

“What—”

Every single butterfly launched into the air, coming straight for me. They flapped like bats, the beating of their wings scarier than real-world butterflies.

I brought my arms up in defense and braced for impact, scared out of my mind.

“What the fuck?” I cried as the butterflies slammed into my body repeatedly. “Get off me!”

Wake up!

The insects were relentless, the unbelievable beat of their wings generating wind strong enough to ruffle my hair and sting my eyes.

“Leave me alone!”

The force of their bodies hitting me felt like a hundred punches. Fuck! Every slam made my skin throb with the promise of bruises, the pain reaching my bones.

“Please!” I bellowed.

More butterflies joined the attack, along with the faint ring of laughter from the almost-naked guy.

I wanted to wake up now. Reality was better than a butterfly pounding.

“You…come. You…come. You…come.”

Just when I thought I might scream my dream lungs out in frustration, I woke up with a sharp gasp.

“Shit!”

I grabbed at my jumper, gulping stuffy dungeon air. My eyes were gritty, my heartbeat pounding frantically in my skull. Sweat ran down my spine and beaded across my face.

“Man…” I whispered, my mouth tainted with that furry sewer sensation of a hangover.

I stayed sitting for a few minutes, legs out before me, waiting for another jump through time. My jeans were ripped at the knees, a hole in my jumper where I’d been shot by the queen, the surgery scar from a childhood heart operation peeking through in flushed crimson.

All good. Not dead. No more time jumping.

Yet.

I sat in the glow of a spinning red light. The emergency sirens weren’t wailing anymore, the light a silent warning for me to get the hell away from here.

Noted.

I checked myself over, lifting my jumper to check my chest for any butterfly bruises. Nothing. All clear. Only my head throbbed with a slight headache.

But I’d still felt those bugs come at me, the wind in my hair, the fear blazing in my chest.

You come…

It’d been real. Well, as real as dreams could be. Some kind of message or warning. I felt it in my bones.

Man, did I need a long hot bath, a cup of chamomile tea, and a long holiday with lazy days in the sun doing crosswords. Preferably with Xavier if he still wanted me after seeing that sleeping demon prince/future king ex of his again.

Xavier…

No. I wouldn’t sit here and ponder things. I’d get up and fight to help him, not be some meek and broken thing on this damn floor. I wanted out, to feel fresh air in my lungs, to go home and check on my pet rat, and bestie, Darcy.

As much as confusion and anguish grabbed at me with iron-clad fingers, they wouldn’t defeat me.

“I’ll figure this shit out,” I declared out loud, getting to my feet.

I sniffed, the haze of sleep falling away.

Still no time jumps.

Stretching, I moved my limbs, warming up for my escape. The palace had been attacked, the situation possibly beyond dire upstairs.

Okay. Think, think, think. The main route out of here would have to be my second option. From my position at the top of some stairs, the emergency exit the queen would’ve escaped through was down a nearby corridor on my right, while the main exit could be found by heading directly ahead.

Right it would be.

Amazingly, my dagger and my silver rod which acted as a skeleton key—going by the name of Skele—were still on me. I checked the gold coin embedded in the dagger’s hilt. A gift from my late grandma and guardian, my lucky charm since she’d left me last year.

I kissed two fingers, pressing them to the coin.

God, I miss you so much…

I pushed my sorrow aside, though it wasn’t the easiest boulder to move.

I love you…

With my dagger ready to kill, I half-expected the queen to show up. She’d been whisked away from here along with Princess Piper after some demon drama in the form of Tanith, the snake demon. She returned by herself moments later to shoot me.

Surprise! I didn’t die.

She’d be so annoyed.

Good.

I wasn’t taking any chances. She might have failed to kill me once, but a second attempt might stick.

Will you drive this dagger through her heart?

Could I kill the queen if she came charging back into this corridor? Would I have the strength to fight her, to be free from her once and for all?

Man, these dissenting ideas against Her Majesty burned like acid. I was her loyal Shadow, her servant, her assassin. I lived to serve her will, not take her life. I took life for her.

But.

But.

Shit.

The rose-colored veil was lifted and torn and burned beyond repair. She was broken, lost to hate and endless grief. I could relate, yet I also saw the consequences beyond it. The unreasonable path she charged down, the blinkered pain.

Easy for me to say, I suppose. She’d lost so much, drowning in sorrow. Would I be the same if I were in her shoes? If demons had killed my son, my husband taking ill and dying shortly afterwards, would I want anything to do with these demon peace talks?

At the same time, we didn’t need more war.

I wanted more than this existence. To have an actual life other than being Her Majesty’s angel of death, to live?—

Whatever. Blah, blah, fucking blah. Those whiny dreams could suck it. At least for now. Escape and recalibration were my top priorities. I couldn’t do anything if I lingered down here crying over the future and everything else. I was trained better than that.

Rolling my shoulders, limbs warmed up, I made for the emergency exit with every one of my senses on high alert, dagger ready for stabbing, Synth magic waiting in the wings to strike.

At least my hands weren’t hurting from magic usage. I could blast some beams of energy, cast some spells if need be.

I moved quickly, going to my assassin place—a state of unfeeling, focused on survival and dealing out death.

The corridors were quiet, eerie with the red lights spinning.

I passed empty cells and an unmanned guard station before finally reaching the emergency exit.

The metal door sat behind two gates. Sliding Skele into each lock made short work of them, soft clicks warming my spirits.

The door opened just as easily, leading into a cold tunnel with lights in the floor.

Home free. As easy as?—

Sounds of running came from behind me, along with insectile clicking. For a moment, I expected the butterflies from my dream to appear as a chill licked up my spine.

Shit. Had I passed out again?

I turned and prepared to face the flutter once again.

A demon came to a stop in the corridor, a humanoid man covered in iridescent, dark blue armor like a beetle. He was a big guy with arms large enough to crush stone, beetle pincers snapping away at the end of them.

Shit. Not good for my neck or any of my limbs.

His face was the same color as his armor, his browless eyes wide and the blazing white of a demon. Fully exposed, not hiding in human form, which meant the palace’s demon towers and demon-repelling systems were offline. Otherwise, Mr. Beetle would be on his knees.

Two bug men in one evening. Fucking lovely.

“Witch,” he said, his voice high-pitched and grating. “I see you.”

“Perceptive, eh?”

“I am.”

“Why are you down here?”

“Have you seen upstairs?”

This isn’t chit chat time, dickhead. “I just want out of here.”

“Me too. Didn’t think we’d make it to safety after the plane came down.” He shook his bald head. “Not part of the plan having it come down like that. Dirty witches shot it out of the sky. Dirty witches like you.”

Whatever happened to the palace, this fucker was part of it. Now I had to deal with him.

And there went my hope for safe passage out of here.

Silly me.

“I don’t want any trouble,” I tried.

“She’s really flipped her lid, hasn’t she?” the demon added. “The queen.”

I repeated my statement.

He opened his mouth, releasing a series of clicks. “Witches love to bring trouble to us demons, don’t they?”

“Not this witch.” I readied my magic for action.

“Bollocks. You’re all the same.” He spat at the wall, black ichor oozing down the concrete. “We try for peace, but you don’t want it. You want power, you want pain. You can’t handle the idea of a changed world.”

“I’m not?—”

“You’re not what? Like that bitch? Course you are. Why would you be here otherwise?”

I gestured to a cell. “Maybe I’m a?—”

“Prisoner? Fuck off. You’re part of the system we’ll bring down.” He grinned. “Where is she?”

I didn’t have time for this shit.

The demon released more clicks as he waited for me to answer.

“The queen’s not here,” I said.

“No?”

More running, more bodies approaching.

The demon smirked. “Did she go this way?” He sniffed the air, releasing more of those clicks. “I can smell expensive perfume, which I’m guessing isn’t you.”

“I like decent smellies,” I countered with a weak lie in defense of my queen.

“But you stink of sweat and fake magic,” he said. “Synth is so revolting on the nostrils. At least Arcana smelled sweet.”

“Old enough to remember Arcana, then?” Why was I even asking?

Five more demons ran into the corridor. All men, all beetle-like, all sporting different iridescent armor—green, red, orange, purple, and black. A nice little rainbow of demonic pains in my arse.

“Witch,” Mr. Red said.

“I think he knows something,” Mr. Blue responded. “I think he can help us after we pull a few teeth or so. He looks like he might break.”

Then you’ve seriously misjudged me. “I don’t want trouble, but I’ll gladly bring it if that’s how you want to play.”

Mr. Blue ran a dark tongue across his lips. “Trouble’s boring, witch. We want to hear you scream.”