Page 5 of Demon Heart: The Complete Series

Dosed up, I drove out of the palace gates, hidden by tinted windows. Turned left, driving onto Constitution Hill.

My phone started buzzing in my pocket. I slowed down a bit, sliding the device from my pocket, expecting it to be Piper calling me back.

But it was Keith.

I let it ring, pulling over in a quiet spot before calling back.

“Lee,” he said down the line.

“What’s the matter?” I responded with fake sleepiness.

My phone was highly encrypted and untraceable. I could talk to this prick with zero risk.

“Were you sleeping?” he asked.

Big yawn. “Don’t worry. What’s up?”

“Some major shit’s gone down.”

“What?”

“Can I see you?”

“It’s late.”

“I know, I just need to talk to someone. I’ll come over.”

“I’m not at home.”

“Where are you?”

“I’ll come to you.”

He’d never been to my place, and he didn’t know where I lived.

“What’s your problem?”

“Huh?”

“Why can I never come to you?”

I might let him taint my body, but he’d never drag his backside over my threshold. “I’m not ready for that.”

“But you can fuck me at mine?”

What happened to him being scared? “Where are you?”

“Forget it.”

Unfortunately, Keith’s phone was also untraceable. I’d already tried playing with its settings on several occasions while he’d showered after sex.

“I’ll come over,” I tried again.

“I can’t be there.” His fear returned. “Mark’s dead.”

At least I could rule out his flat.

“What? How?” I offered him my best shocked response.

“Killed right in front of me, but not really.”

“What does that mean?”

“Get off the phone!” a man’s voice barked. One of the bodyguards.

“I’ll call you later,” Keith said.

“Who the fuck—” Before the bodyguard could finish, the line went dead.

I called back.

No answer.

Annoying.

I fired up the engine again, continuing west. The traffic wasn’t too bad, lightening up as I reached the darkness of Knightsbridge, many of the buildings heavily damaged and under restoration.

Makeshift metal roadways took over for most of the collapsed tarmac here, destroyed during The Rift’s final rage.

The metal structure rumbled beneath my tires, taking me to the Royal Albert Hall and another red light to allow traffic to come through from the opposite direction.

There was no traffic, but if I tried to ignore the red light, a huge lorry would come rattling toward me.

I didn’t like taking silly risks, and I never drew unnecessary attention to myself.

The road here was concrete again, no more metal replacements beyond. I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel, senses on high alert, looking forward to the impending green light.

The trees of Hyde Park on my left rustled in the cold night air, The Albert Memorial set back between the trees, as gold and gleaming as always. Lit by a series of lights around its base, betraying the destruction close by, standing there with an air of business as usual.

The Royal Albert Hall wasn’t lit up like the memorial, as wreathed in darkness as the rest of the buildings around here. Extensive repair work was going on both above and below ground. If not for the expansive structural support holding everything up, the whole area would be a sinkhole now.

The light changed to green, my car barely moving a few feet before I slammed on the brakes.

“Fuck!” I bit out as a man darted from the trees, tripping over in the road.

“Help!” he cried, struggling to get up.

A flash of movement on my left, more figures running into the road, each one of them brandishing either a hammer or a sword.

Six men and three women, all dressed in silver.

“Give it up!” a man who appeared to be in charge bellowed.

A hand slapped my car, the man on the ground pushing himself up to show me his face.

I never gasped, didn’t jump often because I was always trained to never let anything get the better of me. But those unnerving white eyes boring into me seriously threw me off guard.

The guy was a demon, those standard demonic white demon eyes sat in a pale, pearlescent face, his cheekbones so sharp they could cut diamonds.

Platinum blond hair swept back, the ends brushing the top of his spine.

The color looked too perfect to be real, despite the spatters of inky black demon blood staining it.

More demon blood ran down his face from a wound just above his forehead, obsidian rivulets oozing down either side of his nose, meeting at his lips.

“Help…” he pleaded.

Reverse the car. Avoid this. Carry on.

He’s so beautiful… So strange…

Banging on my window snapped me to attention. I looked up at a red-faced guy with a dark beard.

“Get out of here,” the man demanded. “This ain’t your business.”

“Then get your business out of the road,” I sniped.

He whacked the glass with the back of his hand. “Move it, wanker.”

Another rule: Don’t lose your cool with dickheads unless you’re backed into a corner.

A woman and a man dragged the demon off my car.

“Please help me!” the creature begged.

Why would a demon want my help?

“Oi!”

They carried him back toward Hyde Park.

“Oi, cloth ears!” Bang, bang.

Ugh. This guy!

Break my glass and you can say goodbye to those teeth. “What do you want?”

“For you to get the fuck out of here.”

“Gladly.”

“No!” the demon bellowed. “Don’t leave me here!”

Why could I smell lemons?

An instinct to help bubbled up to the surface. I pushed it back, the silly feeling not welcome. This wasn’t my business, and I certainly didn’t go about rescuing handsome demons from whoever these people in silver were.

I got ready to drive on, but the demon broke free, throwing himself across the front of my car.

“That’s it, dent the hood,” I grumbled, shifting the gearstick into reverse.

I’d already spent too long here.

More banging on my window. “Oi!”

What the hell was Beard Guy’s problem?

“Get the fuck out of here!” he yelled.

“I’m trying!”

One of the other silver creeps grabbed the demon by his hair, yanking his head back. She then proceeded to slam his face into the metal three times, messing up that strange, beautiful face.

Ouch.

“Should we really let him go?” I heard another man ask Beard Guy.

No, no, no. They were not getting their hands on me.

“He’s seen too much,” the woman gripping the demon’s hair added.

The demon remained conscious, his eyes imploring me with glinting desperation.

“You’re right,” Beard Guy said.

I got ready to reverse and tear out of there.

Beard Guy slammed his hammer into my window, smashing the glass in one strike. I saw the move coming with seconds to spare, arms up to protect my face from the scattering shards.

Like that, is it?

I cast a spell to shove him back. He went down onto his arse, firing off some expletives.

“Witch!” the hair-gripper cried.

Any other fellow magic users at the party?

Ah, yes. That guy with the bald head over there, ribbons of Synth swirling around his arms. Like me and every other witch, his forehead was adorned with the witch mark—a red triangle with a star at the center.

I flung the car door open, smacking Beard Guy in the face with a satisfying clang as he tried to get up. He barked more expletives at me. I kicked him in the ribs, diving into a roll as the witch unleashed his magic at the car.

It went up like a fireplace stuffed with too much paper and lighter fluid in a loud woosh . The flames swallowed the car for mere seconds, the heat intense. I ran, getting myself clear of an explosion.

The prick witch intended to roast me.

How rude.

The fire died, sucked away in an instant, leaving behind the ruined husk of the car. No explosion, the woman and demon clear of the vehicle. She was dragging him across the road toward the trees.

I sent a spell at the witch, forcing him to spin in an endless circle. That wiped the smirk off his face. He screamed, control of his body lost to the magic twirl.

Tee. Hee.

Two guys came at me, throwing hammers. I dodged them, drawing my dagger. Wanting the witch to keep spinning, I held off using more magic. My hands were already throbbing, and I needed those to fight.

The hammer throwers came at me in a charge. My dagger pulsed in my right hand, my body in a battle-ready stance.

I ducked the first guy’s swing, hitting the second prick with a direct kick to the guts.

First Guy tried to hit me again. I gave him an uppercut, knuckles cracking his jaw.

As he went down, I drove my dagger into his chest. A direct hit to the heart.

“No!” Second Guy yelled.

I spun, driving a kick into his shin as his comrades charged into the fight.

“Time to die,” Beard Guy seethed to my right.

I dodged his stab with his sword, slicing at his thigh through his silver trousers. He stumbled, blood oozing through the material.

“Kill him! Kill the fucking witch!”

Shit. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

One down. Eight to go. I had no choice but to take them out now they’d seen my face. They’d hunt me down, they’d hinder my job and put Her Majesty at risk.

A curse on this poxy night!

I glanced to the left, the demon sprawled on his back, seemingly unconscious. He wouldn’t be lending a hand.

Aside from the spinning witch and Beard Guy, the others launched their attack as one. Hammers and swords swung and jabbed, each one dangerously close to landing some damage on me. I moved quickly, trained well in dodging as well as killing, but there were still too many of them.

Fuck it.

I flung them off me with a repelling spell. They dropped like dominoes, the magic on the spinning witch wavering.

“Kill him!” Beard Guy screamed, clutching the cut in his thigh, hobbling away from the action.

Man, this fired up my inner kiln. The steel walls over my rage buckled, splitting in places from sheer irritation. I hated the feeling, preferring to remain at a cool cruising temperature.

Oh, well.

I sprang into action, moving like a ballerina around my attackers, piercing hearts, slicing throats, cutting them down until they lay in a circle of death. Not content, I went for the witch next, ending his twirling torment with a strike to the neck.

He collapsed, bleeding out.