Spirit Magic (Dragon Born Awakening Book 2) Page 3

  “Naomi,” Mom’s voice spoke, both soft and hard, both silk and steel. “Please let me know if you will be joining us for dinner tomorrow evening. We haven’t seen you in so long.”

  “Don’t leave us hanging here,” called out Naomi’s sister Ivy.

  “We want to meet your mega hot boyfriend,” added her sister Ruby.

  Naomi sighed. She hadn’t been to Fairy Island to see her family since finding out she was a Spirit Warrior a few months ago. She’d been busy—first fighting hell’s army, then the Grim Reaper who wanted to take over the world, and finally a deranged shadow mage casting a spell to shift reality—but she could have made time. The truth of it was she’d been avoiding her family.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t love them. She loved them more than anything. But they were pacifists, and she was a fighter. Plus, she was dating the biggest, baddest warrior of all, someone who had literally been through hell. She could deal with her teenage sisters’ teasing, but she wasn’t sure she could deal with her mother’s recrimination.

  Naomi tossed her bag onto the front seat of her convertible. Then, sighing, she typed out a message to Mom, promising that she and Makani would be there for dinner tomorrow night. She couldn’t put this off forever.

  The next message was from Gran.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” her grandmother said. Her voice was sweet and airy, like cotton candy. It was the voice of a happy-go-lucky teenager, and it belonged to one of the most respected magic historians in the world. “I’ll stop by your house tomorrow morning to drop off the artifact you asked to borrow.”

  That artifact was a magic ruby amulet over two thousand years old, a little something that Gran had found in a dig in Tanzania.

  See you tomorrow. And thanks, Naomi texted back to Gran.

  Magic rubies, like all magical gemstones, were rare. The gems themselves were not magical, but unlike mundane gemstones, they had an enormous capacity to hold magic. You could use them to store spells. Naomi and Makani had spent months collecting magical stones for their journeys through the spirit realm.

  Naomi had just turned her car out of the parking lot when her phone rang. Her car dashboard displayed that it was a call from Simmons, her former boss at Mayhem. She pressed the button on her steering wheel to take the call. If she ignored him, he would just keep calling back until she answered. He was nothing if not persistent.

  “Hey, Simmons. What’s up?”

  “Ms. Garland.”

  Oh, Ms. Garland, was it? Simmons never called her that unless he was really upset at her—or he really wanted something from her.

  “I have been trying to reach you for weeks,” he continued in that same smooth, polished voice that he used to part the magical elite from large quantities of money. “You have been avoiding me.”

  Yes.

  “No,” Naomi said. “I’ve just been busy.”

  “Then I will cut straight to the chase. I want you to come back to work for us at Mayhem. I will match Drachenburg’s offer.”

  By the time Naomi had returned from Europe a few months ago, Simmons had already learned that she was a Spirit Warrior. To him, she represented a fairy with unique magic, one that was worth a lot of money. People were willing to pay big bucks for demon exorcisms. Granted, nearly all of those so-called demon possessions were completely fake, but the mind was a powerful thing. A Spirit Warrior standing over them, chanting a few nonsense words while blowing smoke up their ass, was an instant cure to whatever ailed them. There was no magic involved. Simmons didn’t care. He was a true mercenary. He was willing to take any idiot’s money.

  “What I’m offering is safe, easy work,” he said.

  “It is also meaningless work.”

  “Is it? It means something to those poor, possessed people,” he argued.

  People who weren’t really possessed. Naomi wanted to make a difference in the world, not be Mayhem’s sideshow act.

  “Thank you for the offer, but I must decline,” she said in her most polite voice.

  There was no reason to be rude. Sure, Simmons was a pushy businessman, but who knew when she might need his goodwill. He had connections. And she didn’t like burning bridges.

  Simmons remained quiet for a moment, then he said, “If you grow tired of plunging into hell, give me a call, Ms. Garland.” He hung up.

  Straightforward and polite. Clearly, he didn’t believe in burning bridges either.

  Naomi slowed the car, pulling onto her driveway. Her home, a small row house in a long row, had once been red, but over the years the sun had slowly turned it pink. Her landlord was too cheap to repaint, claiming it would anyway just go pink again in no time. She wondered if he’d have felt differently if he were the one living in a pink house. Most men didn’t care for the color.

  Makani didn’t mind; at least, he hadn’t brought it up, nor had he glared at the house’s exterior with disdain. But Naomi supposed that after living in hell for seven hundred years, he concerned himself with bigger issues than the color of the house walls. Besides, the interior walls were a nice, neutral off-white color, not creative enough to either inspire or offend.

  Naomi parked outside on the driveway. The garage was too full to fit even her small car inside. But she entered the house through the garage anyway. She didn’t want to track in mud—or ash from the explosion.

  Weapons hung from every wall of the garage. Maces and knives, shields and bows, swords and spears. Makani had turned the garage into a blacksmith work area. This was where he made his own weapons. He didn’t trust anyone else’s weapons. Seven hundred years trapped in hell might have given him trust issues. Being betrayed by his own sister hadn’t helped either.

  Makani and Logan often created weapons side-by-side in here. The assassin had similar trust issues.

  Naomi closed the garage door behind her, kicked off her shoes, and went into the house. It wasn’t large or grandiose, but it was cozy. The downstairs consisted of a small living area, and a single bedroom lay at the top of the stairs, in an open loft. She’d splurged on a nice canopy bed with gauzy curtains. Right now, they were rippling like ribbons in the gentle breeze that whispered in through the open window.

  Tantalizing smells wafted out of the kitchen. Makani was making dinner tonight, and boy, could he cook. Naomi was more of a baker herself, her specialty being desserts, specifically ones with copious amounts of happy fairy drugs.

  Naomi followed the delicious scents of dinner. Herbs and chicken. Carrots and corn. Rosemary. Freshly baked bread. And something else. Something sweet. She drew in a deep breath, trying to identify the scent.

  Cheesecake, she decided. Yum. By the time she reached the kitchen, she was practically drooling.

  Fairies had a big sweet tooth. Well, except for the Tooth Fairy. She was a party pooper if Naomi had ever known one, always lecturing about tooth decay and the necessity of a low sugar diet. Now, seriously, what was the fun in that?

  Naomi stepped into the kitchen. Makani was standing in front of the oven, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants. Naomi lingered in the doorway, taking a moment to fully appreciate that. He was built like a hardcore martial arts champion, like a dragon in human form, but his mind, his strength of will, was a far deadlier weapon than his body. He’d survived seven hundred years in hell, seven hundred years of warlords and beasts and the steady, agonizing drip of his magic slowly fading away—and he hadn’t cracked. That fact alone should have made his enemies run for the hills.

  Makani opened the oven and pulled out a tray of rolls. He didn’t even use an oven mitt; he did it with his bare hands. A gold glow flickered over his bronze skin, the protective elemental shield making him immune to the oven’s heat.

  “Oven mitts are for sissies,” Naomi commented, grinning.

  Makani set the tray down on the stovetop. She was glad he’d remembered that just because his skin was fireproof, that didn’t mean her faux-stone countertops were.

  He looked her up and down, his dark golden eyes taking in he
r ragged appearance. “Did you try to blow yourself up again?”

  “No,” Naomi said, brushing off the ash sprinkled across her top. Or at least she tried to brush it off. “Someone else tried to blow me up.”

  “I’ve never known someone with so many enemies, Naomi. Besides myself.”

  “These weren’t enemies.” She draped her arms over his shoulders, running her hands through his long, black hair. “They don’t even know me.”

  “You seem strangely unconcerned that people you don’t know are trying to kill you.”

  She shrugged. “Nothing new.”

  He cocked an eyebrow.

  “Though I have to admit my life has gotten more exciting since I met you.” She leaned in closer.

  He set a finger on her lips before she could kiss him. “First, you need to clean up.”

  Laughing, she traced her fingers across the lines and swirls of the magic dragon tattoo that covered one side of his chest. “You lived in hell for centuries, under skies burning with sulfur snowflakes and acid rain, and you are concerned about kissing a girl with a few dirty smudges on her clothes and skin?”

  “I don’t care how dirty you are.”

  The way he said it sent heat rushing to all the wrong places—or to all the right places.

  “This is about what will happen after the kiss,” he said.

  “Oh?” she said wickedly. “And what will happen?”

  He moved in close. “Use your imagination.” Each word barely brushed her lips.

  Heat flashed through her veins. “You should never ask a fairy to use her imagination in such matters,” she said huskily.

  He lifted his hands, holding her back as she arched forward. “I’m concerned for the sanctity of your kitchen, my lady.”

  She would have laughed if she hadn’t wanted him so much. “We can take this out of the kitchen.”

  “It’s almost time for dinner.”

  Naomi lowered her hands to his waist, sliding them down to squeeze his butt. “We have time.” She caught his lower lip between her teeth, giving it a gentle tug.

  Something rang.

  Makani glanced at the cat-shaped kitchen timer on the counter. “Dinner is served.”

  She sighed. “Of course it is.”

  “Aren’t you hungry?”

  She took a deep breath, drinking in the delectable scents. “Famished, actually.”

  And she would need all her energy for the adventure that followed dinner. It was something far more dangerous—and far more exciting—than the job at the Paranormal Expo Center.

  3

  Hell's Commandos

  After dinner, Makani rearranged the furniture in the living room, carrying everything to the edges of the room to give them a large open space. Naomi watched him work while eating cheesecake. She was ok with their respective roles.

  “So, I have a puzzle for you,” she said. “Sera, Alex, and I followed the trails of hell beasts to the Paranormal Expo Center, but when we got there, there were no hell beasts. There was just a room full of dead bodies. They looked like they’d been torn apart.”

  “That is no puzzle,” Makani said, lifting up the dining room table. “The hell beasts have ravenous appetites. They killed the people, ate, then left.”

  “The bodies were complete. There was no sign that they’d been snacked on.” Naomi gave her half-eaten piece of cheesecake a queasy look, then set down the plate. All this talk of death had ruined her appetite.

  Sighing, she went to help Makani move the furniture. She started with two dining room chairs.

  “The bodies you found could have been sacrifices in a demon summoning,” Makani said.

  “But so many sacrifices?”

  “If there were enough demons to summon and if the demons were very powerful, it would require many sacrifices to bring them to earth.”

  “The weird thing is there were no herbs present at the scene.” Naomi rolled up the rug. “And none of the bodies had the mark of a demon.”

  Every person a demon killed bore a mark of some kind or another. And every demon’s mark was distinct.

  Makani looked at her. “And despite the fact that there were no demon marks or magical herbs, you still think this incident has something to do with demons.”

  “Yes. The place smelled like hell.”

  The spirit realm, hell, the underworld—all were names for the same place.

  “The stench of hell hung heavy in the air, over those bodies,” Naomi continued. “And the hell beast sightings led us right to that place. Now, somehow, the beasts have just vanished. There is no tangible sign of a demon anywhere. But my gut is telling me there is a demon involved.”

  “Listen to that instinct,” he told her. “Your magic—spirit magic—is part of the spirit realm. It’s in tune to the flow of magic between hell and earth.”

  “Someone boobytrapped the scene of the crime,” Naomi said. “There’s something they were afraid we’d find there. The commandos are looking over the debris now. They are the best of the best. They don’t need my help.”

  The words were for her own benefit, not really for Makani. She had some skills mixing potions, thanks to Gran teaching her, but she wasn’t at the commandos’ level. They didn’t need her. She would just get in their way. And she had other things to do right now, something only she could do. She repeated these reasons over and over again inside of her head, but something was still drawing her to this investigation.

  Makani rolled out an exercise mat. “Are you ready?”

  She nodded, exhaling, clearing her mind of the Expo Center investigation. Makani waved his hands, casting magic floating lights in the air all around them as Naomi hit the switch to turn off the mundane lights.

  Naomi sat down on the mat. Crossing her legs, she closed her eyes and focused on the spirit realm, on visualizing the layers upon layers of the veil overlapping. The earth. Then the first circle of hell. The second, the third…all the way to the ninth circle, to the very core of hell.

  There were nine circles of the spirit realm, nine complete worlds. These circles were a gradient, with the first being only slightly different from earth—whereas the ninth, the core of hell, was very much unlike the earth. It was a wretched place where only the worst demons and most demented souls dwelled.

  Like a dark but beautiful lullaby, the spirit realm called to Naomi through the opening she’d made in the veil. Hot and scented, spicy and sweet, tart and tasty, its magic rubbed against her senses. It tasted like chocolate and chili, like lemons and cream.

  She opened her eyes. There was a split in the air in front of her, a window. A mirror. It looked like the air had folded in on itself several times. And through this window, Naomi could see all the layers of hell superimposed.

  Separated from the earth, the first circle of the spirit realm was a distortion of the world she knew. Most of the buildings were only partial structures, with holes in the walls rather than windows and doors. Most of them didn’t even have a ceiling.

  In the second circle, many buildings had deteriorated further, resembling little more than ruins. The trees here drooped at odd, unnatural angles. Their bark was black, their leaves orange. The air was hot and sticky, the breeze smoky.

  And as Naomi looked past the first few layers, gazing deeper into hell, the earth decayed, growing more alien with each circle. Until there was nothing familiar left. Looking at the core of hell was like staring into oblivion, an oblivion of fire and ash, of violence and destruction. Of corruption.

  The spirit realm had not always been this dark and forlorn place, Naomi’s books told her. Shortly after the demons’ arrival, they had corrupted it, molded it to fit their sinister needs.

  A demon in the ninth circle passed in front of Naomi’s looking glass into hell. He stared right back at her, his eyes as black as burning oil. Panic pulsing through her, she waved her hand, closing the mirrors into the deeper circles of hell. Only the first and second circles remained. She wove her spirit magic through the m
agic mirror, turning the window into a doorway that led to the second circle.

  “I will not leave your side,” Makani said, taking her hand. He always could sense the panic in her magic.

  She didn’t doubt him. He hadn’t left her since the beginning, not since they’d found each other in hell. He had stayed beside her, helped her. Guided her. He had never wavered.

  Naomi squeezed his hand in appreciation. Then they stepped through the magic doorway to enter the second circle—to enter a San Francisco in ruins, the broken buildings overgrown with spiked vines and a black forest.

  “The magic around us has shifted,” Makani said as the magic doorway closed behind them. “Hell senses our presence.”

  Naomi could feel it too. “But is it welcoming us back, or preparing to fight us?”

  “That depends on its mood today.” He looked out across the city, past the piles of debris and rusted remains of cars, to the forest just beyond.

  “Let’s get going,” Naomi said. “Your commandos are waiting.”

  “Kai Drachenburg has commandos.” Makani stood taller. “I have warriors.”

  “And what’s the difference?”

  “I am a prince,” Makani said. “He is not.”

  Naomi snorted. “No, not the difference between you and Kai. The difference between warriors and commandos.”

  “I suppose that is in the eye of the beholder.”

  “That’s very philosophical of you, Your Majesty.”

  “As I’ve told you many times, Naomi, dragons are the epitome of magic, strength, and culture.”

  Laughing, Naomi started walking down the street. It had more potholes than asphalt. Makani matched her pace, his body alert, his eye scanning the ruins.

  Glowing eyes peered out from the shadows of every building. They peered down from the treetops and through the cracked windows of the cars too. Monsters were everywhere around them, but they remained in the shadows. They remained hidden.

  “The monsters are hiding,” Naomi commented. “They’re hiding from us.”