Once Bitten (Shadow Guild: The Rebel 1)

The Devil nodded, glaring contemptuously at the hitman at his feet.

Two enormous men walked into the pub, each dressed in dark trousers and commando sweaters. Tactical wear, if I had to call it anything. They strode toward the Devil.

“Is this the guy, boss?” one of the men asked. He had wavy auburn hair and broad, handsome features and reminded me of a lion. His shifter form, if I had to bet.. I thought I recognized him from the Devil’s office the first day I’d met him.

“Yes. Take him back and hold him for further questioning.”

The Devil’s shifter bodyguards dragged the man out of the pub. The Devil turned toward the bartender, who raised his hands and shrank against the shelves of liquor bottles. “I won’t say anything, I swear,” the poor man babbled.

“No, you won’t speak of this to anyone. You will forget it immediately.” I could feel the Devil’s magic in the air, and the man’s eyes went blank as he nodded.

“Good man.” The Devil turned to me. “Now, what do you say we go save this woman and finish getting your vengeance?”

18

Carrow

There were still six hours until midnight, and I insisted on going back to the Haunted Hound immediately. I couldn’t linger on the streets of London, and we were closer to that gate than to the Devil’s.

As we walked, images of the murderer flashed in my mind.

“You all right?” the Devil asked.

“Just glad we got him.” I drew in a shuddery breath. “I want to kill him. And the damn necromancer who hired him.”

“We’ll get him, too. I promise.”

Oh, we would. I didn’t relish the thought of blood on my hands, but if I had to kill the necromancer, I’d do it with delight.

We reached the alley only a few minutes later, and returning to the magical world felt as natural as breathing. I pressed my hands to the dingy, unwelcoming door of the Haunted Hound, and the magic admitted me, swinging the door open.

I looked back at the Devil, wondering if he would look uncomfortable, since he was clearly on Quinn’s turf.

No, he didn’t.

Of course he didn’t. Nothing made him uncomfortable.

He strode into the crowded little pub like he owned the place. Quinn stood behind the bar, along with Mac, who wiped down the gleaming wood with a cloth. My friends avoided the Devil’s gaze, looking at me instead from across the room.

“Are you okay?” Quinn asked.

“Did you get your target?” Mac set down the rag and leaned on the bar.

“Yes to both,” I said. “Mostly.”

I approached the bar, the Devil at my side.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Quinn said to him.

“You’re right. I should get out more.” The Devil’s words were dry.

“Update us, already,” Mac demanded.

I told them about the hired gun and the necromancer, then asked, “Do you have a piece of paper? We need to find a church, and I don’t recognize it from the vision I had. Maybe you will.”

Quinn nodded and disappeared to the back. He returned a moment later with a notepad and pencil and pushed them toward me.

I was a terrible artist, but I did my best to sketch the church from memory. I was most interested in capturing the curved walls and low, almost flat dome, which seemed like the most identifiable parts of the church.