I’d screwed up. Big time.
I’ll never forget the offended look on Cassandra’s face. Never come between a supernatural and her adopted family, no matter how misguided they are.
I was mad at myself. My mind just wasn’t working like it should have. If it weren’t for the poison in my body, I would’ve made the right call. I would’ve known what to do. But now I was no better than I was at the beginning of the night when Thad, Gillian, and Cassandra accosted me in front of the body shop.
Natkaal was pissed at me, and rightfully so. I’d squandered any advantage we had. Now it was the coven’s turn to make a move. I had a feeling we weren’t going to like it.
I told Bo to drive to Tower Grove Park. I didn’t know why, but something had attracted me there before, something I couldn’t explain.
I didn’t exactly want to go home. I had good wards there now, but if the coven’s shadow form was outside, it would kill me before I even got to the door.
I needed to be somewhere the coven wouldn’t expect. Plus, somewhere out in the open was the best place to talk to Natkaal.
Bo turned into the parking lot and found the Turkish Pavilion. We sat under the red and white swirl, watching cars pass through the trees. If any police drove by this time, we were law-abiding citizens. The park was ink-dark aside from a few streetlamps here and there. It was the kind of place at night where you could get away with just about anything as long as there weren’t cops around.
“You defied me,” Natkaal said. He rested in a nearby gnarled tree looking down at us. He sounded defeated. The starlight illuminated part of his green exoskeleton, and his wings glimmered like glass.
“I messed up,” I said. “We all do sometimes.”
“You gave those horrible women an advantage,” he said. “It is as if you wanted to sabotage me.”
“If you die, I die,” I said. “In case you forgot, I have a family to live for.”
Natkaal dismissed me with a puff of air.
“What’s your beef with those ladies anyway?” Bo asked. “You said they ruined your chances at becoming an archdemon. What exactly did they do?”
Natkaal glanced up at the stars. “They betrayed me two hundred years ago. This city was nothing but cobblestone streets, horses and buggies, and smokestacks.”
The wind blew, rustling a column of leaves that danced across the grass and died down just before it reached the pavilion.
“I was a young demon. I was eagerly awaiting molting season, though I hadn’t experienced one yet. I was full of aggression, full of desire. Every note of discord I sowed gave me a tally to my name in the eyes of the archdemons. I dreamed of becoming an archdemon, and I was ruthless.”
The words “Natkaal” and “ruthless” didn’t go together. He wasn’t a cuddly bunny, but he wasn’t Visgaroth, that’s for sure.
“Someone called me one night under a new moon. I was eager to make deals during those days, to be out among the world of the living.”
“I bet you were,” Bo said. “You haven’t exactly changed since then.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Natkaal said. “The person who called me was a woman. She was in a barn. The only light came from a single flickering candle. She was among cows, and the smell of hay and manure was insufferable, even to me. The act had scared the cows terribly. I could barely hear her over the beasts’ lowing. She wore a burlap hood, and I couldn’t make out her face, but I could tell that she was...”
I arched an eyebrow. “She was what?”
“She was…black.”
“So what?” Bo asked.
“Your…people weren’t exactly keen on necromancy during those days. They had bigger problems.”
Two hundred years ago, my people were slaves. I did the math in my head. This would have put his story sometime in the 1820s. Slavery wouldn’t be abolished for another 40 years. Missouri was a slave state—there used to be slave auctions on the steps of the Old Courthouse downtown.
It was hard to imagine Natkaal as a black history expert. Good Lord.
“During those times,” Natkaal said, “necromancy was a trivial affair. It was mostly men asking for information that would advance their careers. Many were traveling west and wanted to know what awaited them.”
“Did you tell the truth?” Bo asked.
Natkaal let out a whinnied laugh. “Indeed, but there was always a catch.”
“And that catch usually resulted in a grisly death, didn’t it?” I asked.
“As I said, I was ruthless, far darker than I am now. I was under the tutelage of a demon whose heart was more wicked than Visgaroth’s. I did what I was told. This woman called out for a wandering spirit, and I did the usual demon trick. I told her to close her eyes before I appeared. I spoke to her like a human and tried to get her to divulge a secret I could use to destroy her. A classic demon tactic. She didn’t fall for it. She opened her eyes, and if she was terrified, it only showed for a few moments. My tactics failed, and for the first time in my demon life, I was at a loss for words. I asked her what she wanted. I expected her to ask for information or money like everyone else. But she asked for…her freedom.”
“Say what?” Bo asked. “The chick was a slave?”
“A slave necromancer,” I corrected.
“She sounds gangsta,” Bo said. “Did you help her out?”
“I was immediately suspicious,” Natkaal said. “I pay attention to patterns. This woman did not match any of the patterns I had experienced in my journeys to the world of the living. The only thing she had in common with previous humans was that she was desperate. I asked her why she wanted freedom, but she wouldn’t tell me—she said if I was trapped in a magic circle forever and no one would let me out, I would want freedom too.”
“Good point,” I said.
“I asked her how she knew necromancy,” Natkaal said. “Again, she didn’t take my bait. She sat resolutely in the circle and refused to let me leave until I agreed to help her. Reluctantly, I agreed, but her mistake was that she didn’t put conditions on her request.”
I knew what he meant. The thought of Natkaal betraying a slave made me sick. “You didn’t do what I think you did, Natkaal. We’re talking about someone’s freedom here.”
“My instinct was to allow her to be free for a few days,” Natkaal said. “But then I decided against it. If I delivered for her, I would have a faithful servant among the living, one whom I could develop a rapport with so I could wreak more havoc. She was my key to getting more tallies.”
“So you freed her?” I asked.
“I made it possible for her to flee the state,” Natkaal said. “I won’t say any more than that.”
“Natkaal, the abolitionist,” I said. “Not something I ever thought I’d say.”
“It was the start of all my problems, necromancer,” Natkaal growled. “I didn’t probe her enough on how she learned necromancy. I was so taken with the possibility of having an ally that it blinded me. I thought she would be grateful. It was a mistake in my foolish younger years that I will never make again. When the woman arrived in a northern state, she called me again. We consulted in an empty horse stable. But she wasn’t alone this time. Two other women sat with her in the circle. Her mentors. And they were…”
“White,” I said.
“In just a few moments, I knew where she learned the necromancy. The two women were stern-faced. They looked like twins—long blonde hair and matching white dresses. They had the cold eyes of witches, eyes that look at you and into your soul. They were extremely experienced crafters.”
“But how did the sisters meet the slave?” Bo asked. “Did one of them own her?”
“Apparently, it was a chance encounter,” Natkaal said. “The sisters laid eyes on the poor woman while she was at a market and saw something supernatural in her. They befriended her, and through several clandestine meetings, they convinced her to work with them.”
“No offense, Natkaal,” I said, “but if I was a slave, I wouldn’t risk my life for something like that.”
“You’re not a bitter soul,” Natkaal said.
“She wanted revenge, then,” I said.
“Brutal master?” Bo asked.
“Not my problem,” Natkaal said. “The sisters made another request. That’s how the feud started.”
“Oh boy,” Bo said. “You started it, didn’t you?”
“They asked me to help them destroy part of the human race,” Natkaal said. “They wanted the immediate death of all slave owners and slavery supporters. The result was tantamount to most of humanity.”
“Abolitionist witches?” Bo asked. “Gaaaah-dayum.”
“They proposed a better world where everyone could live free,” Natkaal said. “Free of tyranny and oppression.”
My emotions were all sorts of tangled up. On the one hand, I appreciated the witches’ worldview and wouldn’t have minded living in the kind of world they envisioned; on the other hand, I didn’t like the means. If there’s anything I’ve learned in my life so far, it’s that the means are the best way to evaluate someone’s character; if these witches were half as bad as Natkaal said they were, they didn’t have any.
“We demons are neutral in most things. Even if I wanted to help them, I couldn’t. No demon has that kind of control. Not even the most wicked demon could orchestrate a shadow deal that big. And why would we want that? We’re your parasites. We feed off your moral decay, so it would be suicidal for us to kill that many people. One or two or ten, sure, but not thousands. I refused the witches’ request, and we had a shouting match in the barn.”
“Did you explain that what they were asking was unreasonable?” I asked. “I think it would have made sense.”
“I shouldn’t have had to explain anything!” Natkaal snapped. “They wouldn’t have listened anyway. The sisters uttered a curse and released me from the circle.”
“Curse?” I asked.
“They said I would forever be doomed with open eyes and a conscience. And damn it, it happened!”
I held up my hand and stopped him. “You’re telling us that the reason you aren’t so evil is because of a curse?”
“It was horrible!” Natkaal said. “Being ruthless and brutal suddenly felt…awful. I found no joy in ripping humans apart. It made me sad. We demons act in accordance with what draws out the most joy, and that joy comes from human suffering. I have spent the last two hundred years acting under a different star. The only thing that brings me joy anymore is mischief, but mischief isn’t a currency that archdemons recognize. I became the laughingstock of the demon world. I thought maybe with the molting season that I could find favor in the archdemons’ eyes, but you killed Elziel and I helped you, so my reputation is forever tarnished. I will die a lowly grasshopper demon. And the only thing I can think about now is my revenge. Even if it won’t bring me joy, I’ll do it because it’s something I should have done two hundred years ago.”
“That’s cold, man,” Bo said. “I was serious about you needing a therapist.”
“My therapy was a counter curse,” Natkaal said, rubbing his human hands. “It has been festering all these years and now I just need to finish it.”
“So you did do something to escalate this,” I said.
Natkaal grinned. “I hit them with a life curse.”
“What the hell is a life curse?” I asked.
“It means that the target cannot die of natural causes,” Natkaal said. “They can only die when the curse creator’s sacrificial artifact is destroyed.”
“No,” I said. It was all making sense now. “You son of a—”
“They are doomed to live until I say they can die,” Natkaal said. “Doomed to live in the very world they wished to destroy. Enfeebled by old age and bitterness and sadness. The reaper will never come for them. They are far too proud to take their own lives. You cannot underestimate the amount of magic it took me to pull this curse off. It came at a cost I am still paying to this day.”
“What was the sacrificial artifact?” I asked.
Natkaal sighed. “I am the sacrificial artifact.”