The bar was small and cramped and stank of sweat and alcohol. Helena stood in the back nervously checking her phone for the fiftieth time. It was nearly nine p.m. and Juniper still wasn’t there.
Running late! OMW! she’d texted fifteen minutes ago.
Rancid Spine was playing now, riotous death metal clattering around the small space. They were local; Helena vaguely recalled reviewing their debut EP for her channel a few years ago and not caring for it. Most of the crowd seemed to agree; they hung back, looking uninterested in the guys thrashing around on the stage. Helena checked her phone again.
Nothing.
She took a deep breath and told herself to calm down. She hadn’t felt any of the signs of Infernal magic so far, but every one of her senses was still amplified, waiting for an attack. She hadn’t been on a job in over a decade, and she wasn’t remotely prepared for this one, her slightly intoxicated Googling three nights ago notwithstanding.
She paced along the back wall, scanning the crowd, unsure what she was looking for. The image of Aleksi Haakanen was imprinted in her brain: his long black hair, the spidery tattoos covering his lean torso. She kept thinking demon even though no demon she’d ever studied was able to approximate a human appearance that well. Demons, even glamoured, would never be that handsome.
Stop thinking of him like that, she chided herself. This is why Mom and Dad won’t talk to you.
The phone buzzed in Helena’s pocket. She yanked it out, grateful for the distraction.
Juniper: Here! Where are you?
Helena wove toward the entrance, sliding through the sea of black T-shirts. Her sister was going to fit right in with this crowd.
A few minutes later, she finally spotted Juniper, standing over by the entrance, her hand on her hip, watching the band onstage.
“You’re late!” Helena shouted over the music.
Juniper glanced at her. She’d made herself up for the occasion, smoky black eyes and blood-red lips. She always did her makeup when she went out on a job. “Do you seriously like this?” she said, tilting her head toward the stage.
Helena rolled her eyes. “Where were you?”
“Finishing up some last-minute things.” Juniper grabbed Helena’s arm and pulled her toward the back of the room, over to a little alcove next to the pool tables. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a glass vial wrapped in thorns. “Protection charm for you. Just needs some blood.”
Helena softened a little. “Thanks.” She pressed her thumb against a thorn until blood seeped up through her skin, then dribbled a few drops into the vial. After a moment’s hesitation, she murmured, “Sal et mare, protegas me.”
“Out of practice.” Juniper shook her head.
Helena didn’t say anything. The incantation wasn’t the important part of a bottle charm anyway—that just linked the magic to her person. Along with the blood. Since the actual protection came from crafting the vial itself, infusing it with the chaotic energy magic required, the Lineage didn’t consider it true blood magic. Which made it okay for people like Helena’s family to use.
Her last job, she’d had a vial charm. But it was one she’d prepared herself. Little good it did her.
She set the vial on the floor and crushed it under the heel of her shoe, then kicked the scatter of glass and blood and dried thorns across the floor. For half a heartbeat, the air shivered. She tasted sulfur in the back of her throat.
“You made it powerful,” she said.
“You’ve been out of the game.” Juniper shrugged. “So I think we’re all set for Black Moon. I cast about a billion different weakening spells the last few days. I figure whatever glamour those fuckers are using, it’s powerful. I want to see straight through it.”
Helena’s stomach twisted. “Glamour? You think they’re demons?”
Juniper looked at her. “Hell no. There’s no way those two are under some cultist’s control. I just mean glamour to hide their magic.”
Helena frowned. “What about the protective magic? You’ve got to have done more than a vial spell.” The broken glass shimmered in the bar lights.
“Dude, don’t worry so much!” Juniper counted off on her fingers. “I did a generic spell of protection for the area—that’s why I was late, by the way—plus I burned some willowshine sage this afternoon. Plus the vial spells, one for both of us. Which reminds me.” She pulled another vial out of her back pocket, pricked her finger, smeared the blood, crushed everything beneath her heavy black boot. Then she grinned up at Helena. “All good to go!”
Helena remained unconvinced. She still couldn’t shake the idea that Aleksi Haakanen, at least, was a demon, even though it didn’t make sense. And with Juniper worried about glamours—
Rancid Spine finished their set with a shriek of guitar feedback. The vocalist roared a thank-you to the crowd, then added, “Black Moon is up next!” To a swell of shouts and applause. Helena’s throat tightened.
“Showtime,” Juniper said.
The room felt suddenly too small, too constricted. The audience was moving away from the stage, back toward the bar, where Helena and Juniper stood waiting. Helena pressed herself against the wall and took deep, gulping breaths while Juniper stood with her hands on her hips, leering at the crowd.
“I need some fresh air,” Helena spat out.
“Dude, what? They’re about to come on!”
“It’ll be another twenty minutes for them to set up,” Helena called over her shoulder as she barreled toward the glowing patio sign. She pushed through the door and out into a concrete courtyard. A group of girls sat smoking on a picnic table, but otherwise, it was empty.
Helena breathed in deep, trying to steady her racing heart. The night was damp and cool, mist already forming on the air. Everything had a silvery sheen.
She leaned up against the fence and took a deep breath, bracing herself for Juniper to come out and drag her back inside. But she didn’t. Thank God. The night out here was calm, soothing. And familiar. How many times had Helena stepped outside between sets at a show, sitting cross-legged on an empty outdoor stage to tap notes to herself on her phone? Or chatted with some band while they smoked cigarettes? She always liked to talk to bands before their set, trying to uncover whatever it was that gave them the courage to put their music out there, to play it live in front of an audience.
A trail of laughter lifted up from the girls at the picnic table, and for a moment Helena’s anxiety about the job drifted away, and she thought about The Project. Coming to shows always did that to her. Made her want to leave early and go back to her apartment and sit down with her keyboard and her guitar and the drum machine and pull out chords and beat patterns like loose threads until she formed something as dark and chaotic and beautiful as the music she reviewed for her channel.
When was the last time she had worked on The Project? A few months ago, after scribbling some lyrics down in her notepad during a particularly dull meeting at work. The melody she’d written for those lyrics wove through her thoughts, and she hummed it softly in the back of her throat, her head dropped back against the fence, her gaze fixed on the sky, its loose scatter of stars.
And then the fence collapsed under Helena’s back.
She screeched and stumbled backward, slamming into a body that was firm and warm and whose owner gave a shout of angry surprise. The back of Helena’s throat itched; she suppressed a sneeze.
“What the hell were you doing?” said a voice like crushed starlight.
Helena whirled around, panic rising high in her scratchy throat. Aleksi Haakanen stood in front of her, black hair gleaming, dark makeup smudged around his eyes, leather jacket pulled on over his bare chest. The tattoos creeping down his skin.
“I—I’m sorry,” Helena stammered, and then she realized that the fence hadn’t collapsed: she’d just been leaning up against the gate. “I didn’t realize it w-was a door.”
Haakanen stared at her, the makeup turning his eyes into sockets. Infernal magic rose off him, prickling over her skin. Fear coiled tight inside her stomach, and the scar around her heart itched. No blood mage could exude Infernal magic from his person like that.
How the hell could a demon be working on its own?
Haakanen tilted his head, his hair pooling around his shoulder. Helena knew she was staring, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the sharp angles of his face. “They should put up a fucking sign.” He quirked his mouth in something like a smile. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Helena stepped to the side, her whole body shaking. Haakanen loped past her, his strides long and powerful. But he only walked a few steps before turning back around, his eyes latching onto hers. Helena was vaguely aware of the smoking girls off to the side, all of them chattering fervently to each other. But in the space of Aleksi’s gaze they felt a million miles away.
“I’ll see you inside, I hope.” This time, he smiled fully, showing his gleaming teeth. “For the show.”
Helena nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. Her throat was too dry to speak.
“Good.” And then he slipped in through the door, vanishing into the bar.
As soon as he did, one of the girls called out, “Was that Aleksi?”
It took Helena a moment to realize they were talking to her. She looked over at them. They were all so young, skinny limbs and too much makeup. “Yeah,” she called back.
“Lucky,” the girl said. “He was totally flirting with you.”
Helena seriously doubted that. Sniffing her out as Lineage, more like. But she didn’t say anything.
“God, he’s so hot,” one of the others said. They dissolved into giggles like schoolgirls.
Helena forced herself forward, back into the bar. The effects of the magic were already fading, but she knew she had felt Infernal magic shimmering off him.
He couldn’t be human. A strong blood mage might—might—be able to create magic that felt Infernal, and only during a casting. But they would never just exude Infernal magic like that.
Inside, the noise of the crowd pounded at her head. Juniper was where Helena’d left her, her arms crossed over her chest, gazing imperiously out at the crowd.
“Feel better?” she said without glancing over.
“I saw him,” Helena said. “Aleksi Haakanen.”
“Who?”
Helena suppressed a shriek of vexation. “The guitarist for Black Moon! Jesus, didn’t you do any research?”
Juniper shrugged.
“Well, I definitely think he’s a fucking demon.”
Juniper whipped her head around. “Dude, keep you voice down.”
“No one can hear me in here,” Helena snapped. “I can barely hear myself.”
“This is why you got into trouble last time,” Juniper muttered. “You have no sense of discretion.”
Helena glared at her. “Seriously? You’re accusing me of having no discretion?”
“Look,” Juniper said in a low voice. “If he really is a target, then he could have spies everywhere in here. And not just visible ones, either.”
Helena took a deep breath. She knew Juniper was right; it had just been so long since she’d been a part of this world. And the encounter with Haakanen had scared the crap out of her.
“He was oozing—you know,” Helena said, dropping her voice a little. “Sandalwood.” She had to wrack her brain for a minute to remember the old codes. “But physically—totally normal.”
“I noticed that in the pictures,” Juniper said. “I did do some research, for your information.”
“Do you think a—” Helena couldn’t remember the code for higher demon. “A high-ranking official came through somehow? If that could be related to the leak—”
“I don’t know,” Juniper said. “Give me your hand.”
Helena looked up at her. Juniper pulled a black Sharpie out of her pocket.
“Come on,” she said, and Helena immediately heard the tension in her voice. Fear surged up in her throat. “We’re gonna get closer, and if he is a firestone—” Her eyes gleamed. So that was the code. “Then we’re gonna need stronger protection.”
“You knew.” Dread uncoiled in Helena’s chest. “You knew he was a firestone and you—”
“I suspected.” Juniper grabbed Helena’s hand. The Sharpie was cool against her skin. When she opened her eyes, the sigil there, three circles and a sharp sideways line, reminded her of childhood.
“And you didn’t tell—”
A thick, pounding drumbeat rang out through the bar, drowning out Helena’s voice. Her heart jumped—but it was just a roadie, checking the equipment. Juniper scrawled the sigil on her own hand and then moved forward. “Let’s go,” she said.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Helena hissed.
“Because I need your help,” Juniper said over her shoulder. “And if Mom and Dad are ever going to talk to you again, I couldn’t have you getting spooked.”
Helena scowled.
“Now, come on. I’m here. It’s gonna be fine.”
Then she dove forward, and Helena reluctantly followed—the last thing she wanted was to be on her own. The crowd was already starting to move toward the stage, drawn by the shrieks and thumps of the equipment tests. Helena sniffled and the sigil on her hand prickled. Infernal magic was already seeping into the club.
Juniper shoved their way up to the front, near the base of the stage. Helena’s heart was beating too fast and everything seemed to be caught in a cobweb, the only sound in the room a static haze. Roadies darted across the stage, then vanished into the wings.
The air was heavy, like a storm.
The equipment stood waiting onstage, a microphone in a stand, a drum set, a backdrop with the nonsensical sigil that had been drawn on the album cover. Maybe not so nonsensical after all. If Haakanen really was as powerful a demon as his Infernal presence suggested, maybe it was just something that they’d never seen before.
Helena’s skin felt clammy.
The stage lights went out. The crowd roared in approval. Helen’s eyes and throat burned, tears seeping down her cheeks. A dark figure stepped up to the microphone.
A single spotlight switched on.
Haakanen.
He stood straight, his hand wrapped around the neck of his guitar. He lifted his chin, gazed out imperiously at the crowd, black hair gleaming silver and blue from the spotlight. He lifted his left hand and moved his fingers in a twisting, distorted pattern that made Helena’s throat scratch so badly she started coughing, pressing her hand against her sister’s back. Juniper reached back, squeezed her arm.
Haakanen brought his hand down on the strings of his guitar, releasing a long, dissonant chord. It hung on the air for a moment before he leaned into the microphone and screamed.
The music erupted, notes distorted by the volume. It crashed over the crowd in waves, and Helena’s eyes burned from the magic of it. She couldn’t hear the wrong notes, not with the distortion of the speakers, but she knew they were there because she could feel the Infernal magic eating away at her. She pressed her palm against the sigil on her hand, trying to alleviate the pressure as it worked its own magic against Haakanen’s.
The crowd undulated, caught on the river of the music. Helena took deep breaths, tried to steady herself. The music seeped into her brain, curling around her thoughts. Everything slowed down. She stared up at Haakanen through her watery eyes, his fingers a blur against the strings, his hair swinging in time with the wild drumbeats.
The burning from the sigil faded to a sting. No no no.
Haakanen’s magic was overpowering it.
She had to get out of here.
Juniper whipped around suddenly, her eyes wild. She said something that Helena couldn’t hear over Black Moon’s music—and then she vanished into the crowd. Terror gripped Helena’s chest. She whirled around, trying to follow, but the crowd had pressed in around her, pushing up against the stage, where Haakanen howled into the microphone, his voice screeching and inhuman. Helena sucked in air, trying to breathe.
Haakanen stepped back from the microphone. He was still playing furiously, but he had stopped thrashing his head around, and his eyes moved quickly over the crowd. Like he was looking for someone.
Or looking at someone.
“Juniper!” Helena screamed, trying to push back against the people who had pressed up behind her. Their expressions were slack, the movements robotic.
This wasn’t just some mosh pit. They were entranced. And too strong for her. She couldn’t get through.
She glanced back at Haakanen. His expression was twisted. Angry. He stepped back, up to Dominic Regen, who was pounding away on the drums, his face obscured by a stack of cymbals. Haakanen looked at him. Gave a slight jerk of his head.
The electricity cut off. The entire bar was plunged into blackness and a sudden, resounding silence.
At first everything was still. And then someone shouted, “Fuck! He found us!”
Searing, unnatural light erupted at the back of the room.
Immediately, the crowd exploded, shouting, screaming, pushing. Helena was thrust back up against the stage, the impact shuddering up her spine. The light lingered long enough for her to see her sister standing on top of the bar, a knife glinting in one hand. Then it faded.
The crowd swirled. Helena pressed herself up against the stage, taking in deep, stinging breaths. Behind her, an inhuman voice began chanting, the consonants of its speech striking a deep and primal fear inside her chest.
The Infernal tongue. She’d only heard it once before, in the moments before the demon tried to rip out her heart.
“Juniper!” she screamed, throwing herself into the crowd. A fist found her face in the darkness, slamming her backward. Her head spun. Light flared again, and for a few seconds Helena could see the entire bar. The crowd was frenzied. Juniper was nowhere to be seen.
A man floated in the air.
It was not Haakanen. This man’s hair was blond and neatly cut, and he wore a black suit, his tie drifting away from him. That was all Helena could see before the light faded again.
Behind her, the chanting grew louder, the broken words stabbing into her brain. She tried to move sideways against the stage, but bodies were being flung all around her, fists and legs swinging in a fury.
Something hot and wet splattered across her face, and she screamed, jerked around instinctively. A sudden sharp kick in her spine, knocking the breath out of her. Her legs sagged. She gripped the stage.
She was almost certain she smelled blood.
“Stop!” someone was shouting. A man’s voice. “It’s not working! We’ve got to get out of here before he lets them rip themselves to shreds!”
The voice was coming from the stage, but in the frenzy, the stage was also the most rational path to escape. She clambered up, away from the blood, the fighting, the crowd tearing itself into pieces. She clung to the stage’s edge, dust smearing beneath her sweaty palms, kicking out her legs for leverage.
Another flare of light. Helena saw a pair of boots and a bright, startlingly red spray of blood.
“Help me!” she screamed.
And to her surprise, a hand grabbed the back of her shirt, yanking her to her feet.
Haakanen. In the last rays of the strange light, she saw his black eyes taking her in.
“You aren’t entranced,” he said.
A new fear strangled her. She tried to wriggle out of his grip, but he clenched her shirt harder, yanked her up close. Through the wild haze of magic she caught the scent of his sweat, darkly sweet like burned syrup.
“Are you with him?” Haakanen hissed, breath hot on her ear.
Helena let out a jagged shout of fear. Everything around her was blackness and screaming. Haakanen grabbed her arm, jerked her around, toward the side of the stage.
“Got one of his followers!” he shouted.
“Knock her out,” someone responded. “It’ll be easier to get her out of here without him noticing.”
Him. Through her panic, something clicked. They were not talking about Juniper.
And then Haakanen whipped her around, pressed his big hand across her face. She screamed into his skin.
He said a word like burning roses, and everything fell away.