Demon War: Shadowguard Academy Book 4 Page 17

  Azazel motions me to enter first. I despise turning my back to my enemy, but if Azazel wants to hurt me, I can do little to stop him.

  I enter the new room. My eyes take in the disheveled tables littered with beakers, flasks, and other scientific glassware and tools. Stacks of parchment are weighed down by graduated cylinders and vials filled with unknown liquid. This is obviously Fabian’s workroom, where he conducts his controversial experiments.

  The air behind me shifts. Azazel’s arm brushes mine as he leans close and murmurs, “Pardon the mess, my dear. Your grandfather is a messy worker.”

  I step away from his repulsive touch, straightening my spine and meeting his callous stare. “Why am I here? What did you want to show me?”

  Azazel’s lips twist into a manic grin. “Oh, yes. How rude of me. Let me introduce you to my other guests, though I believe you’re already acquainted with some.”

  His words trigger all of my body’s alarms. I don’t know if I want to know what he means to show me, but I find myself unable to look away from where Azazel’s arm motions towards.

  A scream lodges in my throat. I stumble back, bumping into Fabian. I leap out of the warlock’s reach, my eyes locked on the horrific sight before me.

  To my left, bodies line the wall. They are positioned like mummies with their arms crossed over their chests and standing within clear sarcophagi.

  Brawny tan skin and pale beauty identifies at least three and four bodies as lycan and vampire, respectively. The victims are too far away for me to recognize any of them, but the ominous note in Azazel’s words make me believe I, undoubtedly, will.

  “What are you doing with them?” My voice trembles. I pinch my lips together in a hopeless attempt to hide my weakness.

  “They are our specimen,” Azazel responds. He crosses the room and drags a finger down the clear surface of one of the abnormal coffins. “Fabian needed to test out his concoctions.”

  My stomach falls to the floor.

  This is horrific.

  It’s unethical.

  Whatever has been done to these poor demons is monstrous, and those responsible deserve to be punished.

  I clench my fists and grit my teeth, but no matter how hard I try, I cannot even feel a flicker of my holy fire. I want to scream in frustration.

  I turn my hate-filled glare onto my grandfather. “You’ve neutralized their powers?”

  “Some, but not all. I need to refine the compound before it will work on all races of demons, but I believe I am close.” He’s so calm—so unbothered by the disgust I know is written all over my face.

  “You’re a monster. You’re no better than him.” I motion to Azazel.

  The original demon smirks.

  “I want to go back to my cell.” I’ve seen enough. I don’t want to play into whatever sick game Azazel is concocting in his deranged, power-obsessed mind.

  “But don’t you want to see how Fabian creates his potion?” The original’s eyes gleam.

  As if spurred by his words, my grandfather shuffles to the closest worktable, setting down his black bag. Then, he reaches into his cloak pocket and retrieves the vial of my blood. He sets it on the disarrayed table. I swear, the action creates an audible thump.

  My eyes widen with horror as I put two and two together. “No.”

  I’m ignored.

  Fabian grabs three separate beakers filled with fluorescent green liquid. He uncaps the vial.

  I watch, horrified, as three bright red drops collide with the liquid. Sparks fly out of the beaker. Steam billows into the air. The liquid turns black—a perfect omen for the evil abilities contained within the potion. He performs the same treatment on the other beakers before capping the vial and safely stowing it in a Styrofoam ice chest on the end of the worktable.

  Azazel approaches the table and picks up one of the beakers. “You’re sure this is the one?”

  “Ninety-nine percent sure,” Fabian replies, “but it must be tested before I can say for certain.”

  My tongue twists in my mouth. I want to do something—say something—but I have no idea what. My eyes track Azazel as he walks to a door I overlooked. It’s wedged between two of the coffins lining the wall.

  He shoves the door open. I hear several muffled gasps, and many weak protests.

  My heart is pounding in my chest. I want to go see what lies beyond that door, but my feet feel like they’re glued to the ground.

  The sound of a struggle reaches my ears. Azazel strides back into the workroom, dragging a weakly struggling demon behind him.

  Ladros.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  My knees buckle and I fall to the floor. I stare in horror as I see the once-formidable guard dragged like a rag doll.

  My entire body shakes. I feel like I’m going to throw up.

  “This one is strong considering the sedative you dosed him with,” Azazel tells Fabian, either unaware or uncaring of my physical response to the sight before me. “He’s the perfect specimen.” He throws Ladros to the ground. The mundane demon tries to push himself up, but he’s too weak. His arms collapse underneath him, and his head bangs painfully against the hard ground.

  No.

  “No.” I croak. “Stop this.”

  Ladros’s eyes find mine. His nostrils flare as he takes in my disheveled and dejected state. “L-lady Aspen, I—”

  “Ah, ah, ah.” Azazel twirls his fingers. Power shoots from his hand to Ladros’s mouth, forcing it closed. “Don’t waste your energy speaking. You’re going to need it.” He grabs Ladros’ chin, twisting it towards him.

  If looks could kill, Azazel would be a pile of ash.

  A million thoughts run through my head, each one worse than the last. If Ladros is here, that means the attack on the safe house was certainly a trick. Somehow, Azazel managed to capture prisoners. More than one, by the looks of the unconscious bodies along the wall and the unknown souls trapped in the adjacent room.

  Think Aspen!

  I may not have my powers, but I can’t just stand by and let this happen. I snap.

  A burst of strength, fueled by determination, courses through my legs. I launch off the ground, lower my body, and aim right for Azazel’s torso.

  I barely hear Fabian’s incantation just before constricting magic winds around my ankles and draws tight. I crash to the ground, crying out as momentum drives my right shoulder into the floor with an audible pop. The same magic surrounds my upper body, pinning my arms to my side.

  I scream and roll off the wounded arm, but the constricting magic applies constant pressure and makes the pain linger. Tears burn my eyes.

  Azazel is unaffected by my pathetic attempt to stop him. He lifts a booted foot and nudges Ladros, forcing the mundane demon to roll over until he faces the ceiling. Then, he weaves more magic. Ladros’s muscles grow taunt and lock in place.

  Before I can take a pain-filled breath, Azazel pours the black potion down Ladros’s throat. I cry out in protest, but it makes no difference. Whatever magic detains Ladros also makes him swallow the abominable concoction.

  Then, Ladros seizes.

  The mundane demon’s body bends back and forth at unnatural angles. His face twists in agony, and his mouth falls open in a silent roar. The seconds pass at an excruciating pace until, eventually, Ladros stops moving.

  No one speaks.

  Even I muffle my pathetic whimpers.

  Azazel leans over the mundane demon. His jaw slackens, then a hard glint enters his eye as he barks at Fabian. “What the hell did you do, Fabian?”

  The warlock doesn’t get the chance to reply.

  Ladros turns his head. Whatever spell held him captive must’ve been lifted.

  The first thing I notice is the shocking lack of horns adorning the top of his skull. But then, he locks eyes with me, and all the air rushes out of my lungs. I choke on saliva, unable to believe what I’m seeing.

  Instead of the glowing red eyes I’ve grown accustomed to seeing on Belial’s loyal gu
ards and servants, I come face to face with brown irises.

  Ordinary human irises.

  I’m lying on the floor, tears blurring my vision, half-heartedly listening to the sound of Azazel and Fabian’s distant arguing.

  The original had dragged Ladros back into the adjacent room almost immediately after I realized the potion turned him mortal. Then, he’d whirled on my grandfather with nothing short of fury.

  “That is not what I asked for, Fabian” Azazel growls, motioning angrily toward the metal door where he’d dragged Ladros. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “You wanted a demon’s power to be neutralized.” Fabian is way calmer than I would be if I were on the receiving end of Azazel’s ire. “Well, his power is neutralized.”

  “He’s human,” Azazel spits the word with disgust. “He’s useless.”

  “And powerless, which is what you wanted.”

  Azazel growls and jabs a finger at Fabian. “No one can know about this. It would cause an uproar.”

  Fabian lifts a hunched shoulder. “Even if I wished to share these results, it would be unwise to do so before conducting more experiments. We must be sure this wasn’t an anomaly.”

  More experiments?

  He’s going to do this to someone else?

  This can’t be happening.

  I’d thought Azazel wanted to release demons from Hell. Why would he search for ways to take away their power? What good are his minions if they can have their powers taken away?

  How did everything become so twisted?

  “Then, by all means, let’s conduct more experiments.” Azazel no longer seems put off by the idea of mundane demons turning human. He motions toward the steel door. “I’ll get another mundane.”

  My blood runs cold.

  “We should use a different race,” Fabian states. “To ensure the compound has the same effects.”

  “A vampire then.” Azazel turns my direction. I think he’s walking towards me, but he passes by with barely more than a glance. “Come Fabian. They are kept on the deepest level, locked in special cages which sap their strength and I’d prefer to keep them there.”

  The warlock moves to follow. Unlike the original demon, however, he stops at my side. “What about the girl?”

  I’m still held tight by green magic, but I’m able to tilt my chin to see Azazel’s curious frown as he stands by the exit. “What about her?”

  “Should we take her back to her cell?”

  The original observes me. An evil sneer pulls on his lips. “No. Leave her. She could use new scenery.”

  I bite my cheek to keep my angry retort in check. Fabian doesn’t press the issue. He reaches over and grabs two freshly packaged syringes from the table. Ripping open the wrapping, he fills each with the black liquid in the beakers. Noticing Azazel’s questioning look, he explains, “So we don’t have to get near the vampire’s fangs.”

  The original accepts the explanation without question. He turns on his heel and strides out the door.

  Fabian moves to follow, but before he takes two steps from the table, I hear him whisper, “Forgive me.”

  I blink. His cloak flares wide and he disappears from sight.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  My body aches. Muscles aren’t meant to be held in one position for too long. I try to wiggle out of Fabian’s binding spell to alleviate the discomfort, but the more I move, the tighter the strands become.

  “Pst.”

  I frown and turn my head.

  There’s nothing there. I’m all alone in the workroom.

  I sigh.

  I’m going crazy.

  Hearing things is definitely a sign.

  “Pst,” the sound comes again. This time, it’s accompanied by, “Aspen. Over here.”

  I tilt my head back and search more fervently for the source of the sound.

  My eyes land on the last person I would’ve ever expected to see. “Teresa?”

  Logan’s fiancée holds a finger to her lips. Her back is rigid. She stares at the exit for several seconds. I hold my breath, unsure what to make of her presence.

  I note her tight leather pants and the dagger gleaming under the room’s fluorescent light. Her hair is pulled back in a tight bun.

  Teresa isn’t here by accident; she came here for a fight. She’s a far cry from the girl who’d played possum at the warehouse.

  Whatever Teresa waits for doesn’t manifest. She looks away from the exit, returning her attention to me. Careful to not make any noise, she inches towards me. Her eyes take in the warlock magic holding me hostage. Then, she pulls out her stylus and presses the tip against my skin.

  She draws an unfamiliar, intricate pattern on my arm. I’ve never seen a Guardian wield a stylus with such finesse. It’s a skill all Guardians have, but Teresa makes it look more like art.

  When she’s done, I hold my breath and wait for the result.

  I’m shocked when the green ropes turn brown and crumple like dying vines, falling off me and disintegrating into thin air.

  “How did you—” Guardians have skills, but I’ve never known a sigil to destroy warlock magic. Then again, I haven’t even finished my first year at the academy, there’s undoubtedly a lot I haven’t learned.

  “Thank me later. How’s your arm?”

  “My arm?” I look down and see my limb hanging loosely at my side. The pain had faded to a dull ache. Now, it comes roaring back.

  I wince. “I think it’s dislocated.”

  “Hm.” Teresa leans closer. “I’ll draw a numbing mark, and then I need to pop it back into place.”

  “Okay.” I brace myself.

  Again, Teresa makes quick work of the sigil, and then she’s holding my wrist and elbow. “One, two… three.”

  Mercifully, I only feel the slightest pressure as my shoulder joint slides back into place.

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” Teresa leans back and jerks her head to the side. “Come on.” That’s when I see a grate hanging sideways, covering the opening of a ventilation duct.

  So that’s how she got in here.

  I follow her to the grate and don’t hesitate when she motions me to go first. I get on my hands and knees and crawl in as quietly as I can manage. Teresa comes behind me. The grate gives the slightest squeak as she swings it back in place. With any luck, Azazel won’t come back to check on me for a while. But if he does, hopefully he doesn’t immediately search the vents for me.

  Which makes me wonder…

  “How did Azazel not sense you?” I whisper over my shoulder. I imagine Teresa had been waiting in the ducts for a while. Her timing was too perfect otherwise.

  “Cloaking magic, courtesy of Belial. He concealed us all before we split up and began searching the compound.”

  My heart squeezes. “Belial is here?”

  “Yes. I know you must have a lot of questions, but it really is best if we stay quiet until we’re out of the ducts. Noise travels.”

  She’s right. Of course, she’s right. But that doesn’t make it any easier for me to hold my questions in.

  For days, I’d feared the worst had happened to Belial. I couldn’t think of anything else that would’ve kept him from finding me. After all these months, I’ve come to rely on him and the connection we share.

  Now, hearing he’s all right, I want to see him for myself. My soul practically begs for it. I am curious what’s happened while I’ve been trapped in my prison, but I care more about ensuring Belial is truly here and unharmed with my own two eyes.

  I continue to crawl forward as quietly and delicately as I can. Periodically, Teresa taps my foot and silently points me in the right direction.

  We must be in the vents for at least ten minutes before I see another grate opening straight ahead. I shoot a glance back at Teresa, and she nods encouragingly. That’s our destination.

  Eagerness makes me pick up the pace. I reach the grate and tentatively reach out to push it aside.

  I tumble out
of the vent, relieved to be able to stand upright and stretch my sore muscles.

  Teresa exits more gracefully, reminding me of a dancer with her fluid movements. “You all right?”

  I nod. Hearing her speak at a normal volume makes me feel comfortable enough to finally ask, “What are you doing here?”

  She tilts her head to the side, giving me an obvious look. “Um… rescuing you?”

  Well, obviously.

  “That’s not what I meant,” I begin sheepishly. “I mean, why are you here? I figured you’d be the lasts person who would want to be here… especially after the warehouse.” Teresa was once a prisoner of Azazel, herself. Why would she put herself in this situation and risk getting captured again?

  Understanding flickers across her face. Plainly, she states, “Because Logan asked for my help, and I owe him.” Her tone welcomes no follow up questions.

  Fair enough.

  In an effort to dispel some of the awkwardness my question created, I rotate my neck and take in our surroundings. Surprise, surprise. We’re in yet another stone-walled room.

  “Where are we?” I ask her. “Is this a bunker or something?”

  “Close. It’s an underground facility the Nazi’s used to hide their chemical weapons and conduct research.”

  “We’re in Germany?”

  “Yes, ten miles outside Berlin.”

  I wait for Teresa to say more or start to lead me somewhere else, but she seems content to remain in this obscure stone room. I don’t question her decision. She’s taken me farther than I could’ve gotten on my own. I have no reason not to trust her.

  “Do you know what happened… at the safe house?” I hesitate to ask, afraid to hear her answer. I assume she must know something since she’s part of my rescue mission.

  Her expression darkens. Again, I’m confronted with the vast contrast between the young woman before me and the timid creature who’d been Azazel’s prisoner.

  Gone are her hollow cheeks and frail figure. These past few weeks have been good to her, restoring her previous health and strength. This is a young woman I can see as Logan’s partner, not the frail thing from those tiny, dark cages.