Page 4 of Samhain Savior
"Thank you, Corson. I was getting tired of listening to him whine."
Stepping closer to Hestor, I watched his eyes while Corson transferred his hold to Hestor’s throat, making room for me to stand before the blubbering little witch.
"I've gotta tell you, Hestor, I'm getting awfully sick and tired of this bullshit. So, I'm gonna ask you some questions and if I sense even one lie falling out of your sniveling little mouth, I'm gonna do some chest carving of my own, you hear me?" He nodded, his head bobbing rapidly as his eyes opened so wide, I was afraid they'd fall out on the fucking pavement. "Now, you were found tonight in the process of creating a summoning circle. I want to know why?"
Every witch, warlock, and two-bit magic user on the East Coast knew the deal—you want to summon, you go through the Brotherhood. It was how we'd maintained control since before this country was even founded.
And this little shit thought he could circumvent over three hundred and fifty years of Brotherhood law? I didn’t think so. All demon activity passed through us.
Well, what little passed for activity these days, anyway.
And considering how hard the pathetic fuck of a witch was crying, I was honestly surprised he’d had the balls to try and defy me.
"I can't. I can't, Archer. Please. I want to. Fucking hell, do I want to, but Ican't!" he stressed the last word, his eyebrows going up and just as I realized what was happening, Vine let out a hiss.
"He's been bound," he muttered, standing up straight and keeping the knife handy.
Powers rivaling the highest demons in hell, and Vine still preferred to get his hands dirty.
"Motherfucker."
It had been bad enough when witches performed illegal summonings for personal gain, trapping demon souls into mortal bodies and forcing them to bend to their will. I could understand greed as a motivator.
But a bound witch like Hestor? He was working on behalf of someone else, and that meant whoever was pulling his strings had motivations that were anything but clear.
I snarled, my anger rising inside me, and my magic began to leak out, like steam from a boiling kettle.Exhaling slowly, I watched as my shadows began to gather around my ankles, tendrils of darkness seeking sustenance.
I would feed them soon enough.
Recognizing my shadows for the threat they were, Hestor shuddered, his hands clawing frantically at Corson's wrist, but it was useless. Corson was as immovable as a mountain.
"You do remember that summonings are impossible these days, right?” I snapped, and he nodded pathetically. “So if you know that—if you knew that the gates to Hell were barred to you—then what the Hell were you trying to do?”
Hestor stuttered and stammered, his words coming out in a frantic, garbled mess that revealed nothing.
I sighed. This was getting us no where.
“If you can't tell me anything of consequence, Hestor, then you're no good to me."
Reaching into his shirt, Hestor fumbled for the hex bag he carried there. Holding it aloft, he began to mutter, his whispered words barely audible as Corson continued to hold him tight.
Laughing, I snatched the hex bag off its cord, Hestor’s chanting cutting off with a cry. “Oh, Hestor,” I chided, the contents of the bag burning lightly against my palm as I crushed it in my fist. "Your charms are as useless as you are.How disappointing." I tossed the bag to the ground where it was immediately consumed by my shadows. Letting out a satisfied groan, I cracked my neck to the side as the boost of energy flowed through me.
Hex bags were laughable as protection charms, but they made for a fairly tasty snack.
"Corson. Vine. Show Hestor what theUmbra Fratrumdoes to witches who disrespect our treaties." I turned away as Vine began to chuckle, the sound low and dangerous.
“It will be my pleasure,” Vine drawled, his wide smile showing off the pointed tips of his teeth as his demon form rose to the surface.
"Make sure he's found, though. I want his mangled corpse to serve as a warning to any other morons who think that our territory is a place to play fast and loose."
"No!" Hestor screeched, his knees giving out as he hung against the wall by only Corson's hand. "It's not my fault! Not my—”
His screams cut off in a wet gurgle as I stepped out of the alley and lit up another smoke.
When it was finished, Corson and Vine joined me, Vine licking the last of the witch’s blood off his fingers.
“I hate it when they’re tainted,” he muttered petulantly. “Dark magic bindings make ’emtaste funny.”
