Chapter 1
Nyssa
My foot hits the puddle, splashing mud all over my white trainer. “Damn you, demon,” I mutter as I keep running through the graveyard, my curved blade clutched in my hand like it will save my life.
Which it will.
Make no mistake, this arsehole chasing me is bigger, badder and pretty fucking gross. His stench is wafting all around me like a noxious gas, but I was born for this. It’s my calling. Spotting the area I was aiming for, where I can turn and slay this creature from the depths of hell, I brace my hand on the headstone and vault over it, landing like a cat, hitting the ground running until I reach the path that cuts the North side from the South side of Blackfen Edge cemetery.
Smiling, I come to a dead halt and turn around to face the demon. His red skin is blotchy with black. He is seriously ugly. “Come on, big fella. Let’s do this.”
He growls and lunges at me.
I sidestep, letting his bulk thunder past me. Predictable.His claws, thick as daggers, gouge deep furrows in the gravel path where I’d been standing a second before. He skids to a clumsy halt, roaring in frustration as he turns, his piggish eyes glowing malevolently.
“Too slow,” I taunt, flipping my blade in a practised arc. The polished steel catches the weak moonlight filtering through the clouds.
He doesn’t bother with another charge. Instead, a long, barbed tongue shoots out from his maw, aiming to wrap around my ankle. I bring my blade down hard, severing the slimy appendage with a wetthwack. It flops on the ground like a dying snake. The demon screams, a high-pitched shriek that’s entirely out of place for a creature his size. Black ichor, smelling of sulphur and rot, sprays from the stump.
“Eww,” I say, my face twisted in disgust.
This is my opening. While he’s distracted by the pain, I close the distance in three quick strides. My blade whistles through the air as I drive it upward, under his jaw and straight into what passes for his brain. His gurgle is my cue to pull back, just as his massive body dissolves into a cloud of foul-smelling dust and fading embers.
“And stay dead.” I wipe my blade clean on the grass, my gaze sweeping the silent cemetery. “One down, how many more of you to go tonight?”
Squaring my shoulders, I balance the blade on top of a gravestone and tighten the hairband holding my blonde hair in a high ponytail. Snatching it up, I walk on, scouring the land for evil to take down.
My calling as a slayer demands this dedication, and I have no problem with nightly patrols. That’s when these monsters come out to play, so I’m here too, making sure they don’t hurt anyone.
I rub my elbow, feeling the bruise forming already from earlier this evening when a vampire decided to jump out at me. It was the last thing she did, but I fucking banged it on a tombstone, and it hurts like a motherfucker. But I’d rather feel the pain of a mortal than be one of them.
Especially with me around.
I’m a demon-killing machine, trained, disciplined and…
“Oww, you arse,” I mutter when I trip on a sticky-out root.
I glance around, but no one saw me stumble.
Not surprisingly. There is no one dumb enough to be out here, in the middle of the graveyard at eleven o’clock at night, except me.
Moving back around in an arc towards the main entrance, I have that corner to patrol before calling it quits for the night.
A freezing fog descends, making me shiver in my hoodie. I pull the hood up and amble along, eyes and senses tuned for the things that jump out in the night.
The air grows heavy, pressing in on me. It’s not just the damp chill anymore; it’s a pressure that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. It’s the kind of chill that has nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with something ancient and wrong waking up. The mist thickens with every step, swirling around the ancient yew trees and obscuring the path ahead. It’s like walking through grey cotton wool. My senses, usually sharp, are muffled. All I can hear is the damp squelch of my trainers on the grass and the thumping of my heart.
Something is different. The air doesn’t just smell of wet earth and decay anymore. There’s an undercurrent of ozone, like the moments after a lightning strike, and something sweet and cloying. Sandalwood and old parchment.It’s a scent that doesn’t belong amongst the dead and the damned.
My grip tightens on my blade. I slow my pace, moving from the shadow of one crumbling angel to the next. Ahead, through a thinning patch in the fog, I see a flicker of light. Not the evilness of demonic energy, but a warm, golden glow, pulsating gently from the entrance of the oldest mausoleum in the cemetery—the Blackfen crypt. The one no one’s been able to open for a century.
Well, bugger.Looks like my night isn’t over after all. Curiosity is a dangerous thing in my line of work, but ignoring a mysterious light in a cursed crypt is just plain stupid.
I creep closer, my trainers making no sound on the saturated ground. The stone of the mausoleum is black granite, slick with moisture and crawling with dead ivy. The heavy iron door, the one local legend says is sealed with ancient magic and a shit-ton of rust, is hanging open just a crack. The golden light spills out, painting the mist in honeyed tones and making the shadows dance.
It’s not demonic. I’d feel that like a sliver of ice in my gut. This feels different. It’s warm, powerful, and utterly alien. It hums in the air, a low thrum that vibrates right through the soles of my muddy trainers and up my spine. The sandalwood scent is stronger here, intoxicating and completely out of place.
Someone’s clearly broken in. Or out.
