Wicked Wish (Dragon's Gift: The Storm Book 1) Read online

  Wicked Wish

  Dragon’s Gift: The Storm

  Veronica Douglas

  Linsey Hall

  For our cats. All of them.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  Thank you!

  Acknowledgments

  Acknowledgments

  Author’s Note

  About Veronica Douglas

  About Linsey Hall

  Copyright

  1

  The air hummed with the magic of books wanting to be read.

  They whispered irresistible secrets and promised power to those who would turn their pages. After years of working in the Order of Magica’s Archives, I was used to the murmuring books and immune to their siren call.

  The Order’s Archives, one of the largest magical libraries in the United States, contained the secret history of the world—one written by sorcerers and vampires, werewolves, and demons. Their stories filled the endless stacks that descended deep below Lake Michigan. Tall marble columns supported the library’s domed roof.

  I wound my way through the bookshelves to my desk, hidden in a lonely alcove at the back of the archives. A precarious wall of stacked books, scrolls, and old reports formed a fortress around my laptop.

  A stack of three new forms covered my keyboard. I groaned and snatched them up. Research requests. Partially completed.

  Still on my feet, I waved the forms in the air. “Who left these? I was gone like fifteen minutes. Who even uses these anymore? Email me, people.”

  No response from the empty room.

  I’d spent years compiling research for other people’s cases while trying to work my way up to detective. So far, I hadn’t gotten a lot of credit for my work, and my requests for advancement were always ignored.

  I’d fight a raccoon for dumpster dominance if it meant a shot at detective.

  I pushed aside my to-do pile and slipped a hidden folder out of my desk. It was full of notes I’d compiled on a recent string of supernatural kidnappings. I wasn’t assigned to the case, but if I could crack it on my own, or even—

  My gaze fell on a book that hadn’t been sitting on my desk when I’d left for break. Arabian Nights, flipped open to the middle. My heartbeat quickened as I leaned over to read the words scrawled across the page. In ink, of all things.

  Neveah Cross. Meet me at Exposition Park at eleven p.m. and your secret is safe. Tell no one.

  Oh shit.

  I swallowed hard, fear rushing through me. Could they know what I—

  My phone rang, and my heart missed three beats. I fumbled for my cell, barely catching it before it tumbled onto the floor.

  “Neve?” It was my best friend, Rhiannon, a detective with the Order. “Where are you?”

  Tell no one. The note’s words echoed in my mind, and I put on a casual voice. “Same place as always. Night or day."

  “Neve. Sumerian demons are loose at the Oriental Institute Museum. We need a banishment spell.” She was out of breath.

  My heart raced.

  This was bad.

  While I lived in Magic Side, an all-magic suburb of Chicago, the Oriental Institute was located in Hyde Park, which was mostly inhabited by humans. The primary purpose of the Order of Magica was to keep the existence of magic hidden from the rest of the world, and a demon rampage in a public place like the OI Museum would take weeks to cover up.

  What if they killed someone?

  I shoved the note to the back of my mind as my fingers raced over the keyboard. “It’ll take time to find the right spell. What kind of demon?”

  “No time. Grab whatever books you need. The lieutenant wants you with us. Meet downstairs in five.”

  Holy shit. I was on a case.

  A real case.

  Not just books, but danger and demons. A chance to prove I could do this.

  Finally.

  My personal problems would have to wait. I tore the note out of the book, guilt streaking through me, and shoved it in my pocket. Heart pounding, I raced through the upper floors of the Archives, leaping over an oaken banister.

  One of the long-nosed library imps buzzed by me on leathery wings. “No running in the Archives!”

  I grabbed the little creature by the arm and spun it around. “I need books on Sumerian demons! Lives are at stake. I’ll hit special collections. Can you check the stacks?”

  Since the stacks spiraled sixty-seven floors below Lake Michigan, it was only practical to search them if you could fly, like an imp.

  If only I could fly.

  The imp glared, then nodded and darted away. I dashed into special collections. Technically, I wasn’t allowed in here either, but right now, that didn’t matter.

  My fingers danced across the spines until I found the book I was looking for—an old musty leatherbound volume that vibrated with dangerous magic—the Manual of Ancient Demonology. The other books on the shelf had inched away from it, just to keep a safe distance.

  Smart books.

  I snatched the sinister tome and spun around, colliding with a dwarf.

  He glared. “You’re not allowed in here.”

  “Take it up with my boss.” I faked right and ducked left out of his reach, then ran back through the library.

  The imp caught up with me and dumped a load of books in my arms. “You need to check these out before leaving.”

  “Thanks!” There was no time. Books in hand, I backed through the massive doors to the Archives, setting off the library alarms. The furious imp shouted at me as I raced across the skybridge and down through the Hall of Inquiry.

  Man. I was going to get reprimanded by at least three department heads for this little stunt. But then again, I never got to go into the field, and there were lives at stake. If this worked, they’d let me off the hook. And if it didn’t… Well, it was my only shot.

  Totally worth it.

  I burst out the front doors, dashed down the steps, and slammed straight into a brick wall of a man who seemed to appear out of thin air.

  My books flew across the pavement.

  “Hey, watch it!” As the words left my mouth, a wave of magic surged over me. Scents of ancient forests. The taste of sea salt. The sound of waves. His magic was so powerful that it would have knocked me on my ass if I weren’t already on it.

  I looked up and locked eyes with him.

  My breath caught.

  Streetlights cast shadows across his face, but they couldn’t conceal his lethal beauty. Or deadly physique.

  His piercing green gaze skated over my form, sending shivers down my spine.

  Who was he?

  Perfection.

  Terrifying perfection. An entrancing darkness radiated around him, like shadows cast by candlelight.

  The world pivoted while he stood immobile.

  It lasted just a moment, but time refused to move forward. My heartbeat drowned out everything around me until Rhiannon’s voice cut the moment.


  “Come on, Neve!”

  His spell released.

  I scrambled after the fallen books, scooping them into my arms.

  “You forgot this one.” His whiskey voice stroked over my nerve endings, and I tried to suppress another shiver. He held out the dusty book on demonology, its dark magic twining with his.

  My instincts said run, but my feet were glued to the pavement.

  His eyes drew me in with a gravitational pull, and unable to speak, I took the book. My fingertips nearly brushed his, and an arc of electricity passed between us. I swallowed hard and looked away.

  “Now, Neve!” Rhiannon shouted.

  Sucking in a sharp breath, I took the book and hightailed it to Rhiannon and the waiting car. I opened the door and turned back toward the mysterious man.

  But he was gone.

  2

  We sped over the long bridge that linked Magic Side to Chicago.

  Our city was located on an invisible island in Lake Michigan, just offshore of South Side. If you didn’t have magic in your veins, you couldn’t see it. That kept most of the normal people out, though every few months, someone found their way over.

  My boss Gretchen—aka Lieutenant Bitchface—drove. Unfortunately, she despised me. Books and research weren’t her thing. If she couldn’t use it to crack somebody’s skull, she wasn’t interested.

  She yanked the wheel hard left, and we squealed onto the invisible onramp near Harold Washington Park and raced down Lake Shore Drive.

  There was no time for thoughts of the mystery note or my meeting at eleven. I tried flipping through the books in the backseat of the car, but my stomach lurched with every sharp turn.

  Before I could find all the spells I likely needed, we screeched to a halt in front of the Oriental Institute Museum, located on the University of Chicago’s campus. I grabbed the Manual of Ancient Demonology and followed Rhiannon and Bitchface through the Museum’s ornate bronze doors and into the lobby.

  Although the Museum was in the human part of Chicago, the Order had cleared the building so we could use our powers.

  We were going to need them.

  The Mesopotamian gallery crackled with magic and reeked of sulfur. These were some pretty heinous demons by the feel of it, but I couldn’t see them in the massive room.

  I ducked down behind a case of Mesopotamian cylinder seals and pressed my back against the glass.

  Rhiannon crouched beside me. Clutching her samurai sword, she peered around the corner and whispered, “What the hell are those?”

  “Good question.” I peeked from behind the case and barely caught a glimpse of the two strange creatures. They were short, gangly humanoids, and they seemed to be oozing black tar from their stony flesh. Their large, bulbous eyes scanned the Mesopotamian Gallery, and I ducked before they saw me.

  Leafing through the Manual of Ancient Demonology, I found the page immediately—I had a knack for books.

  “They’re gallu, ancient Sumerian demons that stalk the mortal realm. They can inhabit statues and make them come to life. Whatever you do, don’t let them grab you with both hands.”

  “Why?”

  “They’ll drag you into the underworld.”

  “Greeeat.”

  On the other side of the room, Lieutenant Bitchface hissed at me, “I don’t care what they are. How do I kill them?”

  I flipped the page, reading quickly. “We can’t kill them. We need to turn them back into stone statues with a binding spell. Gimme a minute, I know where it is.”

  Her teeth pulled back in a snarl, and she twisted her heavy cudgel in her hand. The thrill of the impending fight flashed in her eerie yellow eyes. She was a shifter, and though she probably wouldn’t transform in the museum, she’d still fight like an animal. And win.

  Though I didn’t love the fact that she was on my case all the time, I did respect her track record for kicking ass.

  A crash sounded from the gallery behind us.

  “Nope. Time’s up.” Bitchface pointed at Rhiannon. “Let’s go!”

  “The book says whatever you do, don’t damage them!” I shouted. “They’ll—"

  A howling gallu leapt from behind a case, ran along the wall, and hurled itself at Rhiannon. She dove for cover, but its demonic claws raked her face.

  Bitchface kicked it in the chest and slammed her cudgel into its skull before it could get both claws on Rhiannon.

  The creature’s head separated from its body with a resounding crack and rolled across floor. A thick plume of oily smoke billowed up from its neck.

  Then its head reformed.

  “Oh, hell no,” Rhiannon hissed.

  I pivoted right, looking for the severed head. It had rolled to a stop by a wooden cabinet. It grew a new body of black smoke that hardened into living stone.

  “Damaging them makes them multiply!” I shouted. “That’s what I was trying to tell you.”

  “Well, shit!” Rhiannon sheathed her sword. “This isn’t going to be any use.”

  The demons cackled with delight and dashed down the hall toward the Khorsabad court.

  “Not so fast, assholes!” Rhiannon jumped to her feet, pulled a bolas from her hip pouch, and spun the weapon overhead. The two heavy weights whirled uncomfortably close to the glass cabinets full of fragile, priceless artifacts, and then Rhiannon let it fly.

  The bolas zipped through the air and wrapped around the legs of the fleeing demon, which skidded through the gallery. The weapon moved as if it had a mind of its own—which it did, as well as a name—Hercules.

  Gretchen raced after the demon’s twin as Rhiannon shouted, “One down!”

  I flipped open the book in my hands. “I can turn them to stone, I just have to memorize this spell!”

  The fleeing gallu slashed at the Lieutenant’s torso as she rounded the corner of a display case. Rage flooded Gretchen’s eerie yellow eyes, and fur bristled along her skin. She leapt at the demon with a roar, shifting into a snarling black wolf mid-air.

  Well, there she goes.

  Bitchface slammed the demon to the ground, trying to pin it with her mighty paws.

  “Don’t let it get two claws on you!” I shouted.

  At that moment, the third demon howled above me.

  I dodged out of the way as it dropped from the ceiling. The monster grabbed for my arm. I deflected its strike with the book, but it caught my wrist with its other claw, searing my skin with its foul magic.

  One more handhold on me and that would be it—the demon could drag me into the underworld.

  Thankfully, I was trained for moments like this. In a world filled with demons, you had to know how to fight back.

  I pivoted as the demon lashed out, then stepped closer using the dance-like movements of Silat, a Southeast Asian martial art and knife-fighting technique. With a single fluid motion, I deflected its arm and slammed my open hand against its wrist, breaking the creature’s hold.

  I kicked out the demon’s left foot, spun it around, and pinned its arm behind its back.

  I controlled the dance now.

  Closing my eyes, I chanted the words of the ancient Mesopotamian binding spell and prepared for magic to pulse through me.

  Nothing happened.

  Well, shit.

  Ancient Sumerian was damn near impossible to pronounce, even with training from ghosts.

  The gallu kicked its clawed feet into my stomach, sending me reeling into the adjacent display cabinet. The monster raced toward the museum entrance.

  I scrambled to my feet. “Don’t let him escape!”

  Rhiannon stepped out and clotheslined it with her sheathed sword. The demon slammed onto its back with a crack, but didn’t split in two.

  This is my shot.

  I dove to her side and slammed my palm down on the demon’s chest. It flailed and wrapped a clawed hand around my ankle.

  Agony flared as desperation coursed through my veins. I chanted the Sumerian spell, wishing with all my strength that it would work. A raging to
rrent of magic poured through me and into the monster. It howled and hardened into solid rock.

  “Stone cold!” Rhiannon shouted.

  I yanked my leg out of the demon’s solidified claws, shredding my favorite jeans and leaving a trickle of blood on my skin. “Damn it!”

  Glass shattered in the rear of the museum. Bitchface clamped her jaws down on the demon she was fighting, pulled it from the wreckage of a display case, and threw it against the wall.

  I silently cringed. “Gentle, L.T.—with the cases and the demons!”

  The Lieutenant pinned the demon to the floor with her massive paws, though it fought like a thing possessed. I darted to her side, dodged its grasping claws, and cast the spell. The monstrosity hardened to stone with a dying wail.

  Exhausted by the powerful magic, I staggered back to the demon entangled in Rhiannon’s intelligent bolas, Hercules. With the last of my strength, I uttered the incantation again, petrifying the last gallu and sending its soul—if it had one—back to the underworld.

  A black, bituminous slime coated my hand as I peeled it away. “Ew.”

  To my relief, the residue began to dissipate in a stream of foul smoke.

  Rhiannon slapped me on the back. “Nice spell work!”

  Picking up the Manual of Ancient Demonology, I flopped onto the cold, hard floor and stared at the patterns that adorned the Oriental Institute’s ceiling. As much as I adored museums, this was one of the unintended consequences of amassing ancient artifacts— you were never quite sure what people dug up in the early twentieth century.

  3

  “I’m so screwed.” I glared at my drink. My Southside cocktail was strong, but it hadn’t quite mellowed my mood.