The Hunter and the Hunted: Two Stories of the Otherworld

The Hunter and the Hunted: Two Stories of the Otherworld by Kelley Armstrong Page A

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Authors: Kelley Armstrong
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darkness.
    •  •  •
    As soon as my feet hit the floor, I leaped up, casting a light-ball spell.
    “What is it?” a voice whispered in the darkness.
    “A shade,” another hissed. “A mortal shade.”
    “No, it is more. Much more.”
    I conjured my sword then. Yes, technically against the rules when I’m not on angel duty, but those whispers weren’t in any human language. They were demonic.
    A four-foot glowing blue blade materialized in my hand. The Sword of Judgment. I swung it up, and all around me tiny forms skittered back, hissing and growling. I strode to the nearest one and impaled it on the end of my sword as the others shrieked curses. They didn’t interfere, though—they were just happy I’d skewered someone else.
    I lifted the squirming demon. It was an imp, actually, a type known as an oni. Ugly little beggar. In Japanese folklore, oni are big, hulking, ogre-like beasts. Personally, I think they just got themselves some good PR. They’re actually about two feet tall, humanoid, with blue skin, red hair, three eyes and long claws on their feet and hands, which I could hear as they scurried about, gibbering amongst themselves.
    Oni are usually thought of as a form of ghost, because the name is derived from the Japanese word for “hidden” or “conceal.” Another misunderstanding. They don’t hide themselves—they hide things. Items of value. Usually behind a secret demon gate, which they guard.
    I lifted the oni on my sword and peered at it, and when I did, it let out an ear-piercing shriek.
    “Balaam!” it cried. “Lord Balaam!”
    The imp tried to prostrate itself, which is really hard to do while dangling from a blade. Around it, the others began to whisper, their voices swirling through the darkness.
    “Yes, yes! So I said. More than a shade. Much more!”
    “Balaam’s daughter.”
    “The angel.”
    “Yet not an angel . . .”
    They moved forward now, sniffing and peering at me. I held my ground and listened.
    “Not an angel now. Balaam’s now.”
    “She comes for him. Her lord father.”
    “It is said that she works for him.”
    “Balaam is clever. Balaam is wise.”
    Actually, Balaam is neither. He’s a conniving bully who threatens and schemes and fights to get what he wants. Which explains a few things about his daughter, I guess.
    I stay as far from Balaam as I can, but I do understand him. I also understand that a whole lot of demons—and angels—think I’m a double agent for him. Pisses me off—I’m many things, but I’m not a traitor. Still, the rumor can be useful.
    So I didn’t argue. Just kept listening as they chattered.
    “He wants the book.”
    “Yes, he does. He’s heard of it. Someone has spoken.”
    “Someone will pay for his betrayal.”
    “But Balaam . . .”
    “Yes, Balaam . . .”
    Their voices came faster now, panicking and thinking as fast as their little brains could think, struggling for a way to get out of this without offending a very powerful demon.
    “Yes,” I said finally. “I’ve come for the book. It’s a very important one because it has been . . .” I took a guess. “Hidden for so long.”
    “Yes, yes. Hidden. Lost. But we found it. Yes, we did.”
    “Of course you did. The oni themselves are very wise, very clever. I’m not surprised they found this lost book of . . .”
    “Moses,” one helpfully supplied.
    “Right. The lost Book of Moses.” Seriously? Moses? What the hell?
    Yet it did twinge some buried memory. One about spells, which made absolutely no sense in the context of the dude who led the Israelites out of Egypt. I suppose I should know more about that—with a last name like Levine, I probably had ancestors making that trek with old Mo—but I wasn’t raised in the faith. Or any faith really.
    Still, if my brain wasn’t misfiring . . .
    A long-lost spell book? Hell and damn, now those were words to get my dead heart pumping.
    I tossed the oni off my sword tip and swung the blade,

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