Page 1 of A Study of Blood and Ichor

ONE

Ava

The sour stench of ichor flooded my senses as I raced through the corridors of the Moreau Coven. It hung heavy in the air and on the fighting leathers of the witches and half-demon cambion hunters who had just returned from the field.

As familiar as I was with the scent of demon blood, it still didn’t keep my gut from churning with unease, bordering on revulsion. I couldn’t help but send up a silent thanks that my vocation kept me off the front lines. As a demonologist, my place was always behind the walls of the estate. I was a scholar, never a fighter. I was built for books and knowledge. Not bloodshed and ichor.

“Out of the way!” someone shouted at me as they shoved past.

The raid tonight on a demon nest had forced the infirmary beds to flood out into the hall. Soft cries, groans, and keening wails pierced my ears, every sound causing me to wince.

Healers leaned over the wounded with their elixirs and palms aglow with the warmth of their restorative magic and spells. The cambion fighters might recover well enough with the help of their demonic heritage, but we witches were mortal. Even in passing, the severity of many of their injuries was obvious, as judged by the deep lacerations through soft abdominal flesh, the torn and mangled limbs, the pools of blood—too much blood…I had to wonder how many of them would die tonight.

I couldn’t squeeze past the bodies fast enough. My heart was in my throat, and my boots thudded against the worn carpets and cracked herringbone tiles as I flew through the rest of the east wing of the estate. Working my way down the grand staircase and into the foyer, only more blood and ichor greeted me.

Our coven, which usually felt like a safe house, looked like a war zone. A few weapons laid abandoned, surely left in the chaos to tend to the wounded. Fighting leathers had been discarded, some left in tattered ribbons amongst pools of crimson and tar-black blood that starkly contrasted the white of the marble floors. I took care not to track my steps through them as I pressed on toward the cellar stairs.

The itch of excitement had the tips of my fingers buzzing and my breath catching in my throat. Because beneath the underbelly of our coven’s fortified walls, a demon had been captured.

It wasn’t often that a live demon was brought in for my study anymore. Though they ran rampant in our world, having escaped from the dark rifts that separated their realm from ours, they were far too dangerous to be kept alive for longer than necessary. So, while to most, the very thought of a demon at all—let alone one being kept within our walls—was horrifying, to a studied demonologist like myself, my warped fascination of their kind only shot a thrill through me.

I paused at the base of the steps, my hand resting on the wooden door, and squeezed my eyes shut.

Steady your heartbeat, I told myself. Clear your mind.

Even with a decade of demonology study under my belt, no amount of training ever felt like enough when coming face to face with one of them. But as much as the prospect of it was damn-near petrifying, there was no denying the accompanying excitement that made my body practically hum with restless zeal.

Rolling my shoulders back, I pushed open the heavy door and strode into the entryway of the cellar. The familiar stale musk of wet rock and decay invaded my nostrils, and my footsteps echoed off the stone of the open chambered space.

Lena Moreau, the High Witch of our coven, stood tall with her back facing me and two other witches at her side. She was a striking image of authority when adorned in her official High Witch regalia. Her wavy golden hair spilled over her shoulders, which stood out against the cobalt-blue robe that pooled onto the floor around her. The silver rings adorning her slender fingers glinted in the flickering lights from the sconces along the old walls.

I had to force myself not to audibly groan when I noticed who escorted her. Thomas, I had been expecting. But I didn’t miss the sharp glare that Luke gave me from halfway across the room, his stern features already set into a deep scowl from the sight of me alone.

“You’re late, Ava,” Lena said coldly at my approach.

Sometimes it was easy to forget that Lena was only fifteen years my senior. She was one of the youngest High Witches ever appointed within any coven, and a little over a decade in the position had not been kind to her, given the state of dark circles around her eyes and rather pallid complexion.

“Have you been briefed yet?” she asked me.

“No,” I said. “I rushed down as soon as I heard.”

Lena gnawed at the corner of her lip, a habit I’d quickly learned to mean she was fighting hard to bite back her annoyance.

“Our hunters subdued a demon during the raid and brought it here for interrogation. We currently have it contained in the Hull.”

The Hull? It must be a very powerful demon if they had been forced to keep it there. The rest of the holding cages and cells below the estate were strong enough to keep most lesser demons suppressed, so The Hull was only used on the rarest occasions. I could only recall a handful of times during my assignment at Moreau that it had been necessary for more powerful higher demons.

“Thomas,” Lena said, “make sure the wards are sufficient. No cracks, no weak spots. We don’t want to risk the demon escaping…for all of our sakes.” Her warning tone made my heart race faster. I reminded myself to tamp any anxiety before we confronted the demon.

Show no weakness. Give them nothing that can be used against you.

I repeated that mantra while I built up the walls of my mental shields that kept my thoughts and emotions contained, while also keeping the likelihood of a demon’s prying claws out.

I made the mistake of catching Luke’s hardened stare and glanced away before the look turned my stomach. If it weren’t for the fact that he was Lena’s attendant which forced him to be at her side for all hours of the day, I was sure that he’d rather be literally anywhere else if it only meant he wasn’t forced to be in my presence. The feeling was decidedly mutual.

The High Witch’s dark eyes fell upon me as she said, “Ava, you know the procedure. You are to observe only for this session.”

“Yes, Lena,” I affirmed, meeting her gaze.

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