It was something I might have said in Toscano, back when the world had still been on its course, not descended into insanity. I’d thought I was fucked-up then but beginning to heal. I hadn’t had any idea of how fucked-up it could get.
A nasty little voice inside my head whispered that maybe I didn’t have any idea now, either.
“You could,” he finally said. “I would answer.”
“You always do.” The darkness behind my closed lids made it easier to say. “Somehow.”
“I have not been kind to you.” The words came out in a rush, as if he’d been sitting on them for a while and just now set them free. “What I have done, I have done with the best of intent. You must believe me.”
“Sure.” Who the hell else do I have to believe? “Look, Japh, it’s okay. You don’t have to.”
Meaning, I’m not in any position to throw stones when it comes to good intent. Meaning, you came for me, even when you didn’t have to. Meaning, someone else hurt me, not you. Meaning other things, too, things I couldn’t say. There might have been a time when I could have opened up my mouth and spilled everything, but that time was long gone.
Besides, he probably wouldn’t understand anyway even if I could say it. I had been reduced more than once to incoherence by his inability to comprehend the simplest things about me.
I didn’t hear him cross the room, but his breath touched my hair. The warmth of him radiated against my back. “We do only what we must.” Each word touched my hair like a lover’s fingers, raised prickles on my nape. Precious few people got this close to me. “You more than most, I think. May I ask you something?”
Oh, gods. “If you want.” The stone lodged in my throat coated itself with ice, froze the words halfway.
He paused. His fingers touched my left shoulder, skating over the fabric of my shirt. My chin dipped, shoulders unstringing, losing their tension.
Maybe I could relax for just a few seconds. I needed it. I was on the knife-edge of psychosis—too much violence, too high an emotional pitch for too long. It was a wonder I hadn’t had a psychotic break yet. I just wanted to curl up somewhere and rest, close my eyes and shut out the world.
Trouble was, the world doesn’t take too kindly to being shut out.
The hover lifted, gravity turning over underneath my stomach. We were in a holding pattern, drifting quietly over the tallest mountain in the world.
Except the one inside my head, that was. The one standing between me and any semblance of reasonable humanity. I heard Lucas mutter something outside the door, the sound of metal clinking—ammo, probably. Leander’s muffled reply was short and terse.
Japhrimel sighed. It was a very human sound, stirring my hair as a soft rustling began. When his arms came around me I didn’t pull away, but neither did I lean back into him. His wings unfolded, rippling as they closed around me, heavy and silken. Spice and demon musk freighted the air, carrying the indefinable smell of maleness and the faint tinge of leather and gunpowder that was his, unique.
His wings draped bonelessly, the slice of starshine coming through the porthole closed off as they cocooned us, liquid heat painting my skin. He was always so warm.
A very long time ago I’d read a treatise on Greater Flight demons and their wings. It is a tremendous show of vulnerability, almost submission, for a demon of Japhrimel’s class to close his wings around another being. The writer of the treatise—a post-Awakening Magi whose shadowjournal had been more difficult than most to decipher—hadn’t used the word trust, but I’d inferred it anyway, fully aware of imputing human emotions to something… not human.
I just couldn’t stop doing it. Not when I made a short broken sound, all my air leaving me in a half-sob, and relaxed, abruptly, all at once against him.
The darkness behind my eyelids turned kind and comforting. He held me carefully, resting his chin atop my head and occasionally shifting his weight as the hover banked. His pulse came strong and sure, one beat to every three of mine.
“I thought to ask your forgiveness,” he murmured, his voice a thin thread of gold in the stillness. “I thought to ask if you regretted our meeting. I also thought to ask…”
I waited, but he said nothing more. How am I supposed to answer either of those questions, Japhrimel? You hurt me, manipulated me… but you always show up just when I’m about to get strangled by yet another demon. And if I never met you Santino would still be alive, Doreen would be unavenged—but maybe Jace and Gabe and Eddie would still be alive, too.
If I’d never met you the Lourdes hunt would have killed me. A thin shiver walked up my spine with tiny, icy claws. Taking on a Feeder’s ka birthed from the ruins of Rigger Hall would have been chancy at best for even a fully-trained Necromance. Maybe I would have been strong enough, maybe not.
Probably not. I would have been only human, after all. If I hadn’t met him.
If he hadn’t changed me in so many ways. The physical changes were only the least of them.
How could I even begin to untangle it all? Lies and truth and hate and need, all twisted together into a rope. Even as it burned my hands and dragged me down, at least that rope could be counted on to yank me back out of the abyss. Every other safety net I’d ever had was gone.
Tell him the truth, Danny, if you can admit it. Tell him you wish you’d never seen his face. Tell him you wish he and Lucifer had just left you alone instead of fucking you up so bad you can’t even think straight, so bad you can’t even talk to your god anymore.
Go ahead, sunshine. Deliver the bad news. It might even hurt him.
My fingers relaxed, my katana dangling from my left hand. The rig was heavy, straps cutting into my shoulders, weapons poking at odd places. In a while the leather and hilts would conform to me, would be unfelt until I needed them.
Tell him, Dante. You’re always so proud of telling the truth and keeping your Word. Look where it’s gotten you. Tell him.
“I’m glad I met you.” The lie sounded natural. For once, I delivered an untruth, and I meant it while I said it, too. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Japhrimel’s weight pitched forward, resting fully on me for one heavy second. He straightened, a small sound escaping his lips as if I’d hit him. “Forgive me?” he whispered. It sounded less like a question, more like a plea.
What am I supposed to say to that? The answer came, and I was grateful for it. “If you forgive me.” We can be even, this once. Can’t we?
“There is nothing to forgive.” He sounded more like himself, contained and even. His arms tightened, and for a moment his wings pulled even closer, warm scented air touching my wet cheeks.
I didn’t know I was crying. I hadn’t cried since Gabe’s death. Not so long ago, really, but it felt like a lifetime.
The hover banked into a curve, Japh’s weight shifting. He inhaled, his breath moving against my hair, and his body tightened the merest fraction. I knew that tension in him, had shared it so many times. It was a subtle invitation to have a conversation in the most intimate way, skin-on-skin, the only language we ever truly shared.
I flinched.
Japhrimel froze.
I struggled to contain the urge to flinch again. He had never hurt me in the private space of our shared bed. It was ridiculous to think he ever would.
Still, my body turned cold, the tears changing to ice on my cheeks, a black hole where something had been torn out by the roots opening in my head, my body robbed of its integrity. My own voice, breaking as I screamed, echoed up from that well of darkness.
Don’t think about that. Don’t.
When he moved again, it was to reach up, smoothing my hair. His fingertips were unerringly gentle, not even a prickle to remind me of his claws. I remembered to breathe again, took a deep steadying gulp of warm air full of his goddamn safe-smelling pheromones.
“I’m sorry.” Memory curved, overlapped—how many times had I said the same thing to Doreen, to other lovers? How many times had I apologized for my inability to respond,
my coldness, the echoes of trauma lingering in my head blocking me from accepting even the smallest gift of touch? “Japh, I—”
“No.” At least he didn’t sound angry. “Leave it be, hedaira.”
“What if…” What if I can’t ever go there with you again? What if I can’t ever stand to have anyone touch me again?
He inhaled again, smelling me, his ribs expanding to make his chest brush my back. It was a relief to find out I didn’t want to cower away from that touch. “It doesn’t matter.”
“But—”
“It does not matter. You will heal. When you’re ready, we shall see.” His fingers combed through my hair, infinitely soothing.
I had to ask. “What if I’m never ready?” What if I don’t own my own body, ever again?
“Then we will find another way.” The darkness changed as his wings unfurled, slowly, flowing back down to armor him even as his arms remained around me. He let out a short, soft sigh. “But first, we have a Prince to kill and our freedom to accomplish.”
Just those two little things? Sure, we can get that done in an afternoon. An unhealthy, sniggering laugh rose up in my throat, was mercilessly strangled, and died away. “Japh?”
“Hm?” He sounded just as he always did. Except for the banked rage under the surface of his tone.
“I feel… dirty.” Unclean. Filthy, as a matter of fact. I couldn’t frame the question I needed answered most.
Does that matter to you?
He was silent for a long, long moment. Finally, he spoke into my hair, a mere thread of sound. “I did too, my beloved, when Lucifer broke me to his will. I healed. In time, you will.”
His arm uncoiled from my waist and he stepped away, quickly. His retreat to the door was killing-silent, but I felt every step in my own body. I kept my eyes tightly shut. Oh, gods. “You mean he—”
“It is one of his preferred methods.” The door opened, a slight click as he turned the handle. “We shall be landing soon. Bring your weapons, and especially the Knife. I regret there is not more time for rest, but we must move.”
CHAPTER 14
Wind moaned against antennae and landing-struts. The buffeting increased as Tiens held the hover steady. McKinley tapped a knifehilt, his metallic left hand clenching and releasing as he stared over the Nichtvren’s shoulder at a wilderness of rock and snow. The air was thinner up here, so the hover had more bounce; even inside the pressurized seals the weight against eardrums made Leander and Lucas yawn in synchrony, their faces contorting. I could have found that amusing, but I was busy going through my rig one last time, making sure each projectile gun, plasgun, knife, and stiletto was in place. Vann had produced a sheath that fit the half-Knife, a nice bit of leatherwork with two straps for attaching it to a rig. The Knife’s humming, malignant force was uncomfortable against my left hip, but better there than in my bag where I couldn’t get to it if another demon showed up.
I’m not sure I like it. My skin chilled as Sephrimel’s dying screech echoed in my memory, over the hideous sucking sound the Knife made. Still, if it’ll get the job done… but are we sure it will? It’s only made of wood, for fuck’s sake.
I ducked through the strap of my bag and settled it on my hip, scooping up Fudoshin from the bolted-down table. Add it to the list of things to think about later, sunshine. Right now there’s a job to be done.
Story of my life. Push it away so you can get it done, whatever it is. Worry about the cost later.
After a certain point, it’s useless to worry about the debt you’ve built up. Just put your head down and go straight through, and hope it doesn’t hurt too much. Just like a slicboard run through Suicide Alley back home.
“This is as close as I can bring us, m’sieu.” The Nichtvren’s face was bathed in eerie blue from reflected starlight, the tips of his canines showing as his upper lip pulled back and he finessed the hover down to land. Leafsprings creaked and the hover kissed down as sweetly as a sheet settling over a tethered hoverbed, despite the tilt to the soft landing surface that had gyros whining as the craft stabilized.
It really takes a human touch to land a hover right, especially on a deep snowpack likely to shift and settle in unexpected ways. AIs just can’t do it. Though how far I would go toward calling a bloodsucking predator human I don’t know.
“Close enough.” Japhrimel leaned down slightly, peering out the observation bubble. There was nothing out there but snow, rock, and a sheer cliff face going straight up. It looked damn cold.
“Someone is certain to be watching.” McKinley couldn’t contain himself any longer. “At the very least, let us come with you. Or leave her here with us. If they—”
“Nobody’s leaving me anywhere,” I immediately objected. “I’ve had enough of being left with you to fill me to the back teeth.” And then some. Fudoshin rattled in his scabbard, sensing my readiness, I steadied myself with an effort.
“If the Prince catches her here, he’ll kill her. Especially now that she’s free of the…” Vann caught himself, leaning against the hull on the other side of the control bubble. Tiens’s fingers flicked, going through procedural cooldowns to keep the hover landed but ready to take off again at the slightest notice.
He’s already had his chance to kill me, kid. I shuddered. Besides, he still needs me as bait, whether I’ve got that thing in me or not.
Japh clasped his hands behind his back again. “She is hedaira. The Knife was made for a hedaira’s hand; demonkin cannot tolerate the thing. Even a Fallen cannot, for long. It is best she accompanies me for that reason alone.” His tone was quiet and reasonable. “All is well, Vann.”
McKinley spoke up again, running his hand back through his hair so it stood up in messy spikes. “My Lord? Who knew about Sephrimel?”
“As far as I am aware, I am the only one who suspected. The Prince left the matter in my hands.” Japhrimel did not even glance in my direction. The wind screeched and fell off, stinging particles of snow rattling against the bubble. “That was of the time when he was certain of my loyalty.”
“When did that stop?” I laid a hand against the chill plasglass of the nearest porthole. The hull vibrated, not with the whine of antigrav but with the force of the wind.
It looked damn cold out there.
“When I Fell.” Japh’s coat fluttered once in the stillness. “I shall need the item I left in your care, McKinley.”
“Yes, my Lord.” McKinley quit fidgeting and strode away, disappearing at the far end of the main cabin, heading for the cargo bay.
“M’sieu?” Tiens half-turned in the pilot’s chair. “I may accompany you?”
“Thank you, Tiens. I require only my hedaira.” Japhrimel half-turned, his gaze sweeping across the cabin and fetching up against Leander, who hunched in a chair, staring out a low porthole at a waste of ice and rock falling away from the narrow sloped shelf we were precariously perched on. The Necromance glanced up, and the flash of fear in his dark eyes was enough to make my breath catch.
I knew what it was like to feel that frightened of a demon. How could I ever forget?
Distract him, Danny. Let’s get this show on the road. “It looks goddamn cold out there. Where are we going?”
Japhrimel’s reply came after a long moment of considering silence, the color draining from Leander’s face and his emerald spitting a single nervous spark.
“The entrance is very close.” My Fallen still didn’t turn to look at me. “The cold will not touch you.”
Entrance to where? “There’s nothing up here.” I wanted his attention on me. “This is a Freetown Tibet historical zone. It’s Chomo Lungma, for fuck’s sake. They wouldn’t let anyone build—”
“It is older than your kind, my curious.” He turned away from Leander on one heel, a precise economical movement. “Come. If ’tis to be done, best it were done quickly.”
I didn’t know you were a student of the classics, Japh. “If Lucifer doesn’t know—”
“It is,” he said, “always be
tter not to underestimate him.”
* * *
The cargo bay was dark, lit only by orandflu and stacked with crates of supplies. I caught sight of a pile of ammo boxes while I shrugged into the coat Vann had handed me—an explorer’s canvas number with plenty of pockets, slightly too big for me, and smelling too new to remind me of Jace’s old coat with its Kevlar panels and the hole in one pocket. I’d lost that one, with everything else except my bag and jewelry, in Hell.
Strange that I should suddenly want, with surprising fierceness, a battered, sweat-stained old jacket. I’d worn Jace’s coat at the end of the Lourdes hunt and for a long time afterward, while the ghost of his scent wore out of the tough fabric. I wanted it back.
It was only one thing in a long list that I wanted back. I stuffed two fresh ammo clips into the biggest right-side pocket, thought about it, and added another in the left. You never can tell.
McKinley handed over a small cylindrical iron container, darkly stained and reeking of demon. “Are you sure you want to use this?”
“What better time?” Japhrimel’s tone was just amused enough to put me on edge. “Dante?”
“Right here.” I flipped my bag closed, caught a whiff of Hell drifting up from its material. The strap was seamless, as if it had never been broken, the webbing reknitted. It’s a good thing he’s so great at sewing, with the amount of laundry I bleed all over. I caught McKinley’s nervous glance at me and the reply died well short of my throat.
Feeling better, Danny? You’re wisecracking again. Means you’re okay, right?
Right?
“Thank you, McKinley. Inform Tiens and Vann that we shall only be a short time, and to keep our transport ready.” It was a dismissal, Japhrimel’s back was to me as he triggered the side-hatch from the cargo bay. The lens of the hatch opened, climate-control seals shimmering into life, and the sound of the wind got a lot closer. The seals bowed a little, stabilizing, and I clenched my jaw to equalize the pressure in my ear canals.
“Yes, my Lord.” McKinley gave me one last dark look and hurried toward the ladder leading up to the main hall.
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