by Alicia Wolfe
As Davril neared, I heard a noise behind me.
I spun just in time to see one of Angela’s thugs rounding the corner of the pyramidal glass roof. The glass was overgrown with dirt and grime, so I hadn’t seen him through it, and he obviously hadn’t seen me. His eyes widened and one of his hands flew to the gun in his shoulder holster. Evidently Angela had dispatched him to serve as a sentry up here, just in case. I would have to remember that she was no dummy.
Before the man could draw his gun, I whispered, “Vectalis molun!”
He still moved, but his movements suddenly slowed way down. The spell would only last three seconds, though. Meanwhile, the goon seemed to move in molasses. I rushed forward to knock his legs out from under him. Before I could, the second goon rounded the bend. He’d been just behind the first one, both making a circuit of the roof. As I swept the legs out from under the first goon (he seemed to fall in extra-fast-motion as the spell collapsed) the second goon crouched into a fighting stance. A ring on his finger glowed orange and a magical axe popped into existence in his hands.
Shit.
The first goon hit the roof. Reached for his gun. I kicked him in the head. The gun-reaching hand fell away.
The second goon stepped over the inert body of the first one and raised his axe high, meaning to slice me in two like a bagel.
“Vectalis molun,” I said.
The ring on his finger glowed brighter—that was the only change. He wore a charm that would protect him against certain spells. Damn it all. I moved backward, tripped on a vine, and hit the roof with my back. Crap.
The axe drove straight at my face.
Davril arrived.
Straddling me with his powerful legs, he grabbed the axe shaft in both hands, gripping it tight, and shoved it back against my attacker. The goon growled, low in his throat, and shoved down harder on the axe shaft. The blade of the axe was now perilously close to Davril’s handsome face.
I rolled to the side and tried to stand, but the first goon, stirring feebly, reached out and grabbed my ankle. I stumbled.
The second goon, using strength surely drawn from his ring, shoved even harder on his axe, and I could see the strain in Davril’s face as he resisted. The blade of the axe neared his cheek…closer…
Acting with sudden violence, he kicked the kneecap of his opponent. The man groaned in agony, then wilted to the roof. The axe spun out of his hands. He reached for it, but Davril had ripped out his own sword, luminous in the gloom, and was bringing it down. I glanced away as it connected with the goon’s chest, but I heard the thunk and saw a spray of blood.
The first goon had drawn his knife and was attempting to slash my Achilles’ tendon. Little bastard. I kicked him in the face, hard, and he went limp. The blade clattered to the roof.
“Are you all right?” Davril asked, coming to me.
I nodded raggedly. Glancing to the dead man, I said, “Did you have to kill him?”
As if it was an easy answer, Davril said simply, “He was an enemy engaged in mortal combat. You would have given him quarter?”
“I…maybe.” I waved it away. We could worry about such things later, if we survived.
Getting on my stomach, I crawled to the edge of the roof and looked down. The roof was of the same stone as the rest of the building save for the pyramid of glass at its center. Below the patrols still cut through the cemetery, and Angela and Blackfeather still stood before the main door. Good. No one had noticed our fight with the sentries.
BOOM!
The main doors crashed open.
Angela threw back her head and laughed. “You thought you could keep me out?” she shouted into the night. “You’d better think again!”
She stepped boldly into the interior of the mausoleum, and I couldn’t help but be a little admiring of her courage. Tough or not, she couldn’t know for sure what awaited in there, but she was determined to lead the charge inside. Blackfeather looked more timid, but I saw her swallow, square her shoulders, and follow her mistress in. Half of the goons had been waiting behind the two witches, obviously ready to storm the building with their mistresses, and they glanced at each other tensely, then moved inside.
I turned to Davril, who was already sweeping some of the dirt and grime away from one of the panes of the glass pyramid. Crawling over to him, I raised myself up on my hands and knees. Shoulder to shoulder, we stared down into the interior of the tomb. Instantly, I felt my face go numb.
Below us, a bizarre scene played out. Angela had entered a strange, circular chamber made of what looked like marble, with niches lining the walls. Each of the niches contained the upright corpse of a man or woman in flowing, brilliant ceremonial garments. Each was skeletal but containing some withered remains of flesh. In the center of this grisly circle, the only other thing in the room, was a stone bed upon which stretched the long, gnarly body of a demon.
Chapter 12
I clapped a hand over my mouth to prevent my gasp of shock from sounding too loud. Heart hammering, sweat stinging my eyes, I turned to Davril. His face had gone hard and flinty, and he stared down at the scene below with great intensity.
I turned back to study the body on the slab. Seven or eight feet tall (or long, lying down) it was clad in bronze-looking armor. Hooves jutted out where its feet should have been, and the skeletal remains of its wings stretched out behind it. Angela had to move around one as she neared the body. But the most telling features of all were the two grand horns curling up from its temples.
The flames, I thought. The flames on the mausoleum door. That was what they meant.
When I could, I said, making sure to keep my voice low, “Holy shit. That’s a demon. I…I didn’t even think they were real!”
“They’re real,” Davril said. “But what in the world is she doing with it?”
Angela had moved around to the demon’s head and was inspecting the horns. She turned and said something to Blackfeather—I couldn’t hear what she said from here—and Blackfeather handed her (I gasped again) a handsaw.
“Oh. My. God,” I said as Angela began sawing at the base of one of the dead demon’s horns.
I was aware Davril and I were shoulder to shoulder, our faces very close together as we gazed down upon the surreal scene below. When I turned to see how he was taking this, my lips almost grazed his cheek. Almost. I was so surprised I momentarily forgot what I’d been about to say, so when he turned to see what I had been turning toward him for, my halfway parted mouth was very close to his own…as he opened his to speak.
“Yes?”
“I…” My heart pounded. Focus, Jade! The witch is sawing off a demon horn. Getting myself together, I said, “Whatever she wants that thing for, it can’t be good.”
“No,” Davril agreed. “She had her minion attack the Queen, failed, then went to retrieve this horn.” He frowned. “No, that’s not right. Marko said she intended to come here whether the attack was successful or not. Something’s not adding up. But in any case, she needed one horn to find another.”
We turned back to watch the scene unfold below. Our cheeks were almost pressed together, and I could feel heat radiating off him. I could smell him, too, a sort of sandalwood aroma mixed with clean sweat.
Below, Angela finished sawing off the demon’s horn, then held it aloft. Her goons muttered and made expressions of awe. Blackfeather produced a carefully embroidered and surely warded cloth bag, then held it open while Angela very slowly lowered the horn into it, then removed her hands from the bag. Once she was clear, Blackfeather jerked the strings around the bag’s opening, sealing it shut.
“I don’t think so,” Davril said.
Abruptly, he stood and ripped out his sword, which glowed whitely in the night.
I stared up at him with wide eyes. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Preventing that witch making off with the horn. She obviously means the Queen harm. Now stand aside.”
“What…?”
He didn’t wait
for me but kicked at the glass pyramid, raining glass down on the witches and their thralls below. I heard cries and swears rise through the hole in the glass.
“Davril,” I said, “please don’t do anything stup—”
He jumped down through the opening he’d created in the roof of the tomb and sailed through the air. Heart stuttering, I pressed my face through the gap to see him alight nimbly on the marble floor, shattered glass shining in the light of the flashlights under him, bright sword making his steel blue eyes seem to spark.
“You will give that horn to me,” he demanded.
Angela had drawn back from the rain of shattered glass, and now she eyed Davril up and down. “Who are you?” she said.
“Lord Davril Stormguard, Knight of the Fae Court, and you will have your apprentice drop that bag and order your people to surrender. Do that and I can assure you that things will go easier for you.”
Mistress Angela half-smirked. To Blackfeather, she said, “Take that and go.”
Blackfeather nodded. Gripping the bag tightly, she spun about and left the chamber. Half the goons detached and went with her, obviously knowing that safeguarding the horn was key. I knew they would be joining even more guards outside. Shit.
Sweat stung my eyes even more fiercely as I watched Davril face off against Mistress Angela. Should I leap down there and join him? I was strong and nimble for a human, but I didn’t think I could survive the drop, at least not without breaking my legs. The fall had to be at least twenty feet onto solid marble strewn with broken glass. I had rope in my utility belt, though.
As I flipped the pouch containing the rope open, Angela was turning from watching Blackfeather depart to Davril advancing on her.
“I don’t want to hurt a woman,” he said.
“Then you’re a fool.” Waving her golden antler at the upright bodies of the demon’s priests that lined the circular wall in their niches, she said, “Gurum pilgaza!”
To my shock, the bodies stirred in their niches…then stepped out of them.
The goons swore and jumped away from the walls, gathering around Angela as if to protect her, though I knew they really wanted protection from her.
Smiling hideously, the witch pointed at Davril. “Get him!”
Without hesitation, the dusty, decrepit but still horrifying corpses swiveled to face the handsome, daring Fae Knight, and I could see something that looked like hungry malice flicker across their withered, skeletal faces. Davril’s eyes narrowed, and his jaw set grimly.
“Eat well, darlings,” Angela told the zombies. With that, she shot Davril the finger, spun about, and swept from the chamber, taking her wide-eyed goons with her.
“You will face justice!” Davril called at her back. “You—”
The stone door slammed shut, magically sealing him in with the dead ones.
The undead things closed in on him, their hands gnarled like talons. Their ancient, half-broken teeth, jutting like filthy knives from their jawbones, flashed as they snapped their jaws with surprising strength. They might be dead, but they weren’t weak. They possessed unnatural strength.
Davril swung his sword, slicing through the neck of the first one. The creature wobbled for a moment, then listed sideways and fell. The other four closed in, hands clutching and mouths snapping.
I ripped out the rope, attached the grappling hook to the lip of the hole in the roof, then dropped the line down, meaning to swing down and join Davril in repelling the zombie priests. Before I could, something grabbed my ankle. Startled, I turned to see the sentry I’d rendered unconscious gripping me tightly.
“Damn you,” I said. Maybe Davril had been right to kill the other sentry.
I kicked him in the face—again—and the man collapsed backward, but he still gripped my ankle. When he went backward, he yanked my leg out from under me. I toppled, almost going through the hole in the glass, but at the last moment I adjusted my weight and fell to the stone ceiling.
The sentry and I scrambled to our feet at the same time. He had lost his gun in our first encounter, but now his eyes scanned the roof for it. With my shifter senses, I could see better in the dark than he could and I picked it out right away.
It was behind him. Shit. No help to me.
“It’s behind you,” I said.
“What?”
He glared at me, then, unable to help himself, turned his head around to peer backward. I sprang forward and kicked him in the chest, hurling him back…over his gun…and past the edge of the roof. He screamed as he fell through the air, and I couldn’t help but wince as I heard him smack the ground below.
“Serves you right, asshole,” I said.
I hurried to the hole in the glass. Below, Davril was swinging his sword and kicking out. He rolled and punched and slashed as the undead priests tried to rip and bite him. He had no armor and he was surrounded, and they were possessed of unholy strength. He cut off one’s head, then another one’s outstretched arms.
Only two left. I cheered.
Then, as I was preparing to swing down to join him, the dead demon on the slab stirred. The empty eye sockets blazed with fire, and one of the hooves kicked. Davril had been backing away from the last two zombie priests…right toward the slab. I think he’d meant to climb onto it and make his last stand there.
“Behind you,” I called, only belatedly realizing that that was what I’d just told the sentry.
Davril quickly glanced over his shoulder, saw the demon lurching up into a sitting position, and adjusted his path around the stone bed. Good call.
He was in real trouble. He might have been able to take on five zombie priests, but I had serious doubts whether anyone could take on that demon. I sure as hell—pun fully intended—didn’t want to find out.
I grabbed the rope and jiggled it, drawing his attention to the cord.
“Climb up!” I said. “Climb!”
Davril hesitated a moment, his face shiny with sweat. He was reluctant to retreat even in the face of overwhelming odds. He was too macho for his own good.
“Don’t be stupid,” I said. “Climb!”
He hacked one last time, chopping through the wrist bone of a zombie, then thrust his sword back into its sheath and grabbed the rope with both hands. He began climbing hand over hand even as the zombies closed in around him and the demon struggled to his feet. It shook its now-one-horned head as if to clear away the cobwebs of death, then seemed to see Davril climbing to safety.
“Hurry!” I shouted.
The two zombies clutched at Davril’s ankles, trying to drag him off the rope to his death.
“I don’t think so,” I muttered, digging through my pouches.
Selecting a tili seed, I threw it down toward the marble floor of the death chamber and said the words, “Avructa si lumpath!”
As soon as the seed hit the marble, tentacles burst from it, grabbing up anything in their way. One went round the waist of the demon and lifted him while others snatched at the zombies. I knew the tentacles couldn’t hurt them—it wasn’t that kind of spell, unfortunately—but it could slow them down. I nearly panicked when one of the tentacles reached toward Davril.
“Fuck,” I said, unable to stop myself.
Davril kicked the tentacle away and kept climbing. I grabbed the rope and heaved, straining my muscles, trying to pull him. I could feel an intense pressure in my back, and my arms quivered. Davril was heavy. Fortunately, he was agile and quick, and he reached the top much faster than I’d anticipated. Even while I was still straining, his hands fastened onto the lip of the roof and he surged up and over, knocking me down.
Gasping, I stared up into his face. His body was pinning me down. Red-faced and sweaty, clearly on fire from the fight, he stared down into my face, and I could see that he was sort of smiling. He had nearly been eaten by zombies and God-knows-what by an undead hellspawn, and he was grinning!
My legs had gone around his waist. For a breathless, eternal moment, we stayed that way, and I couldn’t help
but relish his touch just a little. I thought he was enjoying it, too. Judging by the lusty glints in his eyes, he was.
He cleared his throat, rolled off me, then stood, holding a hand out for me. I accepted, let him pull me up, then tried to cover my unease by dusting myself off.
He peered down into the chamber. “How long will that hold them?”
“Not long,” I admitted. “We’d better get going.”
He nodded. I retrieved my rope, then we moved to the edge of the roof and began climbing down, using the vines and gargoyles for handholds. The two witches and their goons had vanished, having gotten what they came for. They apparently hadn’t bothered sending out a search party to look for the two sentries Davril and I had taken care of. Mistress Angela was all heart.
Just as Davril and I touched the ground, I heard a deep, unearthly roar, and a chill ran down my spine.
“The demon,” I said, knowing it must be true. “That was the demon!”
Davril opened his mouth to reply, but just then glass shattered loudly. My head snapped up as a dark figure flew upward, and a swell of dismay ran through me when I saw those skeletal bat-like wings spread out from it. They may be skeletal, but apparently they worked well enough. Then again, their ability to fly came more from magic, I sensed, than physics. The undead demon paused, silhouetted against the strange stars, and I could see its eyes burning in its skull.
Those eyes fell on Davril and me.
“Run,” I said, and tugged Davril in the direction of an alley. He hesitated, still clearly hating to flee an enemy, but he obviously knew his duty was to his queen, not his pride, and that he had better live through this if he was going to help her. He obeyed.
We plunged into an alley between mausoleums. I turned my head, just once, to see the demon tuck its wings and dive after us. Its two surviving undead priests, meanwhile, were just scrambling onto the roof of the mausoleum, possibly having used the tentacles as ropes, or hell, who knew, maybe they could fly, too. Then I faced forward again and nearly stumbled. Davril righted me and we ran on.
