Maxon

by Christina Bauer

  Suddenly, the rat’s stone eyes move with purpose. Now, it can see.

  Silas turns to me, his irises flaring demon red. His face becomes contorted in the way that only nightmares can achieve.

  “Think you’re free?” he asks. “I’ll find you and harvest you. I promised I would.”

  “You never will,” my thirteen-year-old self cries. “Namare will find me. You’ll make a deal with her. She’ll let you live and you’ll set me free.”

  Silas’s face stretches in an odd way. “You’ll always be my girl.”

  “You can’t do anything to me. This is a dream.”

  “I can do anything. I’m a demon. Prepare to be harvested.”

  Fear zings through my limbs. Turning my heel, I take off at a run into the labyrinth of cages. Silas follows, always one step behind. My mind blanks with terror. Suppose he really can get to me here? What if I finally die in my nightmare? All my thoughts narrow down to one plan.

  Find somewhere safe to hide.

  My dream-self crawls back inside my cage and cowers into my mangy blanket. Silas’s footsteps grow louder.

  Once again, I become aware that I’m dreaming, and that I never can stop this particular nightmare. No matter what I do, Silas always finds me, harvesting my soul with a blow of his hammer.

  But not this time.

  Instead, my threadbare blanket feels warm and safe. I curl deeper under the covers, crying softly.

  After that, I wake up.

  Blinking hard to clear my head, I find myself back in Maxon’s chambers. Heavy arms encircle me. I rub my eyes, trying to make my sleepy mind process what’s going on. That’s when I realize what’s happening.

  Maxon is holding me, rocking me softly.

  “Shhh, Lianna,” he says in a low and soothing voice. “Everything’s okay. You’re safe.”

  “What… Why are you here?”

  “I heard crying and came in to check on you.”

  “And I climbed across the bed and right into your lap, didn’t I?”

  “That you did.” He lets out a low rumble of a laugh. “Am I complaining?”

  “I guess not.” I exhale a long breath. “Thanks.”

  “Any time.”

  A droplet of water smacks into my cheek. My hands shake as I wipe it off. “Did a pipe break or something?”

  “More like the ‘or something.’ You summoned a rain storm in your sleep.”

  “I did not. Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  Sure enough, more water drips down from the ceiling, the curtains, even the light fixtures. Little puddles cover the wooden floor. I close my eyes and make the water vanish. The place is still in need of a good cleaning, though. Already, the scent of mold hangs heavy in the air.

  “Sorry about the room.”

  “Don’t apologize,” says Maxon. “Even if you trash the place, I’ve tons more bedrooms.” Maxon rubs my back in slow circles. My limbs start to relax. “Did you have a nightmare?”

  Nodding, I curl deeper into his chest. It’s like my body was made to be held by him. “Of a demon I once knew. I was his prisoner. Namare rescued me.”

  “What kind?”

  “One of the Incarnate.”

  Maxon lets out a low whistle. “Damn, Lianna. That’s Class A. No wonder you have nightmares.” His arms tighten around me. “How’d you end up with him?”

  For a long time, I sit in his arms, not answering. Dozens of emotions battle it out inside me. Fear, anger, and shame top the list. I don’t know if I can tell him about Silas.

  There’s no pressure from Maxon to talk, only the regular rhythm of his hand on my back. After as few minutes, my mouth seems to move on its own.

  “My parents loved nature. We lived in a cabin in the middle of the Colorado mountains. No demons around, at least none that we knew of. Still, Silas found us. One night he came in and threatened my parents. They were good warriors. Silas knew my parents could hurt him, but not kill him outright. So, he offered them a deal. If my parents promised not to fight back, Silas promised not to harvest me until my sixteenth birthday. I was only thirteen then. Mom and Dad hoped I’d find a way to escape.”

  Maxon kisses my head. “Go on.”

  “After that, Silas kept me in his basement, making me his assistant until I came of age.”

  I brace myself, waiting for Maxon to change the subject. When I shared this story with Fisk, he basically bolted out of the room. We never spoke about it after that day.

  A long pause follows before Maxon speaks again.

  “I get them, too, you know,” he says quietly.

  I pull on my earlobe, not sure if I heard him right. Did Maxon just say what I thought he said?

  “What do you mean? You get nightmares?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What do you see?”

  Another stretch of silence follows. Anxiety hangs in the air like a physical thing. All of a sudden, I feel like an ass for pushing him to open up.

  “You don’t have to tell me,” I say quickly. “It’s not like we’ve known each other for a million years.” Or even a full day.

  “It’s not you. I don’t talk about it. With anyone.”

  “Why not?”

  The moment the words are out of my mouth, I wish I could pull them back in. What is it about Maxon that makes me spill whatever’s on my mind?

  Maxon sighs. “Most people in my world, they think that they know evil. I tell them about me, I shatter whatever they thought. I can’t do that to the people I care about.”

  I nod into his chest. “I get that.”

  “I thought you would.” He starts talking fast, like if he stops he’ll never say anything at all. “In my nightmares, I relive something that happened to me as a kid. You know my story, yeah?”

  “Sure.” Everyone knows how Maxon was kidnapped to Hell when he was three years old. His parents broke in and rescued him.

  “The King of Hell, Armageddon, kept me in this metal prison box. When I have nightmares, I’m back in there.”

  I open my mouth, ready to push for more of the story. Maxon senses my movement and his torso stiffens.

  Time to change the subject.

  “Thanks for coming in to help.”

  “Anytime.”

  The way he says the word is so tender, something inside me snaps. Hot tears roll down my cheeks. Maxon holds me closer. For the first time in I can’t remember how long, I cry my eyes out. Minutes pass before I’m able to get my head together again.

  “Sorry about that,” I say.

  “About what?”

  “Turning into a crybaby. Not what you expected from a warrior like me, huh?”

  He kisses my forehead. “Will you promise me something?”

  “What?”

  “Don’t ever think you’re not a warrior because you have nightmares. You have to be plenty strong to face those.” He cups my face in his hand, guiding me to meet his gaze. “And your soul is strong as steel, beautiful.”

  A warm feeling seeps through my chest. That’s about the nicest thing anyone has said to me, ever.

  “I never thought of it that way. Thanks.”

  “You should get some more sleep.” He tosses a soggy pillow from the bed. “Not here, though.”

  I look around the destroyed room. Wallpaper sags toward the floor. Furniture is smashed against the walls. The rug stinks of mold. And that’s when it happens. I get in one of those moods where I can’t stop saying sorry, even though I’m starting to annoy myself. “Sorry again about the room.”

  “Nah, it’s like I told you. I don’t care. There’s another just like it across the hall.” Before I know what’s happening, he scoops me up into his arms and carries me away. I debate asking him to put me down, but honestly? It’s really nice to be held and carried like this. Every inch of me feels safe and cozy.

  Plus, it doesn’t last that long. Before I know it, Maxon is setting me down onto the new bed.

  “Do you need something else to sleep in?” he
asks.

  I look down. Gross, I’ve been wearing the same T-shirt and jeans since forever. “That would be great, actually.”

  Maxon whips off his T-shirt and hands it to me. “This work? I’ll have my staff get you new clothes and stuff by morning.”

  “They work overnight? Isn’t everyone asleep?”

  “Not on my team. They know I only need an hour of sleep so they work in twenty-four hour shifts when I’m around. What do you say?”

  “New clothes, sure. I mean, thanks.”

  As I swipe the T-shirt out of his hand, I try not to stare at his bare chest. That’s not possible. The guy is seriously ripped.

  If Maxon notices my stare, he doesn’t say anything. “Bathroom’s the second door on the back wall.” He sets a candle on my bedside. “I’m going out for a while, too. Light this if you need me. It alerts Ty. He can get to me anywhere.”

  “Okay.” I grip his shirt tightly. It’s still warm from his body. “Thanks again for, you know.”

  Maxon smiles and his dimples reappear. “Yeah, same here.” He kisses me on the forehead. “Now, get some sleep, Lianna.”

  And I do.

  Maxon

  After I step out of the bedroom, I stare at Lianna’s closed door.

  What the hell happened back there?

  She had a nightmare, I held her, and I talked about Armageddon. Me. No one knows I get nightmares, let alone that they star the King of Hell. Next thing I know, I’ll actually tell her what happened.

  Damn.

  Things with this woman are going too far, too fast. I need to put the brakes on, now. So we got cuddly once. So we shared some secrets. It happens. I’m not getting attached.

  With that thought finally straight in my head, I’m able to leave her door. From there, it’s a short walk over to my library, which is my favorite room in Arx Hall. The place is pretty old school with its dark oak shelves, leather-bound books, and club chairs. I had Tyberius pimp it out, too. I’ve got a full bar that’s magically restocked with top shelf liquor, along with an enchanted painting that shows demon activity. It’s perfect for planning my nightly trips to Earth for kicking evil ass.

  Once I’m inside the library, my first stop is the bar. I pour myself two fingers of Macallan ’46. I’m only twenty-two, but Tempest is five-hundred-something and a good buddy. He taught me all about whiskey. I take a sip. Now, that’s smooth.

  Glass in hand, I walk over to my enchanted canvas. It’s a huge framed painting of a world map. Ty did a solid job on this one, although he insisted on putting in old-fashioned squiggly writing. Whatever. As long as it shows me demons, I told him to go to town.

  “Show me the latest,” I order.

  Like always, my command sets the painting in motion. The brushstrokes rearrange themselves into a new pattern. I sip my whiskey and watch the little bits of color do their thing. Seconds tick by. No surprise, there. This painting always takes a while to warm up.

  An older thrax appears in the doorway, dressed in his formal Rixa tunic. “Good evening, Your Highness.”

  I nod in his direction. “Hey, Edward.” He’s an older dude with jowls and short gray hair. I’m supposed to address him by some formal title that I refuse to learn.

  “It seems that we have an unexpected guest,” says Edward.

  “Oh, yeah. That’s Lianna.”

  The glint in his mismatched irises says he’s dying for some intel. “Should we plan anything special for her?”

  “Good question.” I lean back on my heels, sip my whiskey, and think. I know what I’d do if the guys were here… And that would be nothing. But women? What could they possibly want? I snap my fingers, remembering Lianna and my T-shirt.

  “Don’t I have someone who gets me clothes?”

  “Yes, you have a Mistress of Cloth.”

  “That’s right. Can she scare Lianna up some nice new stuff to wear?”

  “The Mistress would be thrilled to do so.”

  “Cool. Get it here by morning?”

  “Of course.” He stares thoughtfully at the canvas. “Will you still go hunting tonight?”

  “Maybe. Depends what’s up.” I don’t want to leave Lianna, but I don’t want to abandon some human to a nasty death by demon, either.

  As I down more of my drink, tiny red dashes of paint flicker across the giant map. Each one shows a different Class A on the prowl. Minutes pass and the image gains more definition. Something catches my attention.

  “That’s interesting.”

  “Did you say something, Your Highness?”

  “Nothing, Edward. That’s all for tonight. Thanks.”

  Edward says something formal and leaves. The guy knows better than to push when I’m in the zone. I step closer to the canvas and watch the fresh brushstrokes and statistics.

  There’s definitely a major spike of activity in the Colorado mountains. Not something I normally worry about, considering the human population there is so low. But now? Colorado’s where Lianna’s parents were killed. I can’t leave that shit alone.

  I point to the cluster. “Show me demons in that area.”

  The canvas repaints a long list of profiles. The word Incarnate pops up.

  Bingo.

  “Detail on Incarnate.”

  The painting reforms to show a Victorian-looking male with a bowler hat and handlebar mustache. Stats say he creates little taxidermy demons called poppets. My shoulders constrict with rage. That’s him. The fucker that imprisoned Lianna.

  “Location.”

  The image dissolves into more brushstrokes. A lot of Class A jobs have cloaking spells, especially if they’ve been hunted before. Looks like Silas has been pretty careful, hiding out in outlying places. With any luck, he won’t have bothered to cloak his location.

  Geographic coordinates appear on the canvas.

  That’s some luck, all right.

  I make a few quick calculations. It’s a hike from the nearest Pulpitum to Silas’s hideout.

  That settles it.

  I’m going hunting tonight, and I know the perfect spot.

  # # #

  It’s still dark out as I hike up another ridge in the Colorado mountains. The air’s crisp and cold, which is good. Keeps my focus sharp. Around me, a light snow falls through the tall pines. Huge white flakes land on my cheeks and black body armor. I check the GPS read-out on my wrist. Silas’s lair is only a few clicks to the West.

  Not much longer, now.

  I scale another trail until a concrete hole opens up in the mountainside. Steel girders and boxes of building supplies lie busted and decaying in the snow. Looks like some abandoned construction. Military, if I had to guess. The graffiti makes me think it turned into a hang out for wayward kids or drug runners. Maybe both. All those tags are faded now. No one’s been here for years.

  One guess why.

  I step into the darkened concrete hallway. The place is lined with icicles and snow. There’s more graffiti, too. Some of it reads ‘beware of demons.’ I smile.

  Definitely the right place.

  The hallway winds downward for a bit before opening onto a small concrete bunker with low ceilings. The place is small. Too small to be Silas’s main lair. I wonder where he keeps his number one hideout these days.

  I linger in the shadows and stake out the space. A few dead rats lie on the floor. A vat of what looks like blood sits in one corner, beside a dapper-looking guy with a bowler hat and Victorian suit. He doesn’t turn to look as I approach.

  “Maxon Vidar Xavion Aquilus,” he says. “How kind of you to visit. Everyone knows who you are.”

  I step into a pool of electric light. “And you’re Silas. I never knew you from fuck. Now you’re on my bad side.”

  The dumbass still has his back to me. “And why is that?”

  “Lianna.” I stalk toward him, my tail arced over my shoulder, ready to strike.

  Silas swivels around to face me. “Stay your wrath. I have information.”

  My tail wraps around hi
s neck. “I don’t give a shit.”

  He speaks through rough gasps for breath. “It’s… About… Lianna.”

  I pause. It sure would be satisfying to off this demon right now, but there’s no denying that Lianna’s in a tough spot. The right intel could save her life. I lean in to Silas, my voice turning low and deadly.

  “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t torture that info out of you.”

  “That will… Take weeks. You don’t… Have weeks.”

  I loosen my hold on his throat. Slightly. “So, what’re you saying?”

  “We strike a bargain. I give you information on Lianna; you let me live.”

  Sounds familiar. Silas strikes this bargain a lot.

  I glare at the creep for a while. I’d really love to kill him. Still, I can’t risk missing good intel.

  “Fine. I’ll give you an hour’s head start. After that, you’re fair game if I find you again.”

  And I will find you again.

  “Agreed.”

  “Now, start talking.”

  “Making deals is a hobby of mine.” Silas turns back to his worktable and starts skinning a rat. “I made one with Zephyr a long time ago. We share information on a certain topic.”

  No question what topic that is.

  “Lianna.” I rub my temples, thinking through the implications. “So, if you help Zephyr find Lianna, then he’ll let you harvest her life force. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

  “Her energy is extraordinarily strong.” He inhales like he’s remembering the scent of a lovely perfume. “And now would be the perfect time to harvest her.” He sighs. “Too bad she was turned into an elemental. Now, she’s no use to my work.” He offers me a sly grin. “Doesn’t mean I’ve lost all interest, though.”

  A protective rage heats my bloodstream. “Keep talking like that and the deal’s off.”

  Silas goes back to fiddling with his rat. “Zephyr knows you have her in Antrum. He’s watching all known exit points. My girl has to crawl out sometime. When she does, he’ll be waiting.”