by Mel Odom
The globe shattered and released its contents. Glass embedded in the demon’s flesh. Orange and white froth ran down his chest. The heart-renders surfed in the froth and each found entry into the demon’s body through open wounds left from the wooden shrapnel. The heart-renders’ arrowhead-shaped bodies disappeared almost immediately.
“No!” Knaarl roared. Panic tightened his features. He dropped the sword and stabbed his talons into his wounds in an effort to get to the heart-renders as they burrowed deeply.
Merihim stared at Warren.
Knaarl managed to get one of the heart-render demons out of his body. It flopped between his bloody fingers before he gutted it with a talon.
The other two escaped him. From what Warren had understood of the demons as he’d summoned them to him and trapped them in the globe, the heart-renders burrowed into a demon’s veins and let the pulse carry it to the demon’s heart. Once inside the heart, they flicked their barbed tails and sliced the heart to pieces.
Knaarl took a long time in dying. The demon collapsed in pain and lay on his side while blood pumped from his nose and mouth. Soon his lungs filled with it and he shuddered for a time before lying still and lax.
* * * *
Afterwards, Warren walked numbly through the burned and broken bodies of the Darkspawn. Three mummies still stood at attention. Another, missing both legs, poised on its arms.
Warren waved at them and released them. They fell in heaps to the ground like unstrung marionettes.
Two of Knaarl’s dead eyes stared sightlessly. The wooden splinter still pierced the third.
Wary of the heart-render demons, Warren stayed well back of the demon’s corpse.
“You have learned much,” Merihim said.
Not knowing how he was supposed to respond, Warren turned to the demon and said, “With the tasks you’ve given me, I’ve had no choice.”
“Where did you learn about those demons?”
“I learned about them from the Cabalists.” For a moment Warren thought Merihim was going to challenge the lie.
“He won’t,” the voice said. “He still needs you.”
Warren hoped so. Otherwise he was going to die in the next moment.
“Even now,” the voice told him, “Merihim may not be able to kill you,”
May not, Warren repeated to himself. There were no assurances.
“At least it’s not a certainty.”
Warren quietly conceded that, but his knees shook all the same.
“One of Fulaghar’s lieutenants yet remains,” Merihim said.
“Toklorq,” Warren said. A vague stirring rose within him when he mentioned the demon’s name. When he concentrated, he felt a directional pull.
“Yes,” Merihim said. “With two of Fulaghar’s minions dead, the third should be easier to locate.”
“I think I can find him.”
“You’ll be able to,” the voice said. “I’ll help you.”
Merihim kicked the dead demon in the side. A heart-render leaped through Knaarl’s unmoving flesh and sailed toward Merihim’s foot. Almost lazily, Merihim lifted his trident and brought the haft down on the small demon. He pinned it against the floor and crushed the life from it.
“Toklorq will be harder to kill in some ways,” Merihim stated. “He is an automaton, a weapon created on forges, birthed of steel rather than flesh and blood.”
“I’ll find a way,” Warren promised.
Merihim regarded him. “You’ve proven exceptionally surprising.”
Warren nodded. He knew he would have felt pleased if he hadn’t been so afraid. Praise had been a seldom thing in his life.
“That isn’t necessarily a good thing,” the demon said.
Reluctantly, Warren bowed his head. “I’m only trying to serve. I want to live.”
“I don’t doubt that, but you humans are a treacherous lot.”
A pale blue circle opened in mid-air above Knaarl’s dead eyes and Fulaghar’s features formed within it.
“Another of your thralls grows cold in death,” Merihim taunted. “Do you want to mourn him now? Or would you rather spend your time fearing your own coming death?”
“You’re a blight, Merihim. Even now, when we should be working together because this world is still so young in the Burn and there remains so much at risk, you think only of your own wants and desires.”
“If I had what I deserved, I could think of other things. But the injustice that has been done to me—because of your interference—consumes me.”
“You deserve only a lingering and excruciating death. I only wished that I could give it to you now instead of when you finally grow too bold.”
“The Dark Wills and Elders won’t act against me unless I act against a demon of my own ranking. That’s why you have your pawns and I have mine.”
“You can attack me,” Fulaghar said. “I am above you and fair game for your attempt to become a Dark Will.”
“It’s the way of the demon hierarchy,” the voice whispered in the back of Warren’s mind. “Demons may not attack demons of the same station or those below—unless they are the mindless beasts like the stalkers or those of limited intelligence like the Darkspawn and Gremlins. But they make attack those above to try and take their place. The First had decreed this so that only those demons strong enough to rule will. Of course, once a lower caste demon has made an attack and hasn’t been successful, that demon’s protection from the higher ranks is null and void. They’re also allowed their pawns to carry on their rivalry without them because not so much is at risk.”
Survival of the fittest, Warren thought. It’s the most basic rule of the predator. And it kept the demons from utterly annihilating themselves.
“In time, I will attack you and I will kill you,” Merihim promised. “But not until you’re bereft of your protectors. If I’d attacked you while they were still alive, you would have called them to your aid.”
“If you ever get up the nerve to attack me,” Fulaghar said, “I won’t need to. I’ll take your head myself.”
“Tell Toklorq to watch out for himself. I’ll be there for you soon.” Merihim gestured and Knaarl’s body burst into charred embers. Warren never even saw the fire that burned it. The pale blue circle containing Fulaghar’s likeness disappeared.
Warren’s fear increased. Before he wasn’t sure if Fulaghar had known who had killed one of his minions, or that Merihim was responsible. Now there was no doubt.
Merihim faced him. “You’ll have to be careful now. I don’t want you to die before you’ve finished the task I’ve given you.”
What about after? Warren wondered.
“Don’t worry about that now,” the voice told him. “By that time you’ll be able to handle yourself.”
Warren didn’t believe that. He only hoped he found a way out of his present situation by that time. But now he was marked by Fulaghar.
Merihim lifted a hand and sliced into the air to open a doorway to somewhere else. “Find Toklorq.”
Warren nodded.
“Then kill him when you do. After that, I’ll tend to Fulaghar.” Merihim stepped into the hole he’d cut into the air and disappeared.
“There’s someone else at the other end of that rift,” the voice said.
Warren sensed that as well. He tried to peer into the rift but couldn’t see anything. However, he gathered impressions of the person at the other end of the rift with the psychic abilities he was still developing.
The person at the other end of the rift was young and female. Her power was strong, but she was awkward.
She also seemed familiar.
Then the rift was gone.
“You sensed her?” the voice asked.
“Yes.”
“I saw that you’re familiar with her.”
“Perhaps.” Warren wasn’t convinced of that. He was surprised at how much it bothered him to think that Merihim was depending on someone else. The sane thing would have been to be happy. If there was someone
else, maybe he could escape the demon’s wrath.
Or maybe he already has your replacement.
Warren started to turn and go.
“Wait,” the voice entreated. “There’s something that Merihim didn’t notice.”
“What?”
“Look to Knaarl’s sword. There in the hilt.”
Warren walked to the sword and picked it up. The weapon was far too large to be used by him—or anyone human. He examined the hilt, which was encrusted with gems that would have probably been a king’s ransom if the world had still been as it was before the Hellgate opened. Now cans of food and bottles of water were far more precious than diamonds or rubies.
Gold wire wrapped the hilt and almost disguised the secret hiding place built into the sword. Warren’s clever fingers found it after a brief search. While in foster care he’d learned to search out all kinds of secrets and hiding places for money and other things he’d needed.
The compartment was locked by a three-ring mechanism that had to be lined up. Warren twisted the rings and heard the snik of the lock opening. When he slid the compartment back, he saw the three teeth inside. They were large and triangular, looking sharp, flat, and dull green. With effort, he got the sword over his shoulder and poured the teeth out into his palm.
“Knaarl found them,” the voice whispered in disbelief.
“These are the dragon’s teeth?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’ve heard them described. And because, through you, I can feel the arcane energy within them.”
Warren knew that the seeds possessed power. He felt it in them. “Where did the dragons come from?”
“They belonged to another demon that has lived here for thousands of years. She’s called Lilith.”
“Adam’s first wife,” Warren whispered, remembering the old stories he’d read in the occult books his mother had studied. “She was supposed to be the mother of vampires, demons, and wicked things.”
“She’s all that,” the voice said. “And more.”
Forty-Two
“Where did you find the manuscript?” Lyra Darius asked.
“At Akehurst Sanitarium.” Leah didn’t bother to withhold the information. There was nothing to be gained. Command now had the manuscript, and it couldn’t be used without their assistance. There was also the possibility that the manuscript was burned beyond recognition and couldn’t be recovered at all.
“How did you know it was there?”
“Macomber told Simon Cross.”
“Yet Macomber never mentioned that to us.”
“He felt the information was better off in Templar hands.”
“What do you think?”
“It doesn’t matter, does it?” Leah asked. “Command has the manuscript now, and it’s burned almost to ash.”
“Tech Ops believes they can recover the pages.”
Elation soared within Leah but she kept her face a blank. She also monitored her heartbeat and respiration because she figured the room was totally wired for bio readings.
“Do you know what the manuscript’s about?” Lyra asked.
“It was supposed to be written by King Solomon and detail the seventy-two demons he called forth and locked in a jar. The title’s misleading, though, because it could be read as the invocation of angels or the evocation of demons.”
“According to the legend, Solomon bound the demons but never got around to calling on the angels. The Cabalists would have a field day with this because they believe the demons can be mastered and used to benefit mankind.”
“Not any of them I’ve seen,” Leah said.
“I would agree,” Lyra said. “Except that I saw firsthand what Keira Skyler was able to do with the powers she learned from her studies of the demons.” She shook her head. “I can’t even begin to imagine what that woman would have known by this time if she had lived.”
“The Cabalists are opening doors they can’t close. During my trips through London, I’ve seen several of them driven mad by forces they tried to use. Or physically crippled.”
“But there are some who have become quite powerful.”
“For now,” Leah agreed. Despite the successes she’d seen, she didn’t trust the power of the demons. The black man wearing the demon’s hand was the perfect case in point.
“Why did you bring the manuscript here?” Lyra asked.
“Because I thought Tech Ops might be able to ferret out the information contained on those pages. I’ve seen them work their own particular brand of magic.”
Lyra smiled a little at the pun. “You knew you were listed as a potential threat.”
“Of course.”
“Why didn’t you check in when you were supposed to?”
“The Templar held me captive.”
“How did you fall into Templar hands?”
“Simon Cross saved my life a few days ago.”
“According to the reports I read, you were only in danger because you went to warn him about a demon trap involving Templar used as bait.”
“That’s true.” Leah was determined not to lie if she could help it.
“You’ve fraternized with the Templar even though you were given strict orders not to.”
“Yes.”
Lyra shrugged. “Would you care to elaborate?”
“For the record?” Leah smiled, but there was no mirth in her expression.
“Definitely for the record.”
Leah took a breath and knew that she was about to make or break her career. “Because I believe the Templar are an important factor in how we handle the rest of this engagement.”
“ ‘Engagement?’ ”
“You have another word?”
“Our very survival is on the line. I think ‘engagement’ is bloody well taking things too lightly.” There was no animosity in Lyra’s words.
“I’m not taking things lightly,” Leah agreed. “That’s why I’ve gone beyond the scope of mission parameters the way I have with the Templar.”
Lyra arched a brow. “But it isn’t just the Templar, is it? You’ve been concentrating on Simon Cross.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he and his people seem to honestly care if this world continues.” Leah paused. “He still believes he can beat the demons. That’s more than Command thinks these days.”
Lyra pursed her lips in annoyance at that. Leah could immediately tell she’d transgressed some kind of boundary.
You should have stayed with commentary on the Templar, she chided herself. That was evidently the safe area.
But she’d wanted Command to know what she thought of them and the current vision for mission ops.
“We’ve been dealt extraordinary circumstances,” Lyra said. “We’re all still trying to make the best of it.”
“While we hunkered down,” Leah said in a measured tone, “Simon Cross got busy getting people out of London. Four years later, even with the ship runs more or less a thing of the past, he’s still trying to do the same thing.”
“Are you involved with him?”
The question caught Leah completely off-guard. She hesitated, opened her mouth to speak, tried to figure out what she was going to say, then closed her mouth. She tried again. “No.”
“I’ve seen his pictures. He’s a handsome man. It would be easy to understand.”
Despite her training and her intention of not showing emotion, Leah felt her face burn slowly. At any other time, about any one else, she was certain she’d have revealed nothing.
“If I were younger,” Lyra said without breaking stride, “I’d probably be interested myself. Of course, maybe he favors older women.”
“No,” Leah said, too quickly. “He doesn’t.”
Lyra looked at her and cocked a brow.
“No offense intended,” Leah said.
“None taken. You have Simon Cross’s preferences on good authority?”
“No.”
“But you seem so certain.”
“In all the years that I’ve known him, Simon hasn’t seemed interested in anyone.”
“There are plenty of Templar women. Perhaps one of them then.”
“I wouldn’t know.” Even as she said that, though, Leah felt certain that she would. “Simon is fixed on the war effort against the demons at the present.”
Lyra regarded her silently for a moment, then nodded. “I’ve known people like that. Several of them are in this unit.”
Leah nodded.
“The problem is that Simon Cross seems to have something of a checkered past.”
“And I submit that no one’s perfect. I’m judging him on the man I’ve seen in action. Not the one that became an expatriate of London all those years ago.”
“You certainly seem adamant.”
“I am.”
“Good. Then maybe we can get something done.” Lyra stood.
Leah fully expected to be abandoned at that moment and wasn’t looking forward to it. She could deal with being alone. Isolation was often a part of her job. She just didn’t like knowing that nothing was getting done.
“Control,” Lyra said, confirming Leah’s suspicions that others were listening in to the exchange. “Break silence.”
“Control here,” a male voice responded.
“Bring Leah Creasey’s armor to this room and countermand the orders to hold on sight.”
“That’s not how we were told to handle the interview.”
Lyra’s tone changed to one of steel and fire. “You’ll do it now, on my authority, or you’ll answer to charges.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And open this bloody door before I do it myself.” The door unlocked immediately.
* * * *
Leah followed Lyra Darius through the narrow, twisting hallways of the underground complex. The unit’s headquarters were kept deliberately small. It didn’t take much to take care of the operation she was part of.
“Tech Ops tells me it’s only going to be a few hours before they have the burned pages of the manuscript you found—”
“Simon Cross found,” Leah interjected. She accepted her armor from a man who came to her at a dead run.
“—and that they’re expecting a full recovery of the data on the pages.” Lyra stood in the hallway while Leah pulled her armor on. The older woman even turned her back and provided a modicum of privacy by staring back any passersby of the moment.
