by A. H. Lee
Fog rose from the ground inside the circle and began drifting through the garden. “Gods below,” murmured Amos. “This gate is making the whole fabric of the mortal plane unstable. This is going to be a thin spot for a long time. Are you sure you don’t want to cut your losses and burn the book?”
“He’s right,” said Cleo from Azrael’s feet. “Any smart person would just torch the thing and be done. What was the point of getting your mind back if you’re just going to open the gate anyway?”
Azrael did not bother to answer. He concentrated on the rolling fog. He could not see the ground anymore. I’m coming Mal, Jessica, Lucy.
He reached, cautiously, for his own magic and found that it was untainted. Relief washed through him, but only for an instant. His supply was pitifully small. He had not performed the necessary spells to be able to draw on Cleo. There hadn’t been time. He could command her, but not use her magic. Like most sorcerers, Azrael had a great capacity for holding and channeling magic, but very little ability to create it. On his own, he was the weakest of all magicians.
Azrael pulled the collar from under his shirt. If I can just get this on Mal… The collar might bring Mal back to himself, even if he’d lost his memories. It would allow Azrael to use his magic. If he had any left to give.
But even if he doesn’t, Lucy might. Azrael had her bottle in his pocket, which meant he could use her magic. Lucy was extremely powerful when she first emerged from her bottle, but she tired quickly. Azrael wasn’t sure how tired she was likely to be after days in a demon-eating spirit vessel. Surely not fresh.
Even if I can’t use magic at all, Mal and Lucy are deadly in a fight. Cleo is fresh from the astral plane. We should be able to do this.
If… whispered a voice in his head. If, if, if.
The fog cleared a little. Azrael saw that the ground inside the circle had disappeared, along with the dreamcatcher. He was looking through a hole into a twilit, foggy world. He saw a round platform, dark water moving in an enormous basin beneath, broken flagstones beyond. Something glided briefly across his field of vision, silhouetted against the paler flagstones.
Azrael stepped into the circle. “Mal!” Cleo bounded in after him. The act of entering the circle appeared to drop them about ten feet without any sensation of falling. The brilliant halo of light from the garden shone overhead. Azrael found himself standing on the platform in the middle of a broad basin, perhaps twenty feet off the ground. Broken flagstones surrounded the basin and beyond them, a wall of dark green hedge.
Faces that he’d feared he would never see again looked up at him—Mal with his paws on the edge of the basin, Lucy in dragon form beyond him, Jessica and Tod a little further out, running back and forth. They were all trying to talk at once.
Azrael heard Lucy shout, “Mal, get down! Have you lost your mind? It eats magic!”
Mal was leaning as far out as he could over the dark water. “Azrael!”
Azrael wanted to say so many things. I didn’t put you here. I would never. I love you. I’ve missed you so much. But there was no time for that.
“Where’s my collar?” bellowed Mal.
Azrael held it out, leaning over the water. The gap was too great. “Shall I throw it?”
“No!” exclaimed Mal. “Lucy is right; the water eats magic. It’s some kind of vortex. It—”
Azrael interrupted him. “Lucy, come get it!”
Lucy spread her wings, but she’d only taken one beat into the air when an invisible force hit her like a gunshot and she came down hard on the flagstones. That was when Jacob stepped into the circle. “Lucrecia!”
“Oh!” exclaimed Cleo at Azrael’s side. “That’s interesting.”
“What?”
“Her aura’s gone clear,” said Cleo.
Azrael felt sick. Lucy had been hit with a spell that had obliterated her will. He had a good idea of where that spell must have come from. “It’s the sorcerer. He’s got one hell of a binding spell. It may not hold a demon forever without a name, but it’s enough to knock them out of a fight. Lucy!”
Lucy raised her head, her expression vacant and confused.
Azrael whipped out her bottle and depressed the bulb. Lucy melted into golden mist, flowing back into the bottle. She was out of the fight, but she was safe.
Loudain stepped onto the platform. “I take it we can’t touch the water?”
“No, it’s dark magic,” said Jacob. He opened his palm, and Azrael saw that he was holding a partially finished spell. He whispered to it.
Azrael winced. I guess we’ll find out if my wards are in effect here.
The spell flared to life. It didn’t backfire, didn’t incinerate Jacob. But it was weak—a wavering flame where Azrael suspected there should have been a fireball. “Azrael, why do you have to be so damned good at wards?” asked Jacob irritably.
“Are his wards still blocking us?” asked Loudain.
“Dampening,” muttered Jacob.
“Well, I don’t have much to contribute unless I can get this collar on Mal,” said Azrael.
“The water!” Lady S’s voice seemed to come from a great way off and then abruptly from quite close as she stepped into the circle. “It’s the demon!”
Azrael had already noticed that something was happening to the water. It appeared to be growing thicker, more viscous, congealing into lumps and smooth curves. Below him, Mal ran back and forth along the edge of the fountain, growling. Tod and Jessica were standing back-to-back, bristling.
“Cleo, can you see the sorcerer?” asked Azrael.
Cleo would be looking at auras, which should be visible even in dark places. “Over there.”
Azrael looked where she indicated, but saw only fog and shadows. I need to strike hard. We will win this fight quickly or not at all. Still, Azrael hesitated. He wanted answers. He wanted revenge. He wanted resolution, which would include an explanation of how these spells had been created. However, he also wanted Mal, Jessica, and Tod to be safe as quickly as possible.
“Go kill him, Cleo.” It was a direct command, a compulsion that was also in line with Cleo’s nature. She launched herself joyfully from the platform in a flying leap that did not touch the water, if water it could still be called.
As Cleo hit the ground, Azrael saw the first coil. It did not so much rise out of the water as resolve out of it—glistening black scales on a loop of muscular body as big around as a tree trunk. Jacob shouted, “Try not to look at it!” and then hurled magic at the monster that was rising out of the fountain.
Meanwhile, Cleo bounded across the flagstones like a deadly terrier, charged into the shadows…and was flung back. She toppled head over tail to land in a graceless sprawl at the edge of the marble bowl.
Azrael stared at her, horrified.
The sorcerer finally slouched out of the fog, “So you came after all,” he said to Azrael. “That’s weird. And you brought a weasel.”
Azrael clenched his fists. He could feel the fireball forming in his hand, prepared to blast this brat down the river. But he wasn’t sure it would work. He had so little magic.
Amos hissed from Lady S’s shoulder, and the kid added, “Two weasels.”
Mal was coming around the edge of the fountain towards the sorcerer in a predatory stalk. Tod was approaching on the other side. If this kid could take Lucy out… If he could knock Cleo down, fresh from the astral plane…
Around Azrael, his fellow magicians had flung up a desperate shield against the attacking serpent demon. Amos’s collar and Loudain’s sword were glowing as brightly as the fragment of sky above their heads. “It takes ten times as much magic to do anything here,” grated Lady S, “and that thing is well-fed. This shield is not going to hold for long.”
“Look, I grew up playing with demons,” continued the enemy sorcerer to Azrael as he watched Mal approach. “If I didn’t know how to defend myself, I wouldn’t be here. But, hey, you beat my memory charm somehow, so congrats. I’m really glad you decided to open my
gate anyway, though. Otherwise, I would have had to start all over again, and I’m not sure I have enough potatoes. Thanks for bringing a snack for Chewy.”
A triangular head the size of a rowboat reared up beside their platform. The forked tongue that licked out to taste their wards was as big around as a human forearm. Loudain grunted suddenly and dropped his sword.
“Don’t look it in the eyes!” roared Jacob. “Saline, help him!”
Loudain had dropped to his knees, muttering and fumbling. Lady S knelt beside him. “Listen to me, your name is Alistair Loudain. Look at your focus. No, here. Look at it.”
Jacob was holding up the ward by himself now, and Azrael could see that he was struggling. The snake struck. It bounced off a wall that became briefly visible—a twisting shape of runes and magic. The shield dented on impact, flaring and sparking. In desperation, Azrael threw what little magic he possessed into Jacob’s ward. Blue fire lanced up through silver runes, lacing them back together, straightening the shield. The snake struck again, gave a scream like a raptor’s. The wall flickered.
Azrael spared a glance at the ground. The sorcerer was looking at Mal. Azrael couldn’t tell whether he’d seen Tod. Can Mal stand up to that binding spell? Azrael wanted to believe that he could. He wanted to.
Azrael jumped down from the platform. He knew it was going to hurt. He didn’t have any magic left to cushion his fall onto marble. Fortunately, he did have a giant snake. Azrael landed on the beast without breaking his legs, heard its outraged hiss, and vaulted over the side of the fountain before its lashing could crush him.
He staggered to his feet, feeling the jarring pain in his legs. He saw Mal, perhaps twenty yards away, and held out the collar. “Mal!”
Everything happened at once. Mal changed directions, running towards Azrael instead of the sorcerer. Tod charged just as the sorcerer flung out a hand towards him. “No one invited you to this party, asshole! Wake up!”
Tod vanished.
Overhead, Azrael could hear the teeth-jarring note of wards straining and breaking.
Mal was ten yards away, five.
He went sprawling.
The enemy sorcerer collapsed to one knee, grunting with the recoil of his own spell. He got up swearing. “Fucking werewolf. I’m going to find it and shoot it when I get out of here. Bloody fuck. You, cat demon, come here. Guard me.”
Azrael stared at Mal. They were mere paces apart. Azrael was holding out the collar. “Mal, put your head through it. We can still win. Just come to me. Please.”
Mal look at him for an instant longer. Then he blinked and looked away.
“Forget him,” said the sorcerer. “Kill him if he comes near you. Come to me, kitty.”
Mal came.
Azrael took one more step after him, but Jacob’s voice range out sharply from above. “Azrael, his aura…”
He means it’s gone clear, thought Azrael. Like Lucy’s.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jessica dragging Cleo away from the edge of the basin. The mongoose was still limp. Did he kill her? If he could kill Cleo… “Forget him.”
Azrael thought that he’d come back to himself only to understand, fully and cruelly, what he was losing. To talk to Jessica about futures and weddings and babies, to see Mal in his right mind one last time. I should have said the rest of what I wanted to say. I should have just shouted it.
Mal stopped in front of the sorcerer. “Tell me your name, beast, so that I can bind you properly.” Azrael’s heart sank into his shoes.
Mal hesitated. His voice came out small and confused. “I…I don’t think I’m supposed to.”
“You are.” The kid was looking at him and through him, examining his aura and magical signature. He looked over Mal’s head at Azrael. “Did no one ever tell you you’re supposed to bind them? Shit man, it’s like leaving money on the ground. Speak up, demon. Your name.”
Mal took a breath. Even the snake paused its attack to listen. “Did no one ever tell you,” said Mal softly, “that demons lie?”
The kid looked confused. He started to say something.
Then Mal melted into black smoke and poured into him.
Azrael shouted. So did Jacob. Then Azrael was running towards the kid, who was clawing at his face. Smoke continued to rush in through his eyes, nose, and mouth. He began to scream—a gurgling shriek, the like of which Azrael hoped to never hear again.
Something flashed past Azrael in a blur of dark brown. Cleo! “The snake!” he had time to bark. “Cleo, kill the snake!”
Cleo changed directions, seemingly in midair, and hurled herself at the enormous reptile. There was a tremendous thumping and hissing. Azrael had the impression that the snake had slithered out of the bowl of the fountain, but he didn’t have time to worry about that. He’d reached the sorcerer, who stood swaying, hands at his sides now, eyes dilated to pools of night.
Azrael heard Jacob’s rapid footsteps behind him. “Once a demon starts doing that—”
“Jacob, shut up.” Azrael kept his eyes on the kid’s. “Mal, get out of him. Right now. Come on.”
The kid looked down at his hands, turned them over as though he’d never seen them before. This was true possession. Mal had never been inside a human—not like this.
Jacob was at Azrael’s elbow. “He’ll be both of them and neither of them in just a moment. We have only a few seconds to deal with this.”
To kill him, you mean. “Mal,” whispered Azrael. He could hear the catch in his voice and he didn’t care. “Come back to me. Please.”
The sorcerer’s muddy eyes met his. And flashed green.
Black smoke boiled out of the man’s eyes, nose, and mouth. The condensing mass hit the broken pavers just as the sorcerer crumpled. Then Mal was in Azrael’s arms—human, solid, shaking with terror and relief. “I was so scared!”
“I know.” Azrael wrapped his arms around Mal’s warmth and weight, buried a hand in his hair. “It’s alright, it’s alright. We’re alright.”
He heard a whine near his feet. “Jessica. Gods, I’m sorry. If you want to be human, I’ll loan you my coat.”
“Or I’ll just be naked, too,” offered Mal, “and then half of the people will stare at me and not you. Naked, except for this.” He snatched the collar out of Azrael’s hand and tossed it over his head.
Jessica laughed and then all three of them were hugging. “I gave Cleo some magic and woke her up. She seems sweet.”
“Only you would describe Wrath as sweet,” muttered Azrael. “Thank you for getting her up.”
“She and the snake are having quite a fight,” continued Jessica. “Do you think she needs help?”
“Doubt it,” said Azrael.
He was right.
Chapter 48
Azrael
Mal was replete with magic. Azrael wanted to ask how that was possible. He wanted to ask when Mal had learned to cloak. He wanted to ask so many things. But first we have to finish this.
The sorcerer was still flat on the ground when Azrael hit him with a binding spell that was not just for demons. He curled up like a leaf before an open flame. In the same moment, Mal said, “His name is Nicholas Horatio Holloway.”
Azrael and Jacob both looked at Mal in surprise. “I was inside his head for at least ten seconds. What did you think I was doing?”
“Jacob thought you were preparing to become the new Dark Lord of the Shattered Sea,” said Azrael with the smallest amount of sarcasm he could manage.
Jacob shrugged. “It’s what most demons would do with a sorcerer’s body.”
“I’ve already got a sorcerer,” said Mal.
Jacob looked at him skeptically. “I see that.”
Beyond the fountain, Cleo and the snake were dodging and striking at each other. Loudain was on his feet again, watching the spectacle with Lady S and Amos. Cleo finally managed to tear a piece out of the snake’s throat. Black ichor spattered the broken flagstones.
Azrael shrugged out of his coat and handed it
to Jessica. It came to her knees. “Speaking of sorcerer’s bodies,” she said, “he’s not really here, is he? Can’t he just wake up and get away?”
“Yes and no,” said Jacob. “Maintaining a dream space like this means spending a lot of time here. He’ll have created safeguards to prevent himself from waking in the middle of something important. He has locked himself into the dream, and he can’t wake unless he removes the locks.”
“Well, that’s convenient for us,” said Mal. “Bind him and leave him here.”
The kid did not look up.
Mal gave him a nudge with his foot. “Leave him here and let the dream collapse. He can languish in the void until his body dies or he unravels and goes mad. He can learn what that feels like.”
Azrael heard a soft thump and turned to see that Loudain and Lady S had jumped down from the platform, cushioned by magic, and were coming towards them. “Well, this looks like it’s wrapping up,” said Lady S.
“How are you feeling, Loudain?” asked Azrael.
“I’m fine,” growled the old man. “Godsdamned demon just took a bite out of me, that’s all.”
“Nothing injured but your pride?” asked Jacob with the hint of a smile.
Loudain huffed. “Right. Cleo is about to polish off that monster. This dream space is growing unstable. What’s left to do?”
“Mal has suggested we leave the bound sorcerer here for a taste of his own dish,” said Jacob placidly. “I am about to suggest that, tempting as such a revenge may sound, it’s unwise. While he will almost certainly die under these circumstances, there’s a small chance he will find a way to wake. Dark sorcerers who survive failed executions come back craftier and harder to kill. We can’t simply cut his head off, either. He’ll only wake up. I suggest we wipe his mind. Make him forget everything. Even how to breathe. He’ll die at once, and there will be no uncertainty.” He glanced at Mal. “This may seem less satisfying, but we’ll all sleep better knowing this won’t happen again.”
