I gagged, but it was already down. "Avayin, hedaira," he murmured. "Peace. All is well."
The lunacy of his assurance hit me sideways, and I almost choked again. He tipped the cup, and I had to swallow. I took it down in three long gulps. Japhrimel made a small sound of approval and set the cup aside. He sat next to me on the bed, his solidity comforting. His eyes were still glowing green, casting small shadows under his high gaunt cheekbones. He didn't look half-starved anymore, but he didn't look happy. The dust was still in his hair, stiffening the silk of it. A smear of something dark traced one high cheekbone, his mouth was set and thin. Still, I felt ridiculously relieved to see him. The relief was as deep and unquestioning as my trust in whatever he wanted to make me drink.
I was spending a distressing amount of time knocked-out lately. Did half-demons get brain trauma?
Would I live long enough to find out?
Warmth exploded in the pit of my stomach, a comfortably full feeling as if I'd just eaten my way through one of our old Taliano meals. I was able to sit up, finding myself still fully clothed. I was probably still able to wear my clothes again, despite them being dusty and dirty. At least they weren't torn to shreds and soaked with blood.
Not much blood, anyway.
My right shoulder throbbed before the pain vanished.
The only question I could ask, the one I'd been trying to ask all along, bubbled up. "Eve?"
He was quiet for a long few moments as the hover began a long slow descent. "That is not her Name."
I don't care. "But she ... is she Doreen's? Is she?" I have to know. I don't care about anything else.
"She is Vardimal's Androgyne." The words were heavy. "You do not understand."
I wanted to set my jaw and shove down the sudden flare of anger. It flared anyway, the shout bursting past my lips. "Whose fault is it if I don't understand? You won't tell me anything!"
He actually flinched. I don't blame him. My voice rattled everything not bolted down and the hover shook like a nervous cat. The injustice boiled over, and I lashed out at the closest thing, the thing I could be sure of providing a good target.
"You keep lying to me! All of it, lies! You won't tell me what I am, you won't tell me what's going on, you just keep lying, lying, lying!"
"Yes." His voice sliced through mine.
Whatever I'd expected, it hadn't been simple agreement. It managed to shut me up so he could get a word in edgewise.
His eyes slid away from me, stared across the small cabin. Outside the porthole, faint dappled gray danced - clouds. Wherever we were, it was now cloudy, and still night. "I will lie to keep you safe. I will lie to save you pain. I will lie to ease your mind, and I will lie so you may be certain of me. Answer me this, my curious - if I, even I will lie to you, what might another demon who does not cherish you do?"
I think I have an idea. More than an idea, in fact. My new rig lay tangled at the end of the bed. My sword was propped against the nightstand, but Japhrimel was between me and its comforting slender length.
"Is she still alive?" The last thing I remembered was Japh's fingers in its throat. Her throat. Which was the true face - the echo of Doreen with my faint iron-clad smile, or the demon with her clotted-ice hair and blue, blue eyes? I wanted, needed to know.
"She is more useful to us alive. She is chained, and watched. The human is also alive, a gift for my hedaira. Does that please you?"
I'm all aglow, Japh. Why, that's just marvy. Sarcasm smoked inside my head and I restrained myself with an effort that left me shaking, my hands clasping together and biting down. "What did you do?" I barely recognized the raw, shocked whisper as my own.
"What have I not done? I set my trap and baited it, I played the Prince of Hell for a fool and lured him into showing his hand too soon. Today I have cost him a great deal, in pride, in Power, and in peace. The knowledge that he no longer has possession of the one weapon that could kill him has reached Hell, for I made certain of it when I invited him to meet me in the White-Walled City."
"You did what?" Open-mouthed shock was apparently the order of the day. The hover's nose tilted down a little more sharply. We were descending, and quickly.
"One of the Prince's marks of favor for his assassin was a certain item. When used, it strips the disguise from a demon, forcing him to take his true form. We are a tricksome species, and sometimes the veil of seeming must be torn. We have different weaknesses. If you know the form of a demon, you may fight him." A single, elegant shrug. "Using the Glaive, unfortunately, creates a disturbance that can be felt in Hell, especially in a place where the walls between our world and yours are so thin. All of Hell knows the Glaive was triggered in the city. The Prince could not afford to stay away, as that is the agreed-upon resting place for one of the decoys."
"Decoys." Keep talking, Japh. This is the most you've ever given me, and what do you know? It's too goddamn late. I was ashamed as soon as I thought it.
He rose like a dark wave, the mattress creaking slightly as he did. I tasted dust and bitterness, added to the thick spice of his blood. The room was narrow and curved, squeezed under the hull and bare of anything that might be considered a personal possession - that is, if I didn't count my new rig. My sword. And my bag, now suddenly visible on a table bolted to the wall near the porthole.
Japhrimel crossed to the porthole and looked out. His back was perfectly straight, his shoulders drawn up. Dust streaked along the curves of his coat, revealing subtle dips and creases of musculature hidden in the liquid black. "You must understand, Dante. I have served the Prince for so long. Obedience became its own kind of trap, and I buried the rebellion in my heart. I was not free to act until you freed me. But still ... I had dreams."
"Dreams?" I didn't mean to sound like an idiot. I just couldn't seem to say anything applicable or even intelligent. "The Prince was younger then, too; I was able to hide the fact that I had only recovered half the Knife. He told me what he wished - that the Anhelikos would hold the Knife, for they care little who rules Hell as long as their nests are not tampered with. That if a demon without the proper signs and signals came to fetch it, they would send it along a route known only to Lucifer and myself, each Anhelikos theoretically knowing only the next stage of the route. I was to create two decoy routes as well. It was my only disobedience in longer than you can imagine, to make all three routes empty games and hide the half of the Knife we possessed ... elsewhere. Even today I do not know why I did so."
"So you.... Is that why you helped Santino escape Hell, with the Egg? Because you were being disobedient?" Don't interrupt him, Danny. Maybe he'll keep talking.
"No. I was ordered to do so, by Lucifer himself." Each word was clipped and short. "I bless the day he did, Dante. It brought me to you." He turned away from the window, approached the table with two long steps, and opened my stained canvas messenger bag. The tough cloth made a whispering sound against his fingers.
I scrambled up out of bed, my legs finally obeying me, a hot knot of liquid warmth behind my breastbone. "Leave that alone!"
It was too late. He held up the book, its cover with leather too fine-grained to be animal skin shocking against the goldenness of his fingers. "What price did you pay for this, hedaira? What lies came with its presentation to you? I did not tell you of the A'nankhimel and their doom for a reason. To know that you would be hunted, sooner or later, reviled, suffering endless fear because of a crime you were innocent of - I tried to save you that! I have tried to save you from the knowledge of what you have been drawn into, what has been done to you. You hate me, and well you should."
I came to a halt less than five steps away from him, my hands curled into fists and shaking. "You should have told me." Quiet venom dripped from each word. "I don't care what you thought you were saving me from."
"Told you what? How could I have explained what I feared, to you? How could I burden you with this?" He tossed the book at me. It was a passionlessly accurate throw, and it landed on my feet with a tiny thu
d before it slid off to the side, spine-up and open, its pages pressed into the flooring.
We faced each other over a small space of crackling, pulled-tense air. I struggled to contain the rising tide of anguish and red fire inside me.
"Look at what I have done to you." It was his turn to whisper. "No wonder you hate me."
Sheer maddening frustration rivaled the bitterness of dust in my mouth. "I don't hate you." The words felt foreign against my lips. "I can't hate you. That's my goddamn problem." Or at least one of them. I've got so many others now this one seems like a walk in the holopark.
It was hard work to bend down, keeping my eyes on him, and pick the book up. The feel of the cover against my fingers was enough to make my gorge rise. I was getting so used to nauseated disgust, I wondered if I'd ever eat again. "Nobody gave me any information with this at all. Selene only knew it was a book on the Fallen. Eve never told me what was in it. Sephrimel showed me one picture and ... gods, Japhrimel, if you're so fucking worried what I'll think of it, why didn't you just tell me yourself? I could have tried understanding, you know."
He actually shrugged, a complex eloquent movement. I hate demons shrugging at me. They do it so much, like the only thing humans are worthy of is a shrug. Or maybe we perplex them. I'd like to think it's the latter.
Call me an optimist.
"Fine." I gave up. My shoulders slumped. I was too tired to fight with him over this. I had other questions, other problems, and other things I needed to figure out before Lucifer got another crack at me. "Let's move on to something productive, at least. Where's the Knife?"
"Close." Silence stretched like taffy. "I have some other things to tell you, but not yet."
Great. More secrets. "I don't want to hear it." My fingers tensed, pressing into the leather. I struggled with the beast of pain tearing inside my chest. Tearing like glass-clawed fingers around my beating heart.
It took every scrap of self-control I possessed to hold the book out to him. "If it means that much to you, you can have it, and all your goddamn secrets too."
The hover evened out. We'd descended a long way. He didn't move, staring at my hand holding the book the way a mongoose stares at a cobra.
"Just take it," I persisted. "Just fucking take the thing, Japhrimel."
He slid it from my hand gently, as if afraid I'd change my mind. The hover bounced a bit, atmospheric pressure rippling around it. His hand fell back to his side, carrying its cargo. Whatever the goddamn book said, I no longer wanted to know. He couldn't tell me what I was.
Nobody could.
I was broken, I knew that much. I was a wreck in the shape of a woman, and I had something to get done. But most importantly, I was who I decided to be. Hadn't my life taught me at least that much?
I am Danny Valentine. Everything else was just noise. "Now." I drew myself up in my dusty, bloodspotted clothes. "You're going to answer a couple questions, and then we're going to get this goddamn thing done. I'm tired of Lucifer fucking around with my life. Fucking around with me." You can't even comprehend how tired I am of that. The black hole in my head shivered and retreated under the sound of rushing flame. I pushed both things away, bottled the rage and covered over the horror. "Where's Eve?" I almost said, where's my daughter?
I couldn't let the words past my lips. I was keeping my own secrets from him. I couldn't throw any stones on that account, could I.
But oh, how I wanted to.
He actually answered me directly, for once. "Chained, and watched. In the hold."
"Great." I turned on my booted heel and stalked back to the bed, scooped up my rig, and began buckling it on. "Where are we flying to now?"
"Sudro Merica. Caracaz." In Japhrimel's voice was something new - a hoarseness, as if there was something in his throat.
The rig was none the worse for wear, and it creaked much less than it had. I guess that kind of hard use will take the starch out of any gear. It was all to the good as far as I was concerned.
I scooped up my sword. The sound of fire in my head abated, a thin red thread at the bottom of my consciousness. Waiting.
What do we do next, sunshine?
"All right." I rolled my shoulders habitually, settling the rig. "Let's get this run started."
I left him standing there and stamped for the door.
22
I was getting pretty sick of the cargo hold.
McKinley leaned against a stack of plasteel crates, his aura flushed a weird violet, matching the purplish light running over his metallic left hand. My eyes wanted to slide right over him, helped by the smooth shell of seeming that wasn't quite a glamour, since it didn't carry any stamp of personality like sorcery or psionic camouflage would. He was like a chameleon, blending motionlessly into his surroundings. His dark eyes met mine and flicked away, and I recognized the hair-trigger tension in him.
Past him, in a space cleared of all gear and boxes, sat a small, slender shape with a flame of pale hair. Her arms locked around her knees, and it became apparent she'd had a hell of a fight. Her sweater was torn, her slacks singed, and she was missing a boot.
I stepped forward. Eve's face was buried in her knees, that pale sleek cap now subtly wrong, ropes instead of the silk of Doreen's hair. I couldn't even smell her, and that was wrong too.
"Valentine." McKinley's voice, oddly respectful. "Don't get too close."
Don't tell me what to do. I took another step. I'd shoved my sword into the loop provided on my rig, not trusting myself with edged metal right now. "Eve." All the things I might have said boiled through my head, and I settled for just one. "I know you're not asleep."
Her face came up slowly, a pale dish on jeweled bearings. Doreen's daughter looked at me, and there was nothing human in that blue-fire gaze.
My eyesight was keen even before Japh changed me; thanks to genesplicing it's hard to find anyone with bad sight anymore, except Ludders. I can't see like a Nichtvren, in total darkness - even demon eyes need a few photons to work with. So I stared at Eve, searching the demon's face for any shadow of what she'd looked like before.
Running along the floor between us was a thin silver strip, humming with malignant force as it circled her. It matched the brutally thick cuffs around her ankles and wrists. The silver seemed a part of the metal grating, despite its fluid movement. It was a piece of demon sorcery I'd never seen before and should have been surprised at. Nothing seemed surprising anymore.
"Why?" I barely had the breath for the word. "Why lie to me?"
One corner of her perfect lips tilted up. She acknowledged the question with a slight, wry smile. "Would you have believed me, if I looked like this?"
"But when you were small-"
"That was humanity. It burned away from me. In Hell." One shoulder lifted a little, dropped. The silver circle responded with a change in pitch, its low evil hum stepping up a half-note and dropping back down.
Damn demons, always shrugging at me. But something else crossed her face - a swift flash of vulnerability, gone in less than a moment. The look of a child caught with her hand in a jar full of candy, incongruous on a demon's face.
I kept forgetting how young she had to be, even if time moved differently in Hell than it did here.
I felt Japhrimel arrive, though he was soundless as Death Himself. His hand closed gently over my shoulder, and I didn't know whether it was to offer support or because he wasn't sure if I'd pitch myself at the circle to free her.
Eve's gaze flickered up past me. She studied Japhrimel intently for fifteen long seconds, the color draining under her golden skin, and dropped her face back into her knees. The air subtly changed, and I got the idea she was ignoring us, very loudly and pointedly.
And very desperately.
Good for you, kid. I couldn't find it in me to blame her. I turned and headed for the end of the cargo bay, brushing past Japh. His hand fell away from my shoulder.
The ladder leading up to the main deck was solid cold plasteel. I rested my hands on a cross
bar, staring at my wrists. It occurred to me that they were like Eve's, seemingly frail and made of demon bone. We'd both started out human, hadn't we? Partly human?
Was I still? I felt human where it counted, inside the aching ruin of my heart. "Japh?"
He made no sound, but I felt his attention. He was listening.
"Is that ... what she really looks like?"
Why was I even asking? I had seen the glamour shred away from her with my own eyes, I saw her now. I knew. But I still wanted to hear it. I needed to hear someone say it.
"We are shapeshifters, my curious." His breath touched my ear; he was leaning in close, the heat of him comforting against my back. I hadn't been this aware of his closeness in a while.
My breath caught in my throat. I leaned forward, rested my forehead on the plasteel. "So what do you look like?" If you're wearing a glamour, I might as well just get it over with now. Horns? Fangs? Hooves? Let's take a peek. It can't hurt.
After all, I've shared a bed with you. Does a demon glamour fool the skin as well as the eyes?
Japhrimel considered for a long moment. "What would you like?"
I swallowed so hard I was surprised my throat didn't click. I turned to face him. "No, I mean it. What do you really look like?"
The dimness of orandflu lighting painted the hollows of his face. The hover started to descend again, pressure pushing against my eardrums.
"What would you have me look like, hedaira? If it would please you, I can wear almost any shape you can imagine."
You know, before I met you, I might have had trouble believing that statement. Now I don't have enough trouble believing it. I wonder which is worse. "But what are you underneath it? What's the real you?"
A shadow of perplexity crossed his face. "This is the form I have worn most often," he said slowly. "It does not please you?"
Just when I thought I had a handle on this, something new managed to wallop me. "Never mind." I swung back toward the ladder and put my boot on the first rung. "We've got work to do." I can't believe I'm even having this conversation. "When are you going to let her out of that circle?"
Dante Valentine Book 5 - To Hell and Back Page 16
