Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Epilogue
Praise for EYE OF THE DAEMON:
“An impressive combination of mystery, horror and grand fantasy in a contemporary setting. . . . The reader becomes intensely entangled into an increasingly intriguing plot.”
—Romantic Times
“Camille Bacon-Smith has written a brilliantly created universe where daemons and humans coexist, and life means nothing to immortal daemons. Her impeccable mastery of characterization, her attention to gritty detail and flawless imagery are destined to guarantee her a place among the immortals of fantasy and horror.”
—Affaire de Coeur
And for EYES OF THE EMPRESS:
“Bacon-Smith improves with each book, and is evolving toward a leading role in the modern fantasy field.”
—Science Fiction Chronicle
“A writer with tremendous range, Ms. Bacon-Smith impressively layers an intricate plot with rich, intriguing characterization and impeccable timing. Watch for this author to become a big, big hit.”
—Romantic Times
DAW BOOKS PRESENTS CAMILLE BACON-SMITH’S NOVELS OF URBAN DEVILTRY:
DAEMON EYES
(includes EYE OF THE DAEMON and
EYES OF THE EMPRESS)
A LEGACY OF DAEMONS
Copyright © 2010 by Camille Bacon-Smith.
All Rights Reserved.
DAW Book Collectors No. 1510.
DAW Books are distributed by Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious.
Any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
Nearly all the designs and trade names in this book are registered trademarks. All that are still in commercial use are protected by United States and international trademark law.
First Printing, May 2010
DAW TRADEMARK REGISTERED
U.S. PAT. AND TM. OFF. AND FOREIGN COUNTRIES
—MARCA REGISTRADA
HECHO EN U.S.A.
S.A.
eISBN : 978-1-101-18734-0
[http://us.penguingroup.com] http://us.penguingroup.com
To Erik and David and to my sisters, and my brothers too!
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks pour out to Barb and Hilary, the best beta-readers ever, and to Paul W., who answered my questions about what Det. Mike Jaworski could do. Thanks also to Mike Jordan, on Jeweler’s row, for letting me see the shop and the tools of the trade. The mistakes in police work and gemstones are all mine!
Prologue
The universe comprises seven spheres, of which the outermost is the abode of the Archangels. There follow the seraphim, cherubim and thrones, the minor angels in which group are included those Guardian Angels, and the Princes, who reside in the second sphere, closest to man who holds dominion over the first sphere of creation, that of all matter in the universe . . . As there are seven spheres, so of Princes there be seven in number. Ariton most often allies with Oriens and Amaimon, and likewise Azmod most often allies with Magot and Astarot. In battle alliances may change, except that Ariton never allies with Azmod, nor Paimon with Magot. Each Prince comprises a host of lords of daemonkind, each with its own powers and enmities. To call upon the powers of a Prince of daemons, the host must convoke in quorum.
“LIKE A PATCH ON A LEAKY BOAT.” Count Alfredo Da’Costa, lately of Venice, poured jewel-red wine from a battered carafe. He wore a crisp summer suit and admired the wine, a house Bordeaux, with a bland expression in his hawklike eyes that Brad—Badad, daemon lord of the host of Ariton—didn’t trust one bit. He took the glass anyway, no reason to waste the afternoon. The wine was a simple pleasure, like the afternoon sun on the Seine rolling below, but he didn’t know why he was drinking it at a sidewalk café on the tiny Ile St. Louis with the Guardian from the third celestial sphere. He was pretty sure Da’Costa hadn’t pulled him off course to admire the view, or the wine, and waited for more explanation than a very old argument about the end of the universe. They were all still here, and Brad had a date.
“How’s Evan?” Da’Costa sipped, waited for a reply while Brad wondered why his half-human son was suddenly an issue when they’d called a truce just weeks ago.
“He’s fine. Recovering. Lily’s on it.”
Da’Costa raised an eyebrow at that, but Brad let it slide. They both knew Lily—the daemon Lirion in the second celestial sphere. Da’Costa knew her a bit too well to be having this conversation with Brad again. He didn’t need the warning, or the veiled threat.
The first time Da’Costa brought out the patch story, he’d been explaining why Evan Davis had to die. The spheres didn’t mix well. Weren’t supposed to mix at all, but they had, originally out of misplaced curiosity. The third celestial sphere had punched a hole between universes that almost ended them all. The material sphere, where they sat drinking wine and enjoying Paris on a sunny afternoon, had formed like a patch in what humans called the Big Bang. Alfredo Da’Costa was a Guardian, left behind in the explosion to make sure nothing broke the fragile patch that held it all together. It all worked as long as everyone stayed where they belonged.
The material sphere w
as the weakness between them. A handful of humans in each generation, sharing the curiosity of the third sphere that formed them, exploited that weakness, learning the names of the daemon lords, summoning them from their home and binding them to a human will for profit or pleasure or malice. Evan Davis was the child of malice and Ariton. Brad—Badad of the host of Ariton—should have saved the universes and himself the trouble and killed the boy when he first raised a ripple in the second celestial sphere. He hadn’t done it then, or when Alfredo Da’Costa had pointed out the danger of keeping him alive. Because he was half daemon, Evan could enter the second celestial sphere at will. If he somehow breached the patch in the other direction, taking his daemon nature into the third celestial sphere, he’d bring those incompatible universes together again.
Evan had been a prisoner then, of humans bent on treasure that didn’t exist and of daemon lords of a foreign prince that hated Ariton on principle and Badad in particular. Between them, they’d pointed Evan at the spheres and mindlessly beat at the patch on Da’Costa’s leaky boat of a universe. At the very least, they’d have lost the patch, Evan’s world, and the universe he knew as home. Maybe the scar that the material sphere left behind would seal the damage again, but Da’Costa had been pretty sure that he’d take the other spheres with him.
Evan was going to kill them all if he didn’t get a handle on the power of his daemon side, and it didn’t look like that was going to happen any time soon, let me kill him now, I’ll make it easy . . . Brad knew all the arguments, had considered them a few times himself. Nothing about Evan was easy, but Da’Costa had to learn that the hard way, like everybody else.
In fact, he’d proved more difficult to kill than any of them anticipated, even Brad, which he found a little odd, given Evan’s propensity to suicidal gestures. Evan had fought a war between Princes to a standstill long enough to take himself and his preferred daemon kin out of the conflict. And he’d learned to control his power. Had saved Brad and possibly all the spheres on their last case and won a grudging reprieve from Da’Costa and yet another set of concessions from the Princes.
Brad was still stuck in the material sphere until Evan died on his own or Lily killed him, but he had free run of the planet now, and so did Lily. He was on his way to Singapore to make use of the freedom when Da’Costa side-tracked him to Paris. The city was beautiful in late spring, but he was done fighting for Evan’s life regardless of the setting. Evan was a big boy, he could do that for himself, and Brad had much better company waiting for him. Mai Sien Chong had promised him a chessboard, and a bed covered in green silk sheets.
“Evan doesn’t need siblings.” Da’Costa sipped his wine. “I really can’t allow two of them.”
Brad wondered what that had to do with him. “It seems unlikely, frankly, but I think that’s his mother’s decision. I don’t know that much about human relationships, but I’m pretty sure Evan won’t have anything to do with it.”
“No, he wouldn’t. I’m not worried about Evan’s mother.”
That left Brad, which explained the timing of this little chat.
“I’m not a fool.” Brad set down his glass and pushed back his chair. Maybe it was a lie, about being a fool, but he’d figured out how to make children not happen long before he stepped into Mai Sien’s bedroom, and Da’Costa really couldn’t stop him. So he stood up, gave an abrupt nod of farewell, wandered into the shadows of a building as old as the city, and disappeared.
Chapter 1
EVAN DAVIS USUALLY LOVED HIS JOB. He knew he’d been damned lucky, could have been dead or still locked in chains, tortured in two universes and not a partner in the most prestigious recovery and investigation agency in Philadelphia. But today the cool blue-and-white Federal period elegance of the Society Hill offices of Bradley, Ryan, and Davis did not fill him with the usual pride of accomplishment.
He was one part angry and one part—okay, just angry—and trying not to lie about it to Khadijah Flint, his lawyer, who passed him a notarized contract for a security check they started next week. The agency mostly worked with digital contracts, but the client in Barcelona wanted paper this time, so she got paper. The contract went on the low stack of documents growing on the antique Hepplewhite desk, followed by the notice of final disposition of a forgery case he’d done some expert testimony for, back before his father tried to kill him. Good thing Brad had changed his mind about the killing part, or Evan would be sleeping with the roses while his mother wept over whatever ashes he left behind. And Brad would be stuck with the paperwork.
When he came back from that thought, Flint was waiting with the last file. She’d noticed that she’d lost his attention, handed over the half-dozen stapled pages, but he knew he’d hear about it later. “The agency’s police statement on the art museum case. I made a few changes to protect the agency—the usual. Sign here and here—” She tapped the lines at the bottom of the pages with the blood-red, high-gloss tip of a fingernail.
Evan took the statement, noted the passages she indicated where she’d hedged things a little—good—and one place where an entire paragraph seemed to be missing—better. It hadn’t added much to the specifics of the case, but it might have given the FBI a wedge to ask more questions. No one, including Evan, had expected that Brad would do the security walk-through at the art museum in the middle of the night, or that he’d arrive moments after the thieves had stolen the Dowager Empress’ crystal ball. They had a contract with the museum, so it hadn’t made his father the prime suspect until Police Detective Joe Dougherty had blown in from Evan’s old neighborhood. Dougherty was on a mission from Evan’s mom, and he had a folder full of research showing that neither his father, Kevin Bradley, nor Lily Ryan, the Bradley and Ryan of the agency’s name, had existed until four years ago. He wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t make him right. If Khadijah Flint hadn’t been there to get his father out of his little misunderstanding with the Major Crimes Unit, Philly would be a hole in the ground by now.
She didn’t know that part, and he planned to keep it that way, so he signed the statement with a flourish in both places, said a perfunctory “Thanks,” and signed the next copy she slid under his hand. He owed her more than that, though, for the part she did know even if she didn’t know the rest.
“If I didn’t thank you before for your help—”
“I talked to my accountant this morning, and your thanks are in the bank.” She gave him a wry smile, a conspiracy of friendship and concern. Last week’s braids had given way to a cluster of short dreads. It should have looked softer, but somehow, it didn’t. The warriors printed on tan, peering out at him from the open jacket of her dark red suit, just made him nervous. Truth in advertising—he was glad she was on his side.
She signed as witness after him and made more of a job than she needed of slipping the stack of papers into a manila envelope. “I’ll have one copy messengered to Major Crimes and the other to the FBI this afternoon.”
They were done. Evan was halfway to his feet, but Khadijah Flint appeared to be settling into that deliberately uncomfortable spindle-back guest chair. The hair might be new but the glance over the top of her reading glasses wasn’t. He tried for mildly surprised though he’d been dreading the questions he knew were coming since she’d called to set up the appointment.
“Was there something else?”
“Minding the shop on your own today?”
That was one. He didn’t sit down again, but waited her out while she studied his bruises: the green faded to yellow on his temple that the daemon Lirion had put there in her wrath, and the purple streaks that his father, Badad of the host of Ariton, had scored across his cheek. Evan had cut his hair short to blend the shaved spots growing back where the stitches had come out on his temple and at the back of his head, but he knew she was thinking about that too.
As it happened, they’d had good reason for what they’d done and most of the time he was just glad they hadn’t killed him. The official report said “unknown assailant.�
� The police suspected the Chongs. Evan pretended not to remember. The truth would give him a long-term rental on a padded cell.
Khadijah Flint called them Lily and Brad, didn’t know about the daemon part. Wouldn’t have believed him if he’d told her, and wouldn’t be his lawyer anymore if he showed her. Humans didn’t take to the knowledge well. He sure hadn’t, so he kept it to himself.
“Yeah, on my own today. Not exactly the face I’d like to show the public, but Lily’s working an estate case.” Lily was in Hokkaido, stealing a netsuke, a small lacquered lion, from the brother of their client. The agency had charged a lot more for the job than the netsuke was worth, but the client had a copy of his father’s will, a picture of the little carving, and as Lily had pointed out, a bank balance with more zeros than this universe had stars. Which might have been an exaggeration, but probably not by much. “I expect her back later today.” They had their own ways of traveling, and Lily didn’t leave fingerprints.
Flint accepted that with a slight nod, little more than a tilt of her chin. Lily wasn’t the point of the question, and Brad should have been covering the desk, not Evan with his multicolored face. “I do not want to know where your father is, or who is with him.” Evan really hated it when she looked at him that way, as if she knew the answers already but wished she didn’t. That look always meant he was in deep trouble. “For both our sakes, I’ll pretend he’s around here somewhere—he is coming back, Evan?”
They’d found most of the Philadelphia Museum of Art’s stolen property and broken up a plot to overthrow the Chinese government. But one of the suspects, Mai Sien Chong, had disappeared, and so had Evan’s father and an alabaster figure of a kneeling child. No coincidence, and it narrowed the “wheres” considerably. If his lawyer had guessed that much, Interpol probably had it figured as well; Evan just hoped Brad was wearing a different face while he consorted with a known criminal. It wouldn’t matter if they never left the bedroom, of course, which creeped him out more than discovering his unknown father was a daemon. Brad avoided human entanglements, didn’t date. Certainly didn’t have sex with humans. Except for that once, when he hadn’t had a choice and hadn’t much liked the consequences. Evan put a big “no trespassing” sign on his father’s sex life and left the thought as fast as he could.
Like Brad’s whereabouts, that was information their lawyer didn’t need to know, so he answered her with the bland smile she’d seen right through the first time he’d met her. “Brad’s away for the weekend. Of course he’ll be back.” Which was no certainty. Brad warned him often enough, and so did Lily, that he was a curiosity, an experiment. If he kept putting human emotions on that, it was his problem, not theirs. He jammed a hand into hair that wasn’t there anymore, felt his fingers slide over still- healing gashes. Knew it for a tell when her eyes widened. Well, shit. She didn’t call him on it, though, and he pretended not to notice.
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