by Eileen Wilks
But demons could drink human blood. It was the usual route to possession, as well as a potent delicacy or drug. And they wanted Lily’s. The blood of a sensitive had some sort of special power here in hell.
Lily had questioned Gan enough to have some idea of what happened to her back on Earth. Gan had knocked her out and brought her to hell to sample her blood because it was more potent here. But then it had returned her to Earth. Blood alone wasn’t enough to get past a sensitive’s natural defenses. The demon had needed the goddess’s help to finish the business. Lily wasn’t clear about the details, but the goddess had invested some of Her power in a staff, and someone on Earth had used it to help Gan possess her. It had almost worked.
Rule growled a question at the demon.
Gan rolled her eyes. “I’ve told you and told you. I don’t know why the goddess wanted me to possess Lily. You think we sat down and chatted about Her plans over tea?”
“You’re still convinced that we’re part of a deal between the dragons and Xitil, though,” Lily said. “Sam keeps dodging that question.”
“He hasn’t denied it. And he could.” Gan sighed wistfully. “Because he can lie and all. But what else would he want us for? Well, he doesn’t really want us, but he needs me to feed you. I’m the only one who can do that, because of our bond.” She smiled, pleased with her own importance. “And so far the wolf hasn’t pissed him off enough to get himself killed, I guess.”
“Why not admit it, though?” Lily asked. “Sam doesn’t have anything to lose.”
Rule growled something.
“What did he say?”
Gan shrugged. “I dunno.”
“Gan—”
“I don’t know! He doesn’t trust the dragon. That’s all I picked up.”
Forehead furrowed, she stroked Rule’s head. Maybe Gan was just getting tired of translating and was pretending not to understand. “What do you think?” she asked him softly. Understand me. Please, please, understand me. “Will Sam hand us over to Xitil?”
He looked at her with what she could swear was puzzlement. But then his eyes cleared and he yipped.
“He said there’s a lot of demons,” Gan said. “Not many dragons.”
“Their position is precarious, you mean.”
He nodded.
Okay. It was okay. He’d understood and responded. “What we really need to know is why my blood would be so valuable to Xitil.” They’d asked Gan about that several times. The demon insisted she didn’t know why the blood of a sensitive was important, just that it was. “What am I? One heck of a good bonbon, or does my blood have a practical value?”
“You’re more than a treat,” Gan assured her. “You don’t have to worry about that. No one will kill you because then you wouldn’t make more blood. But Sam can’t be planning to keep you. The others will hear about you, and sooner or later they’ll try to grab you so Xitil doesn’t get you. The dragons won’t want that kind of trouble.”
Lily was startled. “Are you talking about fighting? War?”
“No, no. Wars are for grabbing territory and giving the nobles a chance to gobble up the other guy’s fighters. No one wants war with the dragons because they don’t just eat, they kill, so the princes aren’t going to … hey, look!” She jumped to her feet. “Mealtime!”
Lily looked up. One of their guards was diving at the beach the way they did when they delivered food, but its talons were empty. “That’s no food run. Maybe they’re playing tag. The second one’s chasing the first one. Or is—what?”
Rule had pushed her, hard, with his nose. He whined and shoved at her again, urgently.
He thought they were being attacked. Her pulse rate jumped. Maybe the dragon diving at them was relieving the boredom of guard duty by playing scare-the-human. But if he wasn’t …
They needed to get under something, quick. She jumped down. So did Rule.
No way could they make it to the cave. She sprinted for the cliff, Rule racing alongside her, Gan huffing a few paces behind. The dragons couldn’t grab them from above if they were up against that wall of rock. She flattened her back against it, her heart pounding, her mouth dry, her brain silly with fear. She didn’t want to look.
Stupid, she jeered at herself. Think you can close your eyes and the bad dragon will go away? She made herself look up and caught a glimpse of scarlet near the head of the pursuing dragon. There was only one of their guards with a frill that color, the same crimson as Sam’s.
It was smaller than the one it chased, she realized. Younger?
Then the two collided.
Her breath caught. This was no game, but battle, real and bloody. The two grappled in mid-air, a confusion of flapping wings, snaky necks, and lashing tails. She couldn’t see what was happening, who was winning. Then one broke away—the one who’d pursued, she realized, spotting the scarlet frill. Its wings worked desperately to carry it higher—for one wing was damaged. And pursuer had become pursued.
The smaller one tried to dodge, but its attacker caught up with it, seizing one great wing and shredding it viciously. The injured dragon fought free, but it was clumsy now, lumbering through the air. Its attacker closed again.
Slowly at first, then faster, the injured dragon fell, the long body tumbling, tangling with wings that no longer caught air. She caught glimpses of that scarlet frill as it plummeted. Her stomach clenched sickly. It hit up the beach near their cave, and she felt the impact in the soles of her feet.
The winner circled once, then dove again. Toward them.
“Oh, shit,” she whispered. Maybe she’d poke a dragon with her big stick, after all.
“There’s another one!” Gan piped. “Coming from behind the mountains!”
She squinted, trying to make out details. The sky had darkened enough that it was hard to see the dragons clearly against it, but—“It’s Sam!”
Then the high, black shape folded his wings tight to his body and dropped, stooping like a giant hawk after a lesser bird. Aimed like an arrow at the dragon who had just killed.
It must have seen or sensed him, for it twisted, beating its wings frantically—but too late. Seconds later, Sam struck.
Dragons didn’t all die silently. This one screamed as its back broke, a bass howl that ended in a great splay of blood as Sam slashed its throat open, both of them still dropping.
That body had little distance to fall. While Sam’s wings beat hard, fighting to keep him from finishing his plummet, his victim made a huge splash some twenty feet from shore.
Go, that cool mental voice said as his wings prevailed and Sam began to climb. Don’t gawk. Get to the caves your lupus has been so determinedly exploring.
“What’s happening?” Lily cried.
The others will be here shortly, in case their tool failed. As it did. Satisfaction coated that thought. I do not tolerate betrayal.
Rule shoved at Lily. She staggered a few steps, then stopped. “What others? Why are they coming here?”
Sam was still climbing, but slowly, circling his way up. The Singers. The fools dispute my possession of you. They come to kill you.
“No!” Gan cried. “They can’t kill her! That would be stupid! They need her!”
They have finally understood the folly of allowing a sensitive to fall into Xitil’s hands. There will be no more negotiations.
“But the Singers—you were holding me for them!” Lily said. “They’re your leaders—”
Not my leaders. I took you and held you because I wished to. They wished to believe it was on their behalf. I allowed this until I learned that they planned to kill you without asking my permission. Go now.
Rule shoved her, hard. She gave in and started down the beach at a trot, but called, “What changed? Why do the demons want my blood?”
You will ask questions of Death itself when it stoops for you! Remain underground until I summon you. It may be many sleeps before it is safe to emerge. The Singers will abandon their pique with me soon enough and cease challen
ging my possession of you. Xitil is coming. She has eaten god-flesh and is quite mad.
“Oh, no,” Gan whispered. “Oh no, oh no, oh no …”
Mad or not, Sam’s chill thoughts continued, growing distant as he rose, she has too much power now to easily defeat. The others will need me.
Who are you? Lily thought, stopping at the mouth of the cave in spite of the insistent press of Rule’s body. She knew that once inside, the dragon’s mindspeech would be cut off by the earth. What are you? Not a Singer …
Not one of the little Singers, he agreed, the mental voice faint. A Great Singer. Perhaps the last of the Great Singers …
THIRTY-TWO
THE next day dawned cool and misty. Lily was sweating beneath her leather jacket anyway. Maybe it was the pack on her back, or the weight of the M-16 slung over her shoulder. Or maybe she was freaking, funked-out, bone-deep scared.
“They’re taking forever,” Cynna muttered, shifting from foot to foot.
Lily nodded. This was probably when she should say something heartening, but she was fresh out of heartening.
She wished Grandmother was here. Sharp and strong that wish rose in her, foolish as it was. Grandmother couldn’t have gone with them. She couldn’t have done anything but wait. But still, Lily wished she was here.
They’d assembled their odd crew on a low bluff near the ocean forty miles north of the city. It was private property, part of an estate, but the Rho had somehow arranged for them to be allowed on the grounds. Bribery, probably. It was the closest node to Rule—or where Rule would be, if he’d been on Earth.
Three women and a part-time male stripper held hands in a circle atop the node. Behind each of them stood a tall black candle, unlit. Dead center in the circle was Hannah’s stone altar. It held a silver bowl filled with water.
Lily hadn’t been offered the names of the other two Rhejes. The youngest one, the Etorri Rhej, was a slim, ordinary-looking woman about Lily’s age, with dirty blond hair and pale blue eyes. Cullen stood between her and the Mondoyo Rhej, a tall black woman with sleepy eyes who looked to be on the high side of forty. She’d arrived a scant few hours ago, having flown in from somewhere in northern Africa. Then there was Hannah—old, fat, sightless, and very much in charge.
Maiden, Mother, and Crone, Lily thought, looking at the three women. Weird. Hannah had said the Lady’s workings often fell out that way, even when, as now, her human agents didn’t plan it so.
The air was still and moist with ocean smells. Lily and Cynna waited on the ocean side of the node beneath a twisted oak, its trunk leaning perpetually away from the absent wind. On the other side of the node were twenty armed lupi, as many trained Nokolai as Benedict could call upon this quickly. If something did manage to get through the gate despite Cullen’s precautions, it would be blasted.
On the other side of the armed lupi, Nettie waited beside a modified SUV that would serve as an ambulance if necessary. With luck, none of them would need Nettie’s services, but Lily wasn’t about to rely on luck.
Only Lily, Cullen, and Cynna were crossing. The gate would be too small, the power too little, to allow more to pass through. And, of course, they had to take a small enough party that there would be room for one more on their return.
Max could have come. He was small enough to ride through the gate piggyback, but when they finally tracked him down he’d cursed a lot, told them they were idiots, and kicked them out of the club. Max didn’t deal well with grief, Cullen said. Lily wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be a joke.
Lily stared at the circle, willing them to hurry. So far, all they’d done was hold hands. All that she could see, anyway.
“ ‘It is easy to go down into hell,’” Cynna murmured. “‘Night and day, the gates of dark Death stand wide … ’ Guess old Virgil had that wrong, didn’t he?”
“What?” Lily’s turned to stare at the taller woman. “Virgil? Uh—is that poetry?”
Cynna shrugged the shoulder that didn’t hold the strap of an M-16. “I like old poetry.”
For an ex-Dizzy, Cynna knew the oddest things.
“Mir acculum,” Hannah said suddenly. “A dondredis mir requiem.”
“A dondredis mir requiem,” the tall black woman repeated. The other woman and Cullen echoed the phrase in turn, then they joined voices in a quiet chant.
At last something was happening. This first part of the ritual required all four of them—grooming the energy, Cullen called it. The second stage would be up to him, however. That’s when Lily …
“Is that a taxi cab?” Cynna asked incredulously.
It was. The cab bumped up the dirt road that led here from the highway, stopping in a flurry of dust where the ruts stopped on the other side of the armed Nokolai. Unable to see clearly past the men, Lily headed that way. Cynna fell into step beside her.
Cullen and the women continued chanting, oblivious. Just as Lily reached the guards, the back door of the taxi swung open. Four feet of bad-tempered ugly climbed out.
Cynna stopped. “What is that?”
“That,” Lily said, feeling her mouth stretch in a wholly unexpected grin, “is what you’ll be carrying through instead of your backpack.”
Max possessed ugliness the way a few rare souls possess beauty, an ugliness that fascinated. His nose stretched toward his mouth like a cartoon witch’s, as if it had melted, then reformed in mid-drip. He had no hair, not much in the way of chin or lips, and skin the color of mushrooms. He was skinny, with knobby joints and arms too long for his body.
Today he wore camouflage and army boots. God only knew where he’d gotten the outfit.
One of the lupi moved to intercept him. Lily gestured at him to let Max through.
Max was muttering under his breath as he stomped up to Lily. “I can’t believe I’m here. I can’t believe I’m this stupid. Well?” he demanded, coming to a stop. “What are you staring at?”
“A very welcome sight,” she said softly. “Max, this is Cynna.”
The tips of his ears turned red. He scowled and looked Cynna up and down. “Nice boobs. Too big, but they’re shaped good.”
Cynna shook her head and loosened the straps on her pack. “I hope you’re worth giving up half our supplies.”
“Lily,” Cullen said.
She looked over Max’s head at him.
He stood alone now, holding a silver athame—a ceremonial knife—in one hand. The three women sat in the grass a few feet away, still chanting softly. The candles were burning.
She took a deep breath and touched the canvas cases hung from her belt that carried extra clips. Show time.
Lily’s part in the ritual was passive. From this point on she wasn’t to speak, not until she crossed. He would tie the gate to her, as he’d suggested—he’d won that argument—but she need only stand there and let him do it.
That, and bleed a bit.
Lily walked over to him and felt nothing—not a trace, not a whisper of magic, though it must be thick in the air. She closed her mind to that loss and held out her left hand.
He murmured something, the words soft and foreign. Then he took her hand in his, palm up, and ran the blade of his athame across the heel of her palm. It burned. Blood welled up quickly, and Cullen murmured more words. Then he turned her hand palm down and shook it, sprinkling the earth with her blood as he called out one word three times.
Vertigo seized her, a twisting, scraping otherness that slid inside, settling in her gut and turning her senses crazy. The world spun, and she staggered. Cullen’s arm came around her waist, steadying her.
Gradually the world steadied, but the sense of otherness remained. She felt as if some bizarre geometry had been planted in her middle and was busily making itself at home.
She straightened and gave Cullen a nod.
He stepped back. Using the tip of his bloody knife, he began tracing the doorway that would surround the altar. Light followed the athame like the afterglow from a sparkler as he slit the fabric between the rea
lms, and when he finished the air shimmered. It was like looking through heat waves.
Lily put a hand on her stomach. The shimmer somehow matched the shifting geometry in her gut. It wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t pleasant, either. She looked over her shoulder.
At her glance, Cynna bent her knees and Max climbed aboard. She’d have to duck to get through, but they’d fit. Cullen tucked his athame in his belt and slipped on the harness that held the rocket launcher, a huge tube almost as tall as he was. He picked up his machine gun and took his place at the rear.
They’d go through single-file. Lily gave them all a nod, unslung her M-16, and walked toward the shimmering air. Four paces, duck as she stepped over the alter—and into hell.
Where a battle already raged.
A small fire smoldered in the center of the rocky chamber Rule had led them to. It was a Swiss-cheese sort of a space, the walls holed in several places, with fissures in the ceiling. Some of the smoke from the fire escaped through those overhead cracks, but the fire still made the room smoky without providing much light.
Better than no light at all, though. Lily hugged her knees. Thank goodness Gan had been able to bring a load of firewood. She was small enough that she hadn’t had to crawl the way Lily had in the worst of the passages. Things could be worse.
Who was she kidding? She hated this. Hated it. But not as much as Rule did.
How had he done it? How had he made himself keep coming back to these tunnels, over and over, hunting a way out? She’d known it took a toll on him, but she hadn’t understood, not really. Not until she followed him into a darkness so heavy it had seemed to press the air from her lungs.
She had no idea how long it had taken them to reach this chamber, where the air was good and the ceiling was higher than her outstretched hands. Probably not the hours it had seemed. They’d trended more up than down, though. Were they anywhere near the top of the cliff where the dragons gathered to sing?
Gan spoke suddenly, her voice high and scratchy. “Xitil’s called Earth-Mover, you know.”
