by Cat Adams
“You!” he spat. “Where is your cousin? Olga promised she’d deliver you both. Stupid, incompetent bitch.”
So Olga was the traitor. I wasn’t surprised. Here’s hoping I’d live to accuse her, though it wasn’t looking likely.
“Still”—Jan smiled, and it was pure evil that lit his face with delight—“of the two of you, you’re the one I wanted most, after what you did to my brother. I will enjoy every minute of what happens to you even more than I’ve enjoyed punishing your little friend.”
He turned and walked out of the room through an open door. I could hear him giving orders to people I couldn’t see. “The sacrifice has arrived. Make sure the cameras and the computer are ready. We want to make sure this goes out live.”
I didn’t just hear heavy footfalls then, I felt them. The ground shuddered beneath my knees with each invisible step. The smell of sulfur filled the air, thick enough to choke on, searing my lungs each time I drew breath.
I’ve faced greater demons before. But I’d always been outside the safety of a protection ring. Now I was inside. I tried to think, tried to plan, but my mind refused.
I could sense something huge and hideous waiting, poised to pounce. All that stood between it and me was a tissue-paper-thin film of reality. He could not cross that last barrier without human invitation. Even having come so far, and having been here so often, he could not cross. Even with his greatest tool on this side of the veil, the demon could not appear until someone uttered the words to bring him forth.
Jan stepped back into the room, wearing a black robe of thick velvet. He pulled up a hood, obscuring his face, then drew a hooked silver knife from a pocket hidden in the thick folds of ebony cloth. He rolled back his left sleeve, exposing a pale length of heavily scarred flesh. With a triumphant cry, he drew a long, deep cut down the length of his forearm. Then he shook the blade, sending splatters of blood onto the silver casting ring as he began chanting the summoning.
I fought to control my terror, tried to think clearly enough to do something, anything to buy the time it would take for a rescue.
The casting had to have blood. But it also needed the words. If I could stop Jan from speaking, I could stop the demon.
Reaching beneath my jacket, I drew my gun. Dropping to one knee, I steadied myself, then fired twice, aiming at the center mass of his body. But the bullets were caught in the spell barrier, frozen in midair as if suspended in clear gelatin. He was almost finished. Just a few more seconds … I had an idea, a desperate, crazy idea. I grabbed one of my One Shot squirt guns filled with holy water. I raised the tiny water pistol with my left hand and my Colt with my right. I squeezed the trigger with my left index finger. I actually saw the water hit, burning away the shield for a few seconds, barely long enough for me to aim the Colt and fire.
Jan’s body jerked backward as the bullet hit him square in the chest; blood and cloth sprayed the wall behind him, more blood bubbled from his lips. He dropped to his knees and I knew I’d killed him. But it didn’t matter, because with his last whisper of breath, he finished the summoning. The way was clear.
I closed my eyes. If I looked, if I saw him, I would panic and wouldn’t be able to think. I needed to think. Odin Allfather had said I could defeat this. I struggled, trying to remember his words even as hideous, obscene laughter made my skin try to crawl off my body while at the same time my loins tightened with desire.
The message: what was it? The words came to me then. Have faith. The right weapon can overcome what will come against you.
I had holy water, but only another One Shot, certainly not enough to harm something like this.
The demon laughed again and began moving toward me. I found myself weeping, praying for the courage and strength; praying to the god my grandmother had taught me of, who I’d wanted to believe in and never could. But as I knelt on the hot concrete, the words of the first prayer she ever taught me came to my mind, remembered from back when I was small enough to be afraid of the dark, before my sister had even been born.
Angel of God, my guardian dear.
The demon let out a basso bellow that shattered my eardrums, deafening me more thoroughly than a gunshot at close range.
To whom God’s love commits me here.
I opened my eyes to see a huge, black dragon, like a living shadow, towering at least forty feet above me, razor-sharp claws raised to strike. When I didn’t stop praying, he turned toward Okalani.
I screamed, “No,” and threw myself down on top of her, protecting her body with mine. I wrapped myself around the spear that bound her to this world. I closed my eyes and waited for the blow that would end my life.
Fire flared around me, I could smell it, feel it. But it did not burn. The dragon shrieked in impotent rage. I couldn’t hear it, but I could feel it, an actual physical pressure beating against me. I opened my eyes wondering what could possibly be stopping him and saw light, bright searing light, illuminating everything, making the demonic monster hold back. Words echoed in my mind, and though they were in a language I did not know, I knew full well what they were saying.
They are mine. The demon’s voice, filled with honey and putrefaction.
The other voice held power and love stronger than anything I’d ever felt. Were that so, I could not be here, and well we both know it. Begone.
A dark laugh bubbling with evil pleasure filled my ears and made me cringe. I wanted to look again but that was the way to madness. True evil would corrupt my eyes, blind me. One is a traitor, the other a tainted thing. They are mine!
The sound of steel on steel filled the air, like a blade being unsheathed. No. The betrayer has repented and is forgiven. And while the other has yet to choose her final path, it is she who called me forth. Again I say, begone.
I felt the power surging and risked a peek. The dragon shimmered, changing shape, becoming something more humanlike, but huge, and somehow both hideous and soul-searingly beautiful. He reached forward and grabbed the spear that I was wrapped around. I relaxed fractionally just in time as he pulled it free with no visible effort. Blood and flesh sprayed across me. But still I protected Okalani’s ravaged body.
A flurry of sound and motion outside the circle drew my attention. Through a wall of flames I saw Bruno, Creede, Igor, and a priest in full regalia pouring through the doorway into the room.
I couldn’t hear the priest speak, but I saw his lips move. He was performing the ritual banishment. He looked so terrified—they all did—and I realized with a shock that they thought I was alone and unprotected.
As I should have been.
My faith, while real, is shaky at best. And the demon had been right about my being tainted. It wasn’t just that I was part vampire; I’d been marked by a demon once before.
The voice in my mind was patient, kind, and loud. No one is perfect. But you do have faith. You hold truth dear. You hold loyalty sacred. And some days, that is enough.
The demon snarled and paced around the parts of the circle he could reach, eyes blazing with hate every time he reached the invisible boundary line created by the light. I began to think I might survive.
As I watched, the priest dipped the sprinkler into the bucket of holy water and flung a spray of liquid into the air above the circle. The drops passed through the barrier as if it weren’t there. The demon howled his defiance even while he dodged frantically, trying to avoid being hit. Drops splattered to the ground. When the water hit the being of white fire, the flames soared, turning it whole and perfect. Nearly too perfect to look at.
Again and again the priest repeated his actions, until the floor of the casting circle was covered in water and there was nowhere left for the minion of hell to hide.
As the priest raised the sprinkler one last time, the fallen angel called out. Jan’s corpse levitated up from the floor and flew into his clawed hand.
He turned to me with a chilling smile. I will see you in your dreams, dear one. We are linked, you and I. For all eternity.
&n
bsp; Then he was gone.
34
“I would like a private word with the princess.” Igor stood just inside the door to my private hospital room. It was 4:00 A.M. but he looked as fresh as if it was the beginning of his day. He’d showered and changed clothes in the hours since I’d last seen him. Looking at him now, you’d have no clue that he’d been up all night dealing with the fallout of everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. His black suit was immaculate, the crease in his pants sharp enough to shave with. The white dress shirt he wore almost gleamed under the fluorescent lights.
Bruno, on the other hand, was a wreck. Slumped in the chair at my bedside, he wore the same clothes he’d thrown on in a hurry yesterday morning; his hair was rumpled and he had more than a shadow of a beard. Still, he was alert and wary as he sat up straighter in his seat. The look he gave me said as clearly as words that he didn’t think I was up to this.
He might have been right.
I am a fairly tough cookie, but everybody has a limit, and I was coming perilously close to mine. It wasn’t the violence, or even the demon—although I wondered if I’d ever relax enough to sleep soundly again. No, it was the memories. The things I’d seen in Mexico had cracked the protective magical shield that had blunted my memories of Ivy’s death and my torture. Seeing what had happened to Okalani had shattered that barrier entirely.
I remembered every cigarette burn, every cut, the threats and the terror. But most of all, I remembered my sheer helplessness as I watched my sister die a hideously gruesome death because she couldn’t control the ghouls her talent had raised. Each memory was as vivid, as raw, as the day it had happened.
I looked at Igor, who was standing silent and patient, then took a deep breath and shoved the memories into a box in my mind. I slammed down the lid and hoped it would hold. “I’ll be fine,” I said to Bruno. “Let us talk.”
Bruno didn’t argue, he just stood. He bent down to give me a tender kiss. Still leaning close, he whispered, “Whatever he wants, say no. You’ve done enough—more than enough.”
I didn’t answer. It wasn’t Bruno’s decision to make. It was mine. But I had to admit that I was leaning toward having the doctors give me enough sedatives to knock out an elephant, in hopes that I would be too deeply unconscious to dream.
Bruno straightened and shook his head. Walking past Igor, he gave the older man a very unfriendly look, but didn’t say a word. Only after the door was fully closed and we were alone did Igor come over to stand beside the bed.
“You are stronger than he knows,” Igor observed.
And more fragile than you think, I thought. What I said was, “What do you need?”
He looked down at me, his expression so utterly bland that it was at odds with his words. “We interrogated Princess Olga thoroughly.” I winced. He didn’t say torture, but I couldn’t help thinking it. “While the man you knew as Jan Mortensen was one of their top men, he was not the head of the organization. That man is still in place. So long as he lives, the movement will continue.”
I didn’t speak, just waited. There was more. I could tell.
“They have one final plan in place for during the wedding tomorrow.” He sighed, sounding weary. Either the strain of the last few days was showing, or he was a superlative actor. I couldn’t tell. But the regret in his voice when he spoke next sounded sincere. “Unfortunately, the oath she had taken killed her before she could give us any details. But we have a plan.”
Of course they did, and judging by his presence here, it involved me. “Tell me.”
“We do not believe that the enemy knows that we discovered Princess Olga was the traitor. Her arrest was handled discreetly, as was her questioning. We have a spawn on staff who is capable of being Princess Olga for the duration of the wedding. He is one of our best agents. Having him in place in the wedding party will assure the safety of the king and offer us the opportunity to surprise the enemy, and possibly lead him into an indiscretion that will reveal the identity of their leader.”
It was possible. I wouldn’t have thought it was likely, but I wasn’t a spy. Igor was, and was good enough at his job to have risen to the top of the Ruslandic intelligence agency during a time of serious political turmoil. Too, the fact that it was the best chance didn’t mean it was a good one. I gave Igor a searching look and asked the million-dollar question. “Who do you think it is?”
“We don’t know,” he admitted. “But it has to be someone highly placed and close enough to the royal family for Olga to have been able to contact him or her freely and without notice. We have had her under close surveillance for the past several weeks.”
It made sense. And while Igor hadn’t said that Olga’s father, Prince Arkady, was a prime suspect, he had to be. Poor Dahlmar. He had already had to deal with the betrayal of his sons and his niece. Now his brother was a suspect, too. “So, what do you want from me?”
“Just do what you have been. Be the maid of honor. Guard the princess until the wedding is over.”
“That’s it?”
“We will handle the rest.”
He sounded awfully confident, but was he really? If he was that confident, why even tell me the plan? I could have just guarded her without needing to know all of this. I was emotionally battered and utterly weary. I wanted to crawl in a hole and not come out for at least a month, and they knew it. So why tell me?
Because Adriana needed me. If I quit now, and something happened to her, I would never forgive myself.
Igor watched while I worked it out in my head. “So telling me the plan will keep me in the wedding party, huh? Sadly, you’re right. But hey, how bad can it be?” I asked with a forced smile, even though I knew how stupid a question it was.
Igor smiled with me. His baring of teeth was as cynical as mine. What a pair we were.
* * *
Igor pulled strings so that I was released from the hospital immediately and with minimal fuss. Bruno didn’t say a word in argument, just glowered menacingly at all and sundry. I found this equally annoying and endearing. I was glad that he loved me and was worried about me. At the same time, I was irritated that he was trying to protect me, for the same reason I’d objected to protection in the first place. I knew that didn’t make sense, but emotions frequently don’t.
The doctor met alone with me one last time before letting me go.
Dr. Shablinski was an older woman, probably in her sixties. She wore her hair in a short, spiky style that suited her harsh features. She was striking but not pretty. And right now, she was annoyed and wasn’t bothering to hide it. I could hear it all too clearly in her heavily accented mental voice when she spoke to me mind-to-mind.
I am not pleased that you are leaving the hospital. It is too soon. Your ears will not be fully healed, and there is post-traumatic stress that needs to be dealt with. You must rest in order to heal, and I am certain you will not if you leave. So while I cannot stop you, you are doing this against medical advice.
I shrugged. What was there to say? I understand and, actually, I agree with you. Once the wedding is over, I intend to take a nice, long vacation.
A … vacation. Her voice sounded dry in my head. How do you plan to do that if you can’t sleep?
Ouch. She was evidently as observant as she was efficient.
I don’t know. I keep remembering … I let the sentence drag off unfinished, not wanting to repeat the demon’s parting words to me.
She sighed. I am going to order a sedative for you—but only enough pills for one week. It will allow you dreamless slumber, but it is not a permanent solution. You will need to work something out with your cleric, and I would strongly suggest therapy. If you don’t have a therapist—
I have one back home on the mainland.
She nodded and started writing on a pad. Good. If you give me her number and sign a release, I can update her as to what has happened. You are going to need to address tonight’s events.
No kidding. Tonight’s events. Last
week’s. Last month’s. Last year’s. Sheesh. I could foresee paying for Gwen’s future mansion with the therapy bills. But she was the best. And it would absolutely be worth the price if she could help me pull myself back together. Because, while I had been trying to put up a good front in front of Bruno and Igor, I was faking it big-time.
At the same time, I was worried. Gwen had once told me that if anything happened to my protections, she wouldn’t be able to reestablish them—doing so might destroy all my memories.
I signed the appropriate paperwork, took the proffered prescription, and we were on our way.
Creede was waiting at the car. Like Bruno, he didn’t say a word. But it wasn’t the first time he’d seen me throw myself into danger right after a demon encounter. He just shook his head and got into the front passenger seat while Bruno got in next to me in the back.
Even early as it was, there was an electric excitement in the air. It was as if the whole country was a small child and it was finally, finally Christmas morning. Today was the wedding day.
The limo drove through the streets leading to the castle in the thin, watery light of dawn. I watched through the window as the vendors bustled and tourists stumbled sleepily up to the police barriers, clutching steaming mugs or Styrofoam cups as they shivered slightly in the early-morning chill. Later in the day it was supposed to be sunny and in the seventies, but at the moment it was quite cool.
Had it really only been days since I’d made a similar pre-wedding drive through the streets of Serenity? It felt like years. Bad, dark years filled with pain.
Enough with the depressing thoughts, I admonished myself. It’s Adriana’s wedding day. I wished I could be as excited about it as the bystanders I saw outside the car windows. I just wasn’t. I tried giving myself a little internal pep talk, but the results were less than stellar.
Just get through the day. You can do this.
