by Ann Aguirre
Leaning in, I kissed my father on the cheek, as I had done so many times as a child. He did not smell of Old Spice. He didn’t have a bowling shirt or a Panama hat, but he was still the man who held my dreams in his hands until the day he disappeared. With his blue eyes set in an ascetic face, he smiled, though his lips didn’t move. Then he sang in a tuneless tenor the chorus from “Fire and Rain,” which he’d always belted out in the shower. The speaker crackled with the emotion, and I couldn’t bear another moment. As he finished the last word, I stepped behind the reaping machine, grabbed the cord Greydusk had indicated and tugged.
It popped free with a spurt of fluid, and I kept pulling. The Imaron helped me, knowing I was mad with grief and that I had to get my father down. I would not leave him in this place. Chance worked beside me, his face taut with echoed sorrow. Because he loved me, he mourned with me. I wondered how he would feel if we had found his mother in such a state.
But due to his luck, we’d saved her. And I’d killed my own father.
At last I set Albie Solomon free and he fell into my arms. I held him and rocked, tears streaming down my face. He felt like a child against me, thin and small and wasted. His legs resembled matchsticks, arms like pipe stems, and his face was too young for so much pain, borne in my stead.
Chance and Greydusk let me grieve for a while before the demon dared to intrude. “Your Majesty, we cannot remain here. The mages might return.”
The queen surged forward then, taking over. I bit off the words like chips of ice. “Let them.”
No Way Back
“I’m not leaving him.” My tone brooked no refusal.
In response, Greydusk knelt and collected my father’s body. The Imaron cradled his wasted form with proper reverence, and the pain ebbed enough for me to rise and lead the way out into the corridor.
Now we needed a rathole.
I had an idea. I toyed with it, wondering if the small creature that felt so ambivalent about me could truly help us. But it was worth a try.
“Put the dog down,” I said to Chance.
“Corine…” He trailed off. Then he obeyed, kneeling beside the animal with a worried air. “Don’t hurt him, okay?”
I wrestled a duality of reaction: anger that he’d dare question anything I did commingled with an absurd sense of hurt that he thought I would. With great self-control I put aside both responses to be analyzed later. Eventually I would have to deal with the divergence in my head, resulting from my twin selves—which hadn’t merged, but left me with conflicting impulses—but for now the compound was shaking down around our ears, even if we couldn’t feel it here in the the sanctum sanctorum.
“I won’t,” was all I said before I directed my attention to the animal. Butch, that was his name. “So you’re a clever beast.”
The dog eyed me skeptically and backed up a step. But it wasn’t growling or trying to bite me, which felt like a small victory. Then it yapped. Once.
“That means yes,” Chance put in.
I remembered that after he said it, as if it was a fact I had learned long ago and since forgotten. “Excellent. If I find something that belonged to the mage who worked in this lab, could you follow his scent?”
Butch pondered and then yapped again. He could.
“Brilliant.” Greydusk saw the plan in its entirety, I had no doubt.
In essence, it was simple enough. If the dog could follow the trail, it should lead us to the route that mages had used to escape my wrath. If we found their hiding place along the way, even better. It could end here and now. If not, we left the collapsing Saremon compound and went straight to the palace, where I could issue my first proclamation, hire staff, begin renovations, and organize a proper funeral.
That list daunted even a demon queen—but that had to be weariness and grief talking. I had been born for this role. I had lain dormant in the human’s blood, in her soul, waiting for my moment. Once I set my affairs in order, the pleasure in this would return. I didn’t permit any doubts to take root.
Instead I took action, ransacking the lab for some cast-off piece of clothing. My efforts bore fruit when I slammed open a drawer and found a dirty handkerchief. It was damp with some unidentifiable fluid and I found some pincers to pick it up, then I knelt and offered it to the dog for his perusal. He sniffed and then sneezed. Whined a little too. I couldn’t blame him; it was fiercely revolting.
“Is that strong enough?” Chance asked.
The dog’s look said, Hell, yes. Any stronger and I would die.
I swept my arm out before me in an inviting gesture. “Lead on. We’re right behind you.”
The little dog pranced. Part of me found it adorable; the rest of me wondered how it was possible the creature hadn’t been eaten. Butch lowered his small head, tail up and twitching with excitement. He sniffed around outside the door and then settled confidently on a path that led back the way we’d come, only at the first opportunity, he hung a left. We’d explored this part of the lab complex, but I hadn’t been looking for an exit then. I’d only been thinking of my dad. Later I would replay those moments with him. My heart hurt; it was a caution against love and its shocking weakening, but I did not deny those feelings. Even pain would make me stronger in the end.
The dog led us straight to a hidden passage. This place was probably riddled with them. When I knelt beside him, a breeze swept out from beneath the stone. I felt around for the catch and then a section of wall slid behind the rest.
Though I half wanted resistance, I encountered none. The mages had gone to ground and would strike next from a fortified position. They were smart enough not to want to face me in a dark tunnel with little preparation time. The strongest rituals took time to set in place. That was why I hadn’t dealt instant death in the arena.
The hidden passage led us into a plaza across the way, and when I turned, I saw the utter devastation of what had been the Saremon compound. They had shaken it to rubble rather than let anyone else gain a foothold there. It would take a salvage crew weeks to unearth their library, though the magickal shields should protect the books from harm. A host of curious onlookers had gathered to watch the fall of the house of Saremon. They didn’t see us emerge behind them.
“Summon the carriage,” I told Greydusk. “And take us to the palace.”
After handing my father’s body to Chance, the Imaron did as I ordered. I watched with implacable resolve as the cube unfolded and he sent the black mist of the Klothod into the mechanism. It wasn’t revolting anymore; it was a tool to be used. The demon assisted me into the coach, and we were off before the assembled mob took an interest in our activities.
The city—and the caste checkpoints—flew by in a blur; then the coach stopped outside a massive black gate with barbed points atop the walls. This wasn’t a glamorous fairy castle. It was entirely suitable for a demon queen. Time had been unkind, but with a little effort, the villa would glow once more with a dark luster.
“Home sweet home,” I murmured.
“You need to disembark, Your Majesty. The magickal protections sealed the place up when you vanished. Only your touch can raise the portcullis.”
Nodding, I dropped down to the cobbled street and strode toward the gate, where I wrapped both hands around the bars. “Open in the name of the Once and Future Queen, who is risen.”
A shudder rocked the ground I stood upon. Then the bars scrolled backward with a hideous, rusty shriek. I returned to the carriage.
“It knows me,” I said with satisfaction.
“As do we all,” Greydusk replied. “Even those who oppose you cannot dispute your identity.”
The coach clattered over the stones into the courtyard. Behind us, the portcullis lowered on its own, like enormous jaws slowly swallowing prey—an ominous and efficient magick. I approved.
Craning my neck, I took my first complete visual inspection. The structure was Gothic, with crenellated windows, four separate towers, flying buttresses, ribbed arches, and high vaults. In pla
ces the dark stone had crumbled away, leaving chunks broken on the courtyard tile. Part of me remembered when this place bustled with those eager to do my bidding, but it was dark and silent now.
No matter.
“Lay him out here,” I told Greydusk.
The Imaron set my father’s body down gently. Though it would take time and power, I knew a ritual that would burn him to ash, but I needed magickal accoutrements first, much stronger than the white witch herbs in the box my human half had treasured so. Unfortunately, her belongings had been left in a car abandoned on a mountainside. There might be some components left within the castle.
Inside, it was a ruin, and I found nothing salvageable, save a white curtain, which I used as a funeral shroud. With a stub of charcoal, I scrawled my needs on a scrap of ancient parchment. “You will fetch these items for me immediately,” I told Greydusk.
“As you command, my queen.”
That left Chance and me alone in the dying light, as shadows gathered around my father’s body. Yet I couldn’t bring myself to leave him. Someone should stand guard over him in death as no one had in life. His sacrifice must be respected.
“Can I hold you?” he asked.
It was proper that he did inquire, even in private, and I craved the comfort of his arms. Such behavior was not regal, perhaps, but there were none to see, not even the quasits, which had stalked our steps since our arrival. Now there was only darkness and silence.
In answer I went to him and he wrapped me up. I rested my head on his heart. “Is this all very strange to you?”
“You have no idea.”
“Yet you remain. Such loyalty is a treasure beyond price.”
“I’m not altogether sure who you are at the moment,” he admitted softly, “but somewhere in there is the woman I’ve loved for years. That’s enough for me.”
From the deepest recess of my mind, a whisper came: I love you too. The human’s joy cascaded through me until it became my own. She was stronger than I’d realized, forcing me to feel what she felt.
“I’m she, but more too.”
“Yeah, I got that earlier. I could tell you were different when you came back for us.” He ran his hands along my sides, grazing the wound I’d taken in the arena.
I hissed a breath and drew back.
“You’re hurt. How bad is it?”
I shrugged. In my natural form, such minor damage would have already healed. I had no idea how this hybrid thing I’d become would handle wounds, though certainly I was frail by comparison.
“I’ll survive. He won’t.” With my gaze, I indicated the white-shrouded figure lying supine on the stones.
“Don’t blame yourself for his choices. He loved you that much.”
“I am more concerned with vengeance than guilt,” I said silkily.
“Ah.” From his expression and the way he pulled back, folding his arms, I could tell I had disappointed him somehow, given an unexpected response.
“There will be satisfaction in destroying those responsible.” I tried to explain, and I hated the impulse. A consort need not approve my actions; he needed only to submit to my will.
“Do you remember where we first met?” he asked.
The knowledge swam at the back of my head, so far away that I had to sink to retrieve it. “At a dry cleaner’s?”
“Yes.” His voice went warm and husky with relief. “You returned my keys.”
This didn’t seem like the time to admit I didn’t really remember, experienced none of the nostalgic emotions that colored his beautiful features. I had an attachment to him, but it was an echo of the woman in the back of my head, a haunting of something lost.
His demeanor warmed, and he drew me back into his arms, careful to avoid my injured side. Eventually the dog pushed out of the bag and investigated the courtyard, and then christened a corner of it. Charming. We stood like that in silence, mourning the dead, until Greydusk returned.
“It took multiple stops,” the Imaron said by way of greeting, “but I collected everything you need.”
I nodded, but didn’t thank him, and stepped away from Chance.
The ritual took hours. First I deployed the ingredients in proper order, then drew all the sigils, infused them with magick, and etched the body with matching runes using special ink rendered from blood. By the time I finished, I was panting and exhausted. Here I had no secret source running through the stones. Finally, I backed away from the meat that had been my father, and I spoke the command words in demontongue.
The sigils flamed with darklight, incinerating his flesh in mighty bursts. I did Albert Solomon’s bravery the honor of not turning away. I watched every horrific moment, each puff of smoke, each breath of ash, until there was nothing left but cinder and char, chips of bone, and a great ruby that had been his heart.
Sorrow crowned me as I bent and plucked it with careful fingertips. It burned with a cold, eternal fire. From this jewel, I would have a necklace made, something exquisite, so I never forgot this moment. My enemies would see it glimmer at my throat and fear my resolve.
“Did you wish to speak a few words?” Greydusk asked.
I shook my head and drew my athame. I pulled the power that wreathed me in sweet darkness and summoned a wind to scour the courtyard clean. The broken moon had risen, shining silver and blood, by the time the breeze died. It was wrong that Albie Solomon’s mortal remains should be scattered here, but I’d saved his soul, at least. If there was anything left of my mother, he could find her. The thought comforted me.
“Let’s go inside and find a place to sleep,” I said.
“I brought food,” the Imaron ventured. “I know this is not what you are accustomed to, my queen—”
I moved my shoulders in a careless shrug. “It will be grand again. In time.”
“When you have crushed your enemies,” he finished.
“Precisely so.”
The three of us passed from the courtyard to the darkness within. Greydusk unloaded a few parcels—the food he’d mentioned—and I found shards of metal suitable for my light spell. Soon the room I chose as the least wrecked offered a semblance of cheer in the form of tattered fabrics piled in a makeshift pallet.
“Some queen,” I said with a bitter smile. “Of rats and rags.”
Together, we ate in a primitive picnic. I didn’t wonder about the nature of the meat. It only mattered that it would sustain me and give me the strength to push forward with my plans. Tomorrow, the city would know the queen had ascended.
Greydusk lay down outside the door, and Chance pulled me into his arms, offering his body as a shield against danger. It was an instinctive maneuver, driven by his imprinted instincts as first male, but I appreciated it nonetheless. Generally, chosen consorts were more concerned with personal gain and status. In my long memory, I could remember no one who offered such devotion—and it moved me.
When she sleeps, I wake. But I can’t wrest control away permanently. Even those moments with my father were given to me like charity, not a result of my own strength. I can hear Chance breathing beside me. I can’t tell him that his loyalty touches me. I can’t control my own body anymore. This isn’t what she promised.
I’m a spectator in my own life. We’re not a new person, joined. We’re two opposing forces, fighting for control. I can see everything she does, hear everything she says. But I can’t change it. I can’t protest.
It’s dark here. The weight presses in on me, making me feel small and tiny. I can’t move. I never thought I could feel more helpless than I did in Oz’s hands, but I do now, sleeping in the arms of the man I love.
In the morning, I woke alone, and I heard voices in the corridor beyond. Chance pitched his words low, but they carried. “What can you tell me about her new…personality? Is this permanent? Can she be fixed?”
Fixed? As if I were a defective piece of machinery. Anger rose to an icy point.
“Her Majesty will never be human again.”
From Chance’s sig
h, those were not the tidings he’d hoped to hear. “Damn.”
The demon sounded surprised. “You don’t find her strength more appealing?”
“This incarnation has a certain…something. But she’d hate this, if she really knew, if she was herself.”
“She made the choice.” Puzzlement laced the Imaron’s tone.
“Sometimes she does things that are better for other people. You know she fought so we wouldn’t be harmed. And at some point in the battle, she had to let the queen in…or she would’ve died. I don’t believe she would’ve done that under any other circumstances.”
“Be that as it may, it is done. There is no way back from here.”
Those words resonated; they felt true.
But Chance didn’t think so, apparently. “Really? I doubt you’d tell me even if there was some way to reverse this—to help her. You’ve always wanted the queen, and now you have her. You’re her right-hand man, and she’ll step on your throat to give you that special, irreplaceable thrill.”
This could easily escalate. Chance sounded like he wanted a fight, and I couldn’t afford dissent when I had so few foot soldiers. I made a conspicuous noise as if I were just awakening. Silence fell.
Then Chance stepped into the doorway. “Ready to start the day?”
If he persisted in such informal address in public, I’d have to chastise him. For now, I let the intimacy stand. I gave my first orders.
“Greydusk, issue a formal announcement. The palace is hiring. I will consider all comers, even those with cases waiting to be reviewed by the Eshur. I will accept murderers and thieves, so long as they are entirely mine.” I smiled, anticipating the day. “And who knows? Perhaps such minions will prove useful.”
“As you say, my queen. What more?”
“Procure suitable amenities at once. Furnishings, art, carpets, clothing. Confiscate all private Saremon holdings…you should encounter no trouble so long as you bear my seal.” I turned, still disheveled from the night, and went in search of the ruined study, where I had once signed proclamations and reviewed proposed amendments to caste law.
