by Patti O'Shea
“I did not—my word on it, en-Tanith. There were Dark Ones in Crimson City working to ensure I did not acquire the spell. They enlisted the aid of a human, a friend of Mc-Cabe’s. This man passed along the information regarding my assignment.”
The four councilors exchanged glances, and Mika took another deep breath. She forced her fingers to loosen their grip on her fist; she couldn’t show any trace of nerves.
“Explain further,” nin-Siath ordered.
“One of the Dark Ones confronted me, and because I am so beneath him in power, deigned to answer my questions. He claimed his people are too strong to be enslaved to anyone’s will, and that their goal is to have the incantation invoked and the veil lowered, so that they may rule the Overworld as all demons once did.”
The councilors leaned toward one another to quietly discuss her information. When there was a lull, Mika added, “I told him that, since the Dark Ones are imprisoned in Orcus just as every other demon is, that perhaps they weren’t quite as potent as they like to believe.”
That brought immediate silence, and all four stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. Mika ignored the disbelief. She’d told the leaders this for a reason. They might think she was insane, but demons respected courage. What she’d done had taken guts.
“He was there to kill me. I didn’t think I could make the situation worse by mentioning this—until I recalled their penchant for torture.”
“And yet you stand before us.” En-Tanith sounded surprised.
“McCabe arrived and shielded me.” Not that they cared about her well-being, but they required an explanation. “The Dark Ones want him alive to recite the spell, although I don’t know why it is believed only he can invoke it and not any other half-demon.”
The councilor on the far left—the one who had scowled so furiously at her—spoke up. “The legend is quite specific: only a half-demon who is also an auric will have the strength to implement the incantation.”
The statement brought rebuke from the other councilors. and an argument ensued. While they chastised him for being too free with facts, Mika ran through the legend as she knew it. In the version she’d heard, there was no mention of an auric—but she wasn’t surprised that the leaders had info that the rest of the population did not. There were many demons, particularly those on the lower end of the power spectrum, who felt that they were told no more than what the Council wanted them to know. It had always been this way.
When the disagreement seemed to be abating, Mika put her thoughts aside and waited. Though she was curious how they’d discovered Conor’s abilities, she didn’t dare ask. It would be the same as admitting what he could do, and she wouldn’t verify anything for them. Their spat ended, and they turned their attention to her.
“What type of bargain does he seek?” en-Tanith asked.
She had to be careful here. “In very general terms, Conor McCabe would be willing to trade the spell—and to take an oath never to recite it—in exchange for his safety.”
There was a brief silence. “We must confer. Withdraw to the far side of the chamber.”
Bowing her head to show her respect, Mika backed away from the dais until she reached the farthest wall. She knew they weren’t deciding whether or not to take the deal—they were deciding whether or not to bargain on a possible deal. Even if they consented to a discussion, they might opt to decline any pact she’d offer.
They also would try to take advantage of her. But what the strong rarely understood was that the weak could be better at negotiating. They had more need to be. Mika only hoped she was sharp enough to close every loophole this time.
As her wait lengthened, she grew concerned about Conor. What was he up to? Was he becoming impatient enough to cross the veil? There was no hurrying the Council, and if they agreed to haggle over terms, the discussion would be protracted. She couldn’t rush this and miss an opening to help her vishtau mate.
At last they signaled her to return to the platform. “You stated that you have a gesture of his good faith. We would see this now,” nin-Siath directed.
“It’s in my trousers.” Mika didn’t move until she received a nod allowing her to proceed. From the rear pocket of her jeans, she withdrew some folded paper: a reproduction of a few half-pages of the grimoire. She held them up. “May I come forward and hand these sheets to you?” she asked.
En-Tanith’s nod held such pomposity, Mika fought the urge to smile as she passed the paper to him. He glanced down, then handed the sheets to the councilor on his right. It would have been easier to make an electronic copy and let them read from her comm device, but human technology didn’t fare well in Orcus. If turned on, her energy pack would explode in less than a minute—hardly the right tone for negotiating a truce.
It seemed an eternity before nin-Siath asked, “He is willing to give us this incantation?”
“He is willing to destroy it and all copies.” Conor had refused to bargain unless he was the one to incinerate it.
“We do not trust this.”
She’d known they wouldn’t, but Mika also knew this was a sign that negotiations had begun. “I have the ability to make a tiny portion of the veil transparent for a brief time. McCabe will not cross the portal, but the esteemed Council will be able to watch him obliterate the book.”
They weren’t pleased by that either, but moved on to another point. She wondered if it was a very minor item and they’d squabble later, or if it was a possible deal breaker, something to be held till the end and only raised again if agreement was reached on other issues.
Fifteen minutes into discussions, en-Ulsef, the councilor holding the papers, roared a protest that the entire incantation wasn’t provided. The sudden silence in the room was overwhelming, then accusations began to fly. Nevermind that they knew this was only a gesture of good faith, not a duplicate of the spell, they were looking for an advantage and wanted her on the defensive. Mika didn’t become flustered, instead she found herself growing impatient with the theatrics. The high emotion wasn’t entirely faked—passion ran high in demons—but it was wearing thin.
When it became obvious that Mika wasn’t going to respond as many normal Mahseis would, the Council calmed down and tried a different approach. That didn’t work either. And that’s when the serious bargaining began.
It quickly became clear why nin-Siath did the majority of the talking; she was the most skilled negotiator of the four, and Mika not only had to stay alert, she needed to think several steps ahead of the councilor. Forty-five minutes later, Mika had sweat running down her back, but they’d reached a compromise on every point—even on who would destroy the spell. They’d finally conceded that Conor could do the honors, but had insisted that the remains of the book be given to them. She hadn’t been able to find any reason not to agree to that, even if it was a rather unusual request.
They still weren’t finished.
The scribe who sat to the side of the dais read back what was agreed, and Mika and the leaders debated word choice for each and every provision, each and every sentence. It was exhausting, but it was important that there be no wiggle room for them to use and have Conor later killed.
Leaning over the scribe’s shoulder, Mika read through the document carefully, examining it for misspellings, strange-looking letters—anything that could nullify a term. The words had an odd slant because the scribe was lefthanded, but everything was as it should be. The Council hadn’t attempted to cheat, and that indicated respect for her, as well as respect for her skills as a negotiator.
“All is well?” the councilwoman asked.
Inclining her head, Mika said, “All is well, nin-Siath.” She closed her hand over her fist and bowed again. Such formality was necessary with the leaders.
“Then we shall seal the bargain.” En-Tanith held his hand out toward the scribe. When he had the contract, he laid it flat on the table in front of him, spoke quietly and pressed his finger to the paper. A fine mist rose from where he touched, and he waite
d for it to clear before passing the paper to the next councilor.
As chief negotiator, nin-Siath was the final councilor to place her mark. The agreement was then returned to the scribe, and Mika was bidden to press her own finger upon the page.
As the mist around her hand dissipated, the Council leader intoned, “It is done.”
Mika felt some of the tension leave her body. It had been necessary to make the bargain in this manner, to ensure every point was transcribed accurately, and that each councilor had put their seal on the pact. It was the only way to ensure whoever succeeded these councilors would be bound by the same contract.
By the time the document was properly filed, impatience ate at Mika. When they started to discuss in which manner they would travel to the portal, she grew frustrated enough to scream, but forced herself to maintain control, to wait for the members to decide who would be part of the group and which position they would assume in the array. It seemed like a bunch of bullshit to her, but she wanted them happy.
At long last, they set off. The procession of the Council and their entourage through the narrow streets of Biirkma brought more than a few curious stares. Mika tried to ignore them, but she felt sure when she returned to Orcus, she’d be facing questions about this parade.
There were only two sentinels at the portal when they arrived, but the leaders didn’t seem to think it odd, and Mika shrugged off her own uneasiness. Things must have changed during her visit to Crimson City. At an order from the Council leader, the two men stood down and moved to the side of the small room. She could only hope that Conor had waited, and that the missing guard wasn’t dragging her mate’s lifeless body off somewhere.
“Proceed,” en-Tanith dictated, and pointed toward the gate.
Mika slowly approached the portal. When she reached it she turned back to the Council and said, “I need to straddle the veil to make a small part of it transparent. I am not leaving.” She wanted that clear. “You’ll be able to talk directly to McCabe through this window that I create.”
She received permission to continue, and Mika stepped into the door. Holding out her hands so that her palms were flat, she concentrated all her being on making the gateway’s molecules transparent. Slowly, the veil began to clear.
Chapter Nineteen
Conor was ready to climb the walls. Or to charge through the veil. If Sebastian hadn’t been there, he probably would have done it already, but the Kiverian had pointed out something Mika hadn’t. She’d stressed that Conor would be in danger if he went through; Sebastian had mentioned that Conor’s presence could put Mika at risk. Conor hadn’t thought of that, but the bastard was likely right. Damn woman.
Yet, Conor couldn’t grouse too much. Not with that weird warm feeling that developed whenever he thought about what she’d done. No one had ever cared for him so deeply. No one.
Worry made him pace back and forth in front of the door. “She’s been gone too long,” he said.
“No,” Sebastian replied calmly. “Depending on the Council’s whim, they could make her wait two minutes or an entire day.”
“They want the incantation,” Conor argued.
“That doesn’t mean they’ll see her immediately.”
Conor stopped and turned to Sebastian. “Power games,” he muttered. “I hate them.”
“The Council doesn’t.” The Kiverian leaned his shoulders against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “Have some faith in Mika. She’s weak, but she wouldn’t have suggested this unless she learned to deal with situations like this long ago.”
Mika wasn’t weak, not in the ways that counted, but Conor didn’t say that. Demons from Orcus obviously viewed strength in terms of their powers, but that was inaccurate. She might not be able to send a bolt of auric energy at an attacker, but she could stay calm and come up with a plan. That put her miles ahead of those demons who merely reacted. Emotional responses were fatal in battle, and so he’d take Mika at his back over any all-powerful dark demon any day.
“How long do you intend to hang around?” Conor asked, changing the subject. Mika was no one else’s business.
“Until your mate returns.”
That wasn’t what Conor had been asking. He’d meant, how long was Sebastian staying in Crimson City; but he didn’t rephrase the question. “In case she’s injured?”
“No, I’m staying to keep you safe. You’re too emotional, and rushing to Mika’s rescue will cause nothing but trouble.”
This demon thought he was too emotional? Ignoring that, Conor squared off with the Kiverian. “Keep me safe? What the hell do you care?”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “You’re my son,” he repeated.
Every muscle in Conor’s body went rigid, his hands fisting and releasing at his sides. “Don’t call me that,” he growled.
“Not using the word”—Sebastian straightened—“doesn’t change who you are, and it doesn’t change how I feel about you.”
“Feel about me? You don’t know me! Hell, you didn’t even know I existed until a few days ago.”
“You’re wrong.”
His quiet words stopped Conor cold, then rage roared through him. He took a step forward before he regained command. “When?”
“When did I know? I felt you take your first breath.” Before Conor could think of a response, his sire continued. “Demons are connected to their children.”
“Forever?” The idea was horrifying.
Sebastian shook his head. “Only until puberty.” He paused, started to speak, then stopped. Then, shrugging a shoulder, he said, “At times I felt your need of someone. I would have been there if I could have, but the veil kept me in Orcus. This is the first I’ve been free since you were born.”
It was a lot of information to process, and it took a second for the implications to dawn on Conor. The bastard meant he hadn’t been out of the underworld since the night Conor was conceived. The fury returned, and this time, nothing was going to stop him from—
The portal wavered. Okay, one thing could stop him—Mika’s return. Except, only part of her appeared. He saw her right arm, her leg, part of her torso and could just discern the side of her face, but she didn’t finish crossing. “Mika? What’s wrong?” he asked. She didn’t answer and he closed the distance fast. “Mika?”
Was she stuck? Conor started to reach for her arm, planning to pull her the rest of the way through.
“Don’t touch her!” his father cried.
“Why the hell not?” Conor glared at him.
“Because you could kill her. At the very least, you’ll hurt her badly. She’s not in either world right now, and the veil does unusual things to the physical body.”
Conor jerked his hand back. He didn’t know why, but he believed the Kiverian. There was nothing he could do except wait, and he hated that. Damn it, he’d already been cooling his heels forever. Anxiously, he watched, leaning forward and silently urging her the rest of the way through. But instead of Mika emerging from the ether, a rectangle began to appear in the wall. It gradually became more distinct.
Four faces suddenly peered through at him, three male and one female. “He can hear us now?” the woman said.
Mika’s answer reassured him. She was deliberately standing there; she wasn’t caught in the veil.
“Conor McCabe, this Mahsei claims she’s your emissary. Is this true?” the female demon asked.
“Yes,” he replied.
“And you give your promise to abide by each term of the agreement that she has negotiated?”
He began to say yes—it was on the tip of his tongue—but before Conor gave in to the urge, he started to think. Never sign a contract without reading it, right? Maybe he had better find out what Mika had committed him to. The demon repeated her question, and Conor said, “Before I give my word, I need to hear what the terms are.”
That hadn’t been the right thing to say. The four demons turned to Mika and chewed her out. Loudly. “You’re a fool,” Sebastian hissed f
rom his side.
When the Council returned their attention to him and had their scribe read the provisions of the agreement, Conor knew the Kiverian was right—he’d been a fool. Mika had orchestrated an airtight deal, and when the recitation was complete, Conor didn’t hesitate to give his word to uphold it.
“Now, we will watch you destroy the grimoire, then you may pass the remains of the book to the Mahsei.”
Conor didn’t care for the demoness’s tone, or the way she referred to Mika as an object and not a person, but he obeyed. He looked around for something to hold what would be left of the book, but he didn’t see anything appropriate.
“Here,” Sebastian whispered, and tossed Conor the discarded lid to a paint can. It wasn’t as large as he would have liked, but there weren’t any other options at hand.
The Council stood, their faces nearly pressed against the rectangle to watch. Conor glanced at Mika, wanting to share his humor, but he wasn’t sure if she could see him or not. Deciding to put on a show for the leaders of Orcus, he held up his hand and telekinetically called the book to him. He raised his other hand and brought forward the copies. Making sure the demon leaders could see, he placed both loose pages and grimoire atop the the paint can lid and gathered energy. Then, directing it through his hands, he incinerated them. When he finished, there was nothing left but ashes.
He picked up the lid carefully, but he’d concentrated his power so well that it was cool. Mika had an arm extended, and when the lid hit her hand, her fingers closed around it. She took it through the veil, and he saw the councilors relieve her of it.
The councilors looked at him, and the woman said, “Your word that there are no more copies. We must have that.”
“Every copy that I know of has been destroyed, you have my promise,” Conor vowed.
“That will do.” The woman gave a regal nod before the rectangle closed.
As impatient as Conor was, it seemed an eternity before Mika finished crossing and stepped into the dank, smelly room with him. His hands took her shoulders.
