Wrath & Bones (The Marnie Baranuik Files Book 4)

by A. J. Aalto

  “I regret letting you speak,” the Stonecaller said. “Declare your intentions, Marnie Baranuik.”

  “How about a dance number first?” I wiggled my hips a little as a suggestion.

  “Huh?” Aristoxenus’s head jerked back on his neck, lips pursing.

  “I think you’d do a fair impression of Michigan J. Frog doing ‘Hello! My Baby’.” I rocked back on my heels. “No? Sure would break the tension a little. I have some music right here.” I showed him Harry’s old, scuffed up iPhone. “I bet you’d like a good bass drop.”

  “Let me see that.” The lesser demon swiped it eagerly out of my gloved hand. I took a surreal moment to help him with the earbuds in his little pointy ears, and showed him how to change songs. I put on Booyah by Showtek with We Are Loud. For a moment, he bobbed his chin along with the music I couldn’t hear, and then he spoke loudly as you do when you can’t judge the volume of your voice over music.

  “You are here to nominate, young Baranuik, not make wiseass suggestions to the Speaker of this court. Is there anything else I might clarify for you?”

  “Yeah, how does a lesser demon get this gig?”

  “Perhaps I am cherished,” he suggested. “Perhaps I have a gift. Anything else?”

  “Um, why do they call you the Stonecaller?”

  The little demon smiled. His teeth were jagged points, an even, matched line, not the broken piano keys of the Overlord’s horrendous mouth. “Shall I give you a demonstration, DaySitter?” He gripped the bench and leaned way forward in a rush. “Question me again!”

  “Pass,” I said blandly, and heard the distinct chuckle of Asmodeus in the shadow figure behind the lesser demon. I waggled my gloved fingers at the figure in greeting. “Hey, Big Red. How’s it hangin’?”

  The Speaker moved an earbud and said, “I am told to say, ‘Can the sass, Toots.’ Do you understand this message?”

  “Oh, sure, sure,” I said, bobbing a nod. “I’m told that a lot.”

  He didn't bother dignifying that with a reply. “Are you prepared to declare your intentions, DaySitter, or does House Dreppenstedt need a lesson in court etiquette?”

  I felt a swell of apprehension through the Bond, but this close to my house’s crowned prince, I couldn’t tell if it was coming from Harry or from Wilhelm himself. “Nope. I got the gist of it, now. I’m supposed to say who I think should be king next, yeah? And whom I’d take this mysterious contest for, in the Elm dollar — erm, Olmdalur — if things get tied up? Hope it doesn’t involve naked mud wrestling. Mochizuki hates my guts and that Vulvolak broad could kick my ass.”

  More aggravation surged through the Bond, a veritable jet of annoyance. The lesser demon made a rolling motion with one hand like he was turning a crank. “Indeed. Get on with it.” He paused to say over his shoulder to the shadow figure, “You weren’t kidding. What a pain in the ass.” Then he urged me, “Proceed with your declaration, Marnie Baranuik.”

  “All righty, then.” I took a deep, cleansing breath, braced myself for the backlash and, with a shrug, dropped my bomb. “With my Second, the big scary vampire-hunting badass, Mark Batten, I stand for...”

  Oh, Dark Lady defend me. Even over the wash of revenant attention and the full weight of the house behind me, I imagined I could hear Asmodeus laughing softly.

  “... Remy Dreppenstedt of House Dreppenstedt, Duchess of the Darkest Corner.”

  There was a beat of complete and total silence, during which you couldn’t even hear the breath of the mortals in the room. After a quicksilver hiss, the court erupted into a cacophony of injured, furious cries and shocked shouting. Speaker Aristoxenus hollered for order.

  I spoke over him, continuing, “I stand for the Mistress Defiler, Remy Dreppenstedt, First Lady of the Falskaar Vouras.”

  Aristoxenus yelled at me, “The lichlady? You have nominated the Sister of Worms! How dare you speak that name in these halls!”

  I took one measured step toward him, planted myself right at his toes, and continued calmly but forcefully as though he and every other voice in the room were not crying out their objections.

  “I stand for she who is called the Afterdark. Madam Brightslip, Mistress of the Eversea, Lady of Eternal Grace.” I set my chin up and waited as the little demon struggled to silence the court. “She probably has a bunch of other names, but those are the ones I know. That’s her… Your future queen.”

  Ignoring their snarls and bellows was not easy. A combined blast of outrage was hitting me from all sides, swimming hot and cold around me, threatening to knock me clear off my feet. I looked back at the courtroom.

  And then one of the younger revenants lost control. He vaulted toward me, temper exploding, blink-stepping through space, fangs flashing, coming fast, too fast.

  Harry’s horror avalanched through our Bond, but it was Wilhelm who swept forward. I felt him coming, closer than the others, faster in his approach. I didn’t have time to wonder if it was to punish or protect me. I felt another revenant somewhere to my left bristle with the intention to join in, and psi roared a warning in my head. Get out! Get out! But my training kicked in and I widened my stance for a fight, holding my ground.

  The Speaker jumped atop the bench on his little cloven feet, hopping up and down, waving his mace, shrieking in some elder tongue that I’d never heard. One of his earbuds popped out. It dangled around his gnarly chin hairs. Abruptly, he brought the obsidian mace down on the bench with a clang and cried a single word.

  Both young revenants to my left solidified with a dusty crack! Frost shifted from their outstretched hands to reveal a clear, opalescent stone sheath. Wilhelm drifted to a full stop at my right. I looked at him just in time to exchange an unreadable glance before he, too, was trapped in pale alabaster by the Speaker’s next cry. His cloak set mid-flutter around his ankles to a stone point. One by one, every other revenant that had moved to strike or reply were stopped hard in their tracks. A cramp of loss suddenly gripped me low in the belly, nearly doubling me over, and I didn’t have to look back to know that Harry was unfortunately among the frozen; the Bond reported dismay but no danger to his wellbeing. Somewhere to my left, a male DaySitter shrieked, and another did her best swooning act, leaning against the seat where her companion had been sitting.

  “I will have order, here,” the Speaker demanded, glaring at the startled and milling DaySitters; their frantic voices tumbled over one another. “Keep order in my court, I say! Or there will be deeper consequences.”

  “Oh, Ari, stuff it,” Asmodeus said playfully, creeping out of the shadows at long last.

  The first time I’d seen Asmodeus, Demon King, Father of Immortality and Overlord of the Falskaar Vouras, I had thought immediately of Danny DeVito painted the bright red of a milk snake. He had three heads: a human one in the center flanked by a ram and a bull. One of His arms ended in a dragon claw. The other, a bear paw. He had skinny chicken legs. Today, He appeared with a red tail that whipped back and forth behind His flappy flesh skirt like an angry snake. I thought the tail was a nice touch, myself. It leant certain panache.

  Unlike that of His children, His coming did not shake the ground; He had better control and little need to show off where His authority was incontestable. There was only one infernal power greater than that of Asmodeus, and that was the weight of the Dragon Himself, Lucifer, the Morningstar, man’s Great Adversary. I didn’t even like to think about Old Scratch, as the awareness of Him tended to taint the soul. Luckily, Satan almost never came to Earth. Asmodeus, on the other hand, liked to pop up for a visit. He regarded me now with His hot gaze, gave my nipples a mental tweak, and flashed me a grin full of teeth like busted piano keys.

  “Who told you to do that, Toots?” He asked. “Don’t lie to me, now. I’ll taste a lie.”

  I let my arms fall and I relaxed, refusing to look behind me for Batten or a frozen Harry. I knew through the Bond that my Cold Company’s current state was not physically uncomfortable… he wasn’t pleased by any stretch of the imag
ination, and both he and Wilhelm wanted to wring my neck, but so did almost everyone else in the room. Except for Declan.

  Dr. Edgar’s approval came through the Blue Sense loud and clear, as did his gut-churning anticipation. He figured I was about to name him as the one who gave me this idea and was willing to take the blame. And in truth, he’d planted the seed. But the decision had been mine, and whatever consequences were coming, I’d shoulder them myself. I was committed to my choice. Better to face it officially, now that I’d waded in.

  “Hail Asmodeus,” I greeted grandly, giving him the benefit of high drama, now that the hard part of my speech was over. “Overlord of the Immortal Line, Banker at the Baccarat Table of Hell, Demon King of the Second Circle. How’s tricks, oh Wearer of Nifty Leather Skirts?”

  “Like that, don’t ya?” He flapped it. I glimpsed bright red demon wang. It was tragic. Lucky it didn’t blind me.

  “Yeah, that’s something special,” I lied. “How’d my poltergeist work on your palate?”

  “She was a tasty morsel,” He said, a slow grin spreading across His scaly lips. His bear paw clenched and the dragon claw mimed feeding the Niagara poltergeist known as “Mama Captain” to His human face. “Yum yum yummity yum!”

  Thinking of the many times He’d appeared in my bathroom mirror when I was trying to take a damn bath, I said, “You sure dig wet chicks.”

  “Sassy today,” He noted, His voice low and private.

  “To be fair,” I said, “I’m sassy most days.”

  “Nominating the lichlady…” He whistled chidingly, and it shrieked through His broken chompers.

  I just smiled and rocked back on my heels.

  “Lucy, you got some 'splainin' to do,” He said in a flawless Ricky Ricardo impression. “Now. Who told you to do this?”

  I aimed my thumb at my chest. “This was all my idea. Who better to replace the First Turned than the First Turned female? If she would not be queen, let Lady Dreppenstedt appear to refuse my nomination.”

  “Mmhmmmm,” Asmodeus said, drawing it out. He made a grand flourish with His dragon claw and used it to tap His human chin thoughtfully.

  “You’re not angry, right? You like my quirky ideas. I know you do. Come on, Big Red, I’m your favorite. Go ahead and admit it.” I tossed a grin over my shoulder at Sayomi Mochizuki. “That’s the real reason she hates me. Jealousy. None of these other freaks will mind if I’m your best girl. And even if they do, what the fuck are they gonna do about it?”

  “Several of them are considering murdering you outright.”

  I snorted. “Pffft. That ain’t new, Azzy. Not a week goes by that someone doesn’t wanna murder me.”

  “I don’t doubt that.”

  “Besides,” I added, “there are worse things than being dead.”

  He waddled around me in a circle, and I could feel the warmth of His approval on my skin like I was standing too close to a fire. The rising heat in the room was stirring those revenants who hadn’t moved against me and ended up as statues. Malas Nazaire made a distinctly masculine noise, the guttural sound of arousal, like he wanted the Overlord to bend me over and rut with me right then and there. Maybe he did. Suddenly, the opium orgy I'd almost become part of looked like an innocent game of spin the bottle compared to what might be coming.

  Asmodeus sidled closer, near enough to stream hot breath on my left ear. I turned my face a little toward His, and lowered my voice like the two of us were in this together. “You know, they say the king is going mad.”

  “They say that of the Dread Lady as well,” Asmodeus said.

  “They…” I said, making air quotes, “say you never lie to humans when asked a direct question.”

  Asmodeus came around to my front, winked, and see-sawed a bear paw.

  “I know this to be true,” I told Him. “So answer me this: is Remy Dreppenstedt really and truly mad, or is that just what my Harry would call clashmaclavers and doggerybaw?”

  “You’ll find out,” was His reply, “if she can answer your nomination.”

  If? “Say what now?”

  “You have summoned her to court with your open nomination. The Duchess of the Darkest Corner must appear to accept it, or your nomination is null and void.”

  He looked far too amused for my comfort, but that was nothing new. “Hmmm. I didn’t know that. Can you help her get here?”

  “Why would I do that?” He rubbed His claw and paw together, and His ram head brayed. “I am delighted to meet my only daughter for the first time, but I will not interfere with the court more than I need to.”

  “Can’t you see her any time you want?”

  “No,” He confided, and I felt He was giving me a hint. “She must come to us.” He cocked His human head as though He was listening for His teapot to whistle or microwave timer to go off, and then pointed into the air as if He’d gotten confirmation of what He was waiting for. “She’s heard your summons.”

  What if Remy couldn’t get here to accept my nomination? What if she didn’t even want to? Had I just wasted my vote? “Tell me, uh, will my house forgive me for this?”

  “Technically, you have remained loyal to your house, to your bloodline, in that Remy is considered a Dreppenstedt by blood,” He said, delighted by the mischief. “The other revenant houses are infuriated, but your own house will support your unorthodox choice. I trust they did not expect your announcement.”

  “Nope,” I admitted. “Although some of them should have expected something like this from me. Duh.”

  He giggled, a tittering laugh that set my teeth on edge. Asmodeus clucked His forked tongue, but did so with a smile, not so much a scolding as a warning not to infuriate the museum-like display of revenants around me, still very much listening to our discussion.

  “So much sass,” He told me, sounding like Harry.

  I continued, “Remy is accustomed to living apart and alone, as the king is. If she is sane, is there any reason she would not be the best choice for this position?”

  The Overlord clapped His mismatches mitts together and His tail whipped around one of His cockerel feet. “If she accepts, and she gets the most nominations, I will raise House Dreppenstedt to the ruling bloodline and make Remy Dreppenstedt queen of the Falskaar Vouras. Now,” He plunked one bear claw atop the Stonecaller’s noggin, right between the horns. “There are two more houses to call.”

  Aristoxenus had been listening to the iPhone, tapping his little cloven hoof, wriggling his wee butt against his bench. His little fist pumped the air with the beat. Now, he took the remaining earbud out and waved his obsidian mace at the stone statues made from living immortals. “And shall I…?”

  “No,” Asmodeus intoned, sinking back into the shadows behind the throne. In seconds, He was no more than a black blur, something you thought you saw but couldn’t focus on. “They have misbehaved by moving to attack an advocate of this court. They will remain just as they are until I decide to release them. I appreciate sass, but I will not tolerate bad manners.”

  I lingered uncertainly. I don’t know how to leave. I don’t know how to turn around. Harry hasn’t told me that bit yet. Then two things occurred to me at once: stay like that and most nominations? I opened my mouth to retort, but the Stonecaller’s scowl stopped me.

  “Would you care to be made still as well? You have caused quite enough ruckus for today and are dismissed, Marnie Baranuik, DaySitter of House Dreppenstedt.”

  “Can I have my iPhone back?”

  Aristoxenus frowned as though he was reluctant to release it. “I only heard one song.” His lashes fluttered at me, and for a moment, he reminded me of Wesley asking for money or a favor. “I like this.”

  I rolled my eyes and told him, “Put it on your Christmas list for Santa.”

  “I like the music,” he repeated, like I wasn’t grasping that his pleasure was important. It might not have been the first time I’d seen a demon pout, but it was definitely the cutest.

  “I suppose you can borrow
it for a little while,” I relented. “Just don’t get your brimstone stink all over it, eh?”

  I was not eager to turn and see a stilled Harry, no matter how many nights I'd had kinky thinky-thoughts about Han Solo in his carbonite slab. I tried to focus on Batten as I marched back to our banner, but Kill-Notch’s numb shock seemed no less than Harry’s, judging by the Olympic grade gnashing his jaw was doing. Fool was going to grind a hole right through his handsome face if he kept it up. I guess I should have given him a heads up. Nahhhhh.

  For a dead guy covered in stone, Harry gave off a surprising amount of rage. And for what? Each DaySitter was obviously going to nominate their own house. It was expected. To do otherwise was suicide. If… she gets the most nominations. Wouldn’t happen, I thought glumly. Oh well. At least Harry wouldn’t be stuck here, and I didn’t have to nominate a reluctant Wilhelm. Lesser of a whole laundry list of evils.

  Aristoxenus thumped his mace against the bench, put both earbuds back in, adjusted the volume like an old pro, and said, “Call House Nazaire! Call Jean-Etienne Auguste Dufort Dreppenstedt-Nazaire.”

  Declan cut his eyes at me and I thought I saw a twinkle in his disturbingly green eyes. Freed of Malas and immediate consequences, he didn’t even wait until he got to the bench before barking, “I have no Second. I appear before you alone to nominate my mother, Remy Dreppenstedt of House Dreppenstedt, Duchess of the Darkest Corner.”

  “Jesus fuck,” Batten muttered, grabbing my elbow as my gloved hand slapped over my mouth.

  The other DaySitters buzzed in surprise and horror, with the kind of rubbernecking mortal excitement that accompanies a volcanic explosion or massive train wreck. One of them burst out laughing; I looked to see who it was and found Netta of House Buryshkin with her head thrown back, her deep, velvety laugh bouncing off the walls to ring up into the high, stake-hung ceiling. Not far to my right, Lisa Pivratsky-Churchill joined her, radiating the kind of amazed shock that jerked a body into either laughter or tears. The banished female revenant that no one spoke of in daily conversation had suddenly vaulted into the lead in a race she likely didn’t even know had been happening ten minutes ago. For a moment, there were meetings between DaySitter eyes, mostly female, that seemed to be asking the same thing: “Are we doing this? Is this happening?”