"But the point is moot anyway, considering I can't get that sword until I've completed this quest...and if I've completed the quest, I don't need Dachev."
"The inaugural quest is not an entrance exam. It is an assessment of your training requirements. We have chosen you, and although we're supposed to wait until after the quest to let you ascend, in this case the Creator would grant an exception. There is, however, another, less reliable way. If you do not wish to become an angel--"
"I don't."
She glanced from Kristof to me. "Your...attachment to this world has changed, then?"
"It has."
She nodded. "Then perhaps that will be what you needed. As I said, the choice was yours, and we will not press the matter further, although we may find other tasks for you from time to time."
"That's fine. Thank you. Now what's this other way?"
"You know there are magics for testing the sincerity of a demon. Something I believe you've tested fairly recently." Her gaze shunted to Kristof. "There are also magics to do the same with a spirit. This spell would test Dachev's words, but couldn't force him to speak those words."
"In other words, I need to trick him into telling me."
She shook her head. "This spell requires his active participation. He must recite part of the incantation, and you cannot 'trick' him into doing that."
"Okay, so I have to persuade a psychopath trapped in hell to voluntarily tell me how to catch his former partner--"
"There's more."
"Of course there is."
Kristof walked behind me and put his arms around my waist, letting me lean against him. I felt his warmth against my back and relaxed.
"He can hurt you," the Fate said.
"Who? Dachev? But I'm a--"
"A ghost, yes. But in that world--it's part of the magic there. Physical pain is possible, and there's nothing we can do to shield you from it. He can't kill you, of course, but he can hurt you...and we may not be able to erase all the damage."
"Uh-huh. Well, I didn't really need both my arms anyway."
Kristof chuckled against my ear.
The Fate frowned at me. "I don't think you're taking this seriously, Eve."
"Look, compared to what you've already suggested, I'm willing to take the risk, okay?"
"We're willing," Kris murmured against my ear. "I'll be right beside you."
"No, Kristof," the Fate said.
He opened his mouth to object, but the Fate lifted her hand.
"We will not let you go with Eve. That is an absolute, so do not argue the matter or you'll only delay her. As for why we won't allow it, I'm sure you already know. Perhaps you could help her, but you will also hinder her. Anyone we sent with her, even Katsuo, could prove a dangerous distraction. In a place like that, she must look to her own safety at all times."
"I'll go alone," I said. "That's best. One question: If I can hurt, he can hurt, right?"
"Yes, but..." She hesitated. "I have said that I will respect your decision not to ascend, and I am loath to do anything that could be seen as pushing you toward that choice, and yet..." She gripped the side of the spinning wheel and leaned forward. "This much I must say, if only because it would unpardonable to omit it. Were you to find yourself in a situation where no other escape is possible, ascension is still an option. You need only to wish for it, and the Creator will grant it immediately. You would then be impervious to harm and would be able to use the sword. But, know this, Eve, if you ascend, we cannot reverse the process, however much we may wish to."
"I understand. Now tell me more about this Dachev. If he's in your realms, that makes him a supernatural."
"He's a magician."
I thumped my head back against Kristof's shoulder and sighed. "Of course he is."
Magicians were related to sorcerers, and they had even more reason than their brethren to hate witches. Magicians are a substandard form of spell-casters. I say that with no snobbery. Sorcerers and witches can argue over which race is less powerful, but even a sorcerer would admit, albeit grudgingly, that a witch outranked a magician any day.
For centuries, there had been no distinction between male spell-casters--they were all sorcerers, and all inferior to witches. At the time, their magic was limited to simple illusions and sleight of hand, the kind of magic you can see at a kid's birthday party these days. Then witches, being the generous fools they often are, decided it was time to join forces, a drive for sexual equality a thousand years before the suffragettes hit the streets.
Witches taught the sorcerers how to strengthen their skills with stronger magic and incantations. All went just dandy for a few hundred years, until the Inquisition hit, and sorcerers turned on the witches. But that's ancient history...even if it doesn't keep either race from holding a grudge five hundred years later.
Back to the original racial integration. There were some sorcerers who couldn't cut it. They didn't have the supernatural juice to learn what the witches were teaching them. So, as any group with an ounce of ingenuity and pride does when it can't fit into the larger society, these sorcerers reinvented themselves, breaking away from their brothers and declaring themselves a new race: magicians. Rather than fight a losing battle to learn higher magic, they would concentrate on the lesser skills of illusion and sleight of hand, and be happy with what they were.
A very noble plan of modern-day self-affirmation. Unfortunately, as they soon discovered, those lesser skills weren't good for a whole helluva lot. Magicians ended up forming two factions: entertainers and con artists--and the lines between the two weren't always that clear. Today, almost all the magicians who remain fall into the latter category. In a world accustomed to David Copperfield no one will pay to see a guy pull a quarter from behind your ear.
In Bulgaria, circa 1926, though, things were different and, as the Fates explained, that's where Andrei Dachev had made a name for himself with his sideshow acts, traveling from town to town, bringing light entertainment to a country still reeling from the Balkan conflict and the First World War. Although Dachev was an accomplished magician, the real attraction at his circus was the freak show. And I don't mean sword swallowers or fire-breathers. Dachev's freaks were the type that children would dare one another to look at, then suffer weeks of nightmares if they did. His freaks were born severely deformed or had been mutilated in horrific accidents, and all were young women, adding to the titillation value.
For three years Dachev toured Bulgaria and surrounding countries, sticking to the rural areas, avoiding cities and larger urban areas where his freaks might be less welcome. And if, over those three years, the occasional girl disappeared from a town he passed through, well, Dachev was a handsome charmer, with an eye for the ladies, and these things happened.
Eventually, though, one of these missing girls had a beau who didn't buy this "ran away with the circus" explanation. He followed Dachev. Soon, he discovered that the circus freaks hadn't suffered a cruel twist of genetics or accidental fate. They were man-made. Though he managed to rescue his fiancee before Dachev started in on her, when it came to the other half-dozen victims, the authorities decided to quietly provide them with a fast-acting poison and allow them to make their own decision. All chose death, and Andrei Dachev was executed as a serial killer.
"And you unleashed this...this thing back into the world?" I said.
The eldest Fate appeared, mouth a thin, tight line. "We did not unleash--"
"Yeah, he was a ghost. Powerless. Found a way around that one, though, didn't he? What the hell do you think he's been doing down there all these years? Hail Marys? He's been reliving his glory days, just itching for the chance to--"
"No, he has not."
"Oh, and you know that because--"
"Because he cannot." She paused, and her middle sister took over. "Andrei Dachev has no memories of the atrocities he committed, Eve. That is part of their punishment. We take away all memory of their lives before they died. They can't relive their crimes, their fantasies
, even their impulses. It's all gone. Then they are cast into a plane where, when their urges and impulses resurface, they have no possible outlet."
"Because they're in a world of killers."
She nodded. "A world without victims, without even those that they might see as a potential victim, no female killers, no weaker males--"
"All predators and no prey. Okay, so he can't remember his crimes. But those impulses you mentioned? First time he sees a pretty girl, even if he can't remember ever seeing one--"
"The memory loss sometimes has a second, reformatory effect. Erasing their memories may erase the source of some of their urges. If their lives were warped by extreme circumstances, such as early abuse, then--"
"When they can't remember the abuse, they become a different person, someone who isn't a killer?"
"Which, granted, happens very, very rarely," the Fate said. "But it does happen. That's what we believed had happened here. For ten years, Andrei Dachev gave no sign of having any of the urges that possessed him to commit these crimes."
"He played model prisoner."
"Played. Yes, most likely, though every test we gave him indicated that he had indeed reformed. Perhaps even he thought he had."
"Until he went into the world again."
She gave a slow, sad nod.
"His memory," I said. "It wasn't erased after his capture, right?"
"We can't do that. We can only erase living memories. I suppose, though, that's a blessing now."
"Or else he wouldn't know how he'd caught the Nix. So I need to persuade him to tell me, by descending into a hell filled with serial killers, for most of whom I'll be the first woman--and potential victim--they've ever seen." I sighed. "Well, at least they can feel pain. Please tell me I can use my spells and my Aspicio powers."
When she didn't answer, I groaned. "Let me guess. Because they're all supernaturals, it's a magic-free zone--wipes out any racial advantages."
The little girl appeared. "Well, it's supposed to be magic-free, but if a person went in there who possessed a type of magic none of the inhabitants should be able to possess..."
"Such as a female-only variety. Like witch magic."
"Magic blocking is tough enough. No sense doing it for a type of magic that no one there will ever use."
"Hmmm. I'd rather have my sorcerer spells, but witch magic is better than nothing. Now, I guess it doesn't matter what supernatural race these other killers are, if they're power-free, but I should ask anyway."
The Fate rattled off the various races in this particular supernatural serial-killers hell. Mostly half-demons, with one necromancer and one werewolf. No sorcerers, which was all I really cared about, in case they were still able to recognize a witch. Bad enough I might have to deal with that problem with Dachev.
Next, the Fates explained how I'd get out of the hell. I couldn't just walk out or recite a teleport code--it was locked too tight for that. Instead, they'd give me a hellsbane potion. Swallow it, and I'll be hell-free.
Finally, the Fates wanted me to do some practice runs with the sincerity-testing spell. As anxious as I was to get moving, I knew time in the throne room areas was slowed to a crawl. An hour spent testing the spell could save me a lot of grief later, and it would only take seconds of "real-world" time.
"Give me the spell and I'll get testing." I glanced over my shoulder at Kristof. "I could use a partner for that."
He smiled. "But of course. A magical lie detector. Just what every good relationship needs."
40
DESPITE KRIS'S JOKE, I DIDN'T USE THE SPELL FOR REVEALING his deepest, darkest secrets. What would be the point? I knew them already.
Without the obvious ways to test the spell, I had to get inventive.
"Ginger or Mary Ann?" I asked.
He pulled a face. "Neither."
His eyes stayed blue, which meant he was telling the truth. If he'd lied, they go black. A growing nose would have been more fun, but apparently the spell's creator hadn't been properly schooled in fairy tales.
I recast the spell.
"The Rolling Stones or the Beatles?" I asked.
"The Stones, which I'm sure you could have guessed, if you didn't already know." He uncrossed his legs, stretched them out, and leaned back against the wall. "See, that's the problem. If you know the answer, then you'll know if I lie, even without the spell."
"Ah, I've got one. Would you rather be smart or good-looking?"
He rolled his eyes, but I held up my hand to cut off his answer.
"Hold on," I said. "There's a codicil. If you pick smart, you can't be good-looking. And vice versa."
He pursed his lips. "Define 'not good-looking.'"
"Triple paper-bag ugly. But Nobel Prize-winner brilliant. And dumb as a stump, but drop-dead gorgeous."
He laughed. "You first."
"Option B. Gorgeous and stupid."
"Oh, now, that'd fail the test."
"Try it and see."
He cast the spell. When I repeated my answer, he leaned forward to look in my eyes, then nearly toppled backward laughing.
"I don't believe it. You are serious. Either that, or my casting is off, and I think that must be it, because I can't imagine you'd ever pick beauty over brains."
"No? Think about it. If you pick brains, you'd be smart enough to know exactly how ugly you were. But if you picked beauty, you'd be too dumb to know the difference. I'd rather be happy than miserable. And I'm sure the sex would be better, too. Well, a lot more plentiful at least. Go with option A, and you might as well join the priesthood."
He shook his head, still chuckling. "Well, I'm sticking with option A. Brains over beauty for me any day."
His eyes darkened.
I sputtered a laugh. "Liar."
He sighed. "You got me with the celibacy angle."
I laughed. He lifted me onto his lap and kissed me.
After a moment, he pulled back slowly. "I need you to promise me something, Eve."
"Hmm?"
"If things go wrong in there--badly wrong, and you get into a situation you can't get out of..." He hesitated, then wrapped his hand around mine. "The Fates said if you change your mind, at any point, and you need to become an angel--"
"No."
He took my chin in his hand and lifted my face to his.
I shook my head. "I'll find another way, Kris. There's always another way. I'll have the hellsbane potion, remember? Anything goes wrong, I gulp that, and I'm home free faster than the Creator could make me an angel."
"But if you ever did get stuck--if that was the only way out, I need to know you'll take it." When I hesitated, he stroked his finger across my cheek. "If it did come to that, Eve, we'd find a way. I'd find one for us. For now and forever. I say it and I mean it. I backed down once, and I'll never do it again."
"Backed down? You never--"
"I didn't have any say in your leaving last time, but I had years to fight your decision, twelve years to say 'I want you back and I don't care if it means giving up everything else to get you.' But I never did. Not because I didn't love you, or I didn't love you enough, but because I was a coward."
"You weren't--"
"I was afraid you wouldn't want me back. So I told myself that I'd wait, give you time to come to me, and when you didn't I convinced myself that my fears were well-founded, that you'd only wanted me for who I was and what I could give you...and even that wasn't worth staying with me for."
"Kris, I never--"
"I know. Even then, I think I saw that for what it was--self-pitying bullshit. But it made my cowardice easier to justify. Then I came here, and found you, and I knew I was wrong." He smiled. "Even as you were telling me to go to hell, and trying to send me there with an energy bolt, I knew I'd been wrong. So I vowed I'd get you back, and when I did, I'd make damn sure nothing got in the way again, not your obsession with protecting Savannah, not ghost-world bounty-hunter duty, not even impossibly good-looking angel mentors."
"But you're ta
ller."
He grinned. "See? You did notice."
I laughed. When I finished, he touched my chin, turning my face to his.
"The point is that I'm not leaving, and no one can make me. No matter what happens, I'll fight. If you get stuck in there, absolutely stuck, you don't quit on me, either--you fight, even if it means you need that damned sword to do it."
I hesitated, then nodded. "I will."
When I was ready, Trsiel took me away, to escort me into Dachev's hell. As we walked through the complex, he gave me some tips about Dachev himself, based on his own encounters with him. I drilled him on that, getting everything he knew about Dachev, from concrete facts to behavioral interpretations to general impressions. Then I declared myself ready.
"He's right through that door," Trsiel said.
"Door?" I followed his finger to see a narrow door behind me. "He's through there?"
"His hell is, at least. You'll have to find Dachev himself. I don't know what's in..." He shook his head. "This won't work. You need more details. Let me try tracking down Katsuo again. He's been there--"
"Don't," I said. "If I start stalling, I won't stop. If Dachev's in there, I'll find him."
Trsiel nodded. "But be careful. Remember what I said--"
"I know."
"Don't forget, the...men down there, they haven't seen a woman--"
"I know."
"They can hurt you, Eve. Really hurt you. You have to be--"
"I know." I reached out and squeezed his hand. "I know, Trsiel."
He hesitated, as if there was so much more he wanted to say, a hundred more warnings he wanted to impart, but instead he returned the squeeze and, with his free hand, pulled a vial from his pocket.
"Ah, the hellsbane potion," I said. "Don't want to forget that."
"If you did, or if you lost it, we'd send someone after you. You don't need to worry about that. No matter what happens there, you aren't trapped. But try not to lose it. Time is slowed in the hells, so we can afford to give you all the time you need to talk to Dachev. That means, though, that if something goes wrong, it could feel like days before we realized it and came to get you out. It--it wouldn't be a pleasant stay--"
"I have deep pockets," I said.
Haunted Page 29
