Dante Valentine

by Lilith Saintcrow

  Between the Awakening and the advent of Adrienne Spocarelli’s work, demons were defined as primarily noncorporeal as well as ethically unsound and morally capricious—in essence, trickster demigods, against whom humans are essentially powerless and can only beg for favors from. Magi theory at that time held that whatever place demons existed in prior to and after their visits to our physical plane was an environment unsuitable to flesh-and-blood beings. This attitude was widespread even though Broward, in his classic study, points out that demons do indeed seem to breathe and bleed (witness the woodcuts of the Sterne collection and the holostill captures of the Manque Incident.) Broward’s observations were treated with the assumption that when demons enter our physical plane, they take on a physical body and so, can be hurt. (Adrienne Spocarelli, in her famous essay What’s Flesh Got To Do With It?, remarked wryly that a thermonuclear strike might even work to kill a demon—with a whole lot of luck.)

  It was Spocarelli’s work with a reliable method of calling and constraining imps that finally answered the question. Spocarelli claims to have been able to induce an imp to write in Merican on the hardwood floor of her study inside a circle; the imp’s claws would scratch out a word or two in response to her carefully-phrased questions. The complete transcript sounds like a conversation between a lawyer and a mischievous five-year-old, but several important points can be deduced.

  First of all, whatever place demons come from, they are physical there as well as here. Much ink and breath has been wasted on trying to determine actually where they come from, whether different plane, dimension, planet, or simply state of being; Spocarelli’s greatest revolution was declaring that she didn’t care where they came from, she simply wanted to find out how they affected our home plane and planet—and why they seem so damn interested in it. As physical beings, they only seem to violate natural laws; in reality, they may well be made of a stuff that conforms to different laws only because of its basic alienness but conforms to laws all the same. In other words, just because hover technology superseded petrolo does not mean that either violated natural law. And just because demons supersede humans in magickal technology does not mean that humans or demons violate natural laws.

  Spocarelli’s other great revolution is so simplistic as to seem obvious and is predicated on the first. While other practitioners looked upon demonic lying with several layers of shock and disapproving prudery, she pointed out that demonic culture may be so different from ours as to make their “lying” simply a different set of social interaction rules. If they are physical sentient beings, they have a culture; if they have a culture, they may even have prohibitions against whatever they define as “lying.” All verbal brinksmanship on both sides aside, Spocarelli declared that she wanted to discover how and why demons are seemingly addicted to interaction with humanity, and that it might be worthwhile to apply anthropological and archeological tools as well as magickal theory to our interactions with demonkind.

  The effect of this simple suggestion cannot be overestimated. At one stroke, Spocarelli disposed of any lingering superstitious worship of demons, reducing them to the level of beings that could be studied with scientific techniques; she also made it possible, though reactionaries loudly trumpet against her, to put the Magi in a position of power instead of supplication when it came to these beings.

  The next thing that can be deduced from Spocarelli’s transcript of the imp’s replies is this: demons are as fascinated by humans as we are by them.

  Spocarelli, while often scoffing at the notion of demonic involvement in human evolution, nevertheless does not completely rule it out. Again, she is utilitarian: whatever involvement demons might have had in shaping human genetic code is irrelevant at this juncture. What matters is that they are now seemingly enthralled by and disdainful of humanity at the same time, much as Nichtvren are. But while Nichtvren have the advantage of once being human, demons do not. Why, then, are they so fascinated?

  Even pre-Awakening sources (Caplan, Perezreverte, Saint Crowley, Saint Goethe, and the anonymous author of the Illuminatis Papers, to name a very few) agree that demons are possessive and controlling in the extreme. A human who catches a demon’s attention does not easily escape meddling. Even Spocarelli herself seems to have had some murky trouble with a particular demon, though reports of this are sketchy at best and mixed up with legends about other members of her famous family.

  Perezreverte, in his classic Nine Gates, postulates that demons are hungry for human adulation, that it feeds them in some way. This is sound magickal theory and a good working hypothesis, even if demons presumably had other means of gaining Power before the advent of humanity. Perezreverte also seems to think demons are lonely, sometimes bored with their own kind, and turn to humanity for momentary diversion. He seems to give some credence to the ancient tales of fleshwives, though any mention of that myth tends to drive Magi to fits of frustration. Dealing with demons is hard enough without pulling in outright fabrication to muddy the issue.

  This leaves us with something important to remember: We simply do not know what demonic motivation is yet. They are jealous and possessive when they deign to take notice of humanity, and the Circles working with Lesser Flight demons often note how one or more Magi within the circle will be singled out for positive or negative attention, often with almost-disastrous results on the Circle’s cohesive magickal Will necessary to keep a demon under control (if such a thing can ever be said to be done.)

  The logical extension to these new strains of thought is a deeper examination of reported instances of demon behavior, especially when the demon attaches himself to a particular human, whether as familiar or nemesis. Many Magi circles are reporting positive signs in dealing with imps and certain Lower Flight demons with anthropological cultural-sensitivity guidelines establishing their behavior. The amount of information available about demon anatomy and hierarchy has quintupled since Adrienne Spocarelli’s time, and instances of severe harassment seem to be on the decline. However, this may not prove anything, as Circles are not likely to report ignominious failures, and actively demon-harassed Magi rarely live long enough to report their experience.

  To sum up, having accumulated enough data since the Awakening, the Magi community was simply ripe for someone to put into words a few laws about dealing with demons in a way free of pre-Awakening superstition. Genius often consists of simply seeing what was there before, something Spocarelli seems to have excelled at. On the other hand, her utilitarianism has earned her severe criticism, mostly from hard-core academes who consider her as throwing the baby out with the bathwater and not practicing proper caution. On the other hand, Spocarelli survived far past the median age for actively demon-consorting, solitary Magi. She must have been doing something right.

  We do not yet know why demons are so fascinated with humanity, or whether they are at heart friendly or inimical to human interest. The gamut of opinion runs from the ever-cautious old-fashioned Magi who think extreme caution must be taken to defend the greater mass of humanity from demonkind to those who insist that it is humanity’s prerogative to bargain with demonkind for superior magickal training and technology, to the benefit of both sides.

  Whether friend or foe, demonic intervention in human affairs does not seem likely to cease. And that is the strongest reason for the Magi to continue research, to find out exactly what they want from us.

  Note: The electronic notation on this document reads: “B-. Wonderful paper, Mr. Whitaker. Who wrote it for you?”

  Book 3

  The Devil’s Right Hand

  For Kazuo, my best friend

  Non satis est ullo, tempore longus amor.

  —Propertius

  Warlord: You are looking at a man who can run you through with this sword without batting an eye.

  Monk: You are looking at a man who can be run through with that sword without batting an eye.

  —old Korean folk tale

  The last of the theories is the most intriguing: what if t
he Awakening itself was prompted by a collective evolution of the human race? Psionic talent before the Awakening was notoriously unreliable. The Parapsychic Act, by codifying and making it possible to train psionic ability, cannot alone account for the flowering of Talent and magickal ability just prior to its signing into law—no matter how loudly apologists for Adrien Ferrimen cry.

  A corollary to the theory of collective evolution is the persistent notion that another intelligence was responsible. The old saw about demonic meddling with the human genetic code has surfaced in this debate so many times as to be a cliché. But as any Magi will tell you, demonkind’s fascination with humans cannot be explained unless they somehow had a hand in our evolution, as they themselves claim.

  For if there is one law in dealing with demons, it is their possessive nature. A demon will destroy a beloved object rather than allow its escape; in this they are like humanity. A second law is just as important in dealing with demons: as with loa or etrigandi, their idea of truth is not at all the human legal definition. A demon’s idea of a truth might be whatever serves the purpose of a moment or achieves a particular end. This leads to the popular joke that lawyers make good Magi, which this author can believe.

  In fact, one might say that in jealousy and falsity either we learned from demonkind, or they caught these tendencies like a sickness from us—and the latter option is not at all likely, given how much older a race they are….

  —from Theory And Demonology: A Magi Primer

  Adrienne Spocarelli

  CHAPTER 1

  It’s for you,” Japhrimel said diffidently, his eyes flaring with green fire in angular runic patterns for just a moment before returning to almost-human darkness.

  I blinked, taking the package. It was heavy, wrapped in blue satin, with a wide white silk ribbon tied in a bow. I pushed the large leatherbound book away and rubbed at the back of my neck under the heavy fall of my hair. Long hours of reading and codebreaking made my vision blur, the white marble behind him turning into a hazy streak. For just a moment, his face looked strange.

  Then I recognized him again and inhaled, taking in his familiar smell of cinnamon and amber musk. The mark on my shoulder burned at his nearness, a familiar sweet pain making my breath catch. The room was dark except for the circle of light from the antique brass lamp with its green plasilica shade. “Another present?” My voice scraped through my dry throat, still damaged; I didn’t have to worry about its soft huskiness, alone with him. The tattoo on my cheek twisted, and my emerald spat a single spark to greet him.

  “Indeed.” Japhrimel touched my cheek with two fingertips, sending liquid fire down my back in a slow, even cascade. His long dark high-collared coat moved slightly as he straightened, his fingers leaving my cheek reluctantly. “For the most beautiful Necromance in the world.”

  That made me laugh. Flattery will get you everywhere, won’t it. “I think Gabe’s prettier, but you’re entitled to your opinion.” I stretched, rolling my head back on my neck, working out the stiffness. “What’s this?” It was about the size of my arm from wrist to elbow, and heavy as metal, or stone.

  Japhrimel smiled, his mouth tilting up and softening, his eyes dark with an almost-human expression. It looked good on him—he was usually so fiercely grim. The expression was tender, and as usual, it made my entire body uncomfortably warm. I looked down at the package, touched the ribbon.

  The last present had been a copy of Perezreverte’s Ninth Portal of Hell in superb condition, its leather binding perfect as if it had just been printed in old Venizia over a thousand years ago—or been sitting in a stasis cabinet since then. The house was a present too, a glowing white marble villa set in the Toscano countryside. I’d mentioned being tired of traveling, so he presented me with a key to the front door one night over dinner.

  My library breathed around me, deep in shadow, none of the other lamps turned on. I heard, now that I wasn’t sunk in study, the shuffle of human feet in the corridors—servants cleaning and cooking, the security net over the house humming, everything as it should be.

  Why was I so uneasy? If I didn’t know better, I’d say the nervousness was a warning. A premonition, my small precognitive gift working overtime.

  Gods, I hope not. I’ve had all the fun I can stand in one lifetime.

  I rubbed at my eyes again and pulled at the ribbon, silk cool and slick against my fingers. Another yawn caught at my mouth—I’d been at codebreaking for a full three days and would need to crash soon. “You don’t have to keep giving me—oh, gods above.”

  Satin folded away, revealing a statue made of perfect glassy obsidian, a lion-headed woman on a throne. The sun-disk over her head was of pure soft hammered gold, glowing in the dim light. I let out a breath of wonder. “Oh, Japhrimel. Where did you…”

  He folded himself down into the chair opposite mine. Soft light from the full-spectrum lamp slid shadows over his saturnine face, made the green flashing through his eyes whirl like sparks above a bonfire. His eyes often held a green sparkle or two while he watched me. “Do you like it, Dante?” The usual question, as if he doubted I would.

  I picked her up, felt the thrumming in the glassy stone. It was, like all his gifts, perfect. The funny melting sensation behind my ribs was familiar by now, but nothing could take away its strangeness. “She’s beautiful.”

  “I have heard you call upon Sekhmet.” He stretched out his long legs just like a human male. His eyes turned dark again, touching me, sliding against my skin like a caress. “Do you like it?”

  “Of course I like her, you idiot.” I traced her smooth shoulder with a fingertip, my long black-lacquered fingernail scraping slightly. “She’s gorgeous.” My eyes found his and the mark on my shoulder pulsed, sending warmth down my skin, soaking through my bones, a touch no less intimate for being nonphysical. “What’s wrong?”

  His smile faded slightly. “Why do you ask?”

  I shrugged. A thin thread of guilt touched me. He was so gentle, he didn’t deserve my neurotic inability to trust anything simple. “A holdover from human relationships, probably. Usually when a guy gives a lot of presents he’s hiding something.” And every couple of days it’s something new. Books, the antiques, the weapons I barely know how to use—I’m beginning to feel spoiled. Or kept. Danny Valentine, Necromance and kept woman. Sounds like a holovid.

  “Ah.” The smile returned, relieved. “Only a human suspicion, then.”

  I grimaced, sticking my tongue out. The face made him laugh.

  “Oh, quit it.” I was hard-pressed not to chuckle, myself.

  “It pleases me to please you. It is also time for dinner.” He tilted his head, still wearing the faint shadow of a smile. “Emilio has outdone himself to tempt you away from your dusty papers.”

  I grimaced again, setting the statue on the desk and stretching, joints popping. “I’ll get fat.” This code seems a little easier than the last one. Probably a Ronson cipher with a shifting alphanumeric base. I hope this journal has more about demon physiology—I can always use that. The one treatise on wings was invaluable.

  I had never before known what a tremendous show of vulnerability it was for a Greater Flight demon to close the protective shell of his wings around another being.

  “You think so?” His smile widened again. “That would indeed be a feat. Come with me, I need your company.”

  It abruptly warmed me that he would admit to liking my company, let alone needing it. “Great. You know, I’ve gotten really fond of this research stuff. I never had time for it before.” I was too busy paying off my mortgage. Not to mention chasing down bounties as fast as I could to keep from thinking. I stretched again, made it into a movement that brought me to my feet. I scooped the statue up, wrapping it back in the blue satin, and offered him my hand. “I suppose you’re going to try to talk me into dressing for dinner again.”

  “I so rarely see you in a dress, hedaira. The black velvet is particularly fine.” His fingers closed over mine as he rose, putti
ng no weight on my hand. He stepped closer to me and slid his hand up my arm, my shirtsleeve giving under the pressure. I wore a silk T-shirt and a pair of jeans, bare feet. No rig, no weapons but my sword leaning against the desk, its Power contained. It rarely left the sheath anymore, except during sparring sessions.

  I still kept my hand in, unwilling to let my combat reflexes go rusty. I probably shouldn’t have worried—demon muscle and bone would still keep me quicker and tougher than any human. But I’ve spent my life fighting, and that isn’t something you just lay aside no matter how safe you feel.

  The idea that he was right next to me and my sword was just out of arm’s reach didn’t make me feel unsteady or panicked like it used to.

  Go figure, the one person on earth I trust while I’m unarmed, and it’s him. I leaned into Japh, my head on his shoulder. Tension slid through him, something I hadn’t felt since our first days of traveling away from Saint City. The only thing that would soothe him was my nearness, I’d learned it was better to just stay still once in a while and let him touch me, it made things easier for both of us. I was getting used to the curious feeling of being practically unarmed around a demon.

  A Fallen demon. A’nankhimel, a word I still had no hope of deciphering.

  “You’re talking about the black velvet sheath? Half my chest hangs out in that thing.” My tone was light, bantering, but I let him hold me.

  Bit by bit, his tautness lessened, drained away. “Such a fine chest it is, too. The very first thing I noticed.” His tone was, as usual, flat and ironic, shaded with the faintest amusement.