Dante Valentine

by Lilith Saintcrow

  Of course, being a demon and having the resources of Hellesvront—the deep, wide net of agents and financial assets Lucifer had created on earth—Japhrimel had a suite in a high-rise hotel in the Novo Meste. True to form, he simply ignored the fawning of the hotel employees when he appeared with one tired and battered Necromance in tow.

  The hotel was a pile of glittering plasteel and plasglass, soaring above the Rijna na Prikope. Here in the Novo Meste, hoverlimos drifted under steely orange clouds and the buildings were clean and high, like the financial district of Saint City. It was in the Staro Meste that the trash piled up and the bordellos rollicked all night; that would have been the part of town I was more comfortable in. This just felt too exposed.

  Of course, my nerves were so jagged I would have felt naked anywhere.

  I had to swallow harshly when Japhrimel stopped in the lobby, half-turning to consider me with those new, awful glowing-green chips of eyes. “Are you able to take the elevator?”

  I nodded slightly, my chin dipping. “Fine.” My voice was a battered husk, still velvety with a demon’s seduction. “You still haven’t explained a damn thing.” That’s okay, I’m not in a mood to listen. I need to fight someone, anyone, but if I start now I’ll go crazy and I won’t stop until someone’s dead. Or sex. That would be good too. Come on, sunshine. Take a deep breath. Calm the fuck down.

  It was impossible. I wasn’t going to be calm anytime soon.

  “Patience, my curious one.” He made a slight movement, as if reaching for me. His hand fell back to his side when I shied away, my bootheel scraping the immaculate floor. It wasn’t him I flinched from. It was that the elevators were very close and he obviously expected me to get into one, my hands threatened to start shaking again at the thought. My breath came hard, harsh, my ribs flickering. “Soon enough.”

  The normals in hotel uniforms drew back as he stalked through the lobby. I suppose a wild-haired, wide-eyed Necromance with a white-knuckle grip on her sword and the static of bloodlust and rage following her like a cloud wasn’t exactly their usual clientele. The lobby was nice, I supposed—red velvet couches in baroque style, synthstone glowing white, a statue of a woman in a traditional Czechi costume with water pouring from her bucket into a rippling pool below. I tried to ignore the sudden swirling of fear and worry in the normals, followed Japhrimel’s back. The tattoo on my cheek shifted.

  One of the elevators opened as we approached. It was empty. It stayed open, and Japhrimel stepped inside.

  No. Please, no.

  I couldn’t back down. I had promised, I’d said it was fine. Backing down now would be weak.

  So I stepped into the elevator and fought down the hot sourness that rose in my throat as the doors slid closed. All the air seemed to vanish. I couldn’t close my eyes to shut out the terrible feeling, so I stared at Japhrimel’s feet, pressure building behind my eyes. The push of antigrav helped by pulleys made the bottom of my stomach drop out.

  “Japh?” I sounded about a half-step away from panicking, my voice breathless and cracked.

  A long pause. “Yes.”

  “Could you… is it possible for you to turn me back into a human?” I have to know. I won’t get any peace until I know. It’s just one of those questions I have to ask. Just… I have to know.

  His boot-toes didn’t shift. “Would you want to?” Was that hurt in his voice? Wonders never ceased.

  “Will you just tell me? I need to know.” Had to know. Sekhmet sa’es, he was a demon again, with all a demon’s Power.

  Did he still want me?

  It’s not that he’s back to his old self. I stared at his boot-toes. It’s that I have no control. He could make me do whatever he wants. He could do anything he liked to me, and I wouldn’t be able to stop him. That scares the hell out of me. How am I supposed to deal with that?

  “Even if I wanted to, I could not grant you mere humanity again.” His tone was so chill the air cooled a perceptible five degrees. “The changes have settled in, and you would not survive such a thing. You will not escape me that easily.”

  You know, I would have settled for a simple yes or no, Japh. I sighed, my shoulders hunching with tension. The air inside the elevator was beginning to run out, precious little oxygen left. I needed to breathe. I had to breathe. My throat began to close, my hand cramped on my swordhilt. Anubis et’her ka. Se ta’uk’fhet sa te vapu kuraph. The prayer rose, and a blue glow rose with it inside my mind. I could have cried with the relief. My god had never denied me comfort, even before I’d passed through my Trial to become an accredited Necromance.

  That, of course, reminded me of my altar and the shape of fire behind Anubis as he laid the geas upon me. I had studied geas in Theory of Spirituality classes, the gods asking of a specific service; they were rare even among Necromances. Gods, demons—everyone was messing with my life now. I tried to remember what the gods had asked of me. Couldn’t.

  I just had to wait. But the thought of that waiting didn’t fill me with terror. I didn’t think my god would ask me for anything I couldn’t do.

  The door opened and I bolted from the close confines, searching for a wall to put my back to. Japhrimel stepped out, soundlessly, and waited. He knew better than to touch me, but his aura did what he refrained from, wrapping around mine in an almost physical caress.

  When I looked up and nodded, taking in harsh gulps of blessed air, he led me down a quiet, red-carpeted hall and opened a pair of double doors. Once I followed him through, they sighed closed behind me on maghinges.

  The suite was done in gold and cream, and a large mirror hung over the nivron fireplace, which was cold and empty except for a fire screen decorated with peacocks. And I wasn’t alone in the room with Japhrimel. I caught a confused sense of movement and threw myself away, my back meeting the wall with a thump between a bathroom door and a tasteful, restrained end table made of spun plasglass.

  Lucas Villalobos looked over from where he leaned against the mantel, his lank hair lying slick against his forehead. “Relax, chica,” he said in his softest voice, but he was grinning like a maniac. Thunder rang under his words, the expensive plasglass windows shivering in their seatings. I could feel the building sway underfoot. “You’re among friends.”

  “Friends?” My own voice cracked. My nerves were too jangled for me to be polite to anyone right about now. I was slowly, slowly coming back from the edge. “If these are friends, I’ll take my enemies.”

  I didn’t mean it. My mouth just bolted like a runaway hover.

  Villalobos laughed, the crackling wheeze I was beginning to be uncomfortably familiar with. I had no idea when he started to find me so fucking funny.

  Four other men and a woman watched me. A Shaman, a Magi, a Nichtvren—and two men without the glow of psions, but who weren’t normals either. They weren’t werecain, or kobold, or swanhild, or Nichtvren. I took this in as Japhrimel held perfectly still, his glowing eyes on me.

  “Introductions.” Lucas sounded maniacally calm. “Danny Valentine, meet everyone. Everyone, Danny Valentine.”

  Thanks, Lucas. That really helps.

  The Nichtvren rose, a tall male with a shock of dirty-blond hair and the face of a holovid angel, his eyes curiously flat with the cat-sheen of his nighthunting species. Below the shine, they were a pale blue. He wore dusty black, a V-neck sweater and loose workman’s pants, his feet closed in scarred and cracked boots. I had only seen this kind of Power once before in a Nichtvren, a heavy blurring onslaught of a creature built to be both a psychic and physical predator. He felt like Nikolai, the Prime of Saint City. “Tiens,” he said.

  I blinked.

  Prickles of almost-gooseflesh touched my back. Nichtvren don’t make me as nervous as demons do—but anything that fast, that tough, and with that much Power made me nervous enough. “What?” I managed, blankly.

  “I am Tiens.” He smiled broadly, showing white teeth; fangs retracted to look like ordinary canines. No wonder he’d been Turned—Nichtvren were sucke
rs for physical beauty. I guess immortality was easier when you could collect pretty toys. The rolling song of a different dialect tinted his voice, it sounded faintly like Franje or Taliano. “At your service, belle morte.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I lied. “Look, I don’t mean to—”

  “I’m Bella Thornton. I worked for Trinity Corp.” The female was a Shaman, her tat a curved symmetrical thorn-laden cruciform. It shifted, stabbing her cheek. “Seem to remember you cracked us once.” She had wide dark eyes and a triangular Neoneopunk haircut, her bangs falling in her face. Her rig was light—only carrying four knives and a scimitar. The sword lay across her lap, in a beautifully made leather scabbard, not reinforced by the look of it. I would have bet hard credit the steel inside was only decorative.

  “Might have been me.” It had been me, if she was talking about the corporate espionage I used to do with Jace. I’d done Trinity a few times. “I hear Trinity had the best shields in the biz while you were there.” It was a lie—I’d been before her time, and I knew it. She couldn’t be more than twenty, so unless she was working as an intern there I wouldn’t have cracked her shields.

  She preened a little under the compliment and jerked her chin toward the Magi, a thin, intense-looking young Asiano man whose muddy hazel eyes sharpened as he took me in. “Ogami, my partner. He doesn’t talk much.” The Magi’s tattoo was a Krupsev, bearing the trademark swirls; he carried a longsword that reminded me of Gabe, and from the way his hand rested on the plain functional hilt I thought maybe he knew how to use it.

  This is absurd. I shot a glance at Japhrimel. He watched me, the green light from his eyes casting shadows further down on his golden cheeks.

  “Pleasure,” I rasped. Rain began to smack the window in earnest, driven by a restless wind. A harsh spear of lightning flashed in the distance.

  The other two, both spare, rangy men, watched me. Japhrimel finally stirred as the sound of thunder reached us again, a low grinding counterpoint to the tension in the air. “Hellesvront agents.” His voice stroked the air with Power. “Vann, and McKinley.”

  Vann was brown, from his chestnut hair to his rich warm eyes and tanned skin. He even wore brown—a fringed leather jacket and tough construction-worker’s pants, a pair of supple, soft moccasins. That was a surprise; most people I met in my line of work wore boots, especially if they were, like him, armed to the teeth. Knives, guns, plasguns, spinclaws… even the butt of a plasrifle stood up over his right shoulder. I was surprised he didn’t jingle when he shifted his weight, his eyes meeting mine and flicking away.

  “Hey,” Vann said.

  “Hey.” I sounded choked even to myself. I’ve had a hell of a night, two demons and a goddamn elevator. Now I’m supposed to be polite?

  McKinley, on the other hand, was dark. Glossy crow’s-wing hair, dark eloquent eyes, pale skin, and unrelieved plain-black clothing. Only two knives I could see. The only color on him was the sparkle of a strange kind of metallic coating on his left hand. He stared at me for a few moments, then lifted himself from the couch.

  He moved like oil. I set my back against the wall and returned his stare, the back of my neck prickling.

  He approached me, slowly, one step at a time. When he was almost past Japhrimel my sword leapt up from the scabbard. Four inches of bright steel peeked out. I swallowed. I didn’t know who the hell he was, and the way he moved made me uneasy. “Don’t come any closer.” If you come near me, I’m not going to be able to stop myself. I am not safe right now, kiddo. Not safe at all.

  McKinley studied me for a long moment. His eyes flicked down to my left wrist. He glanced at Japhrimel, whose eyes had never left my face. When Japhrimel didn’t move, the pale man nodded. “Impressive.” His voice was almost like a Necromance’s, low—but not whispering. Just quiet, as if he never had to raise it to get something done.

  “Glad you approve.” Lucas heaved himself up from beside the fireplace. “I’m going to bed. G’night, kids.”

  “Lucas—” For a moment, I actually considered appealing to him for help. Then I regained my senses. “What the hell is going on?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Villalobos didn’t even look back as he paced from the room. “Your green-eyed boyfriend made good on your promises. Consider me paid and on the job. ’Night.”

  “Tomorrow,” Japhrimel said, and they took it like a prearranged signal. They filed past me to the elevator, while Lucas slid into another room, shutting the door and immediately almost vanishing even to my senses. McKinley edged past me, gave me a long look before stepping through the maghinged doors, and I shuddered at the thought of being in an elevator, unable to fight, unable to breathe.

  Japhrimel stayed where he was. Watched me. The elevator door slid closed, the maghinged doors closed too, and I let out a mostly unconscious sound of relief. I was beginning to feel a little silly pressed against the wall. Rain-heavy wind moaned against the windows. “I’m still waiting for that explanation,” I informed him. My hands were still trembling, just a little. What did you pay Lucas? How did you find him?

  “And yet, here you are.” His eyes traveled down me once, the mark on my shoulder responding with a flare of heated Power, staining through my shielding. My entire body ached with unspent tension under that caress. Lightning flashed outside the window, the sharp jab of electricity echoing in my shielding.

  Sparks popped from my rings. His eyes sharpened, and he looked straight through me. “I came out of Hell to find our home burning and my hedaira vanished. The smell of a scavenger overlaid your trail, and when I tried to locate you, I felt resistance. I thought you taken or tortured, or too weak to respond.”

  What happened next surprised me. He actually snarled, a swift brutal expression crossing his face. “Do you know what it is like to search for you, thinking you taken or worse?”

  I jammed my sword back home in the sheath. “Were you hoping another demon would find me before you did?”

  I have never had his gift for dry irony, it surprised me to hear something so horrible come out of my own mouth. It had sounded funny inside my head, but not so funny now hanging in the air between us.

  Japhrimel took a single step toward me, his eyes burning. The air turned hot and tense, the plasglass table next to me beginning to sing softly, one trembling crystal note stroking the air. I considered slipping my sword free again. The storm outside settled into its predetermined course.

  “Go ahead,” he said softly. “Draw. If it will please you.”

  “I don’t draw without reason.” So help me, I am so close to the edge now. Don’t push me. “Just fucking give me a few minutes, Japh.”

  “You’re angry.” He didn’t even have the grace to sound ashamed.

  “Of course I’m fucking angry!” Why did I sound like a hurt child? My voice hadn’t broken like this since my first social worker had died, knifed by a Chillfreak for an antique watch and a pair of sneakers. “You pulled one hell of a bait-and-switch on me, and I just got chased and—”

  “I did what was necessary. You may keep your precious scruples, because I did so.” Dismissive. His eyes half-lidded, the green glow intensifying—as if that were possible.

  I couldn’t believe this. I was so happy to see him, and yet I was shaking with the urge to punch him. As if it would have mattered; I didn’t think I could have hit him anyway, he was too fast. I searched vainly for a way to hold onto my temper. “My ‘precious scruples’ worked for you once,” I said tautly. “I finished dealing with Lucifer. And if I hadn’t burned my house down, you’d still be a pile of ash. Right?”

  He shrugged. “I would have come back to you, one way or another. You know this.”

  Why were my eyes watering? He had come back, he had searched Saint City to find me and helped me destroy Mirovitch’s leprous blue ka; he had spent so much patient time nursing me through the effects of the psychic rape Mirovitch had inflicted on me.

  The anger went out of me. I could almost feel it go with a helpless snap. There
are some things even I can’t fight, and I was being ridiculous. No sleep, no food, and being chased by demons was not guaranteed to leave me in a good mood, but he didn’t deserve the sharp edge of my temper. My muscles began to ache, a sure sign I was coming down from the raw edge of homicidal fury. “I’m just… gods. I could have done without this, you know. I really could have done without this. That’s all. Can you just… I don’t know, give me a little credit for not being mad at you but at the goddamn motherfucking situation Lucifer’s trapped me in?”

  “Dante.” He took another step, approaching me cautiously. I glanced past him, toward the window running with rainwater, showing the sky jabbed with spears of light whose holoflashes showed the bridges over the Vltava. Reinforced plasglass. I would be able to leap, but I didn’t know what this fall would do to me. The thought flashed through my head and was gone in less than a second. “I am sorry.” More thunder underlaid his words. The magscan shieldings on hovers glowed with coruscating whirls as the craft disregarded the storm, whipping between high buildings.

  I let out a long breath. “Me too.” I didn’t mean it to sound so sharp.

  He repeated himself patiently, as if I was being an idiot. “I am sorry if you ever thought I could abandon you. Do you think I am human? Do you think I would throw away Hell for you, then tire of your company?”

  For the sake of every god that ever was, I’m trying to be conciliatory here, for once in my goddamn life. Will you just quit it? “Well, you got Hell back, didn’t you?” I responded ungracefully.

  Japhrimel tipped his head back, closing his eyes. It took a few moments before I realized his jaw was working as his fury circled the room like a shark, looking for an outlet. It took about thirty seconds for his hold on his temper to come back. I stared, fascinated. It was like watching a reaction fire trying to contain itself. I had never seen this level of frustration in him.

  “Were I to go back to Hell,” he informed me, his tone dead level, “I would be shunned. I am abomination, an A’nankhimel who has bargained with Lucifer for a demon’s Power. Every moment I spent there would punish me even more thoroughly. I have removed myself irrevocably from Hell, and I have done it for an ungrateful, spiteful child.”