I folded my arms, mostly to disguise how my hands were shaking. The Knife hummed inside its new sheath. “You hid the other half of this thing in Hell?”
“It seemed a fine idea at the time. Lucifer is not at home—he is traveling the wide world, dispensing his own justice and hunting for both us and his wayward Androgyne. I may very well go unnoticed.”
“Lucifer’s looking to finish me off. What am I going to do if he finds me and you’re stuck in Hell?” When I got right down to it, that was what worried me most.
Lo, how the mighty have fallen. And I used to be so tough.
Japhrimel clasped his hands behind his back and inclined his chin, slightly. “Vann and McKinley will protect you. If need be, they will sacrifice themselves for your safety.”
“Oh, that just makes me feel so much better.” Sarcasm. The last refuge of the doomed. Not to mention that I didn’t trust either of them. I was getting to the point where I didn’t trust anyone.
“We have little time. At any moment, Lucifer may find the other two decoys are merely that—empty boxes. Then he will know how far my betrayal extends. When that happens, it will be war. He will scour the earth with his minions, those he can afford to trust. They should be few, but they are powerful. And he has an endless supply of the Low Flight to work his will.”
The rock in my throat swelled. The Knife’s finials writhed silently. It was a hideous feeling, staring at the inhuman geometry of the thing and feeling that it had just moved, and that I wouldn’t necessarily notice or remember if it moved again. “This isn’t helping.”
“I would take you with me, were it possible.”
The thought of going back into Hell dried my mouth. So much for hiding my shaking hands—my fingers bit into my arms and my rig creaked slightly. What could I say? Gee, thanks, but the last two times I’ve been I haven’t enjoyed it a bit. I shook my head, actually feeling all the blood drain from my face. Something occurred to me, then. “That’s why you went back into Hell while we were in Toscano. You went to see if you could get a chance to get your hands on the other half.”
His mouth tilted up at the corners, a rueful expression. “All the hosts of Hell save me from your ideas, my curious. Yes, I thought it might be possible to retrieve it. The Prince kept too close a watch on me.”
“Which meant you suspected something.”
“I suspected a time would come when my potential value to Lucifer was outweighed by my status as A’nankhimel. After all, Lucifer left you alive.” A single, short nod. “When I returned to myself after dormancy, I thought it very likely, so I waited. When he called for us again, I knew half the Knife of Sorrow would perhaps afford me an edge, and you some protection. Then I could collect Sephrimel’s half at leisure before anyone discovered my plan.”
“When were you going to get around to telling me this?”
“We have had little time, of late, and we have even less now.” He reached down, touched the oiled wooden hilt with one golden finger. Pulled his hand away, as if it had pricked him. “I need your help, my curious.”
Funny, you seem to be doing all right on your own. Why don’t you, Eve, and Lucifer fight this out, and leave me alone? The Knife hummed, a low dangerous sound. “Nobody in this thing needs my help,” I muttered.
“I do. You freed me from Lucifer, you mourned my dormancy, you brought me back. If anyone can be said to own one of my kind, I am yours. Give me the freedom to act in this matter.”
Give you? “You’re going to act whether I give you anything or not. You always have.”
“Give me some credit for seeking to change, even at this late hour.” It was his turn for a sardonic tone.
Why is it that as soon as I think you’re a complete bastard you say something like that? “Credit given, Japh. Fine. If this is what we have to do, let’s do it.” I turned on my heel and stalked away from the table, leaving the Knife in its spiderweb of broken glass.
“Dante.”
I stopped.
He approached me silently. “This is yours.”
I turned my head a bit. He gingerly proffered the Knife, hilt-first. In his hands it actually looked normal, the alienness of its geometry matched by the subtle difference of his bone structure.
It would be idiotic not to take it and use it, especially if Japh was going to make a suicide run into Hell.
Story of your life, sunshine. You’re on your own.
I took it, its unholy satin warmth sliding into my palm, rattling the bones of my fingers with its low hum.
Either shard will wound beyond measure a demon, even one of the Greater Flight. Sephrimel’s voice. He’d proved it, too. So had the bird-feathered demon.
Japh shook his hand, a quick short movement, as if ridding his skin of the feel of the thing. “I will return.” He made it sound like a fact instead of a promise. “As quickly as I may. Time moves differently in Hell.”
Don’t I know it. “If you’re going to do it, do it.” For once I sounded steady, and strong. “Let’s not wait around.”
CHAPTER 26
The walk back to the hover was too short for serious brooding and far too long for me to feel anything other than horribly exposed and completely vulnerable. I wanted to stay and watch, but Magi don’t practice in front of other psions… and as Japh had pointed out, a doorway to Hell was not anything I wanted to be around.
Because if something can go in, something might be able to come out. So we all stepped merrily out Kgembe’s front door.
Without Japhrimel.
Ten minutes later the scar in the hollow of my left shoulder went numb, a varocained prickling that probably meant he was nowhere in the normal world. I’d felt that before, and it was miserable to have confirmation of what it meant.
Vann spoke once. “Don’t worry. He’ll be back before you know it.”
When I said nothing, he shut up. The rest of the walk was accomplished in complete silence, except for Lucas swearing under his breath, a steady monotony of obscenities mixed in different languages, a song of nervousness. That certainly didn’t help my mood. Wet heat lay thick and clotted against every surface, the shadows knife-edged and drenched with color. I carried my sword, wanting it to hand.
Just in case.
Sirens boiled through the air as we drew closer to the transport well.
That doesn’t sound good. Precognition tickled my nape under tangled hair. Still, why assume that every disturbance in Caracaz had to do with me?
We rounded the corner. Because it probably does, Danny.
There was a snarl of hover traffic in holding patterns and a column of black smoke lifting from the depths of the well. I stared, Vann cursed, and McKinley pushed me back around the corner. “Stay back. Lucas?”
“On it.” The yellow-eyed man unholstered a plasgun and set off down the street, moving quickly but smoothly. He looked bleached, surrounded by blocks of primary color.
Who the hell put McKinley in charge? I swallowed my protest and tried to peer around the corner. McKinley pushed me back, his metallic left hand glittering. A fine sheen of sweat covered the Hellesvront agent’s forehead. “Just a minute, Valentine. Let’s not be hasty.”
“Leander. And her.” Eve. Or whoever she is.
“Lucas’ll see what’s going on. We don’t want to risk you.” He exchanged a worried look with Vann, one I could decipher all too easily. This changed things a little. It was faintly possible the column of smoke had nothing to do with us.
Faintly.
The semi-industrial district butting up against Kgembe’s quiet neighborhood provided no cover at all. I felt like a huge neon-lit sign. Tasty demon treat, just come and take a bite.
“Mac.” There was a long, low, sibilant hiss—Vann had drawn a knife.
“I know.” McKinley let out a short sharp breath, and I smelled sudden peppery adrenaline from both of them under the dry stasis-cabinet smell of Hellesvront. “Valentine?”
“What?” My right hand almost-cramped, and I squeezed m
y swordhilt and felt every nervestring pull itself taut. This suddenly began to feel normal. There was violence approaching.
I didn’t mind a bit.
“If this gets ugly, you’d better run. As fast and as far as you can. We’ll take care of the rest.”
We’ll see about that. “What is it?” A demon, all right. Which one, and where, and what the hell are you two going to be—
I didn’t even get to finish the thought. They boiled out of the daylight, low unhealthy shapes with skittering legs, and I swallowed a scream before McKinley shoved me so hard I stumbled. “Run!” McKinley screamed.
My sword cleared its sheath, and the rage woke in a blinding red screen.
Oh, no. I have had enough of running. I rocketed forward past Vann, who had gone into a crouch as one of the things leapt, an uncoordinated fluid movement twisting its flexible two-part body. It looked like a nightmare of a spider, with the off-kilter grace of something demonic. It was also sickly-hot, a feverish icy heat cutting through the sunshine and raising my hackles. A coughing roar exploded, either from my throat or from someone’s projectile gun.
No. It was me. It was the cry of a hunting cat.
I ducked into a crouch, sword whipping in an arc, blue flame painting the air behind it in a sweet natural curve as the scabbard clattered to the concrete and my left hand closed around the hilt of the Knife, ripping it free.
Tchuk. Fudoshin split demonic flesh, and the spider thing made a screeching hurtful sound. I rose from the crouch, the long muscles in my legs providing impetus, and leapt, twisting with the follow-through of the slash. The Knife whipped out, following the arc, and the hell-thing screamed again.
I hit the ground before I’d finished my yell, my throat scorching with the sound.
And fire bloomed. Red-yellow flames coughed into existence, running wetly over the thing’s bristling, glassy black hide. The scar hummed with Power, flushing along my skin and armoring me in liquid heat.
Had it always been this simple? The world was no longer a garden of threat and fear. Instead, it was a clear, shimmering web of action and reaction, violence and death. All I had to do was look to see the shining path of killing that would free me from this.
It had never felt so right to destroy everything in my path.
“Valentine!” McKinley, screaming. I pivoted on the ball of my left foot, bringing the sword around again, and engaged the second spider. Plasfire crackled around me, the air seared with a stinging smell of something dry and bristled, its mouth stuffed with silk, flicked into a candleflame and shriveling.
Something ripped along my calf, but I paid it no heed. Short thrust, pivoting again, boots scraping the concrete, and the Knife let out a high keening as I plunged it into the spider’s back. The horrid gulping noise cut short, a flood of hot sickening Power jolting up my arm before I pulled the blade free and ducked, venomous black blood flying.
More whining plasbolts. There were so many of them, the spiders clicking and hissing, moving to flank me. Rage smoked and strained as the reflex of a lifetime spent bounty hunting calculated the odds and came up with something I didn’t quite like.
They were about to surround me.
Don’t care, the rage whispered. Kill them. Kill them all.
Make them pay.
It hit me hard and low, driving me down as a laserifle whined. I landed hard, twisting, and almost drove the Knife into McKinley’s throat before I realized he wasn’t one of them.
It was harder than it should have been to stop myself.
The spiders screeched and writhed, black rotting blood steaming on the concrete. The aftermath of a repeating laserifle isn’t a pretty sight, and these creatures seemed even more vulnerable to lasefire than the hellhounds. The smell was incredible, but even more incredible was the sound of little bristled demon feet scratching, scratching, scratching.
More of them, and they’re massing. I gulped at stale, fetid air. The heat was incredible.
“Get up!” McKinley hauled on me, I scrambled to my feet. “Now run, goddamn you!”
I didn’t wait to be told twice. Still, every muscle in me resisted for the first few steps, wanting to turn back and kill until there was nothing left. He shoved me again, right between the shoulderblades, and it took every vanishing thread of control I had left not to spin and plunge bright steel into the man’s body.
I ran.
His footsteps followed mine as we flashed through wet sunlight and sharp-edged shade, harsh heaving breaths echoing in my straining ears. I heard more lasefire, and the chattering of projectile fire. On the far end, another explosion rocked the transport well.
They’re certainly going all-out, aren’t they. Whoever they are. I wonder if I’ll ever find out. Does it matter?
I can move very quickly, especially since Japhrimel taught me to use the demon-born strength he’d given me. McKinley kept pace, having enough breath to yell when I instinctively bolted left at the next intersection, impelled by the idea that I had to find some cover. The city thrummed, a deep well of ambient power at its core beckoning. There was enough static in those depths to hide me, maybe.
Except for the sudden ravine cutting across our path, a waist-high railing and hover traffic whizzing by. A major traffic lane, an artery feeding the city’s throbbing heart.
Oh, shit. I was moving too fast, dug my heels in, and skidded to a stop.
McKinley almost ran into me, gasping for breath. He snapped a quick glance down into the hovertraffic. “Do you trust me?”
What? “What?” I looked over my shoulder. The street seemed clear, but the shadows warped in a way I suddenly didn’t like. As I looked, one of the shadows developed legs and skittered out into the hot sun, sending up a high piercing cry.
“Do you trust me?” McKinley repeated. He still held a knife, the blade reversed along his right forearm, his metallic left hand limned with pale violet.
I had no time to lie. “No.” I don’t trust you. I don’t even like you.
“Fine.” He grabbed, his left hand tangling in my rig’s straps, and hauled. The railing hit me at hip level, he yanked again, and we tumbled over the edge.
Instinct pulled my arms and legs close, I twisted like a cat in midair and almost crunched into the side of a freight hover, its wash of warm air stinging my eyes. Gravity eased for a heart-clenching moment, McKinley fell free, and we landed hard on a moving surface, the breath driven from my lungs in a hungh! of effort that might have been funny if it hadn’t hurt so goddamn much.
“—ow—” My voice was very small in the rushing wind.
He’d aimed us for a hovertrain, bulleting along at the bottom of the trough. If I’d been human, the fall would have killed me. As it was, I shook the stun out of my head and made it to my feet, sword in one hand and Knife in the other, miraculously mostly unharmed. Wet warmth dripped into my eyes before black blood sealed the hurt away. The top of the train was dimpled from my landing, lines of force clearly showing in the plasteel.
Hope we didn’t scare anyone inside.
McKinley was on all fours, coughing up bright crimson blood. He looked terrible, and his ribs on one side were malformed, hammered in by the force of our landing.
Oh, lovely. This is ever so much better. I opened my mouth to say it, but a motion further down the flexible snake of the hovertrain caught my eye.
Shit. I spared another glance at McKinley, whose eyes had rolled back into his head. The violet glow around his left hand flashed, getting brighter, and crackling noises punctured the wind-sound as his ribs snapped out, mending.
He’ll live, the voice of experience inside my head whispered. But not for long, if they get to him in this state.
Loping on all fours up the hovertrain’s bouncing back, their bald heads glistening in the golden light and their eyes firing when they passed through brief shutterclicks of shadow, were imps. Their long, waxen-white flexible limbs bent in ways no human’s would, and they snarled and chattered through the roaring wind as the
train took a sharp bend, my knees flexing to keep me upright. My sword came up, blue flame streaming and dripping from its keen edge, its heart burning white-hot, visible even through daylight.
I could just leave him here. I really could.
I launched myself over McKinley, who blurted out something through his coughing and choking for breath, and ran headlong for the imps, not realizing I was screaming in defiance until I ran out of breath and slammed into the first imp with a sound like hovers colliding. The Knife rammed into the thing’s chest, and its screech was sweet music as rage took me again, the inside of my skull turning into a grassfire, smudges of charcoal and dull stained crimson taking the place of thought.
Front foot planted, yank the Knife free and swing back foot around, whirling to extend in a lunge as effortless as it was deadly, a roar of speed-laced wind stinging my eyes, my hair rising and obscuring my vision. It didn’t matter, I wasn’t using my eyes to track them anyway. They were smears of black-diamond fire on the landscape of Power, interlocking cascades of intent and threat. I lost track of myself in the clear light of what Jado called mind-no-mind, moving with a speed and clarity I had rarely achieved in my human life and never since—until now.
The enemy vanishes, Danyo-chan, and all you face is yourself.
The leap uncoiled, my knees coming up, and I kicked, my boot meeting another imp’s face. The sound of a watermelon with glass bones dropped on scorching pavement was satisfying, to say the least, but not as satisfying as carving the thing’s arm off on my way down, landing splay-footed and bouncing again, the train’s rollicking passage suddenly a rhythm I had no trouble catching.
Just like riding a slicboard, eh, Danny?
The flood of feverish Power up my arm from the Knife was almost natural. Gritty ash exploded, demonic flesh sucked clean of vitality, and the sound I heard—a falsetto giggle, high and clear as ringing glass in an empty room after midnight—was my own insane laughter. I was laughing as they swarmed me, jaws champing and sharp teeth clicking through foam, maddened by daylight or by my presence, I couldn’t tell.
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