by Cat Adams
I stopped in my tracks and stared like I’d just fallen off a turnip truck. “Oh, wow.”
Baker grinned. “I know. Wait till you see your suite. You’re a decorated hero now. The king wanted to make sure you were ‘comfortable’ and to make sure everyone knows how grateful he is for everything you’ve done for him and for the kingdom.”
Oh, my.
We climbed the stairs to the third floor, where Baker led us to my suite. Some suite—if the three floors of my dearly departed office building had been laid out on a single level, they still would have been smaller than this place. The rooms were everything out of my wildest childhood Cinderella fantasies, including, in one bathroom, a walk-in tub that would pass for a swimming pool in some neighborhoods and had all sorts of whirlpool jets. It was so incredibly inviting that I turned to Bruno immediately and said, “Out. Now.”
“Excuse me?”
“There’s a bubble bath calling my name. Scoot.”
“I could join you. The tub’s big enough.” He grinned, dark eyes sparkling, flashing the dimples I’ve always found so irresistible. But there was a shadow of unease beneath the seemingly confident expression. I could sense it. I didn’t like that unease. I’d had enough of it in my own life.
I made sure he knew I was teasing as I pretended to hesitate. “Well … I suppose I could use someone to scrub my back.”
He laughed, and for the first time all day, the haunted look left his face.
Later, clean and sated, we slid between the sheets of my almost criminally comfortable bed, and slept.
We woke to furious pounding on the door and Griffiths bellowing, “Princess Celia, you and the mage DeLuca are needed in Princess Adriana’s suite at once!”
“Hang on a sec!” I shouted back as I climbed out of bed and scrambled around looking for something to wear. As Bruno slid into yesterday’s jeans, I frantically opened drawers and doors until I found my underwear, jeans, blouses, and jackets.
We were dressed and out the door in a flash, following Griffiths at run down the short hall between my suite and the royal compartments.
The corridor was crowded with people, most of whom I recognized as Secret Service from one country or another. Thorsen towered above the rest, his long hair loose, expression thunderous. Even dressed only in drawstring pajama bottoms, he was imposing as hell. As we neared Adriana’s rooms, I noticed that everyone left just a bit of distance between themselves and Igor, who was standing near the door. It was probably completely unconscious, but telling. It reminded me of how everyone acted around Bruno’s Uncle Sal.
“Princess, Mage DeLuca.” At Igor’s gesture everyone stepped aside, allowing us to enter the royal chambers. Igor led us through a beautiful living area crowded with people. Queen Lopaka, dressed in an elegant peignoir, sat on a couch, her arms around her daughter, who was shaking and looking like she was about to vomit. King Dahlmar paced, his expression thunderous. His brother was at his side, quietly speaking in rapid Ruslandic, presumably in an effort to calm him down.
Igor murmured something to the man guarding the bedroom door, who stepped aside and gave me my first glimpse of what lay on the bed.
It took a minute for my mind to wrap itself around what I was seeing. It was just so unexpected and so incredibly gross.… I was looking at the severed arm of a young woman that appeared to have been torn from her body at the shoulder. The end had been cauterized, and even from where I stood, I could smell the overpowering sulfur scent of demon. Carved into the arm, around an elaborate curse mark that matched those of the other Guardians of the Faith we’d found, was a message, in English.
Prepare to die.
31
It was Okalani’s arm. Oh, they’d run magic and DNA testing to confirm it, but I knew. There was this little mole near the wrist that I recognized.
Shit.
I managed not to throw up, but only barely. The poor kid. Someone had ripped off her arm and then forced her to teleport her own flesh through shields, all to send us a message. I wasn’t the only one sickened by the thought.
Since the arm had been part of Okalani, it should have been possible to use it to track back to her. But I watched helplessly as multiple efforts by some of the best mages in the world failed. Bruno, Creede, and the best mages of Rusland and Serenity all tried, with a similar lack of results.
“Is it because she is dead?” Adriana asked in a whisper. She looked at Thorsen, but it was Creede who answered.
“No. She’s not dead. The binding oath mark would have disappeared if she were.”
Adriana swallowed hard, trying not to be sick again. I couldn’t say I blamed her. My stomach was roiling.
“My question is, how did they manage to teleport this atrocity into the princess’s very bedroom? Don’t we have shields? Who is responsible for security here?” Prince Arkady was glaring at Igor.
“Okalani had learned how to teleport through shields. She was … is, the most powerful telepath I’ve ever even heard of.” My voice was strained. I knew I had to hold it together and not think too hard about what Okalani was going through. If I did, I’d remember my own past, all of it, completely unfiltered. I couldn’t let that happen. Not here, and not now. It would make me useless to Adriana, to anyone, probably for days.
I forced myself to think about the words my therapist had said to me again and again. The past was over. I had survived it. The only way it could harm me now was if I let it. I would not do that. I needed to think about the present and the future. I went over to the door, as far away from the arm as I could get and still be in the room. Leaning against the doorjamb, I took deep, steadying breaths. It wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t pretty, but I brought myself under control.
“If that is true,” Arkady growled at me, “why was no one advised? This ‘message’ could have been a bomb instead, and have killed us all.”
“I was advised,” Igor said calmly, “as was the king. The palace shields have been modulated. Nothing that can do us physical harm could make it through. We decided that leaving them open for something nonlethal might lure our enemies into giving us something that could be tracked backward. As it has. My people will use this”—he gestured to the severed limb—“to perform magic to find the people behind these attacks. We took a calculated risk, and it has paid off.”
“A calculated risk?” Arkady packed a lot of outrage into those three small words. He turned to his brother. There was a long, silent, staring contest between the two.
I was the one who finally broke the tense silence that had enveloped the room. “Someone told me about a vision a paid psychic had.” I didn’t give names, but I was fairly sure Queen Lopaka, at least, suspected who I was referring to. “In the vision I had been captured and Okalani was being tortured by a demon. The men holding her were going to feed me to the demon and livestream the whole thing over the Internet.”
There were lots of loud reactions to that.
“With that in mind”—my voice was a little strangled, and probably half an octave higher in pitch than usual, but I plowed on, talking over the top of everyone else—“does anybody have any technology or magic that could track me through demonic magics?” I looked from Igor to Thorsen, then at Bruno and Creede. “Just in case they manage to capture me?”
“I can probably come up with something.” Creede met my gaze, his eyes dark holding more emotions than I could count. “How much time do we have?”
“I don’t know.”
Bruno was speechless; he looked shocked and sick. He came up to me and pulled me into his arms in a silent embrace that was comforting for both of us.
“Get me a mirror or my bowl and I can find out.” Adriana pulled away from her mother. Her demeanor had changed totally—she looked strong, confident in her abilities.
I was glad somebody felt that way. I didn’t feel confident at all. I was pretty much scared shitless. I needed to know more, but I sure didn’t want to. “Bruno, why don’t we give Adriana her wedding gift now?”
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A lot of quizzical looks greeted that comment, so I explained. “Our gift is a hand mirror, specially spelled for clairvoyant use by Princess Adriana.”
“I’ll get it,” Bruno answered. He gave me a quick squeeze, then let me go and raced back to our rooms. The embrace, I knew, was a gesture meant to encourage me. It would’ve worked better if I hadn’t seen the raw fear in his eyes.
Adriana and Dahlmar ordered the room cleared until only the three of us remained. Bruno came back and handed Adriana our gift, which was carefully wrapped in shiny paper in the colors of the royal houses. He would have stayed, but John called his name from the door and he left, probably to help work on Creede’s ideas for tracking me.
We sat on the couch, Dahlmar and I waiting impatiently as Adriana unwrapped the package and brought out the mirror with a soft gasp of pleasure.
“Oh, Celia … it’s perfect. The handle nearly melts into my hand with warmth.” She beamed at me for a moment. “Thank you. And thank Mage DeLuca. He must have worked so hard on this.”
Collecting herself, she said soberly, “If anything will help me cut through their shielding, this should.”
Taking a deep breath, she started muttering the ritual phrases that would clear her mind and activate her talent.
I saw images start to flicker in the glass, only to be covered by thick, black smoke. Adriana conjured a wind, but the glass refused to clear. I watched her struggle, bringing all her formidable will to bear. The fingers gripping the mirror were white knuckled, her face flushed and her body shook from the effort.
Useless effort.
I had to put an end to it. “Stop. Don’t hurt yourself.”
She looked up and I was shocked to see tears pouring down her cheeks. A stray drop fell onto the reflective glass. The clouds cleared. The scene revealed wasn’t the one she’d been seeking. Instead, the mirror revealed Adriana herself, kneeling beside Dahlmar, both in their wedding attire. They faced a huge, carved marble cross the exact shape of the Eldritch Cross Adriana was wearing at her neck, except for a single additional stone protrusion at the bottom. In the mirror, Adriana pressed her hand against the giant cross, and with the grinding of stone against stone, a secret door appeared in the wall directly in front of them.
In the room, Adriana gave a gasp of pain. With a deliberate jerk she broke off the vision. I didn’t understand why until I caught a glimpse of her hands. The skin that had gripped the mirror was burned and blistered, a result of a curse that had been used to prevent her from seeing what she had wanted to see.
32
It would have been a busy morning without the arrival of Okalani’s arm. As it was, it was insane. We vacated Adriana’s apartments, leaving the investigators to do their thing.
Bruno and Creede had hustled off somewhere with Dahlmar’s best mages to work on the tracking device that could be implanted in my body in case the worst came to pass. My hand was throbbing, and I glanced down at the curse mark on my palm to see it red and angry. Thanks to the late, unlamented Queen Stefania and her death curse, I’d had a lot of experience with worst-case scenarios.
My thoughts were dark, my mood darker. I had to do something to distract myself, so I went with Thorsen and Igor to look in on the people doing one last check of the various security measures. I had a vested interest in them. Still, if there were any weaknesses, I wasn’t finding them. Then again, neither was anybody else.
Noon came. We broke for lunch. I asked a servant to have food brought to my rooms and went there to eat and clean up. I’d gone to Adriana’s rooms in such a rush that I hadn’t even had a chance to brush my teeth, so I felt pretty damned scruffy.
There was a final check of the wedding regalia scheduled in one of the downstairs conference rooms at 2:00. So I ate, took a shower, and generally made myself presentable. By the time I was done, it was 1:30. I stepped out of the bedroom and into the living area to find Bruno, Creede, and an elderly man in a plain brown suit waiting for me, their expressions serious. They rose when I entered the room.
“Well?” I looked from one to the other.
“We did it.” Creede and Bruno both smiled. They looked tired but pleased. And well they should be. Breaking new magical territory on short notice and under pressure was something to be proud of.
“This”—Bruno gestured to the older man, who bowed—“is Dr. Ilia Bogdonavich. He’s going to implant the device.”
I started to roll up the sleeve of my blouse, but Creede shook his head. “Under the circumstances—” I had a sickening flash of memory of Okalani’s arm laying on Adriana’s bed.
“Right. Where do you suggest, Doctor?”
“The muscles of the abdomen or the gluteus maximus would be best.”
Stomach or ass. Hmnnn, not much of a choice. I reached for my belt. “Leave the room, boys.”
“Aw,” Bruno teased, “you’re no fun.” Creede just smiled and led him out into the hall, giving the doctor and me some privacy.
“This is going to pinch,” he said. Why do all doctors say that? And why are they always lying?
It didn’t pinch, it hurt. I had to remind myself that I’d asked for this. People had gone to a lot of trouble to arrange it for me, and it was for my own good. But I was still pretty grumpy as I followed Baker through the maze of corridors to the conference room for the fitting. It’s surprising how much you use your tail muscles to walk. I should have thought of that.
We arrived at more or less the same time as Adriana and her guards. My cousin looked much better than she had this morning. Her “wake-up call” had been shocking and sickening, but she’s a tough cookie. It had frightened her, no doubt about it. But she was channeling that fear into anger and determination. I admired her for it.
She’d dressed in simple jeans and a white cotton tee. I was wearing my usual black jeans with a blouse and a black suit jacket. Technically I was the better dressed, but she somehow managed to look elegant, chic, and oh so much more attractive. It was a trick she and Dawna both had mastered and I just hadn’t. I kept trying to figure out how they did it. Dawna said it was the fit—but Isaac had tailored this jacket. It fit perfectly. Whatever it was, I couldn’t do it.
“Are you okay?” Adriana asked.
“As much I can be,” I assured her. “You?”
“The same. Is it wrong to say I just want this over with?”
“No. I think that’s pretty typical of most brides at this stage of the game, and they don’t have to deal with terrorists. But hey, remember, this time tomorrow, you’ll be Mrs. Dahlmar, Queen of Rusland, and off on your honeymoon.”
She beamed at the thought, reaffirming my belief that this marriage wasn’t about politics; it was true love on both sides.
Baker opened the door, revealing a small room filled to bursting with clothing and people. One rack held the bridesmaids’ dresses; another, the exquisite cream and pearl confection that was Adriana’s wedding dress. Holding court in the center of the room, it drew the eye, and I found myself gaping at it as my cousin and I crossed the threshold. Only as the door swung closed and I felt the rush of magic did I realize that something was terribly wrong.
No one was moving. Isaac, on his knees on the floor, was frozen rigid, one hand reaching up to smooth the fabric of Adriana’s gown. Gilda was a statue, caught in midstep, her mouth open as if to speak.
Instinct took over. I shoved Adriana behind me and shouted for Baker. We needed out of here, now! Reaching behind me, I grabbed for the doorknob. The instant my skin touched the cold metal I felt the familiar lurch and the room and everything in it disappeared.
33
I landed in the center of a silver casting circle next to a bloody, lump of battered flesh that I could barely identify as female. She had been impaled with a lance of bone, pinned to the concrete floor like a butterfly pinned to a card.
Carved over every inch of the lance’s surface were words written in burning red script. I recognized some of the names and phrases from my classes back in
college. My gorge rose as I realized this was the spear of the chief demon in charge of Satan’s legions. The writing seemed to flow and writhe before my eyes, making me dizzy and nauseous.
The woman made a sound, too weak to be a gasp or even a moan. I dropped to my knees, crawling across the floor to examine her. I was desperately careful to avoid the spear. I didn’t know what touching it might do to me and I so didn’t want to find out.
It was only when I reached her side that I realized her right arm was missing, the shoulder socket a burned, cauterized mess. I began to weep as recognition hit.
“Oh, dear God, no.” The moment I uttered what amounted to a prayer, a gong sounded, loud enough that my ears bled. Reality shuddered and wavered as the substance of our dimension began to part. The spear began radiating soaring heat. I smelled burning flesh, like meat cooking on the grill, and Okalani’s body arched. Her mouth opened, but only a raw whisper of sound came out.
My stomach heaved and I lost everything I’d ever even thought about eating, turning away so I wouldn’t spew on Okalani. Despite the surge of power, the demon didn’t arrive. He couldn’t until a human summoner called him.
When I recovered, I checked on Okalani. Under most circumstances, she would be dead—no human or siren body was capable of withstanding the damage that had been inflicted on her. But the demon’s spear pinned her soul to her body just as tightly as it held her body to the ground. She would live until the demon removed the weapon and allowed her to die. They had wanted her alive to use her talent to bring Adriana and me here. They wanted her suffering, both alive and dead at the same time. Pain, suffering, and despair are what they feed on. If her soul was tainted enough, she’d be theirs in Hell. If not, she’d be free.