I stared at the scene in utter disbelief. If I had a jaw, it would have been hanging open. How did you – Where did you learn – What just happened?
Daraxandriel slowly lowered the blood-smeared sword, breathing heavily. “In Hell, I am stronger than I seem, Peter Simon Collins,” she said soberly, looking down at herself. She was covered in mud and gore but she seemed to be completely unharmed.
You made them fight each other, didn’t you? With your succubus magic, I mean.
“Aye.”
Wow, I breathed. You really sold it with that virgin bit, too. I almost believed it myself.
Daraxandriel ran her hand up one of her horns in a nervous gesture, leaving a muddy smudge behind. “Aye,” she said, looking everywhere except at me. “We needs must continue on, Peter Simon Collins. Our way is not yet clear.”
How much further?
The worried look she gave me wasn’t reassuring. She kept the sword and we hurried on, but we didn’t get far before a long, keening howl sounded somewhere behind us, followed immediately by another. Daraxandriel stopped with a sharp intake of breath and her grip tightened on the hilt of her sword.
What the hell was that? I asked uneasily.
“Hellhounds,” she answered grimly. “Make haste.”
We ran as fast as we could, or rather, she did and I did my best to keep up. Faint shouts and deep-throated barks grew slowly louder as our new pursuers closed in and I desperately scanned the path ahead for any sign of a shadow column. Another howl echoed through the trees, sounding like it was right on our heels.
Run! I urged Daraxandriel. I’ll hide in the woods and catch up to you after they’re gone.
“Nay!” she exclaimed, aghast. “Never stray from the path! It shall surely spell thy doom!” She gripped the Philosopher’s Stone as if that would force me to stay close to her.
Another howl, even closer now, spun us around, and I heard a female voice call, “They have her scent! Loose them!” A few heart-stopping seconds later, two hellhounds, even larger than the one that attacked me in Hellburn, pounded around the curve of the trail, snarling as they caught sight of us. Their eyes blazed with reddish fire and their jaws gaped, ready to rip us asunder.
“Flee, Peter Simon Collins!” Daraxandriel ordered, planting her feet and gripping the sword in both hands as she prepared to meet their charge. “I shall slay these curs and rejoin thee!”
No!
I watched in helpless horror as the hellhounds pounced on her but she dodged aside at the last moment, raking one hellhound down its side as it passed. It shrieked, a sound no dog-like thing should ever make, and stumbled, scrabbling to regain its footing, but the other one twisted around and snapped at Daraxandriel with its jaws, scraping her forearm with its fangs. She cried out in pain but jabbed the sword at the hellhound’s face, forcing it to leap aside.
Peter. I started, searching for the source of that faint voice. Peter, where are you? Can you hear me?
Susie? I called incredulously. The wounded hellhound lunged at Daraxandriel again as its mate circled around to attack from the side.
There you are. Do you know how long I’ve been looking for you? Hours, that’s how long.
How are you –? No, never mind that. Can you get us out of here? Daraxandriel swung the sword like a razor-edged whirlwind, keeping the hellhounds at bay.
I’m going to open a portal. Follow my voice.
I spun around but I couldn’t tell where the sound was coming from. Keep talking!
An exasperated sigh seemed to come from behind me, further down the trail. Fine. One, two, three –
Okay, I got it! A shrill yelp sent my nonexistent heart into my equally nonexistent throat but one of the hellhounds staggered away and fell, blood gushing from a gaping wound in its neck. The other one took a running leap at Daraxandriel, extending its claws to strike, but she ducked under it and stabbed it as it landed, thrusting her blade in all the way down to the hilt. The hellhound ripped the sword from her grip as it writhed and shrieked but it finally slumped motionless to the ground. Dara, this way! Susie is opening a portal for us!
She stared at me in disbelief. “The waif can do such?” she asked doubtfully. She yanked the sword out of the fallen hellhound with an unsettling scrape of metal against bone. Behind her, another chilling howl sounded amid more shouting from our pursuers and she hurried to my side. “Let us hope she is more skilled than she seems. Fly, Peter Simon Collins! I am right upon thy heels!”
I sped down the trail, searching for Susie’s portal, but there was nothing but dirt and trees and shadows ahead. Susie! I called. What does it look like?
What does what look like? Her voice was definitely coming from somewhere ahead now.
The portal! What does the portal look like? Snarling growls and heavy footsteps grew steadily louder behind me but I didn’t dare look back.
It’s a pentagram with a hole.
With a what?
A hole. I can see trees through it. Are you in a forest?
Yes! We’re being chased by hellhounds! You have to close it as soon as Dara and I get through!
I rounded a turn and saw another intersection with a shadow column ahead. A pentagram lay on the ground beside it, its lines glowing with a ghostly white fire. Above its center, sunlight poured through a circular opening, almost blinding in the gloom, and I caught a glimpse of a fence and shrubs. I see it!
I don’t see you, Susie said doubtfully, just a little floaty light.
That’s me!
Why are you a light?
I’ll explain later! We’re almost there!
You’d better hurry. I can’t hold it open much longer. The opening wobbled and dimmed ominously.
Keep it open! I glanced back to make sure Dara was still with me and stopped with a gasp. She wasn’t.
She stood in the center of the path fifty yards away, facing down two more hellhounds that were stalking her, more cautious than their predecessors but just as deadly. Fresh blood ran down Daraxandriel’s arm and she seemed to be favoring her right side.
Dara! I shouted. Hurry!
She risked a fleeting glance over her shoulder. “Take the portal, Peter Simon Collins,” she insisted. “I shall rejoin thee anon.”
No! I won’t leave you!
“Thou needs must depart,” she said, “else all this shall be for naught. Depart and I shall follow.”
No! I moved towards her but she grasped the Philosopher’s Stone with her free hand and suddenly I was swept backwards. Dara!
A moment later, light flared all around me and I fell heavily to the ground. I lay there for a shocked moment and then scrambled to my feet, looking around desperately. I was standing in someone’s yard and Susie knelt on the grass beside me facing another copy of the portal.
It stuttered and shrank and rebounded as I caught a glimpse of Daraxandriel through the opening, slashing at a hellhound as it batted her aside. She tumbled across the ground and the sword spun out of her hand.
“Dara!” I started towards the portal just as the pentagram flickered out and the opening collapsed to a tiny point of light and vanished. “DARA!”
16
You’re genetically pre-dispositioned to pay attention to other people’s eyes. The slightest change in focus or pupil dilation immediately triggers a response in you, even if you’re not consciously aware of it. You can tell if the other person is lying or is attracted to you or isn’t really listening to you, just from observing what their eyes do. The reverse is also true, of course. They know exactly what you’re thinking as well.
This is why ladies used to dilate their eyes with belladonna. This made it seem as if they were attracted to the person they were talking to, which made them seem more attractive in return, since we instinctively like people who like us. This is also why professional poker players wear sunglasses at the table, so that they don’t accidentally give away their hands.
Villains and government agents also wear sunglasses, although they’re ge
nerally not trying to disguise what they’re thinking. Instead, they’re hiding their eyes from you to intimidate you. If you can’t see what going on behind those shades, you’re going to be nervous and uncomfortable, which gives them an advantage in any confrontation. Your only defense, other than avoiding them entirely, is to beat them at their own game. Wear mirrored sunglasses if you have them. Failing that, try to find a welding mask. They’ll never be able to tell if you’re lying through one of those.
A lot of people started yelling my name but I ignored them and ran to Susie, grabbing her by the shoulders to hold her up as she slumped sideways with her eyes closed. “Susie! Open the portal!”
She took a long breath and let it out slowly. “Can’t,” she murmured.
“You have to! Dara’s still in there!” I shook her again but all that got me was an irritated scowl. “Susie!”
“I’m tired, Peter,” she grumbled. “Do you know how hard it is to open a portal to Hell?”
“I don’t care! We have to get Dara!”
She let out a resigned sigh. “Fine. I need the Philosopher’s Stone.”
“Here!” I searched around my neck for the chain and then froze in horror. “Dara has it!”
Susie pried open an eye to look up at me. “Well, that was pretty stupid, wasn’t it?”
“Oh my God,” I breathed. “What are we going to do?” I looked around desperately, barely aware of the other people staring at me. We were in Melissa’s back yard, I finally realized, but nothing in sight offered any inspiration. “Dara,” I whispered helplessly.
“Incursion!” somebody shouted.
Suddenly there were a lot of wands pointed in my direction and I spun around to see what was happening. A knot of darkness formed not far from where Susie’s portal had been and quickly grew into a shadowy doorway. A moment later, something leaped out and tumbled across the grass, rolling to its feet and looking around with wide glowing eyes. The shadows dissipated as the newcomer raised a bloody sword, ready to strike.
“Dara!” I called in relief but before I could take a step towards her, someone shoved me to the ground and stood over me as another pentagram flashed into existence around us, this one gleaming silver.
“Succubus!” the woman barked. Her wand crackled with electricity and Daraxandriel crouched low, snarling as she prepared to charge.
“Stop!” I shouted, scrambling to my feet. “Don’t shoot!” I reached for her wand just as a bolt lanced out and I felt a tingling numbness in my hand as my fingers closed around it. I couldn’t budge it at all and the crackling arc just hung there in midair. “Huh?”
“Peter, where have you been?” Amy stood a short distance away with her fists on her skinny hips, her blue eyes flashing with anger. “You’ve been gone for hours!”
“I have not.” I took advantage of the time stop to pull Daraxandriel out of the way of the lightning bolt. She was slick with mud and blood from head to toe and it was hard to get a good grip on her, but I managed to drag her over a couple of feet. “It’s only been half an hour, tops.”
“It’s been eight hours, Peter,” she corrected me, planting herself in front of me and jabbing me in the chest with her finger. “You have a job to do, remember? You don’t have time to go off visiting your friends or whatever you were doing.” She eyed Daraxandriel distastefully.
“I was doing my job!” I argued. “We were trying to find Lilith!”
“I don’t need you to find Lilith, Peter,” she retorted. “She’s perfectly capable of finding you whenever she wants. I need you to kill her demons.”
“But someone’s going to get hurt if we don’t stop her!”
“I know,” she smirked. “Isn’t it exciting? So stick to the plan and no more freelancing. Don’t worry, it’ll all be over before you know it.” She raised her hand to snap her fingers and I waved my hands at her frantically.
“Wait! Tell me something before you go.” She cocked her head at me curiously. “Are you real or a hallucination?”
Her brows lifted in surprise and then she grinned. “I’m whatever you want me to be, Peter,” she said. She snapped her fingers before I could ask her what that cryptic statement meant.
The lightning bolt struck the grass where Daraxandriel had been, blasting a small crater in the turf, as Daraxandriel lunged with her blade, striking nothing but empty air. Both women gaped at their weapons in surprise and then whirled around to face each other.
“Stop! Hold your fire!” Agent Prescott grabbed the witch’s arm and pushed it down. “She’s a friendly.”
The witch looked at him incredulously. “A what?”
“A friendly. I know what you’re thinking, just stand down and I’ll explain.” She hesitated and then reluctantly stepped back, letting her pentagram fade but keeping a suspicious eye on Daraxandriel as I knelt by her side.
“Are you okay?” I asked anxiously. “Are you hurt?” I couldn’t tell how much of the blood covering her was hers.
“I am well enough, Peter Simon Collins,” she said with a tired sigh. “The margin of mine escape was thinner than a miser’s penny.”
“You should have come with me!” I berated her. “You could have been killed!”
“Nay, together we both would have fallen short,” she said, shaking her head. She set her sword aside and carefully lifted the Philosopher’s Stone over her head and horns. “As I swore, I return this to thee unharmed.”
“I’d rather have you unharmed,” I told her but I draped the Stone over my head and then targeted her with Restore. She gasped at the sensation and touched her arm and her side gingerly.
“Thou truly art an enchanter,” she breathed.
“And you’re a warrior,” I replied, indicating the sword with a jerk of my chin. “Who knew?”
A discrete cough interrupted her response and we looked up at Agent Prescott, flanked by the witch and another woman in business attire. “We need to talk, Peter,” he said grimly. “Now.”
Now was delayed by fifteen minutes to give Daraxandriel a chance to shower and put on a short halter dress borrowed from Melissa’s closet. We reconvened around Melissa’s dining room table, with me at one end with Daraxandriel and Olivia on either side of me, Prescott and the two newcomers facing us at the other end, and Susie and Mrs. Kendricks in between.
“This is Special Agent Paula Shelby,” Prescott said, indicating the thirty-ish woman on his left. She had short brown hair and intense bluebonnet-colored eyes that would have been quite attractive if it weren’t for the scowl creasing her brow. “And this is Special Agent Jaspinder Singh.” Singh was an Indian beauty queen, with long black hair and eyes that were almost as dark. “They work with me in the Occult Investigations unit.”
“This is highly irregular,” Shelby grumbled, glaring at Daraxandriel. Her fingers twitched, as if she wished she was still holding her wand.
“This whole case is irregular,” Prescott agreed sourly, “and it’s getting worse by the minute.” He fixed me with a hard look. “What you did was incredibly foolish, Peter. You could have been killed.”
“Or worse,” Singh added in an incongruous Brooklyn accent, “you could have brought something back with you.” She held Prescott’s familiar Merlin in her lap, scratching him behind his eyes while he purred his approval.
“We had to find out what Lilith is planning,” I argued tersely. “It was worth the risk.”
“Was it?” Prescott retorted. “Did you actually learn anything useful?”
Everyone looked at me expectantly and I had to hang my head. The whole excursion had been a disaster from the word go. “No,” I muttered.
“Nay, that is not so,” Daraxandriel said firmly. “We have discerned Lilixandriel’s next champion.”
“We did?” I didn’t remember doing anything like that.
“Aye. He is Orixnador Soulreaper, one of my Dread Lord’s lieutenants. He scours the borderwoods for souls that have escaped the forges.” The way she said that sent a shiver down my spine.
“How could you possibly know that?” I protested. “We were running for our lives in there!”
“Those were his hellhounds, Peter Simon Collins,” she told me quietly. “I glimpsed him just as I took the shadowed paths to return here.”
“But how do you know Lilith recruited him?” I pressed. “He could have just been passing by or something.”
“Nay,” she said, shaking her head. “She was with him.” She looked down at her hands knotted in her lap. “She was most displeased by our escape.”
The three FBI agents looked at each other. “Orixnador,” Singh murmured. “I don’t recognize that name.”
“How can we be sure she’s even telling the truth?” Shelby countered. I bristled at that but Daraxandriel nudged my leg with hers and I bit back my angry words.
“We don’t have much of a choice, do we?” Prescott reminded her. “Any information you can give us on this demon would be appreciated,” he said, nodding to Daraxandriel.
“He is alike to Bellaxragor in appearance,” she said somberly, “save for his wings, for they are kin. He keeps a pack of hellhounds upon the leash, ofttimes six or more, but more can be summoned at need. They can scent a trail weeks after it is laid and follow it to the ends of the earth. They are bound to his will and they will battle unto death without fear.” She looked down at her hands, as if they were still covered in hellhound blood.
“Orixnador carries a whip of bone,” she went on, “that strikes unerringly and inflicts terrible wounds wherever it touches. Wards cannot stop it and it cannot be removed save he wishes it. Any creature he hunts is found,” she added grimly, “and dies.”
“You said Bellagger-whatsit was only a six,” I argued. “If they’re brothers or cousins or whatever, isn’t this guy the same? We can beat him easy.” That faint hope was dashed when Daraxandriel shook her head.
Necessary Evil Page 22