Black Night

by Christina Henry

  “No, it will protect the baby,” I said, speaking slowly so that she would understand. “What makes you think that Lucifer won’t kill you the second the child is born and then take that child to his own court to live?”

  For the second time Amarantha looked unsure. “He would have the wrath of all the faerie courts on his head if he did such a thing.”

  “Not if he argued that you had insulted him in the first place by using his grandson as a stud. Not if he was able to convince the other courts that the insult could only be paid with your life. If you’ve done any reading over the last thousand years, then you know that Lucifer’s powers of persuasion are quite, well, persuasive.”

  I could see all my arguments playing around in her head, and I could see just as clearly that I would fail. Amarantha was used to getting her own way, and damn the consequences.

  Then something shifted in her face, and she gave me a crafty look.

  “There may be a way for all of us to save face in this,” she said.

  “And what is that?” I asked warily. I felt a dribble of cold sweat trickle down my spine. She looked way too pleased with herself all of a sudden.

  “There could be a competition between yourself and a representative of Focalor’s camp, with the thrall as the prize.”

  “What kind of a competition?” If it was a hand-to-hand combat situation, I was probably screwed, because Antares would definitely volunteer for sister-beating duty and he had already proven that he was stronger than me.

  “A test of strength and wit and cunning. If you win, I will return the thrall to you and formally reestablish relations with Lord Lucifer. If Focalor’s representative wins, then I will accept the thrall as my gift and establish ties with his court. This seems to me a fair way to settle the argument between the two of you without becoming embroiled in the conflict.”

  “Except that if you side with Focalor for any reason, Lucifer will not take it kindly. I’d advise you to think on that—again,” I said.

  “It seems to me that you are frightened to face Focalor. If Lucifer’s court is so strong, then surely my little test will be nothing for you, and you will be on your way home with your thrall in hand tomorrow,” Amarantha said.

  I knew she was goading me. I’m not stupid. And I also knew that I was going to undertake her test no matter what. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t at least try to get Gabriel back.

  “I’d like some more specifics on this test before I agree,” I said.

  “As I said, a competition of strength and wit and cunning—the Maze.”

  Gabriel looked up suddenly and jerked on his leash. “Madeline, no, you must not.”

  “Silence,” Amarantha hissed.

  He stood abruptly, yanking the leash from her hands. Amarantha looked furious. He put his hands on my shoulders and gazed intently into my eyes. I reached up and covered his hands with mine.

  “You must not do this. The Maze is too dangerous.”

  “I said, silence, thrall!” Amarantha shouted. She stalked back to her chaise and pulled out a short wooden rod of the same type that J.B. carried and pointed it at Gabriel.

  “No!” I cried as she shot him with a bolt of magic from the rod.

  He fell to the floor, writhing in pain. I noticed for the first time that he wore two slim silver bracelets around each wrist. The bracelets crackled with power. So they were some kind of binding, then—to keep his abilities suppressed, I assumed, and to keep him under control when he acted up.

  I gave Amarantha a furious glare. “He’s not yours to treat like a dog.”

  “He is mine for now, and mine to treat as I wish. Are you willing to participate in my competition, and win him back?”

  I was sure the Maze would be dangerous. I was sure that she didn’t care if I lived or died, and that my death might be preferable in the long run. I was also sure that while I was risking my life she’d be trying to get Gabriel’s baby anyway, so that no matter the outcome of the contest she’d still have her child of Lucifer’s bloodline.

  “Of course,” I replied.

  “No!” Gabriel shouted from the floor. He turned to Amarantha. “You cannot let her go there. She is human; she will never survive.”

  Amarantha’s only reply was to blast him again.

  “You have accepted my offer. It is done.”

  I looked at Amarantha. “Let me know if Focalor agrees.”

  She nodded, her eyes filled with glee. She definitely expected me to get pasted.

  I glanced at Gabriel. “I will come back for you.”

  He shook his head, and I could see he was already grieving for me.

  “I will come back for you,” I said again, and then I turned on my heel and walked out.

  It probably goes without saying that J.B. and Beezle were not happy with my decision. J.B. followed me back to my room with a clenched jaw and Beezle spent the whole time saying things like, “Who’s going to take care of me when you’re dead?” and “Is that fool really worth your life?”

  J.B. slammed my bedroom door shut behind us. “Are you out of your mind?”

  I crossed the room and dug in my pack for a granola bar. I was suddenly ravenously hungry. I unwrapped the bar and chomped it down in a few bites, then dug around looking for something else to eat. Unfortunately, Beezle hadn’t left much behind after his nervous binge this morning.

  “Did you hear me?” J.B. asked.

  “I know exactly what I’m doing,” I replied, sitting on the bed.

  “I don’t think that you do. You have no idea what’s in the Maze,” he said grimly, running his hands over his head. Whenever he got nervous or upset, he would tug on his hair. He was starting to get that bedhead-y look, and that told me more than his tone that he was really unhappy.

  “Why is it that nobody has any confidence in my ability to survive this thing?” I said. “You told me just this morning that you believed I could handle myself because I beat Ramuell.”

  “Ramuell was nothing compared to the Maze.”

  I thought about that for a minute. “Okay. So tell me what I’m facing here.”

  “I can’t. It’s different for everyone,” he said.

  “How can that be?”

  “The Maze is enchanted. Each person who enters must face their worst nightmares, their most horrible monsters. And the worst your psyche can dredge up is far more damaging than anything that Amarantha can devise. No one, and let me emphasize this, no one in over a thousand years has survived the Maze.”

  “Oh.” This was not good.

  “Right. Oh.” J.B.’s fists buried in his hair.

  “The best we can hope for is that you will return alive but insane,” Beezle said.

  “Well, on the upside, this means that Antares will probably get eaten by something,” I said. “Because I know that if there’s a competition between myself and a representative from Focalor’s court, he will be jumping up and down to volunteer.”

  “Yes, but would Focalor be willing to waste one of his best lieutenants on a suicide mission?” Beezle said. “I know that if Lucifer or Azazel was here, he would not let you do this.”

  “Lucky for me neither of them are here,” I said dryly. “Look, I’ll just clear my mind or whatever and get through it. I’m not powerless.”

  “It’s not a matter of clearing your mind. Do you think this is some simple enchantment that will skim the surface of your brain? The Maze is a living thing, a creature of immense power. It can see into every nook and cranny. It will find horrors that you never even were aware of deep inside you,” J.B. said.

  Now I was starting to get scared. But I wasn’t going to tell them that.

  “I have to do it,” I said.

  J.B. grabbed my shoulders. His face was desperate. “Doesn’t it mean anything to you that you’re going to die for someone who can never love you? Doesn’t it mean anything to you that I am standing right here and that I need you?”

  He’d been so good-natured when I�
�d turned him down that I hadn’t realized he felt this way. I hadn’t thought that there was more to it than a flirtatious attraction.

  I shook my head and swallowed the tears that I felt burning in my throat. “I’m sorry, J.B. I’m more sorry than I can say. I never wanted to hurt you.”

  His hands fell away, his shoulders slumped. “That’s what girls always say when they don’t want you.”

  “I guess being the children of immortals doesn’t exempt us from stupid human clichés,” I said, trying to smile.

  He gave a hollow laugh. “That will be a real comfort to me when they bring back your body.”

  I took his hands and stood up, my eyes on his. “You believed in me before. Believe in me now. I will come back.”

  “In how many pieces?” Beezle said.

  “One,” I said. “I promise.”

  “You can’t make that promise,” J.B. said.

  I smiled. “I’m Lucifer’s granddaughter. Promises are a family specialty.”

  J.B. left, and Beezle went with him.

  “I can’t stay here and watch you tick down the moments until your inevitable death,” he said.

  “Give me a break, Beezle,” I said, hurt that he didn’t believe in me, that he didn’t want to stay with me. “I figured you’d want to make gloomy pronouncements until it’s time to go. It helps me get psyched up.”

  He shook his head, his face unusually grave. “Not this time.”

  And that more than anything terrified me. If Beezle couldn’t crack wise about the Maze, then maybe there really was something to be scared of.

  Maybe it really was worse than Ramuell. I hadn’t thought that was possible.

  I scrounged up a small bag of almonds that Beezle had somehow overlooked, drank some bottled water, and changed into my regular, non-ambassador clothes. I’d packed my favorite blue jeans and a long-sleeved black tee plus my black Converse sneakers. I took down my stupid updo and carefully braided my hair into one long plait that ended in the middle of my back. Then I wrapped the plait around my head so I looked a lot like Princess Leia, but at least my hair was out of the way and couldn’t be used as a weapon by anything scary that I might meet in the Maze.

  I looked at myself in the mirror. This was as good as it was going to get. I was ready for battle.

  “It would be nice to have a machete or something, though,” I muttered to my reflection.

  “Would a sword do?” a voice said from the connecting doorway.

  I whirled around. Nathaniel stood in the doorway watching me. He clutched one arm around his middle where I had burned him. I saw white bandages showing under his unbuttoned dress shirt. His face was pale and he looked like he was in horrific pain.

  “You look terrible,” I said with a total lack of sympathy. “Why haven’t you healed yourself?”

  “It seems,” he said, struggling a bit with the effort of speaking, “that the spell you used on me cannot be healed in the usual way. I must wait for my body to reknit itself.”

  “You know it’s no less than you deserve,” I said.

  He nodded. “I am well aware that my behavior was reprehensible. But there was something . . . You must believe that I did not feel like myself.”

  “You felt like a rapist?”

  “No,” he said slowly. “More like I was under the influence of a power not my own.”

  I didn’t want to give credence to this. Nathaniel had hurt me. But I had a flash of remembrance, the feeling I’d had of something alien looking out from Nathaniel’s eyes.

  “What power could have overcome you?” I asked. “You’re not the weakest of Azazel’s court.”

  Nathaniel’s eyes flashed. “Whose castle do we presently reside in?”

  “Amarantha? Why?”

  “Perhaps she wanted to drive a wedge between us. Perhaps she wanted to destabilize your base of power in her court.”

  “Well, she succeeded,” I muttered. I crossed my arms, then let them fall at my sides again. I wasn’t going to hide from him. “Was there something you wanted?”

  “The gargoyle told me that you are to enter the Maze.”

  I was surprised. I didn’t think Beezle would have left me only to talk to Nathaniel, who was not one of his favorite people at the best of times.

  “What’s it to you?” I said.

  “I would rather you returned from the Maze alive than dead,” Nathaniel said. “I have come to give you a gift.”

  He stepped out of the doorway, and it was then that I saw the sword he carried in his free hand.

  It was about four feet long, and the metal was silver in color, but it gleamed like no metal I had seen before. The blade was carved with a series of strange sigils that glittered in the lamplight. The cross guard and grip were black as obsidian but shone with a strange light in their depths. A serpent was carved around the hilt. Its black eyes seemed to see me, weigh me, judge me in a moment.

  I knew that I was looking at something that was not of this earth.

  “It is the sword of my father, the angel Zerachiel,” Nathaniel said. “He had dominion over the earth at one time. Lucifer gifted him with this sword many millennia ago.”

  I reached out to touch the strange blade, but then drew my hand away. “Why would you give this to me?”

  He looked away from my questioning gaze. “I had hoped to give it to our son one day. Since that future is no longer to be, I wish you to use the sword to survive the Maze. It was forged by Lucifer’s own hand, and it has powers of its own. The sword would be pleased to be held by Lucifer’s blood again.”

  I still hesitated, and Nathaniel read my hesitation correctly.

  “It is a gift freely given. There will be no price to pay. I ask only that, if you return from the Maze, you think better of me. You cannot know how I regret what occurred last night,” he said.

  I didn’t think I’d be thinking any better of his character anytime soon, and it was difficult for me to reconcile his apparent regret with the terror and helplessness I’d felt. Even if there was a strong possibility that he had been under a spell, the memory would stay with me forever.

  But I appreciated any help I could get surviving the Maze, even if I didn’t know the first thing about swordplay. I just hoped that I wouldn’t cut off one of my own limbs accidentally.

  “Thank you,” I said, and I reached for the sword.

  As soon as the hilt met my palm, I felt something deep inside me sing out with joy. The snake seemed to writhe against my skin, and the blade noticeably gleamed brighter.

  “It recognizes you,” Nathaniel said softly. “It has been waiting for you.”

  There was a power surging in my blood, a power that had been buried so deep that only the sword could have drawn it from me. I looked up, and Nathaniel gasped.

  “Your eyes,” he said.

  I turned my head toward the mirror, and instead of the field of stars that manifested when I wielded my magic, I saw the burning heart of the sun, the light of the Morningstar.

  “I think that when Focalor sees you, he will think twice about crossing Lord Lucifer,” Nathaniel said.

  “Never mind Lucifer,” I said, and the new power inside me called out for battle. “He’d better worry about crossing me.”

  15

  NATHANIEL FITTED ME UP WITH A SCABBARD THAT slung across my body so that I could carry the sword on my back. Despite my growing suspicion that someone had been controlling Nathaniel during his attack, it was difficult to stand still while he touched me. Whether by his own power or another’s he was the one who had put his hands on me with the intent to harm.

  When he was done—with a lot of apologies on his part and a lot of indrawn breaths on mine—he made me practice my draw.

  “Better swordsmen than you have cut their own necks drawing their swords this way,” he said. “But you are so small that you would not comfortably be able to carry the blade at your waist.”

  Despite my total lack of experience the sword leapt to my hand easily and sm
oothly every time.

  Nathaniel stood back, satisfied. “It is coming to your call. That is good. It will help you when you face the unknown.”

  There was a knock at the door, and I opened it. A servant stood there.

  “Queen Amarantha requires your presence in the throne room, Ambassador Black.”

  I glanced back at Nathaniel. “Showtime. Are you coming?”

  He shook his head. He looked tired, and sad, and in pain, and I didn’t know how to feel about that. “Go with the grace of the Morningstar.”

  I nodded, and then followed the servant to the throne room.

  I tried not to think about what was going to happen. Nathaniel’s gift had given me a little more confidence, but the odds still did not look good. The fact that no one had ever survived the Maze was something I tried not to think about.

  The courtiers were assembled when I entered the throne room. The wolves stood near Amarantha’s throne at the front of the crowd. Wade looked deeply troubled, Jude frowned like he wasn’t sure about how to feel, and James . . . There was a strange, almost bloodthirsty, light in his eyes.

  I didn’t have time to wonder about the wolves’ feelings. I had my own skin to worry about.

  I crossed the room, and as I passed the courtiers they whispered.

  “Did you see her eyes?”

  “Where did she get that sword?”

  Focalor and Antares stood in front of Amarantha’s throne and they both turned to watch me approach. When Focalor saw my eyes, his jaw clenched, and I thought I saw a flash of fear in his demon eyes. Antares was too stupid to be worried about any threat from me. He looked pathetically eager.

  I saw J.B. and Beezle standing a little to the side. Beezle rested on J.B.’s shoulder and I felt a strange pang of hurt. Beezle never did that with anybody but me. J.B. looked like he was going to be sick.

  Amarantha clapped her hands together in satisfaction when she saw me. I was happy to see that she had put on something more substantial than the lingerie model getup she’d had on earlier, although the dress’s low cut still didn’t leave a lot to the imagination. Subtle, thy name is not Amarantha.