Demon in the Machine

by Lise MacTague

  Immediately, the force pulling against her top half fell away, though now her legs felt like they might be yanked off. She dragged her legs the rest of the way into the circle and stood up. There was blood on her skirts when she looked down. She was reaching down to brush them off when she realized she could see her skirts.

  “Who in the seven hells are you?” Beruth asked from across the circle. “What are you doing here?” Her voice was less aggressive than curious.

  Briar looked down at her hands. They were pearlescent grey under the blood that covered her fingers. She didn’t doubt that her eyes glowed red also. She’d not only lost her disguise, but her shroud. She tried to pull the spells she’d written up out of her pocket, but all she came away with was a handful of ash.

  “I am Briar, daughter of Carnélie, Fourth Minister of the Council of Lust.” She bowed to Beruth. “My mother wishes to know if you require assistance.”

  “Is that so?” Beruth raised one eyebrow. “Now why do I find that so hard to believe?”

  Briar shrugged, trying to look unconcerned. If only Isabella were here. She had no doubt her lover could have charmed the Prince into believing anything Isabella wanted. Briar’s strengths didn’t run this way. Her mind raced. How could she sell this to Beruth?

  “Probably because I snuck in here pretending to be one of your imps, and now I’m covered in blood.” When all invention failed, she might as well try honesty.

  “Oh really?” Beruth stepped closer. “That’s very true. It also occurs to me that you’re wearing a lot of clothing for an Under-Minister of Lust.”

  “It’s cold in England.” Briar knew the response was weak. She turned to keep Beruth in front of her. “And I needed to blend in to the population. Something you might try, if you want to take over here.”

  “Is that so? Why should I care? Soon enough the populace will bow to me, and I will reign supreme.” From up on the dais, the inventor coughed. “With Thomas Holcroft at my side, of course.” Beruth rolled her eyes. Briar wondered how long Holcroft would survive Beruth’s coup.

  “It’s time for the next phase,” Holcroft said.

  “Then do it,” Beruth said irritably. “You don’t need me to hold your hand, do you?”

  The inventor said nothing but grasped the long lever on the side of the dais. With a grunt of effort, he threw it forward. Sparks flew from the contact point on the far side and he stepped back with alacrity.

  The tower stopped spinning and the light from the top dimmed. The clear glass sides still shone too brightly to look at, as did the devices at the back of the room.

  “The humans won’t submit to one of our kind. Those who have been here a while know enough to work through proxies.” Briar took a step toward Beruth. Showers of green sparks arced out of two conduits that snaked their way across the floor toward the circle. Briar took care not to step in the blood. Just as liquid conducted electricity, so too did blood conduct infernal energy. That much energy would hold quite the jolt, and she didn’t know if she’d be able to keep her senses about her if she stepped in it.

  “Humans.” Beruth spat to one side. The glob of spittle sizzled where it hit the ground. “They are small and weak. Only those of demonic extraction can see our magic, and those who would call on the aethereals can’t even do so without half a day of chanting and ceremony.”

  The demon Prince was one to talk about small creatures. Briar wondered if she was even four feet tall. She seemed to have more in common with her imps than she did with either her euronym or the polygnots.

  “They have their advantages.” Briar allowed a wicked smile to take over her features. It felt alien to be using it on this demon and not on Isabella. The smile made Isabella’s insides quake with excitement every time. She hoped Beruth would feel the same.

  “Trust one of your kind to make it about sex.”

  The infernal energy from the conduit poured into the circle just as the key-rune filled with blood. Green fire surrounded them, then licked its way around a larger circle Briar hadn’t noticed before.

  “And why should we not?” Briar took another step. Barely three paces separated them. She smiled at Beruth, licking her lips in provocation. She’d never tried to seduce anyone before, to use her sexual self as a weapon. It wasn’t so hard. Part of her thrilled at the way Beruth’s nostrils flared in response to her. “They have quite the capacity for pain, though they’re much more breakable than your imps. On the other hand, their capacity for pleasure from pain could be quite an asset to your court.”

  Beruth laughed, exposing sharp teeth. “I know all about that.” She cast a look over her shoulder at Holcroft. He was close enough to hear their entire exchange. From the ruddiness of his face, he was less than amused about the direction their discussion had taken.

  “Then an alliance is certainly advantageous to us. We can provide you with what we know of this world, having existed among its people for millennia, and you allow us to feed unfettered. Imagine what we could do…together.” Briar dredged up every last memory of lust, every passion she’d ever felt. She could feel its power hot in her belly, waiting to be unleashed.

  “Your kind have never had anything but contempt for my children. Now that we’re about to capture some real power, you’re ready to curry favor. How appallingly typical. I think we’ll keep the spoils to ourselves, but I think I’ll keep you for me.” She reached for Briar.

  “My Prince,” Holcroft called. “The polygnots are here.”

  Beruth pulled back her hand and looked about. Briar wanted to swear. The words were unformed on her lips before she snatched them back. So much for her plan to trap the demonic sorcerers in that room. Seven polygnots stood around them, one at each brazier. Behind each polygnot, with one hand on each shoulder, were a pair of euronym.

  “Excellent. Start the chant, my children. Soon the rest of our brethren will join us.”

  Briar looked back at the new circle. It was a portal. How could she have been so blind as to miss that? Maybe it was because she’d never seen one so large before. The amount of infernal energy that would be needed to open one of that magnitude was more than her mind could comprehend. Beruth’s enormous sacrifice of her imps made sense now.

  The polygnots raised their voices in a rhythmic chant.

  Briar reached out and placed her hand on Beruth’s cheek.

  “I’d like nothing better than to be yours,” she murmured.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  The scene was one out of a nightmare. Isabella lurked inside the basement hallway, looking out into the room that she barely recognized. If it hadn’t been for the platform and the row of batteries, she would have wondered if they’d been transported to another place. The ceiling was gone. That explained the shock she’d felt on her way here, the one that had thrown her to the ground of the tunnel and had added another ding to the collection on her helmet. One of her lenses had cracked, but it hadn’t been one of those that allowed her to see in the dark, so for the moment she didn’t worry about it.

  There were no imps. Well, almost none. A few flapped around in the shadows, but they kept well away from the machines. The collection device on the manufactory floor shed enough light that it would have looked like high noon in there, except the shadows were all wrong. Between that and the loops and whorls of green fire that covered the stone floor, it was amazing there were any shadows left at all. The imps clung stubbornly to them. Isabella couldn’t blame them. She didn’t want to attract any undue attention either.

  The larger demons she’d only caught glimpses of during her last visit stood around an expansive circle. Those in the center had their voices raised in a droning chant. The tall ones behind them had their attention on the pair standing among the flames, not far from where the stone table dripped blood onto the floor. It could only be Johnson on there. She didn’t look closely to confirm it. He’d done his best for her; he certainly hadn’t deserved this.

  Briar was one half of the pair the demons watched so avid
ly. The realization sent a shock through the pit of Isabella’s stomach. What was she doing with her hand on the cheek of that demon? And in her true form, at that. Briar never let anyone see her without her shroud. She also didn’t allow people to see her if she was anything less than put together. Blood covered her skirts, a sleeve had been ripped away from her dress, and her hair had come half out of the bun she’d snugged it back into. Try as she might, Isabella couldn’t look away from the tender gesture Briar offered to the demon Prince.

  “Beruth,” Wellington called from the platform. His voice treaded a fine line between respect and irritation. Isabella had been on the receiving end of the tone many times as a child. He’d been her best friend as long as none of his friends had been about, then he treated her like the annoying little sister she was supposed to be. “The next phase?”

  The Prince shook her head as if trying to clear it. Briar had been clouding her thoughts, that must be it. Isabella’s heart lifted a little closer to where it was supposed to reside in her chest. Briar hadn’t gone over to the Prince’s side; she was doing what she could to slow things down.

  “Later you will be,” Beruth said. She pushed Briar gently to one side and turned toward the dais. “Are we ready?”

  “The dials were reading optimal power flow.” Wellington looked down, then back up. “And they still do. Shall we proceed while conditions are right?”

  Neither of them noticed Briar, but Isabella did. Briar sketched something in her own blood down her right arm. Her form shivered once, then seemed to shrink. Her hair raveled itself back into its usual flawless arrangement, only now it matched Beruth’s style. She was shrinking also. It was impossible to see while Isabella was watching, but when she blinked, Briar’s size diminished quite visibly. Her skin shaded from grey to red while the blood disappeared from her dress and it returned to pristine condition, though a completely different color.

  She strode forward, taking steps much too long for her now-tiny frame.

  “Cease!” Briar-as-Beruth bellowed.

  The chanting faltered as the demons looked up and beheld two Princes.

  “Do not!” Beruth tried to shove Briar out of the way, but she would not be moved.

  “Remove this impostor!” Briar-as-Beruth ordered in imperious tones. Her voice wasn’t a perfect match for the demon Prince, but it was far from her usual sweet tones.

  This was Isabella’s chance. She had to get to the collection device. The doors in the manufactory floor were long gone, along with most of the floor itself. There might be stairs down to the rooms and hallways of the basement, but there was no time to go looking for them. She still had one tank left on her rig. Surely that would provide enough lift to get herself up one story. There was only one way to find out.

  Isabella slipped from the hall into the room. No one had eyes for her: they all watched the two demon Princes struggling with each other. She kept to the wall, making her way around in what shadows she could find. The unfinished canvas of her suit would stick out against the brick walls if anyone cared to glance her way. Isabella’s skin prickled as she passed within ten feet of a trio of large demons.

  A loud “oof” followed by a scream of rage stole her attention back to the circle. One of the Beruths had the upper hand, but only for a moment. She managed only a moment astride the other Prince before she was flipped back. Isabella had no idea which was which, not now. If she couldn’t tell, she doubted the others could either.

  The Beruth who had been pinned looked up at those watching. “The sacrifice!” she screamed. “Do it now!”

  The shorter demons who had been chanting shifted in place, but the pairs of tall, ebony-skinned demons behind each of them tightened their grips. In perfect unison one of each pair grabbed the head of a chanting demon while its partner produced a knife blacker even than its skin. The knives reflected none of the light in this place. They existed as shards of darkness, shards the demons drew in terrible concert across the exposed throats of their now-struggling prisoners.

  “My children,” Beruth said. “Do not struggle. Your sacrifice leads to our glorious day!” She grunted when Briar kicked her solidly in the back. Briar danced back, away from the Prince of Imps who turned on her with murder in her eyes, murder even Isabella could see.

  It was too late. The last of the demons bled out onto the floor.

  Isabella quickened her pace. Ahead was an overhang where the floor above still seemed fairly stable. The ground jumped beneath her feet. Isabella broke into a run. The trembling increased, making it hard to keep her footing, but she prevailed, though with each step the floor threatened to turn her ankle beneath her.

  Finally, she was within reach. As the tremble became a roar, then a deep-throated scream from a thousand voices, Isabella launched herself into the air. Her jump rig coughed once then caught, sending her into an arc that was barely high enough and definitely canted to one side. She careened toward the edge of the factory floor. She wasn’t quite going to clear it.

  Isabella crossed her arms in front of her face to shield it from the impact. She drew in her shoulders and barrel-rolled in the air. With a bone-rattling thud, she hit the edge of the floor and kept going, rolling up and over to fetch up against the base of Wellington’s collector.

  * * *

  That had been Isabella flying up to the ground floor, of that Briar was almost certain. Her heart leapt. She was fairly certain she was the only one who’d seen the canvas-colored blur launch itself to the main floor of the factory. Whatever Isabella was up to, Briar needed to keep Beruth’s attention on her for as long as Isabella needed. All she had to do was keep her feet long enough to come up with a plan. Posing as Beruth wasn’t going to work any longer. She allowed the hastily constructed illusion to drop. Exposing herself to Beruth’s essence enough to construct a convincing disguise had set her stomach to roiling and the relief that rolled through her upon dropping it was reward in itself.

  The floor of the large circle disintegrated, stones flying outward to reveal nothingness beneath them. The screams of the infernal realm greeted her, some by name, though she tried to close her ears to their horrific voices. The green flames ringing the circle pulled in toward the center of it as though some being was taking a titanic breath. They flickered for a moment, shaking in time with the trembling that still rattled them around. Then they bowed the other way, the breath released in one long exhalation that brought along with it the sounds of wings.

  Imps exploded from the dead space by the dozen, then by the hundreds. They streamed up as one, blocking out the sun completely. From one moment to the next, the light in the space went from that of day to night, so thick in the air were the demons. Groups of imps labored through with large cradles, each holding one or more euronym or polygnot. The cradles were quickly dropped by the side and their occupants debarked, turning their heads to look this way and that.

  Beruth smiled at her. “You tarried too long, girl.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Her words were brave, but Briar quailed inside. Beruth with a hundred demons was powerful enough. With the thousands that had spilled through the portal already and who continued to spill through, she was well-nigh invincible.

  The Prince stepped toward her, and Briar stepped back. The further she could stay from her, the better. Beruth didn’t seem the type to excuse the hair-pulling or the indecorous way they’d rolled around on the floor. She was stopped by something cold and unmoving. The altar, it must be. Briar put her hands back to check. They came away bloody. She moved quickly to put the table between them.

  “Miss Riley,” Johnson whispered.

  “Mister Johnson.” Briar didn’t look down. She reached out toward the knives that held him in place.

  “I wouldn’t move him,” Beruth said, her voice matter-of-fact. She might as well have been discussing the price of eggs. “The only thing keeping him alive is that inscription.”

  “Do it,” he said.

  Briar had never seen such pallor on a l
iving human. His dark skin, usually the color of fine mahogany, was ashen. He looked three days dead, but he blinked and talked and still the blood dripped from him. She dipped her fingers in his blood and sketched a rune of healing upon his chest. It flared crimson and some color bloomed in his cheeks. She sketched two more runes and keyed them. Johnson sighed as his agony receded. She pulled the knives from his wrists in two quick jerks, then those from his ankles. She had to glance away from Beruth to do so, and when she looked back up the demon Prince grinned at her from the other side of the table.

  “Stay here,” Briar murmured to Johnson. “Whatever you do, don’t move.” Until he regained some strength, if he left the table he would likely die from loss of blood between one breath and the next.

  “You can’t win, little one,” Beruth said. “I will enjoy making you into my beloved pet.”

  Briar threw one of the knives at her hateful grin, but Beruth batted it out of the air. She sketched an inscription on the side of the altar while Beruth stalked around it toward her. The Prince was almost in arm’s reach when a bubble of protection rose into place over Johnson and the stone table. Briar skittered backward, away from the Prince whose eyes glittered at the promise of the hunt.

  Cut off from its supply of Johnson’s blood, the flames of the first circle guttered, then died.

  “That won’t do anything, stupid girl.” Beruth snorted her amusement. “That circle has served its purpose. The portal has the power it needs. Nothing can shut it down now.”

  Briar sketched the rune for fire into her palm using Johnson’s blood. Intense heat radiated from her skin, so hot it was almost painful. She directed her hand at Beruth, who dodged out of the way of the cone of flame. Instead, a dozen of the imps who still spewed forth from the gate to the infernal plane were wiped out. They were reduced to ashes in seconds, their final remains swept along with their compatriots as they swirled into the sky.