When the door opened, there was a quick flash of sickly yellow light followed by a small concussion wave that Lucifer felt deep in her chest. The lush navy carpet directly beneath her was now a brittle mass of melted green. She slowly pushed the door open with her foot and dangled for a moment before falling to the ground. Lucifer could feel the binding magic gripping the tiny fibers of the carpet, making it feel as if she were walking on gravel.
Lucifer quickly stepped inside. The office was larger than the others she had seen and more ornately decorated. Statues, vases, and several masks sat atop the long shelving units that lined the far wall while a handful of midcentury modern chairs formed a makeshift meeting area. But what caught Lucifer’s attention was the huge painting hanging behind the dark mahogany desk.
It was a portrait, expertly done as far as Lucifer could tell. A woman in a yellow dress sat with her hands folded across her lap, her face composed and demure, but there was a hint of something unpleasant behind her eyes.
Most people had photographs of loved ones on their desks, but the portrait of the woman was the only image in the office. There was something unsettling about it. Lucifer dismissed it as jitters from the memory of trapping the Witch of Cape Vale inside the 47th Street painting. That was, until she noticed something unusual at the bottom of the frame: a pair of manacles etched into the wood.
This was a binding frame.
It was a cruel and terrible thing, the worst of what magic could do. A binding frame trapped its subject inside an image, forever, frozen in a state of full awareness. It allowed a particularly cruel person to look upon their captive indefinitely. It was a trophy, much like a moose head on the wall. Only in this instance, the moose was alive and fully aware of its suffering.
Lucifer’s stomach turned. If she knew how to free the woman, she would. No one should be tortured like that. But the binding frame was at a level of magic beyond what Lucifer could manage.
The book, Corsican pict-magic, binding frames . . . the people at this company did not mess around. From what little she had seen so far, it was obvious that they were some serious players in the mystical underground. One of these days Lucifer was going to have to come back and investigate just what kind of magical shenanigans were going on here at Graeae Towers. But one job at a time.
Lucifer rummaged through the bookshelves. Most of the books were mundane business manuals, but a few were definitely of the arcane. The book she came for, however, was nowhere to be seen.
She went to Haldis’s, desk but there were no drawers or shelves. There was no place to hide the book. Lucifer went through the office again, wall to wall, floor to ceiling, but the book was nowhere to be found.
Lucifer turned to the portrait on the wall.
Very carefully, she pulled the frame away from the wall. When she peered behind it, she could see a safe recessed deep into the wall. Lucifer had to admit that she was disappointed. A wall safe? How boring.
Lucifer pulled the portrait off the wall and leaned it against the desk. When she saw the safe in the full light of the room, she took back her disappointment. The dense green metal of the safe had been etched with dozens of intricate picts and symbols, each infused with particularly nasty magic.
Before even touching the safe, Lucifer consulted her symbol app again, making sure she knew exactly what each could do. It was a knot of chained magic that would take an expert hours to untie. And simply changing the symbols by adding elements or dissolving ones already there would only set off the rest of the magic in the chain. It was so complex that only the person with the right spellword could open the door to the safe without meeting an untimely and unpleasant demise.
This was going to be easy.
The problem most practitioners of magic had when it came to securing their valuables was that they relied too much on magic. Isaac Haldis was no exception. He had every magical safeguard set to prevent a would-be thief from opening the safe. But a safe is a box. And every box has six sides. Yet so many people put all their mystical booby traps on only the one side with the door.
Lucifer reached into her trick bag and found the tools she needed: a ball-peen hammer and an antique metal syringe. She took advantage of the silence spell and took to smashing the wall with relish. She hammered away, knocking off thick chunks of drywall until the underneath of the safe was fully exposed. The metal box was welded to metal supports within the wall to prevent anyone from just taking the entire safe to someplace where they could take their time opening it with a blowtorch. Lucky for Lucifer, she had the magical equivalent of a blowtorch with her.
Lucifer took the syringe and carefully squeezed its contents along the bottom edges of the safe. Too little, and it wouldn’t work. Too much of it, and it would melt the entire safe and everything inside. It was a special mix of chili powder and bile from the snot-gland of a fire salamander. Lucifer had ruined three perfectly good practice safes perfecting the formula.
Her eyes began to water from the acrid smoke of the melting metal. When the smoke finally dissipated, Lucifer used the hammer to bang on the bottom of the safe. The rectangular hunk of metal along with the contents of the safe all fell to the ground in uncharacteristic silence. There, at the top of the pile, was the book. Lucifer grabbed it and tossed it in her trick bag.
Then something shattered.
The sound came from outside the office. But that wasn’t possible. The silence spell was still in effect. But there was no mistaking it. Lucifer had heard shattering glass.
Lucifer instinctively dropped into a crouch. That’s when she saw a summoning symbol on the piece of metal in the pile on the ground. If disturbed, the symbol summoned whatever big and nasty was bound to it. It had been etched on the inside of the safe where she never could have seen it. Isaac Haldis was an exception after all.
Now that she had what she came for, it was time to go. Slowly, she made her way to the door and peered out into the hallway. No movement. And no sound. Lucifer crept out into the hallway and started toward the elevator. When she crossed the hall toward the restrooms, she saw the Graeae shrine beneath the mirror. Only now the glass sphere of the shrine was in a thousand pieces and the tooth was gone. She caught her reflection in the mirror and saw something lurking behind her:
A witch-hound.
The witch-hound was a swirling cylinder of orange and pink flesh that coalesced into a cavernous maw of wicked, slathering teeth. Lucifer had never seen one before, but she had read about them. The great sorceress Ro’ Ember was rumored to have used them to defeat her brother in the 1356 War of the Twins, only to be devoured by them moments after her victory. Any person who used one for security had to be either incredibly powerful or incredibly crazy.
Lucifer dove to the side just as the ethereal beast lunged at her. She could feel the sheer mass of the creature as it slid overhead and slammed into the wall with such force that the wall disintegrated in a flurry of dust and debris. The bits of drywall that had come into contact with the witch-hound’s amorphous skin sparked and smoldered.
Lucifer was up and running. The silence spell muted the cacophonous riot of destruction the witch-hound was leaving in its wake as it chased her. All she could hear was the rapid pulsing of her heartbeat echoing in her ears.
She looked back just as the witch-hound lunged. This time, the monster dove low, but Lucifer was able to jump up and avoid the full brunt of its attack. However, she was too off-balance to get the height she needed to get fully clear of the creature. It slammed into her leg, the muscles of its roiling body feeling like hundreds of angry ferrets under its diaphanous skin desperately trying to claw their way free. The witch-hound bucked and sent her flying high into the air. Lucifer hit the fluorescent lights in the ceiling directly overhead and came down behind a gray partition that separated a bank of cubicles away from the main offices. Shattered glass from the long thin bulbs rained down amid a flurry of sparks.
The lights of the entire floor flickered then winked out. Immediately, the backup gen
erator came on and the floor was filled with the cold lunar glow of the emergency lights. Lucifer knew she had to get to the stairwell since the elevator was most likely shut down along with the power.
As she scurried on her hands and knees into the next cubicle, an office chair sailed overhead. The witch-hound had torn through the partition and was thrashing away in the tight space. The monitor, desk, and other little odds and ends all turned to dust in the maelstrom.
Lucifer rolled and sprang to her feet. She leaped over the next partition and sprinted down the narrow hall between the two rows of cubicles. She couldn’t hear the witch-hound barreling behind her, but out of the corner of her eye she could see its reflection in the long line of windows she was running next to. It turned and twisted in on itself, the witch-hound’s body rolling after her like a pastel pyroclastic flow that devoured all in its path.
The entrance to the stairwell was just off from the reception area. Lucifer pulled one of the paintings from the walls as she sprinted past and tossed it at the witch-hound. The beast was delayed by the large painting just long enough to shred its heavy frame into splinters within its whirling jaws.
She reached the stairwell, but the door wouldn’t open. The mystical alarm that Lucifer tripped when she cracked the safe must have put the entire floor into lockdown. If she had a minute to spare, she could open the door easily. But there was no way the witch-hound was going to leave her be long enough to get it open. And now that the door was locked, that meant security would be on its way here to find out just what was going on. She was going to have to find another way out.
The witch-hound charged. As it lunged for Lucifer, she planted the palms of her hands against the wall and flipped herself up and over the creature, using her hands as the pivot point. The monster slid underneath her, its horrid fangs scarring the wall as it went past.
Lucifer needed time to think, to formulate a plan, but it was going to be near impossible with the witch-hound on her heels. She made her way back to the cubicles, hoping to use the partitions to hide long enough to think of a way to escape. This was exactly why she never started a job without knowing all the ins and outs of a place.
The cubicles were now twisted piles of gray and black rubble. As she jumped over one pile, she saw the witch-hound’s reflection in the window. Instinctively, she shifted her weight to change her direction, but her ankle caught on a jagged piece of cubicle frame and she went tumbling. The creature soared overhead, crashing into the windows. The impact was so great that the entire window was punched free of its frame and fell out into the open air.
Lucifer was up and moving again, ignoring the sting of pain in her ankle where the twisted frame had torn into her flesh. She made her way down the hallway toward the restrooms, doing her best to staunch the terror of seeing the pursuing monster’s reflection in the mirror at the end of the hall. It was relentless. It was never going to stop.
She ducked into the men’s room. The smell of disinfectant was overwhelming. The rich mahogany walls looked black under the blue of the emergency lights in stark contrast to the pale marble floor tiles sparkling like a summer lake in moonlight. Lucifer hid in one of the stalls and stood on the toilet. She didn’t hear the witch-hound come in, but she saw its swirling shadow moving across the floor from underneath the stall door.
Lucifer could feel her heart racing inside her chest. At that moment, she was grateful for the silence spell. Without it, she knew the witch-hound would be able to easily hear her heartbeat. She knew that she wouldn’t be able to outrun the monster forever. Eventually, it would have her. She was as good as dead. But if she was already going to die . . .
Her sudden escape plan was beyond dangerous and would most likely get her killed, but at this point she really didn’t have anything to lose. Quickly, Lucifer reached into her trick bag and pulled out a slim black lipstick case. She watched the creature’s shadow slide across the floor, searching. Lucifer pulled the cap off the lipstick and rolled it under the stalls toward the far end of the restroom. When the cap rolled out from under the far stall, Lucifer saw the monster’s shadow dive in the direction of the cap. Lucifer wasted no time.
She kicked the stall door open and ran. Out in the hallway, she reached up and yanked the mirror from the wall. It was slightly too big to carry under one arm, so she put the lipstick between her teeth, gripped the mirror in both hands, and bolted toward the ruined cubicles.
Lucifer didn’t bother to look back. She knew the witch-hound would be behind her. This time when she came to the mangled partitions, she didn’t turn toward the executive offices but continued straight toward the gaping hole where one of the windows used to be.
She stepped on the wall and leaped.
A crushing wave of sound hit her now that she was outside of the silence spell’s affected area: distant sirens, the soft hum of nighttime traffic, and the impossible rush of air as she plummeted down the side of the building. But there was another sound. It was deep, guttural, feral. The witch-hound had followed her out the window. It didn’t matter. Lucifer had to follow through with her plan and just hope that gravity kept her ahead of the trailing witch-hound gnashing its horrible teeth above her.
She straddled the mirror, using her knees to keep it steady as she drew symbols and picts along the frame with the lipstick. Air caught the mirror and flipped her, but her ankles were scissored, preventing the air from ripping the mirror free. Her hair lashed against her face, nearly blinding her. As she drew, she couldn’t help but notice the reflection of the ground beneath her, getting rapidly closer as she fell.
Again, she flipped. Lipstick smeared. Lucifer stifled a curse and wiped away the mangled symbol with the back of her hand and drew it again. Only a few more symbols to go, though she doubted she could finish before she hit the ground. She saw the glow of streetlights beneath her and the gnashing form of the witch-hound reflected in the mirror. The mirror was slowing her descent, allowing the witch-hound to get closer.
The sirens were closer as well. Out of the corner of her eye, Lucifer could see the gathering police cars surrounding the building. Directly beneath her was the courtyard, its pink limestone swelling in her peripheral vision.
Another symbol.
The witch-hound snapped its jaws so closely that it caught several of her whipping hairs and ripped them free. Her scalp burned. Her ankle throbbed. Her ears were filled with roaring air, the swelling whine of sirens, and the vicious growl of the witch-hound above her. She swiped the lipstick in a violent arc, finishing the final symbol. The witch-hound’s reflection filled the mirror, its open maw about to swallow her whole. Lucifer closed her eyes, but not before she saw the horrified expressions of watching police officers as the ground came up to meet her.
CHAPTER 24
There was no impact. Lucifer was expecting to feel her body smashed into jelly before death took her, but instead she only felt a shift in gravity and a wave of nausea as she fell through the mirror and into the Aether.
She was still traveling at terminal velocity, only now in a vertical rather than horizontal direction. When she finally hit the ground, it was only from the harmless height of a few feet. Easily survivable. But the speed she was traveling wasn’t so harmless. She slid across the burgundy carpet. The fabric of her cleaning outfit shredded, and her skin burned from the friction until she began to tumble. Lucifer ducked into a ball and covered her head. She crashed into a series of mirrors that created a domino effect with the myriad other mirrors in the great room. By the time she finally came to a stop, the cacophony of shattering glass was still echoing through the chamber.
Silence finally came. She ached everywhere. But as much as she hurt, Lucifer could tell that her injuries were superficial. Still, she hesitated to open her eyes. When she finally did, she saw dozens of scratches on the backs of her hands. Blood welled up in tiny streaks along the length of her right arm, and she could see the blistered skin of her left hip through the melted hole of her pants. But she was alive.
> She couldn’t say the same about the witch-hound.
The creature’s amorphous head lay fifty feet away with a trail of blood and broken glass in its wake. It must have been only halfway through when the mirror hit the ground and shattered, thus closing the portal with only its head here in the Aether.
She stood, taking care to go easy on her ankle. Lucifer smiled when she heard the crunch of broken glass beneath her feet. It was nice to be able to hear again.
Lucifer searched for her trick bag but was unhappy when she found it. It had flown off her shoulder as she tumbled through the mirror room and was now dangling from the hideous chandelier overhead. If she hadn’t just plummeted seventy stories into a field of glass and wood, she would have entertained the idea of somehow climbing to get it. But now she could only stare at it in hopeless apathy.
“Would you like a hand, darling?”
Lucifer turned to see the Harlot at the edge of the room. The woman strode toward her, ignoring the ruined mess crunching beneath her feet. When she reached the center of the room, the Harlot reached up with her gangly arm and plucked the trick bag from its perch. With a mild flourish and modest smile, she handed the bag to Lucifer. But the Harlot’s smile faded, and she crinkled her nose when she took sight of her.
“What is that ghastly thing you’re wearing?” the Harlot asked.
“It’s a cleaning uniform.” Lucifer looked down at the shredded clothing. “Well, it was, anyway.”
“You look like an urchin. Come to the sitting room where you can clean yourself. I’ll not have you soiling my home with such filthy attire,” the Harlot said as she moved through the debris of the broken mirrors. If the Harlot was willing to overlook, or was simply unable to see, the mess Lucifer had made, she wasn’t about to bring it to her attention.
As they stepped into the sitting room, the Harlot motioned toward a porcelain washbasin. She then sat down in her chair, smoothing the dark folds of her dress. Lucifer stripped off the ragged cleaning uniform and set to washing herself. By the time she had finished cleaning her wounds, the water in the basin was the dull hue of bad borscht.
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