In other words, a great opportunity for me to let loose a little aggression.
I hid the slicboard under a juniper hedge, laying a small keepcharm over it. Then, my jeans and shirt flapping and crusted from my healed wounds, I walked up the broad, well-maintained sidewalk as if I belonged in the neighborhood.
The front gates were iron, stylized teeth writhing decoratively along the top curve. They reminded me of another set of gates on the East Side, gates with a gothic R H worked into their metal, standing slightly ajar and beckoning like every trap.
I set my shoulders, gritted my teeth.
The defenses started to quiver as soon as I got within half a block. I tasted the pulsing of the energies used to build them, could See the layers of Power thickening, hardening at my approach. By the time I stood in front of the gates the defenses trembled on the edge of locking down.
My sword was in my left hand, sheathed and ready. I would need it soon.
In the old days, I would have found a way to subvert the defenses, broken in quietly and pursued what I wanted. Now I had a share of a demon's Power and no need or desire to act like this was corporate espionage. Besides, I wasn't here to steal. I was here for something else entirely.
The house at the end of its black-paved drive was lit up like a Putchkin Yuletree. I looked at it shimmering on its' gentle hill and the rage rose up inside me. Whoever was in that house knew something about Gabe's murder, if they hadn't committed it. Either way, they were going to tell me what they knew. All of it. Quickly.
This time I didn't push the red, screaming fury down. I took a deep breath and jabbed my right hand forward, pushing through the layers of defenses on the property line. They went crystal, locking down-but I was already in, the stiletto of my Will driven like a physical knife between ribs.
My right-hand rings, amber and obsidian, sparked as I pumped Power into them, the mark on my shoulder blazing with soft spurred heat. I drew on it, drew on the brand that was Japhrimel's name, past caring that it was a demon's name I was relying on. If he had broken free and showed up here it was all to the good; if other demons came along… well, that was a risk I was going to have to take.
I found myself not minding as much as I should have. The wristcuff tightened, grinding the bones underneath again too, and sent another ice-burn of welcome strength jolting through my shoulder, into my chest.
I set my feet and pushed, a low sound of effort jetting between my teeth. Felt a yielding like fat-rich flesh under a sharp thin blade.
I struck. A short, sharp kia, my eyes suddenly hot and blazing as if lasers were popping out of them. Deadly force coiling, smashing loose, I wrenched the tough fabric of the defenses apart as casually as Japhrimel might tear apart an origami animal-a crane, perhaps-in his golden fingers.
Dead silence except for my own harsh breathing. Where were the alarms, the guards? Or was this the wrong house? The orange-haired courier had said this was the place, described it to me, and a few moments at a public infoshell had confirmed that the property was legally owned by one Asa Tanner, head of the corporate identity comprising the legal front of the Tanner Family.
I stepped through the rent in the shielding, now bleeding Power into the rainy air, and pushed the gates. Metal squealed as they swung wide on well-oiled hinges. My boots crunched on the raked immaculate gravel. I drew my sword, shoving the scabbard back in its loop on my belt and taking out a plasgun.
"Hi honey," I called, my voice flashing through the rain, breaking the drops into smaller steaming tracers of mist, spraying out in concentric rings. "I'm hooo-ome!"
Gravel crunched like small bones underfoot. I couldn't feel them, the guards, hanging back out of sight. But I could imagine them just fine. Trap. It was a trap.
So what? Close the trap, and see what happens when Danny Valentine gets really pissed.
I walked through the rain, hair plastered against skull and nape, dripping onto my ruined clothes. Steam curled up from my skin, ice melting before it could hit me. The sword sang in my hand, white flame twisting in its heart, blue runes spilling through the edges of the metal. My shields flared into the visible range, traceries of glittering light shimmering in a perfect globe around me, and Japhrimel's aura of black diamond flames had closed over mine again. As if he was behind me, walking with his soundless step, his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes burning no less than mine.
I felt other minds here, and tasted the acrid tang of fear. There was too much magshielding for it to be a plain civilian's house. I was in the right place, I knew I was.
So why weren't they attacking?
I got maybe halfway to the house before thunder rumbled low and ominous in the sky and the hair stood up on the back of my neck.
I swung around, sword lifting, the cuff suddenly flaming the green of Japhrimel's eyes. "Sekhmet sa'es-" I hissed, ready to face the trap-but what I saw froze the curse on my lips and made my heart pound thinly in my temples, throat, and wrists.
A low sinuous shadow stalked through the rip I'd made in the defenses. A flash of crimson eyes, a glossy obsidian pelt, an ungainly graceful shamble of a walk.
I dropped the plasgun and closed both hands instinctively around my katana's hilt, screaming my defiance as the hellhound-was it the same one? — finished shouldering through the rent in the Tanner house's shields and bulleted toward me.
I had time to admire each finicky-precise footfall, its head bobbing back and forth; paradoxically, I had no time at all. Gathered myself, compressing demon muscle and bone, then threw my body to the side, both hands on the hilt and blade blurring down as a white-fire scythe, the kia sharp and deadly. More steam drifted up from the hellhound's body. It turned on itself as I landed, too quick it was too quick it was too quick, my feet barely touched down and I flung myself in the opposite direction, gravel sprayed as it skidded and roar-hissed its frustration. Gravel also smashed up, exploding away from the sound, my cry taking on physical weight.
Black blood whipped from my blade as I shuffled back, bringing the shining length up between us. Took the highguard, right hand over left holding the hilt almost at my right shoulder, instinct screaming under my skin.
The hellhound shook itself, snarling. I snarled back, lips skinned away from my teeth and fury scorching the inside of my throat. Then I did another thing I shouldn't have-I leapt for it, on the attack, driven past rage to fey courage. My shoulder smashed and rang, torn apart with pain as my right side tore too, the cuff singing a thin high smoking tone of cold Power. Blood burst and sprayed as thunder toppled the sky overhead and I fell, seeking vainly to get up get up, gravel crunching into my hair and mouth and eyes as I rammed against the hilt of my blade, driving it through smoking demon flesh.
We fell together, the hellhound and I, the bright length of my sword buried in its chest, its claws flexing and tangling with my ribs. I heard faint and faraway yells as the rain spattered on both me and the hellhound and the sky lit up with white-hot whips of lightning.
Chapter 25
I sank on my back into a carpet of grass, blinking up at the endless blue depths of the sky. Sunlight touched my bare wrist with warm gold, I pushed myself up on my elbows, blinking. Each blade of grass was detailed, glowing juicy green. The field rolled, bounded only by a broken stone wall, with the purple shadows of mountains in the distance. An oak tree lifted proudly in full summer leaf. At any moment I expected to see a troop of old ChristerAmish in their wide-brimmed hats on their way to one of their meetings. Or a coven of witches, carrying their baskets of food for the feast after the magick was done… or a group of Evangelicals of Gilead, the women veiled and the men in suits and bowties, hair parted in the center and held down with pomade under small circular embroidered skullcaps.
I like this better, he said beside me, braced on his elbows and so close I could smell him again, spiced Shaman, pepper and honey. And the clean healthy smell of male, a smell with no taint or tang of demon.
Jace lounged next to me in jeans and a whi
te cotton button-down shirt. The sun made his hair a furnace of gold, lit his eyes with incandescence. Same expensive haircut, same Bolgari glittering on his wrist. Grass pricked at my hands as I sat up and looked down at myself-black T-shirt, jeans. Bare feet, my toes human pale and painted wicked crimson with molecule-drip polish.
You again. My lips shaped the dim whisper. Jason.
One elegant golden eyebrow arched. He had a long blade of grass in his mouth, lazy, like a cigarette. I could see the smattering of freckles across his nose, ones that never showed unless he was in full sun. Even the golden tint to his shaved cheeks was there.
And oh, my heart hurt to see him in such detail.
Muscle moved under his shirt as he sat up straight, crossing his legs tailor fashion. His knee bumped me. The strand of grass dropped from his lip, vanished into the thick mat of greenery. Absolutely, baby. Miss me?
What are you doing here? I could do no more than whisper, the breath stolen from me by sunlight, the brush of breeze against my skin, the prickle of sweat under my arms and at the small of my back. I smelled grass, and the richness of air with no hoverwash or biolab exhalation, no sour fullness of human decay. I even smelled the faint woodsy odor of the oak tree and the rich loam of drifted leaves scattered around it.
He shrugged. Other people get loa. You get me.
But you're dead!My eyes prickled with tears. Was I having my deathdream at last? Where was the blue light and my god? Where was the hall of eternity and the well of souls? Am I dead?I tried not to sound pathetically hopeful, failed miserably.
Jace's face fell slightly, turned solemn. I heard a hawk cry far away, saw the thin white traceries of cirrus clouds and the haze of distance over the faraway mountains. Love's eternal, Danny. You mean you been dealing with Death all this time and you don't know that? His mouth curled up in a half-smile, a tender expression. A butterfly meandered past, its wings a blue reflecting the sky's wheeling vault. You always were stubborn.
He leaned over, reaching out and bridging the gap between us. He stroked my cheek, his callused fingertips gentle. Neither of us carried a weapon here, but his hands were still rough with practice. Then he pushed a strand of my hair back delicately, and I found myself leaning forward.
Our mouths met. Kissing him had always been like a battle before, greedy and deliciously heated, a combustion. But here it was gentle, his mouth on mine like velvet, his hands cupping my face delicately. His thumb feathered over my cheekbone and he made the low humming sound he always used to after sex. My heart sped up, thundering in my ears.
He kissed the corner of my mouth, kissed my temple, closed me in his arms. You're hurt, he said into my hair. But you'll be all right.
I buried my face in the juncture between his neck and shoulder, smelled the human cleanness of him. Gabe, I said. Eddie.
He stroked my back, kissed my hair. It felt so real. So real. Eternal, Danny. Remember? That means forever. His arms tightened. You have to go back now. It's time.
I don't want to. Please. I don't want to. Let me die, let me stay here.
I felt him shake his head, as the sunlight beat down on us in waves. The hot simmering of a summer day, a cauldron of a field under the bright vault of heaven, all of it-I wanted to stay. I didn't care where this was.
That's not the way it works, baby. Go on now. Be good. I'm watching out for you.
A shadow drifted over the sun, and just like that I-
— snapped into full wakefulness, my hand blurring out and sinking into vulnerable human flesh. I choked out an obscenity I'd learned hunting down a bounty in Putchkin territory, it died halfway and I made my fingers unloose. Leander stumbled back, his dark eyes wide, the emerald in his cheek flashing. My left cheek burned, I felt my tat shifting as his did, inked lines running under the skin. My emerald spat a single, glowing-green spark.
Now I knew who he reminded me of. The knowledge hit me so hard I lost my breath, gasping and scrambling back, casting around for my swordhilt.
He held his hands up. He had a fading bruise on his cheekbone, and moved a little stiffly. "Calm down. Calm down, Danny, goddammit!"
I gulped down air. Looked at the room. No window, one door, a bed with a purple cotton comforter and rumpled pale-pink sheets; a stripped-pine nightstand with a pitcher of water. Leander was unarmed but he held my sword. Gingerly, as if he was afraid it might bite him. He offered it to me as I crouched on the bed, my ribs flaring with every heaving breath.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I rasped.
He shrugged, offered me my sword. "You're safe. I hooked back up with Lucas. There's some news you should hear."
"Where am I?" My throat was on fire, sore and scraped raw. The full-spectrum lights beat down, showed me my own hands reaching for my sword, slim and golden and beautifully graceful.
"In a safe place. Listen, Danny, I want your word. All right? I want you to listen to what we have to say. On your honor." His wide dark eyes met mine, I caught a faint green spark far back in his pupils. It vanished. Had I really seen it?
Honor? Do I have any honor left? "The hellhound," I croaked. "Did it-"
"You killed it. I repaired the shielding. Thought we were going to lose you, but you pulled through." He was chalkypale under his dark hair, and his hands trembled just a little. He was afraid of me. That managed to smash the last vestiges of resemblance-Jace had never been afraid of me. Enraged at my stubbornness, driven to frustrated fury by my constant poking and prodding, gentle during my moments of weakness, and coldly lethal when we were under fire; but Jace had never been afraid of me.
I remembered Rio, when he had crawled into the shattered bathroom where I'd taken refuge, lit a cigarette, and simply talked to me after Japhrimel's change had worked its way through my body. It had never mattered to Jace what body I wore; he loved me, but by then it had been too late.
I belonged to Japhrimel. No amount of trying to regain my lost humanity would overcome that one simple fact. No matter how angry or hurt he made me, Japh was the only person who truly knew me-even if he didn't know very much about handling me. Even fighting him, being angry at him, struggling against him was better than relaxing with someone else. After all, who else did I reach for when I finally felt out of my depth, even though he'd held me up against a subway wall and bruised my arm, my heart? I hadn't thought of calling anyone else.
The demon and the fleshwife are literally one being. Whenever they're written about, it's in the singular, as if each pair is one person.
A scream rose up in me, died at the back of my throat, cascaded back down into an endless black hole of bitterness that beat like my pulse inside my chest. My left shoulder felt heavy and full, the wristcuff was dry and powdery-pale as it rested against my arm, its cold numbness temporarily gone. I still wore the blood-drenched rags of my clothes; they crackled as I moved on the bed. The spacefoam mattress whooshed a little as I eased myself down from crouching on the bed and stood, swaying and finally making my knees lock. I snatched my sword from Leander and looked him in the eye.
Nothing. Nothing but a great yawning distance between me and this human Necromance I liked. Whose company had made me feel a little better. But that was all.
"I killed it." I should have felt happy. I'd killed something even Japhrimel and McKinley had treated cautiously. My ribs ached on the right, twinging as I moved, the flesh tender as it had been after Lucifer's parting kick.
I felt like shit.
I clicked the blade free of the scabbard, examined it. Blue runes ran wetly in the steel, blazing out as soon as it left the darkness of confinement.
Still blessed. Still mine.
The sword kills nothing, Danyo-chan. It is will, kills your enemy.
I'd killed a fucking hellhound. Gods above and below, I had killed a hellhound. "All right." I must have sounded a little more together, because Leander's shoulders eased and his hands dropped back to his sides. What sort of courage did it cost him to stand there unarmed and look at me while I had a weapon i
n my hands? "What is it you have to tell me?"
"Come with me," he answered. "I'll take you to Lucas."
Down a short hall with a framed Berscardi print on one side and a priceless fluid lasecarved-marble statue tucked in a niche, Leander stepped into a circular room holding two leather couches and a fireplace roaring with a real fire, the tang of woodsmoke and a low thunderous reek filling the air. My nostrils widened as soon as we reached the hall, smelling a stasis cabinet and dried blood. When we reached the room Lucas was there, dropped down on one of the couches with his arm flung over his eyes. For once he didn't look the worse for wear-I probably looked bad enough for both of us.
Standing at the only other entrance to the room was a slim tall man with a thatch of chestnut hair and bright blue eyes, his feral cleanshaven face set in an ironclad smile. He wore a shirt that looked like fur until I looked closer and realized it was pelt; he wore only a pair of jeans tucked into very good boots, Taliano and handmade by the look of them. The glossy, hairy shirt was flagrant advertising of his status as a werecain. And a dominant one too, he had less of the unprotected shiver around his mental walls than a more submissive 'cain's.
My right hand closed around my swordhilt. I'd already almost been trapped once by a werecain. Had Lucas and Leander betrayed me?
"Put that goddamn thing down," Lucas said, his arm unreeling away from his eyes. He glared at me, haggard and bloodshot. He looked wearier than Death after the Seventy Days War. The flat yellow color of his eyes was accentuated by red rims. He calculated everything about me in one piercing look, and the river of scarring down the left side of his face twitched.
I dropped my right hand to my side. Tilted my head slightly, acutely aware of Leander behind me. Human, werecain, and whatever Lucas was. Add to that the decayingfruit and spice smell of demon blood drenching my clothes and my own fragrance over the layer of woodsmoke; and it was a heady brew. "What the motherfucking goddamn shitsucking hell I s going on?" My voice stroked the bare painted walls, and the werecain made a short sharp movement. A muscle twitched in my right forearm.
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