by Nazri Noor
Paintings of strange men and women watched us from every wall. Each was an immensely beautiful specimen, only with a different feature that set them apart from being truly human. Some had the horns of goats and rams. One smiled to show the teeth of a wolf, and another had a patch of scales on its neck so symmetric and radiant that it looked like a collar made of emeralds. But as captivating as the people in the paintings were, nothing compared to the creature that waited for us at the very end of the hall, standing in a pool of molten gold.
Now I’m not the most fashionable person on the planet, but what I could only assume to be a demon wore a suit so finely tailored and so sleekly cut that it looked uncomfortable, almost painful. Its cloth was the gleaming red of rubies, which, I know, how does anyone even pull that off? And the demon’s face was harder still to put into words. Regal comes to mind. Noble. Beautiful, terrible, so unearthly that it couldn’t possibly be human.
I elbowed Herald gently. “That’s the demon?”
He shook his head, giving me a sidelong glance. “Correction. That’s the demon prince.”
Chapter 21
“Herald Igarashi,” the demon said, in a whisper-soft voice that still somehow boomed about the marble corridor. “And Dustin Graves.” The demon spread its hands and gave a small bow. “Consider yourselves welcome in the palace of Mammon.”
Herald pulled on my jacket, and only then did I realize that I my mouth was hanging open. “Mammon,” he whispered. “The demon prince of greed.”
Mammon laughed in a voice that was at once as sweet as honey and as ominous as the droning of bees. “And of wealth, and treasure, and infinite riches.” The demon beckoned, its spindly fingers tipped with lacquered golden nails. “Come. Let’s dispense with the pleasantries. Mammon does not have the luxury of free time.”
I whistled as we approached, appraising the massive rubies Mammon wore on each finger, on fine chains around its lily-white throat. “I’d have thought that you’d be all about luxury.”
Mammon laughed again, spreading a pair of perfectly manicured hands. “Flattery will get you everywhere, oh thing of shadows. And it will get you everything.” Mammon’s heart-shaped lips lifted into a smile. “For the right price.”
Herald nudged me. “Bring it out. Time for show and tell.”
Mammon snapped its fingers and an ornate, lacquered table blinked into existence. “Your sword, correct? It requires reforging. Mammon can assist you.”
I reached over my shoulder for my backpack, appraising the demon. For a third time, Mammon laughed, the coif of its hair unmoving as it tilted its head, the single ruby stud in its ear sparkling in the hall’s firelight.
“Do not appear so perplexed. Mammon knows the greed that lives in the hearts of men.” Another snap, and a large golden bowl appeared on the table. “Set its broken pieces within. Quickly.”
Herald nodded encouragingly, and if there was any hesitation left in me, it was long gone. There was something brutally efficient about Mammon’s process that should have made me so much more dubious, but I wanted this to end soon. I wanted Vanitas back, the inside of my chest thrumming with that same desire. Want. Need. Now.
Fragments of bronze and shattered garnets tinkled as I spilled the contents of both the wooden chest and my backpack into the bowl. The amulet, the same one that the homunculus had stolen from dad’s place, fell in last, its chain spilling among the tangle of ruined verdigris. It struck me that there must have been a reason that the creature singled it out of all the pieces in mom’s collection. I retrieved it from the bowl, showed it to Mammon, then slipped it in one of my pockets.
“For safekeeping,” I said. “Sentimental value and all that.”
Mammon shrugged. “It matters not.” The demon snapped its fingers again, and a ruby-encrusted goblet appeared in its hand. It locked gazes with me as it sipped, its eyes scintillant, green, laughing. The goblet vanished, and Mammon leaned over to spit into the bowl through wine-stained lips.
The vessel erupted in a tower of flames so massive that Herald and I staggered back. I shielded my eyes with the back of my hand, seeing just enough to find that the flames had transformed into the shape of Mammon’s face.
I couldn’t tell where all the screaming was coming from. In a dirge song as of a hundred voices, I heard Mammon’s strongest of all, chanting over the infernal chorus. Then I glimpsed it, just beyond the demon’s head, one of the paintings. Its occupant’s face had changed. I whirled to look at the portraits in the hallway. They were all burning. They were all screaming.
All at once, the fires went out. The paintings went back to normal, but Mammon took the bowl, now gone white-hot, and tipped its contents back. Like magma the liquid metal slipped past bloodless lips, into a slender throat that glowed and blazed from within. Then Mammon stood there, motionless, with its eyes closed.
“This wasn’t what I had in mind when we talked about forging and smithing,” I whispered to Herald. He glared at me, but said nothing.
“It is a special case for a very special weapon indeed, Dustin Graves.”
Mammon smiled with uninjured lips, then coughed, louder, and more violently, until blood spurted in crimson droplets over the marble floor. Herald pulled on my jacket when I rushed to help – as if a demon prince would even need my help.
With one final, gurgling splutter, Mammon heaved something bright red and glistening out of its mouth. It clattered to the floor, smeared in blood. Among the streaks and splotches of gore peeked the object’s familiar greenish-gold mix of verdigris and bronze.
“Vanitas,” I breathed. Sword and scabbard, all in one piece.
Mammon chuckled, wiping the corner of its mouth with a silk handkerchief. “Few fires can ever burn hot enough to forge star-metal, but few fires are stronger than those of Mammon’s hells. A very taxing service has been completed for you, thing of shadows. Resource-heavy, and complex. The prince of greed demands an appropriate payment.”
I gazed at the blood-slicked thing that was Vanitas, then back up at Mammon. I knew I was going to regret the very next words to come out of my mouth, but I wanted my friend back.
“Name your price.”
With a mouth that held far, far too many teeth, Mammon smiled.
Even Herald, a self-proclaimed demonologist, held his breath when I answered. Simply being in the demon’s palace was having a bizarre effect on me, as if the place was suffused in some invisible gas that made me so desperately eager to have my wishes fulfilled. But I couldn’t stop myself, and I knew that I’d sealed my fate.
“Excellent,” the demon said. “Then Mammon will call on your aid when the time is right. Permit Mammon time to select the perfect quest for this strangest of men, this thing of shadows. When the time comes – should you refuse – that which you most love shall be taken from you.”
I stiffened. That could mean anything. Hell, the quest itself could be anything. But too late. I had what I wanted, and so would the demon, in time. A fine mess I’d gotten myself into. Time was when my biggest problem was figuring out my next paycheck. I never for the life of me expected to owe a favor to a demon. Correction: a demon prince.
“Then Mammon considers this matter settled. You may claim your prize.”
Flames consumed the length of Vanitas’s blade, marking a scorching, black cross in the marble as it burned the demon’s blood away. The fires died out, leaving a shining sword on the ground – at least, as shiny as a tarnished old relic can be.
“Good as new,” I said, picking Vanitas up, and surprising myself with his weight. It was like handling a kitchen knife. He weighed hardly anything. I cocked my head questioningly in Mammon’s direction.
“Mammon has seen fit to improve the device’s enchantments. See how it is lighter now, how it cleaves through the air as a falling leaf dances in autumn.”
Herald’s glasses seemed to flash in the firelight as he turned his sights on the blade. “But this work is incomplete. The garnets in the blade are dull. The sword should b
e sentient.”
I closed my eyes, reaching to that part of my mind where Vanitas’s voice lived. Even with the rough, cold metal of his blade under my fingers, I couldn’t sense him at all. Fuck. I’d just agreed to a demon’s bargain, and all I had to show for it was a paperweight.
“Mammon only promised to put your plaything back together. Mammon never said it would speak or fly again.”
“You piece of – ”
“Dust,” Herald said warningly, holding a hand against my chest.
Mammon cocked its head, the green of its eyes sparkling with young menace. “Oh? The thing of shadows is displeased, and it thinks to display its temper in such boorish ways. Disrespectful, it is, to Mammon.”
“You said you would bring his enchantment back,” I snarled. “You said you would make him whole again. You knew that’s what I meant.”
Mammon sighed, turning eyes up to the ceiling far, far above us. “For centuries the children of man have spun stories about the trickery of the devil, how Mammon’s kind is unreliable, full of deceit, evil. It is not demonkind’s fault that your brains are so full of worthless offal.” When Mammon looked at me again, I froze. There was a different quality to the demon’s eyes this time, not the droll amusement we’d seen when we first entered its domicile. It was something like glee.
“Mammon is no liar. The sword’s soul may yet return in time. The thing of shadows is brash, and hot-headed, but it may yet be of service to the princes of hell. For the moment, it suffices to state that Mammon has taken offense. You were initially perceived as an asset. Now, you are something of a liability.”
“Damn it,” Herald muttered under his breath.
“What’s happening?” I said, my grip around Vanitas going even tighter.
“It means that Mammon sees fit to charge a second, smaller price for services rendered. Perhaps even consider it punishment. A penalty. A price you will pay now.”
Panic sheared through my chest. “Look,” I stammered. “We can talk about this. I didn’t mean to – ”
“Mammon will find you again, thing of shadows.” The demon snapped its fingers. “For now, it is off to your next destination.”
Herald and I had no time to move. The floor opened up beneath us. Each of the portraits in the grand hallway laughed in Mammon’s voice as we fell, flailing and screaming, into a narrow pit of fire.
Chapter 22
But we didn’t burn. In fact, as soon as we plunged into the flames, the world spun on its axis, jostling our brains and bodies, only settling when the fires had cleared. We were – well, we were somewhere else.
It wasn’t one of the hells that belonged to the seven demon princes – though if Herald’s research was accurate, the number was actually far, far larger than seven. No, a demon wouldn’t live in a crystalline chamber, with walls reaching up to a sky so pure and blue, a sky swirling with perfect wisps of cloud.
Wait. I knew this place. We were in Amaterasu’s domicile.
The goddess clearly hadn’t noticed us. She was balancing a laptop across her knees, sitting cross-legged on an immense mountain of throw pillows. Her mouth dangled half open as she browsed her computer, which again was a fascinating reminder of how the earth’s entities had caught up with the times. More remarkable, however, was the onesie she was wearing, its hood in the shape of a fox’s head.
“Holy crap,” Herald muttered. “It’s her. Amaterasu. The goddess of the sun.”
“It really is,” I said. “Check out the kigurumi she’s wearing. Dude, I want pajamas like those. They look so comfy.”
Amaterasu giggled at something on her laptop, then stopped herself short, as if sensing that something was amiss. Her eyes slowly swiveled in our direction, and she screamed.
“You!”
“Me,” I said. I nudged my thumb at Herald. “Also him. I love your pajammers, by the way. So cute.”
The goddess threw off her hood and flushed bright red. “How did you get in here? What is the meaning of this?”
“Oh, Radiant Amaterasu,” Herald said, his voice uncharacteristically quavering with what I could only guess was meant to be reverence. “These unworthy ones were delivered here by dire, uncontrollable circumstances. We mean no harm or offense by our intrusion.”
Amaterasu rose abruptly to her feet. Her computer slipped off her lap and vanished in a puff of smoke.
“State your name and your purpose, sorcerer.”
“This one is named Herald Igarashi. I am an archivist and an alchemist for the Lorica.”
Amaterasu’s eyes narrowed as they fell on me. “And this one is Dustin Graves. The tainted one. The shadow beast.”
I raised a hand sheepishly. “Hi. Nice to see you again.”
The goddess scowled. She snapped her fingers, summoning a column of fire to swallow her pajamas. They disappeared in a flash, replaced by the massive, structured raiment I’d once seen her wear, a garment that was equal parts kimono and ceremonial armor. I swallowed thickly. I knew that she could move lightning-quick despite her armor’s bulk.
“That’s a waste of pajamas,” I said.
“I can always order more.” Amaterasu sniffed, staring down the end of her nose at Herald. “You. Why have you seen fit to consort with – with that thing?” She folded her arms and raised her head. “Did you say your name was Igarashi? Then we share common roots. Where do your loyalties lie?”
“I,” Herald started. “Um.”
I put up my hands in placation. “Whoa. Hey. It’s the twenty-first century. So not progressive. It’s not about that.”
“You don’t get to talk about progress, shadow beast. As much as your master vouched for you, you’ve inevitably proven yourself a force for destruction. An agent for chaos.”
Ah. Yes. That old story. The last I’d seen of Amaterasu, I’d visited with Carver. Having him around as a supernatural social buffer meant that she was at least a little more restrained about wanting to chop my head off. There was also this unfortunate incident, that time when I’d accidentally shattered one of her enchanted mirrors. Shush. It was totally accidental. It slipped out of my fingers, and Bastion broke it. You were there, you saw.
“Look,” I said. “Is this about the mirror? Because I’m sorry that happened. Even though it technically wasn’t my fault.”
Herald cleared his throat noisily. “Um. Dust.”
“Am I wrong, though? The mirror slipped from my grasp. Bastion was the one who smashed it.” I rubbed the back of my neck, giving Amaterasu a piteous look. She wasn’t having it.
“The point here,” she said slowly, “is that you destroyed something of mine. Something that was freely given for you to use for the sake of good.”
“But you can always make more, right?”
My teeth clamped down on my tongue just as soon as I’d said the words. Herald groaned. Carver could teach me to make fire, to nuke planets and move the stars, but fuck if he could teach me any kind of impulse control.
“You enter my domicile unbidden, uninvited, and think to insult me.” The room was getting warmer by the second. The same could be said of Amaterasu’s sword, which glowed white-hot, then burst into flames.
“Good job, Dust,” Herald muttered. I shrugged apologetically, an empty, pointless gesture, sure, but I had a feeling Amaterasu would take my tongue if I dared to talk again.
“And worse still,” Amaterasu continued, “is that you’ve come to my home carrying your tainted blade.”
Vanitas. Oh shit. I lifted him up, along with my other hand, gesticulating wildly. “This? It’s nothing. Just bronze.”
“You dare to bring the pollution of the Old Ones with you into my home once more.” She lifted her head back, sniffed at the air, then scoffed with some measure of triumph. “I smell the stink of demons about you, too.” Amaterasu raised her sword, pointing at my heart. “I am not known for brutality and savagery, but for all your breaches of etiquette, you must be punished.”
The sole of Herald’s boot clacked across the
floor as he stepped forward, making himself a human barrier between me and Amaterasu’s extremely pointy and extremely fiery sword.
“Offense was not meant, oh Radiant One. Please understand,” he said, flinging his hand in my direction, pointing in my face, “this one is unworthy, unlearned in the graces of divinity.”
“Hey,” I said, somehow finding the gall to be offended.
“You shut up,” Herald growled through gritted teeth. “Let me handle this and shut the fuck up.”
But before Herald could speak again, the crisp blue sky over the crystalline walls of Amaterasu’s chamber split with a blinding white flash. A tower of lightning speared the ground just feet away from the goddess’s dais, leaving in its place not a scorch mark, but a young man.
His hair was swept up into ostentatious waves and spikes, like the electricity had done most of the styling for him. He wore ripped jeans and snazzy sneakers, and went bare-chested under his leather vest. The man could have easily passed Sterling’s very specific and very impractical guidelines for fashion, but something told me that he wasn’t a vampire. I mean, obviously. We were in a sun goddess’s realm, after all.
Light glinted off the man’s sunglasses. When he grinned, even his teeth seemed to sparkle, the very paragon of youthful arrogance that Bastion could only hope to be. He took his shades off, pushing them into his hair, and his eyes crackled with little sparks of electricity.
“Sorry I’m late, sis,” he drawled.
“Brother,” Amaterasu said, her gaze still unflinchingly settled on my face. “Good of you to join us.”
“Shit,” Herald whispered. “Shit shit shit.”