by Julie Kenner
“So we have to find it,” Rachel said. “We have to figure out how to bring it back from whatever dimension it’s hidden in.”
“How?” Rose asked.
“A Caller,” Deacon said, his expression dark. “We need to find a Caller demon.”
I’d had brief experience with a Caller demon not too long after I’d become Alice. Father Carlton had found a repentant demon and used him to pull the key for the Ninth Gate from a nether dimension into our world. My rat fink of a handler, Clarence, had told me that the key would open the gate, and I’d naïvely set out to kill the Caller and recover the key, all with the intent of preventing the gate from opening and the hordes from crossing over.
Yeah, right.
But that was over and done. The relevant point was that I knew what a Caller was. After all, I’d killed one, and—
Wait a second. Wait just one single second.
My head snapped up, and I stared at Deacon. “I killed him. Maecruth. The Caller demon. I killed him, and that means I absorbed his essence. Holy crap, don’t you see? I’m a Caller now.”
Rose squealed, obviously thrilled with this revelation, but neither Rachel nor Deacon reacted with the level of joy I’d anticipated.
“Hello?” I said. “Remember me? Sponge girl? I killed a Caller. So I can do the calling now.”
“It’s not that simple,” Rachel said. She lifted a shoulder. “Sorry, but I know a little bit about this stuff.”
“What do you—”
“Do you know how many Callers there are in the world?” Deacon asked.
“No. I’ve never bothered to examine the census figures.”
Deacon ignored my sarcasm. “Calling is not an uncommon gift,” he said. “But in most it lies dormant, because without the training, the gift is useless.”
“Oh.”
“Callers train for centuries,” he said. “It’s a grueling process. Painful, even, or so I’ve been told. And when they graduate, they have a unique skill to augment their gift. But skill is not the same as essence, and I don’t think that you absorbed Maecruth’s skill when you took his essence.”
I was afraid he was right, but I wasn’t about to give in so easily. “I could try, though, right? Maybe I did. Maybe—”
“Try,” he said. “It can’t hurt, and if it works, we’re that much further along.”
I could tell, though, that he didn’t expect it to work and, score one for Deacon, he was right. I spent a good ten minutes trying to get my head around the calling thing, and I got nothing. Maybe I did have the skill, and maybe I didn’t. But just then it didn’t matter, because have or not, I sure as hell didn’t know how to access it.
Damn.
“So what do we do?”
“Exactly what we said,” Rachel said. “We need to find a Caller.”
“Great. Here I am trying to battle the demons back into the hell dimension, and now I have to go up and ask one for help? They’re going to whack my head off, and that’s not a look I want for the rest of eternity.”
“Maecruth sought redemption,” Deacon said. “Surely there are other Callers who share that desire.”
“I thought you said Callers were rare,” Rachel pointed out. “Sounds to me like the odds are seriously against it.”
I sighed. “So we find one, any one. And if he’s up for helping us, then great. If not, we’ll just have to force his cooperation.” The thought of doing exactly that gave me a nice little buzz, actually. A buzz for which I wanted to hate myself, but I couldn’t. I was too busy reveling in the black-hearted delight that came with the thought of tormenting a demon into submissiveness. How much pain? I wondered. How much pain would it take to hurt a being who thrived on pain and dark?
I realized with a desperate shame that I wanted to find out.
“How?” I said, hoping my emotions didn’t show on my face. “How do we find one?”
“I can ask—” Rachel began, but Rose cut her off.
“We don’t need one,” she said. “We can find the knife ourselves.”
We all turned to stare at her, and she shrank back, apparently appalled by the attention.
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
She licked her lips, her expression unsure. “I was just . . . you know. Just thinking.”
“Go on,” Rachel said, giving her an encouraging pat on the thigh.
“It’s just that Alice had to find it, too, right? And her mom wouldn’t want her cavorting with demons, would she?” For that, she turned to Rachel.
“No,” Rachel admitted. “That would be the last thing Mom would have wanted.”
“Right. So that means that your mom was the one who hid the knife. She created a portal, she put it in, and she left Alice a clue. So that Alice could figure it out on her own and wouldn’t need to cozy up to a Caller demon.”
“But why not just tell Alice? Or tell me?”
“You were on the wrong side,” I reminded Rachel, who grimaced in acknowledgment. “And maybe she was afraid Alice would go wrong, too. Either that, or she was afraid that a demon would get the thoughts from Alice’s head before it was time to use the knife.” I knew damn good and well that demons existed who could read your thoughts as easily as people read the balloons over cartoon characters’ heads.
“So she left a clue,” I said. “And the clue was my tattoo.”
“It fits,” Rachel said. “But where do we go from there?”
“I haven’t the foggiest.”
“Let’s see it,” Rose said, and I complied, once again tugging down the neckline to reveal the dangerous-looking dagger that I’d always thought seemed so out of place on such a polished and perfumed body.
“Maybe if you put your hand over it,” Rose suggested. “The way you do when the symbols on your arm turn into a portal.”
I was dubious, but so far Rose was ahead of the pack with ideas, so I figured trying this one out was worth a shot. I drew in a breath, focused, and pressed my palm over the mark on my breast.
Nothing happened.
I sucked in air, closed my eyes, and pressed harder.
Still nothing.
I opened my eyes and looked at Rose and Rachel, both of whom were staring at me with disappointment. Deacon was back in the shadows, his face dark, his expression grave. “What?” I demanded. He might be fighting to keep his inner demon under control, but right then he was the one who knew the most about this stuff, and I needed him to help, not to be the gorgeous guy who held up the damn wall.
“It won’t be your body,” he said. “An enchantment. She would have enchanted something. Something she could pass on to Alice if she died before she could share the secret herself.”
Okay, I forgave him the moodiness because he was absolutely right.
“So Alice’s apartment, then,” I said, then glanced up at the clock. It was only six in the morning. Plenty of time to go rip Alice’s place apart, then get back to open the pub.
“And we are opening,” Rachel said, when I commented that we could simply keep the closed sign up all day. “We had a deal. I point them out; you kill them. Better, stronger, faster, remember?”
I remembered. And since we’d already fought this battle—and I’d lost, as little sisters so often do—I wasn’t inclined to revisit the issue.
“Fine,” I said. “We’ll be back in time.”
Transportation was an issue, of course. I’d left Rachel’s car stalled on the bridge—a fact I hadn’t shared with her, but since she’d seen the news footage of our demonic battle, I was pretty sure she’d figured that out—and we’d arrived at the pub in yet another stolen car, now parked six blocks away.
“Taxi,” Rachel said. “Steal any more cars, and our luck’s going to run out. And while I don’t think a jail cell could hold either of you, I really don’t think we need to waste the time or the energy getting listed on America’s Most Wanted.”
Since she had a point, we called for a taxi, which was waiting for us in the front of the p
ub when we arrived downstairs after a ten-minute delay to let Rachel and Rose change out of their pajamas.
The ride from the pub to Alice’s apartment was short, and in no time at all we’d divided the place up, with me in the bedroom, Rose in the bathroom, Rachel in the kitchen, and Deacon in the living room. Fortunately, the place was small.
“It could be anything,” I said. “How will we know?”
“It would be something she wouldn’t get rid of,” Deacon said. “Something with some sentimental value.”
“Jewelry?” I asked, carrying her jewelry box into the living room, so I’d have company as I worked.
“Maybe, but doubtful,” he said. “Too easy to lose.”
“Will you be able to tell?” I asked. “If the thing is a portal, I mean. Can you feel it? Can you sense it?’
“Sometimes,” he said, his expression grave. “Let’s hope this is one of those times.”
Most of Alice’s jewelry was early-American flea market, though she also had several really pretty pieces that Rachel identified as her designs. “I should make you toss those,” she said. “The company was started with blood money.”
I shook my head. “They’re good, and they were a gift, and you’ve started fresh. Did you give them to Alice hoping she’d come back to the black arts?”
“God, no,” Rachel said.
“Then forget about it and get back to the kitchen.”
She snorted. “Like my mother would put a portal in a cookie cutter.” Then her face brightened. “Actually, Alice loved to bake sugar cookies with Mom. Maybe she would,” she said, then disappeared beneath the counter, presumably rummaging for kitchen utensils.
I went back to the jewelry box, and even though it pained me to rip such a pretty wooden box apart, I forced the drawers out, peeled up the velvet bottom, and generally inspected every inch of it for hidden compartments. I found nothing.
“No go,” I told Deacon. “You?”
“Nothing.” He’d been examining the various knick-knacks that dotted Alice’s shelves.
I headed back to the bedroom to continue my search. I’d already pawed through all of the dresser drawers, so I started looking at all the books on her shelves. Alice had eclectic reading taste—a hell of a lot more literary than mine—and I carefully pulled down everything from paperback copies of current romance novels to pristine old copies of Dickens and Faulkner. Apparently Alice not only read books but collected them, too.
“There’s nothing in the bathroom,” Rose said, coming up beside me. “Not unless her mom put a portal in the toothpaste, and Alice hung on to it for a decade.” She flopped onto the bed, and I barely moved the books out of the way before she landed on them.
“Careful! These things are expensive.”
“Really?” Her nose crinkled. “Why?”
“They’re rare. Collectible. And probably worth a fortune.”
“Yeah? Huh.” She turned away from the books, then shoved herself off the bed. “Guess I’ll go help in the other room. So far, this has been a total—”
She cut herself off, turning to me with wide eyes.
“Rose?”
She didn’t answer, but crossed to me in three long steps, then grabbed the front of my shirt.
“Hey!”
“This,” she said, jabbing my tattoo with her index finger. “I told you it was familiar.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, willing myself not to get my hopes up.
“In Rachel’s apartment—in Egan’s old apartment—I saw a book. Old like those. And that sword was on the cover.” She looked up at me, her face bright with anticipation. “That’s it. I’m absolutely certain.”
FOURTEEN
“I told you,” Rose said, shoving a battered, leather-bound book into my hand. “See. Right there.” She tapped the cover and the faded image of a dagger. “It’s the same,” she said. “I told you it was.”
I looked from Rachel to Deacon. “She’s right.”
Rachel took the book and started flipping through the pages. “They’re blank,” she said. “But look at this.” She turned back to the flyleaf. There, in neat print, was an inscription: For my darling Alice. May you always have the courage to do what is right.
“Egan took it,” Rachel said. “He must have, because I’ve never seen it before, and I know Alice would have shown me. He was the executor of Mom’s will. He had the keys to her house. He took it, and Alice never even saw it. Sleazy, horrid bastard.”
I seconded the assessment, then gently took the book from her and handed it to Deacon. “Well? Are we right? Is this some sort of doorway?”
He held the book tight between his hands, then turned to face me. “I think we’ve found it.”
I practically sagged with relief. “So what do I do? Go in, right? Go in, get the dagger, and we just have to use it. Close the gate, lock the damn thing up tight, then we’re done. It’s over. It’s over and we’re safe. The whole freaking world is safe.”
“First things first,” he said gravely. “How do we get in?”
That was a question to which I had no answer, but I was damn well going to find one. “Put my hand over the inscription?” I asked. “That’s how it works with my arm.”
“Try it,” he said.
I did. Nothing happened. Nothing except me feeling a bit like a fool, as if I were in court swearing on a Bible or something.
“An incantation?” Rachel asked.
I groaned. “Great. Something else we have to figure out.”
“Blood,” Rose suggested. “Isn’t it always about the blood?”
The kid had a point. I pulled out my blade, prepared to slice my palm. Then I stopped, suddenly afraid. “The last time we went into a portal, we came out over a week later. What if that happens this time? I’d be sucked in and come out after the convergence, and the whole thing will be a done deal.”
“No anchor,” Deacon said.
“What?”
“We went in together, so there was no one holding you back, anchoring you to this dimension, this time frame.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t even known that was necessary. “So without an anchor, you’re screwed?”
“Not usually. Usually you come back about the time you leave. But Penemue, Kokbiel, those guys are powerful demons. They may not be able to manifest easily, but they exist across dimensions, and they can fuck you up.”
“So you’re saying it’ll happen again.”
“Without an anchor, I don’t see how you could avoid it.”
“Rachel?” I asked, knowing the answer would be no.
“Not strong enough.”
I nodded. “You, then.”
“I don’t want you going in there alone,” he said.
“Under the circumstances, I don’t think I have a choice.”
Rachel glanced sharply at the clock, then frowned. “I didn’t realize we were at Alice’s for so long.” She gnawed on her lower lip. “We’re supposed to be open now, and—”
“It’s okay,” I said. “We’ll tell you what happens.” I met Deacon’s eyes and sucked in a deep breath for courage. “One way or the other, we’ll know pretty quick if this works.”
She gave me a quick hug, then pulled Rose into an even longer one before kissing her forehead. “It’s going to be okay. You hear?”
Rose nodded, but her smile seemed forced. “This won’t even end it, will it? It’s never really going to end.”
I frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“Even if we stop the horde coming through the gate, the demons can still come, right? I mean, there are demons here now, so there must be other ways in.”
I met Deacon’s eyes, and he nodded. “Those who practice black magic can open a portal to pull a demon through. But it’s hard, and no more than one or two can cross at a time. This, though . . . This would be a flood of millions.”
Rose nodded and hugged herself. “I just want it to be over.”
“I know,” I said, wishin
g I could make that come true for her. “Believe me, I know.”
Rachel came up and gave her a hug. “You need me, I’m right downstairs.”
“It’ll be okay,” I said, taking Rose’s hand. “Go.”
“Right. I’ll be down there doing my job. Scoping them out. Eavesdropping. Figuring out who’s about to stir up trouble.”
I reached for her arm. “Be careful,” I said. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Right back at you,” she said, then swept through the doorway. I could hear her footsteps fading down the stairs before the door clicked shut. Then it was just the three of us. Three, and the book.
“Ready?” I asked.
“Be careful,” he said, lifting his left arm, and nodding pointedly to the hand that was no longer there. “Remember the acid?” He’d lost his hand trying to find a hidden component of the Oris Clef, and it had only been by virtue of the fact that he’d been there to warn me that I hadn’t later suffered the same fate.
“I think it’s okay,” I said. “Alice’s mom would have wanted Alice to find it.”
“Alice,” he said. “But not anyone else.”
Point taken. There could be traps. And even though I might look like Alice, I didn’t know her history with her mother. If there were secrets between them that would help her navigate an obstacle course, I was woefully unprepared.
“Guess I’ll find out,” I said, positioning the knife. “At least, I hope I will.” I pushed the tip of the blade into my flesh, drawing a thick drop of blood. Deacon had put the book on the table, open to the inscription, and now he held on to the wrist of my knife hand. I waited, fearful this wouldn’t work, and at the same time afraid that it would. It’s a queer feeling being sucked through a portal, and even though that suck could lead to saving the world—and myself—I still didn’t relish the thought of that freakish tug around my middle.
And, I thought, after standing there bleeding for a good thirty seconds, apparently I wasn’t going to be feeling it that day.
I spoke too soon. The words were barely out of my head when I felt the yank. A sharp tug near my navel, then—Oh dear God, help me—I was plummeting through space, sucked into the vortex that was emerging from the simple book on the table. Color seemed to swirl around me, and I lost all sense of place and time. I’d gone through portals before, but always to someplace on the earth. Never before had I traveled to another dimension, and I honestly wasn’t sure what to expect.