The Devil's Right Hand dv-3

by Lilith Saintcrow

  Maybe he’d get tired of it after a while. I hoped so.

  The hover descended. My ears used to pop every time a transport sank. Now I just felt a funny sinking sensation in my stomach. Hedaira don’t usually throw up unless poisoned—I knew that much—but I was feeling pretty sick. It was anybody’s guess whether that was from the hover or from recent events.

  Japhrimel still wasn’t done. “Be careful what you make of me.”

  As if I was somehow responsible for him treating me like this. As if it was my fault. Just because he was stronger than me didn’t give him the right to do that to me, did it? I set my jaw, looked down at my sword. The thought—did Jado give me a blade that could kill the Devil? — circled through my brain.

  Then, like a gift, an idea began to form.

  Are you crazy? my practical, survival-oriented half screeched. It doesn’t matter if he’s a goddamn demon, he’s still your best chance of staying alive! What happens if you run across another hellhound?

  A deeper voice full of stubborn determination took shape in the middle of my chest, right under the scraped and throbbing spot between my breasts. It doesn’t matter. ’Tis better to die on your feet than live on your knees, Danny. Rigger Hall taught you that. Santino taught you that. Every goddamn thing in your life that tried to break you taught you that. If you don’t fight this, you’re going to lose all the goddamn self-respect you’ve ever earned.

  I looked up at Japhrimel. “You have no right to treat me like an indentured servant,” I said softly, shaking my head. A tendril of ink-black hair fell in my face, I blew it away with a short sharp whistling breath. “Just because I’m human doesn’t give you the right to manipulate me or scare me into doing what you want.”

  I rocked up to my feet and stalked toward the front of the hover, looking down at the control deck. It would have been satisfying to smash it—but instead, I simply stood there with my head down, looking out the window and scanning the dock we were headed for. Japhrimel said nothing. It was gratifying to get the last word, for once.

  Nichtvren, clustered at one end. A couple of werecain hulking behind them. I marked one Master, a large geometrical stain of Power; several Acolytes with their own shields depending on the Master’s like satellites, and a few human thralls. I suppose the thralls didn’t quite qualify as human, but still… it gave me a pause to see them there.

  McKinley glanced at me, his back set against the partition between the cockpit and the rest of the hover. I was close enough to slip a knife into him.

  The temptation was almost overwhelming.

  I said nothing while the hover docked, the AI landing us with a slight thump. I closed my eyes briefly, reaching out—

  — and retreating back behind my own demon-strong shields. The air outside was alive with creeping Power, like the House of Pain back in Saint City. No wonder they didn’t let humans in; this many paranormal species in a city that had been soaked with pain and suffering made for a charged psychic atmosphere.

  Charged like a reaction fire. I winced, wishing I could stop thinking about reactive.

  Okay, Dante. Imagine you’re held by enemies and in DMZ Sarajevo. Keep on your toes, stay loose, and look out for opportunity. He can’t pay attention to you every single moment of the goddamn day.

  At least, I hoped he couldn’t. All it would take was a momentary lapse of attention and I’d have a chance to at least make Japh work for it, if not escape outright.

  The good news was, if I could by some miracle get away from Japhrimel, I might be able to find someplace to hide and try to come up with a half-assed plan that would leave me alive.

  The bad news was, if I ran across another demon, or even another hellhound, I might end up dead anyway.

  It was looking more and more likely all the time.

  Chapter 33

  The Nichtvren Master was none other than Leonidas himself, a spare, slim, blandly beautiful man only a little taller than me, with oily black hair elegantly corkscrewed and hanging down his back. He is the only person I’ve ever seen wear a microfiber toga with a broad purple stripe and sandals strapped to bare caramel-colored feet. One of his Acolytes held a parasol overhead. I was too busy checking out the lay of the land, so to speak, and so I missed most of the elegant bow he swept to Japhrimel.

  His greeting, however, smacked me into full attention.

  “Well. If it is not the Eldest Son and his beloved. Welcome to my humble city.” He spoke, of all things, passable Merican—probably more because it was the language of trade than in deference to my limited linguistic capabilities. His voice was soft, smoothly accented, and carried enough Power to set off a plasgun charge. He wasn’t as eerily, creepily Powerful as Nikolai, the Prime of Saint City.

  But he was close.

  Very close. Which was surprising, since by my guess, Leonidas was the older Nichtvren. Age usually, but not always, means power among them.

  If I’d still been completely human, I would have been frantically searching for a wall to put my back to. As it was, I didn’t reach for my swordhilt only because Japhrimel’s left hand circled my right wrist, a casual movement as effective as a spun-steel manacle. My rings rang with light, though they didn’t spark. I kept myself as tightly reined as a collared telepath, almost shaking with the urge to draw my sword.

  Japhrimel nodded. The Nichtvren’s Power was a candle flame next to the reactive glow of his, but I still felt more uneasy about the bloodsucker than I did about the demon.

  Go figure. Though Japh was rapidly catching up, wasn’t he? The raw spot on my chest twinged, the pain fading. I wanted to rub at it again, quelled the urge.

  “My thanks for your kind welcome. I am here to hunt, young one, and I am not in a mood for trifles.” Japhrimel sounded bored, but McKinley grinned on my other side, a twitchy dangerous grin. I was the shortest person on the dock. One of the Acolytes, a massive blond man, showed his fangs when he caught me looking at him. Blue lines swirled over his face, tattoos from before he was Changed. Nichtvren skin doesn’t scar.

  At least, I don’t think it does, not from what I could remember in my Paranormal Anatomy courses at the Academy. The blond wore what looked like moth-eaten wolf skins slung together in a kind of tunic. His eyes were dead pools, tarns that could suck a whole struggling human in to drown in their depths. The Power here smelled deliciously, mustily wicked, of Nichtvren with a sharp, nose-cleaning tang of werecain that faded in and out—reflecting the peculiar qualities of ’cain pheromones in most species’ nasal receptors. Over that was the flat copper scent of blood dried in fur, an alien smell that made every human instinct in me scream like an unregistered hooker caught holding out on her pimp. This was Power that could eat a psion alive.

  But I was no longer fully human, and instead of eating me, the Power-well tickled deeper recesses in my psyche, bathed me in a chill bloody weight of seductive whispering. Get a hold on yourself, Danny. I gave myself a sharp mental slap, scanned the dock again. I couldn’t afford to sink into the atmosphere. The channels responsible for circulating Power through my body tingled, fluxing; it took me a little longer to adapt to the sheer amount of energy in the air. I shivered, and Japhrimel’s thumb caressed the underside of my wrist again. It was probably meant to be comforting.

  Watch. Wait. Sooner or later, Japh or McKinley would slip or be distracted. I’d given my word, true—but I’d given it under duress, I hadn’t promised to stay nailed to Japhrimel, and after what he’d done I was sure it didn’t count anyway.

  Are you really sure? Unease rippled up my back. It’s your word, Danny. Your Word. Anyone who uses magick can’t afford to break their word. Your magickal will depends on your word being truth.

  But I only promised to cooperate. I didn’t promise to stay with him. I can cooperate from a distance just fine.

  I suppose dealing with demons rubs off on you after a while. I would never have dreamed of wriggling out of my word before.

  It was also stupid. How long would I last on my own?r />
  “Very well. But I have a message to give you, Eldest.” Leonidas’s heavy-lidded eyes closed like a lizard’s, opened again. “There is one who wishes audience with your pretty companion. A demon with a green gem to match hers.”

  That could only mean one thing. Lucifer wants to see me? Again? The pit of my stomach was suddenly full of cold metal snakes, my heart thudding dimly in my chest.

  Japhrimel was utterly still for a full five seconds, enough time for me to nervously check the entire dock again. I was fairly sure I could take the Nichtvren and I’d killed werecain before, but McKinley was a question mark. I didn’t even know what he was. He wasn’t demon, but he wasn’t human either.

  And Japhrimel? I had no chance. So I had to find something to distract him, to throw him off-balance. But what if—

  What-ifs won’t keep you alive, woman. Focus! It was a familiar male voice, laden with impatience, Jace’s tone when he felt I wasn’t paying proper attention during a sparring match. I was getting used to hearing Jace’s voice in my head telling me to stay cool. Or maybe I was just talking to myself and using his voice. It’s an occupational hazard for psions, the voices in our heads sometimes change into the people that matter most to us—or frighten us.

  “When and where?” Japhrimel finally asked.

  “The Haunt Tais-toi. Neutral ground. Tomorrow night, midnight. Alone.” Leonidas grinned, exposing his fangs, Japhrimel’s fingers didn’t tense on my wrist but the mark on my shoulder went live again, a honeyed string of heat pressed into my flesh. “I will vouch for her safety, Eldest. There have been assurances given.”

  “By whom?”

  That made the Nichtvren shake his blond head, clucking his tongue. “Now, can I tell you? I suspect your business lies with another demon, though.”

  “Perhaps. I am here on another errand. I wish to speak to the Anhelikos.” Concrete groaned slightly, taking the weight of Japhrimel’s voice. Most of the Acolytes stepped back, and the Master paled under the even caramel of his skin.

  Anhelikos? What the hell is that?

  Leonidas spread his expressive, slender hands. I wasn’t fooled. Nichtvren have amazing strength, the older ones can shatter concrete with a negligent blow from a frail-looking hand. No wonder they’re pretty much the top of the heap when it comes to paranormals. “I am neutral.” But there was a definite glint in his black eyes. “Try not to destroy too much of my city, eh? I have been a good friend to you.”

  “Of course you have.” Japhrimel nodded. “Very well. My thanks, Leonidas.”

  The Nichtvren seemed to find that funny. “He thanks me! Very generous. Well, dawn is coming. You will excuse us, I hope?”

  I searched for something to say, found exactly nothing. Japhrimel stood still and silent as the Nichtvren faded into the darkness; the werecain loped away and vanished down a concourse that probably led to a hovertrain system to take visitors into the city. I glanced back over my shoulder—yes, dawn. A little more pronounced than before, a definite graying in the east.

  We were soon alone on the hoverdock, cold air soughing gently through the cavernous half-shell structure.

  “Well,” Japhrimel said. “What do you make of that?”

  “Don’t send her alone,” McKinley replied immediately, as if he’d been dying to say it. “It’s a trap.”

  “What kind of trap? That is the question.” Another shade of grim amusement to Japh’s tone. He’d never spoken to me like that.

  I was beginning to get that there was a history between these two—and another history between Japh and Leonidas. Curiosity pricked me, but I bit the inside of my cheek and studied the dock one more time, what I could see of the concourse and the half-shell roof supported with huge plasteel struts.

  McKinley was no longer grinning. “A green-gemmed demon. Either the Prince or an Androgyne, which is the same thing. Here in the same city as the Anhelikos Kos Rafelos. I don’t like it.”

  The whoosis whatsis? I wondered pointlessly if the Hellesvront agent knew anything about hedaira, and how I could trick him into telling me if Japhrimel left us alone. Unfortunately, if Japh left me alone with him I might be tied up or worse, unable to make an escape attempt.

  “It is not technically a summons.” Japhrimel looked down at me. “What do you think, Dante?”

  I swallowed bitterness, hearing him say my name so calmly. What the hell is an Anhelikos? Do I want to know? “I’m not here to think,” I said flatly. “Only to cooperate.”

  McKinley stared at me, his dark eyes wide. “My lord—”

  “Quiet.” Japhrimel’s voice made the entire dock groan softly. I set my jaw and stared at my boot-toes. “We shall seek the Anhelikos, then shelter.”

  McKinley nodded. He shut up too, which was a pity. I would have liked to hear what he had to say about me.

  Just wait, Danny girl, Jace’s voice murmured inside my head. I moved forward obediently enough when Japhrimel did, mulling over this new turn of events. So Lucifer wanted to see me again. I was getting mighty popular with the denizens of Hell nowadays.

  And what was the Anhelikos? Looked like I was about to find out.

  I put my head down so that my hair fell forward, hiding my face. My lips moved silently, shaping a prayer to Anubis. It was habit, when I found myself in a hopeless situation, to pray. Even a combat-trained part-demon Necromance is human enough for that.

  Sarajevo is dark, its cracked streets faced with old sloping, crumbling buildings that look deserted except for the curious lack of broken windows and graffiti. The wind is drenched with the stinging, fading-and-returning reek of werecain, as well as the dry feathery smell of swanhild and the musty delicious perfume of Nichtvren, dyeing the air in ripples. The darkness itself seems alive.

  Not to mention hungry.

  McKinley followed as Japh made turns seemingly at random, my footsteps echoing in the eerie silence between a demon and a Hellesvront agent. I walked, my right wrist still caught in Japhrimel’s gentle but inexorable grasp, stealing little glances now and again to fix the city in my Magi-trained memory. The darkness here was deeper than in human cities, where orange light from hoverwash and freeplas reaches up into the sky; the streetlamps here were mostly dark though not broken. It looked like paranormals don’t go in for breaking plasglass the way humans do.

  The Power in the air stroked my shields, teased at me even through the heavy weight of Japhrimel’s aura over mine. It was the end of that long dark time of early morning that is late afternoon for psions, when the normals have gone to bed and the streets unroll like ribbons alive with secrets, the time when old people in hospitals die smoothly and silently. Here in Sarajevo the air moved soundlessly, crackling with force and full of the peculiar music of a thriving city, strangely hushed but still audible. I heard a few hovers, faraway sirens, and the indefinable sound of conscious beings moving around. The faint grayness of dawn was growing stronger, but sunrise was still a way off.

  Japhrimel finally stopped on a corner, looking down one more featureless Sarajevo street. I could smell the river when the explosive furry reek of werecain vanished from my overloaded nasal receptors. I could also smell a faint, delicious smell I had to think about before I could identify—bread baking, with a drier tang. Like feathers.

  “We are visiting a… being.” Japhrimel’s voice took me by surprise. His fingers were gentle around my wrist, but I didn’t bother to try to pull free. “McKinley will wait outside for us. You will not be in any danger.”

  Well, isn’t that comforting. I stared at the pavement, letting the spiderweb cracks blur as my eyes unfocused. Would you tell me if I was?

  That was unfair, but I wasn’t feeling too fucking charitable right at the moment. I settled for holding my tongue, taking refuge in childish silence. I wondered who or what he was visiting. It could be anything from a gaki to a kobolding, I’d already seen werecain and Nichtvren. I wondered where a demon would go for information, and what Japhrimel was likely to be asking, and who he was likely to be as
king it of.

  Wild werecain wouldn’t have dragged the questions out of me.

  He didn’t add anything to that, just led me across the street. My bootheels clicked against the pavement, I could hear McKinley now, soft footsteps echoing mine eerily. I got the idea he was doing it deliberately, whether as a comment or a joke I didn’t want to guess.

  I looked up when Japhrimel paused. There was a high wall, older stones set in smooth concrete and humming with Power. The smell of werecain returned, stinging my nose. The shielding over the wall was something I’d never seen before, a violet haze that looked strangely diaphanous but still sparked and hummed as Japh drew near. There was a small, narrow wooden gate vibrating slightly, moving back and forth like the oscillation of a heartbeat. I couldn’t see what was behind the gate, and the hazy shielding was enough to make me hinky. I had never seen this type of defense before. Unknown was synonymous with possibly dangerous when it came to magick, especially shielding. I stiffened, and Japh actually stopped.

  “There is no danger,” he said, as if I was a primary-school kid scared of the dark. I didn’t bother replying, just took a step forward, tugging against his hand.

  Now I had to act like I wasn’t frightened.

  McKinley stepped to the side, leaned against the wall, and folded his arms. The metallic glow over his left hand sparked with a flush of pale purple light that deepened to an indigo glow as he seemed to sink into the smooth surface, his eyes turning even darker. My jaw threatened to drop as he almost vanished, not only to my physical but also to my psychic senses. Japhrimel set off again, I stared at where McKinley had literally blended with the wall. How did he do that? What the hell is he?

  Japh tented his fingers against the gate and pushed it open. I hung back as far as I could, then passed through the hazy shield. It slid over the edge of Japhrimel’s aura, sparkling gold as it interacted with the scorching mark of a demon in the landscape of Power. My rings swirled uneasily, my sword rattling inside its sheath. I inhaled, found myself still alive and under the cloak of Japh’s aura. Cautiously decided maybe I was all right.