The Trouble with Demons

by Shearin, Lisa

  Vegard saw my grimace. “Brimstone.”

  “What?” I tried unsuccessfully to talk and breathe through my mouth at the same time. Must have been a gift I didn’t have.

  “The smell,” he clarified.

  “So that’s what Hell smells like.”

  “I assume so; never been there myself.”

  “Not many have,” came a woman’s voice from behind us.

  “Afternoon, Sir Vegard.”

  The big Guardian turned and smiled. “Professor Niabi, good to see you.”

  “Considering how today’s gone so far, it’s good to be seen.”

  The woman was human, about my height, with nut brown skin, and black hair pulled back into a serviceable braid.

  “So Hell’s not a top-ten vacation spot?” I quipped.

  Her teeth flashed in a good-humored grin. “The beaches suck.” She put out her hand. “Sora Niabi, professor of demonology.”

  I hesitated only a moment before taking it. Her hand was warm and callused. Sora Niabi had done more work than just turning pages. I might have to adjust my opinion about academic types.

  “I’m Raine Benares, seeker and . . .” I looked up at Vegard.

  “What else are people calling me now?”

  The big Guardian chuckled and shook his head. “A lot of things, ma’am. Some you’ve heard, most you haven’t, but I’m sure you could guess.”

  “No titles necessary,” Sora Niabi said with a grin. “I know who you are.”

  She knew, and she wasn’t afraid of me. She also didn’t want my power or want me locked up. I could sense it, and my instincts about people had never been wrong. Well, at least not yet.

  “After this morning, Professor Niabi’s also the new department chair,” Vegard informed me.

  Sora Niabi blew her breath out in disgust. “Looks that way. Though if Laurian Berel hadn’t been such an idiot, I wouldn’t be.” Her robes were a riot of bright colors. They were also slashed up the side, exposing practical trousers underneath, and good, sturdy boots.

  She noticed me noticing. “When you study demons for a living, Miss Benares, it’s healthy to be able to haul ass when you have to.”

  That did it; I liked her.

  “Call me Raine.”

  “Only if you’ll drop the ‘professor’ and call me Sora.”

  “Done.”

  Mychael joined us. “Professor Niabi, thank you for coming on such short notice.”

  “Not a problem, Paladin Eiliesor. The coroner needed me to officially identify Professor Berel, so I had to be here anyway.”

  “He was a talented mage.”

  “Laurian was a better fool, and you know it as well as I do. You should have been a diplomat, Paladin. You actually managed to say that with a straight face. I was hardly surprised to hear he’d gotten himself killed; I’ve been expecting that news for years. In our line of work, talent can get you into trouble, but arrogance will get you killed and eaten—and not always in that order.”

  I nodded toward the warded cell. “Those four and their buddies were after something and they thought Professor Berel had it. He said he didn’t. Any idea what it was?”

  “Not a clue. Laurian kept a lot of bizarre artifacts around.

  We all do. Certain objects have power against demons. Everybody in the department has their own collection and their own favorites. It’s safer to have your own when you need it. Chances are if you need it, you don’t have the time to go borrowing.”

  Mychael lowered his voice. “He was killed by a Volghul.”

  Sora’s only reaction was a raised eyebrow. “Nothing he had would have saved him from that. Apparently when the demons didn’t get what they wanted from Laurian, they went to his town house. The place has been demolished from the inside out, like somebody got really frustrated.”

  “Frustrated demonic searchers?” I asked.

  “The brimstone smell gave it away.” Sora squinted through the thickly warded cell. “Is that a wine bottle?”

  “The Volghul is in there,” Mychael told her.

  Sora whistled. “In a wine bottle? Damn. Who stuffed it in there?”

  I half raised my hand. “That would be me.”

  “You?”

  “Me. With a little help.”

  “That’s some help.”

  I tried not to wince. “Yes, it was.”

  “Good work.”

  “Thanks.”

  Mychael nodded toward the demons’ cell. “Do you have everything we need to question those?”

  Sora gave the knapsack slung over one shoulder a shake. I heard something metal clank heavily inside. “Never leave home without it.”

  “And traps for transporting them out of here?”

  “Got my two best grad students checking out a pair from the lab. They’ll be here any time now.”

  “Good. Let’s get started.”

  The demon’s enraged screams had subsided to low growls.

  Sora Niabi had wrangled it out of that cell and into a binding circle in an interrogation room. There was a ring of silver about three feet wide permanently embedded in the stone floor. Sora had added a thick silver chain on top of that. Both inside and outside the circle, she’d carefully placed objects I couldn’t identify, and judging from how the demon had reacted when Sora forced him inside, he knew perfectly well what they were, and he didn’t want to be anywhere near them. The professor knew her business. Good. Any interrogation room I’d ever seen was just a table, two chairs, no windows, and a barred iron door, with the obligatory big, burly, and heavily armed guard standing right outside.

  Of course they did things differently on Mid.

  There were still big and burly types outside the door, but that was where the similarities ended. Sure, these boys could stop an escapee with a fist or steel; they could also spit a spell that’d tack a miscreant to the nearest wall like a bug. The door and all four walls were kept warded. Nothing was leaving that room unless it was let go. Mychael and Sora had no intention of releasing that demon. Her grad students were stationed on either side of the door—on the inside. I didn’t know if Sora had asked them to stand by the door in case they needed to make a quick getaway, or if they were there to make sure the demon didn’t do the same. They honestly didn’t look old enough to fight acne, let alone a demon, but I guess when it came to battling demonic forces, brawn didn’t matter. Brains did—that and nerves of steel. From what I’d seen so far, Sora Niabi had both in spades. Before they’d gone in and locked the door behind them, those two kids had looked like they were still in training.

  Phaelan and I waited outside the door, about ten feet away and slightly off to one side, should that door suddenly decide to blow off its hinges. I’d seen it happen before. Better safe than squashed.

  Phaelan leaned close to my ear. “Why are we still here?”

  He was talking through clenched teeth again, a sure sign my cousin wasn’t happy in his present surroundings. I guess I really couldn’t blame him; a couple of the watchers were glancing at Phaelan’s wanted poster and then back at Phaelan. Sure, Mychael had given my cousin immunity from prosecution for any past legal indiscretions while on the Isle of Mid, but Mychael was questioning a demon right now. He wasn’t here. It was just me and Phaelan and a roomful of increasingly alert watchers.

  Phaelan cleared his throat impatiently. I hadn’t answered his question yet.

  “I could see those demons, but no one else could,” I told him, keeping my voice to a bare whisper. “A man is dead, and his killer said that he was honored by my presence and wanted me to go home with him. I want to know why.”

  “Hmmm, let’s see . . . That makes you a possible demon ally and accessory to murder. So you thought you’d stand in the middle of city watch headquarters.”

  I hadn’t thought of it that way. “It doesn’t sound too bright, does it?”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “Well, Sedge may not be through questioning us yet.”

  “Did he s
ay he wasn’t?”

  “No.”

  “Then he’s probably finished. I’ve talked to him. You’ve talked to him. The kids have talked to him. Vegard’s talked to him. I’d call that finished.”

  “And if he’s not?”

  “It’s easier to ask for forgiveness from a ship, than permission from a jail cell.”

  I couldn’t argue with that logic.

  The front doors opened and in strode the man Mychael had been expecting.

  Oh crap in a bucket. I did not need this.

  Carnades Silvanus wasn’t the type to drop by watcher headquarters for a friendly visit. He had a reason for being here, and that reason was me. And judging from the people who’d come in with him and the fanciness of their robes, it looked like he’d brought along some high-powered—or at least self-important—friends. Fancy robes just meant a mage had money. Fashion had nothing to do with firepower.

  Either way, I wasn’t flattered that they’d all come to see me.

  Carnades Silvanus saw himself as the champion of the elven people. I saw him as an uptight, self-righteous, narrow-minded jerk. Unfortunately, he also had the influence to convince a lot of powerful and dangerous people to see things his way.

  Even before I’d set foot on the island, word had already arrived and spread about my link with the Saghred. Mages liked good gossip the same as everyone else. Some of those mages thought I had too much power. They couldn’t control me. I was a risk. I had to be stopped. Some favored a permanent solution. The squeamish ones wanted something less drastic. I didn’t think the five men and women behind Carnades were the ones with the weak stomachs.

  No doubt Carnades considered himself the pinnacle of elven good breeding. The hair that flowed over his shoulders was the color of winter frost, eyes the pale blue of arctic ice, an alabaster complexion, a cold, sharp beauty. Pure-blooded high elf. His black and silver robes were understated and elegant, and clearly cost a small fortune. His only visible weapon was a curved and ornate silver dagger tucked into a silk sash. I knew better. Carnades Silvanus was a weapon.

  With the archmagus temporarily out of commission, Carnades was in charge and he wasn’t about to let anyone forget it, starting with me—especially after that incident last week in the Conclave’s library. He called it assault; I called it entirely justified self-defense.

  “Ma’am,” came Vegard’s tense warning from beside me.

  “Thank you, Vegard. I see him.”

  “I know you see him. That’s the problem.”

  “I’ll behave if he does.”

  “He won’t.”

  “Then there’s going to be a problem.”

  Vegard came to reluctant attention. He had to. The Guardians’ main duty was the protection of the archmagus and the mages of the Seat of Twelve. That included Carnades Silvanus.

  Carnades crossed the room to me. He was as tall as Mychael, which put the top of my head level with his jaw. The elf mage had always looked down on me—in more ways than one.

  Those arctic eyes gazed over my head and leisurely surveyed the squad room, taking in the accused perpetrators, the cells, and lastly the demons, who interestingly enough were crowded against the front of their cell looking at Carnades like he was some kind of new snack.

  Finally Carnades’s eyes came to rest on me. “Mistress Benares,” he murmured, “how appropriate that I should find you in such surroundings.”

  I didn’t take the bait. He’d have to do way better than that to get a reaction out of me.

  I actually smiled at him. “Magus Silvanus, I don’t believe you’ve met my cousin Captain Phaelan Benares.” My tone was graciousness itself. Since I knew Phaelan was going to get into this, I figured I might as well introduce him to the man he’d probably be trying to stab within the next minute.

  Phaelan stepped forward and smiled, baring all of his teeth. My cousin didn’t offer his hand, and wisely, Carnades kept his to himself.

  Phaelan spoke. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet the man I’ve heard so many things about.” From the feral glint in my cousin’s dark eyes, the pleasure he referred to involved visualizing Carnades with a Benares blade sticking out of his back.

  Carnades glanced over Phaelan’s shoulder at the bulletin board—and the wanted posters. “It is reassuring to see that our city watch’s artist created such an accurate rendering. The resemblance is truly uncanny.”

  I felt Sedge Rinker standing at my right shoulder. “Magus Silvanus, would you like to step into my office? You and your guests would be more comfortable there while you wait to speak to Paladin Eiliesor.”

  “Ah, yes. Where is our good paladin?”

  An enraged demonic roar from the interrogation room answered that question.

  “Questioning one of Professor Berel’s attackers,” Sedge clarified. “He will be finished shortly. If you would like to wait in—”

  “No, I would not like to wait, Chief Rinker. I do not wish to wait in your office, nor will I wait for Paladin Eiliesor.”

  Carnades looked down at me and I met his stare. He’d have to blink first, because I sure as hell wasn’t going to.

  “What I came for is right here,” he said softly. “At least one of them. Where is Piaras Rivalin?” His lip curled back in distaste. “And the other one?”

  I made a show of looking around. “It doesn’t look like they’re here. So you brought your audience all the way down here for little old me. I hope they’re not too disappointed.”

  “Hardly. Since we won’t be leaving empty-handed.” He glanced over at the cell containing the wine bottle and its demonic contents. “Only the blackest of magic could have subdued a Volghul. I knew you were in league with dark forces, but I now have irrefutable proof that Piaras Rivalin has been tainted by your influence.”

  I clenched my hands at my side. It was the only way I’d keep them away from Carnades’s throat. “Maestro Cayle is teaching Piaras to battle ‘dark forces’ as part of his lessons. I can hardly believe you never smacked a demon around for fun in your younger days.”

  “Piaras Rivalin should take care who he accepts assistance from,” Carnades said in the barest whisper. “The half-breed he is associating with is tainted not only by mixed blood but by parentage. Though considering who its father is, it can hardly be blamed.”

  Carnades had sneered the words “its father.” Those two words carried a whole world of insult. I considered punching Carnades’s lights out. But we were in watcher headquarters, not the best place for punching lights or anything else. There were too many empty cells around here. I didn’t want to be in any of them. I was sure I’d get another shot at Carnades. I was just lucky that way.

  I put a hand on Phaelan’s arm. I knew which dagger he was going for. Carnades saw and smiled slowly.

  “By all means, Captain Benares. Give me an excuse to take you as well.”

  I took a step forward, leaving scant inches between the elven mage and me. I had to look up to meet his eyes, but that was fine with me. Carnades could have reached out and touched me. I wanted him to. I also wanted him to remember what I’d done the last time he’d made the mistake of touching and threatening me. I’d do it again, and this time I’d have a squad room full of watchers as witnesses.

  He knew it and kept his hands to himself, but he didn’t back down. I knew he wouldn’t. That was fine with me, too.

  “Paladin Eiliesor is questioning the demons; I merely want to question their accomplice,” Carnades said loudly enough for everyone to hear. “The dark mage who used her Saghred-spawned power to open a Hellgate, releasing her demonic minions to do her dirty work. Though I can’t imagine anything being beneath a Benares.”

  I laughed. I couldn’t help myself. “Minions? I’d ask if you’re serious, but no doubt you believe that you are.”

  Silvanus’s pale eyes glittered. “You are a danger to everyone on this island. I’ve said that you should be locked up—and today I’m here to see it done.” The elven mage smiled. “On the authority o
f the Seat of Twelve, you’re under arrest for practicing black magic and consorting with demons.”

  Carnades’s pronouncement lost some of its effect when a man shouted in fear and surprise from a back room, then swore in utter disgust. It took me a moment to realize the man’s disgust wasn’t a reaction to Carnades’s speech.

  A watcher came through a door in the back of the room dangling something by a bony, yellow foot. It was about a foot long, mostly arms and legs, with a round torso that kind of merged into a head. No neck. It was naked, it was hairless, it was wrinkled, and it had to be the ugliest thing I’d ever seen in my life. And it smelled like—

  “It jumped out of the latrine!” The watcher looked like he was about to be sick.

  Yep, that was the smell.

  “Damn,” breathed Phaelan from beside me.

  I couldn’t have agreed more, especially considering that the thing was still dripping. And it looked just a wee bit larger.

  I looked closer. “Am I imagining things, or . . .”

  The watcher who was dangling the thing by its heel grunted at the abrupt increase in weight. The thing twisted and squirmed, and since it was still wet, the watcher couldn’t hold on, and I didn’t think he wanted to. The yellow beastie hit the floor and scuttled under the nearest desk. Around the room, weapons were drawn, my own included. Phaelan had drawn steel and jumped on a chair. Carnades retreated to where his mage cronies waited.

  “Cowards,” I muttered.

  “Cautious,” Phaelan corrected me. “Do you know how much these clothes cost? No way in hell that thing’s getting near me.”

  Considering where it’d come from, I didn’t exactly want it rubbing against me, either. Some smells just didn’t come out.

  The wood the desk was made of creaked and then groaned. That was not good. Then the desk’s legs rose about eight inches off of the floor, lifted by something underneath. Something yellow, stinky, and growing entirely too fast.