The Necromancer's Betrayal

by Mimi Sebastian

  “You’re going to have a hell of a time explaining this to a contractor,” I said to Jax who was also squatting next to me.

  “Where the hell is Damon?” he said through clenched teeth.

  With the extra space the creatures had bashed out of the walls and ceiling, Thaai managed to slash the troll’s face with its scaly wing. The troll howled. The air vibrated seconds before demon warrior and expert teleporter, Damon, popped in behind the beast’s head and sliced it off with an axe. Vyx, a gelatinous totoro-like demon creature and Damon’s sidekick, showed up a split second later, chattering and pulsing in excitement at the carnage, waddling away seconds before the jaezai’s headless body crashed on the spot it’d just vacated. Vyx held a strange and perplexing attachment with Damon. If I could decipher the nature of their connection, I suspect I’d unlock the key to Damon himself.

  Damon looked mighty Thor-ish, standing over the opponent he’d conquered, his axe clenched in his right hand. He really needed Mjölnir, the famed hammer of the Norse god. Vyx hopped around Thaai, who attempted to swat the little blob away with his wing, but Vyx demonstrated an extraordinary amount of agility for a plump ball of demon blubber. Damon turned to face the sputtering portal, then returned his gaze to Jax and me, obviously wondering the same thing we were. Where the hell were Ewan and Malthus?

  I expected them to stride through the portal, Ewan sweaty and bloody, muscles heaving, but nothing. My breath caught in my chest. Nothing. “Why haven’t they shown up?” I asked, my body itching with impatience.

  Jax’s faced was fixed into stun mode, as if he’d been Tasered. I grabbed his shirt. “Come on, let’s go through.”

  He pulled my hand away while shaking his head back and forth.

  “Jax!” I shook his arm.

  “You don’t understand,” he said, still shaking his head. I looked to Damon, and his frown set me into panic mode. I stepped over chunks of ceiling toward the gaping portal. Thaai stretched a wing, blocking my way. Damon approached, peered down at me over Thaai’s wing, his frown deepening. “The portal is damaged. We can’t get through.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  I FACED DAMON. “What do you mean, damaged?” I asked, my voice rising to DEFCON levels of shrillness.

  He sighed impatiently. “Didn’t you see it sputtering, popping open and closed? You step through that and you’re road kill.”

  “But how?”

  He glared at me. “We are wasting time.”

  Jax slid up next to me with Gus lurking behind him. “We don’t really know how the portal got damaged, Ruby. Malthus can probably explain it. He’s the portal guru. Somehow, when the jaezai came through, well, those types of creatures aren’t meant to travel through the portal. It might still be possible to enter the demon realm, but through a back door of sorts.”

  That led to an argument over who would travel to the demon realm to find Ewan and Malthus. I insisted on going while Damon argued vehemently that he had to go alone. Fortunately, Jax and Gus agreed I should go, and my position as Malthus’s granddaughter helped, a little. I would have cajoled, threatened all three of them if I’d had to, in my worry over Ewan, and to a certain extent, Malthus.

  If our situation hadn’t been ridiculous enough, Jax said the back door portal was not permanent and fluctuated, based on how the parallel realms flexed.

  “Similar to what your Einstein theorized about matter and time,” Gus said.

  “Okay, but what does this mean?” I asked, exasperated.

  “It means if we don’t time things precisely, the veil separating the realms will crush us,” Jax answered. “But it’s our only option.”

  My stomach lurched while listening to him. Two things I hated about the portal: the fucking physics lessons and the constant threat of horrible death. Traversing a front door was bad enough, but a dubious back door? I imagined some old, creaky thing falling off its hinges.

  “So where is the back door now?” I asked.

  “The Paris Catacombs,” Damon said.

  DAMON TRANSPORTED us directly into the catacombs in one nauseous teleportation swoop, diffusing the wet, earthy scent of the underground chamber with a metallic aftertaste. While we navigated the maze of tunnels, I studied the bones and skulls tightly imbedded in the stone walls. We turned down the next passage, and I gasped at a stone pillar topped by a demonic head bearing horns, resembling a mountain bighorn sheep. “Is this someone from your realm?” I asked.

  Damon shrugged, unimpressed, and urged me down another passageway. He kept a careful eye trained on me, and I wanted to scowl at him, but couldn’t tear my gaze from the bones and bodies. If he could sense how my power thrummed inside me, like fat bass guitar strings vibrating in my bones, I was sure he’d bind me and carry me in a sack over his shoulder. I reached out to touch a skull, no longer able to resist, and he caught my hand. “We don’t need a horde of zombie skeletons to fight off right now.”

  “Just because I touch something, that doesn’t mean it’s going to spring to life. Have a little faith.”

  “I don’t,” he said crisply.

  I glared at his back. Damon appeared to disapprove of my association with Ewan, but since we no longer had an association, he should be happy. He halted next to a skeleton clothed in a rotted burlap robe. He placed his hand on the skull’s forehead, and I half expected the bones to jump out at us or crumble to dust. But nothing happened, and I worried we’d missed our brief doorway of flexing time and space. Then I noticed small tendrils of black mist, crawling over the stone walls, over the skulls, and coalescing into a swirl in front of Damon. I shivered, remembering the black morass that had almost smothered me and Kara on the last trip.

  Damon waved his hand behind him, and I clenched it and prepared for the worst, perhaps an alien xenomorph ambush or mutant purple Barney. But our journey through the passage was uneventful, and I had to admit, that made me even more nervous.

  We emerged in the empty demon council chamber. Damon ushered me behind some pillars and down a side corridor that ended at a closed door. We passed another set of bald, tattooed guards, and, to my astonishment, they tilted their heads respectfully at Damon, but he paid them little mind. He knocked, and the door swung open to a room resembling a corporate conference room. Human trappings were not lost on the demons after all. A large window provided a view of the archaic demon plaza, an anachronistic juxtaposition to the modern office.

  And seated around a glass table with Ivo, enjoying a glass of some demon concoction, seemingly unconcerned about large trolls trouncing the portals, were Ewan and Malthus. A burr of irritation grated my gut. What the hell?

  None of them looked bloody or sweaty or showed any sign that they’d battled monsters. Except for a tear in his jeans, Ewan appeared undaunted in an elegant, embroidered black tunic that merged human and demon style in an irresistible blend. Ivo and Malthus wore business suits.

  Damon exited the room, and Ivo motioned for me to take an empty seat around the table. Ewan pinned his stare at my neck where Lysander had fed, until I almost sensed his annoyance sear open the healed flesh. I sat next to Malthus, effectively blocking out any more Ewan stares, but leaving me fully exposed to Ivo’s study of my arm where my long sleeves covered the expanded chagur.

  “Tell me about what happened with the vampire’s death,” Ivo said.

  “Shouldn’t we discuss what just happened first? You know, troll from demon hell attacks and destroys the portal?”

  “We are investigating the incident,” Ivo responded, seemingly unconcerned and more intent on my so-called trespasses than possible demon-human-portal Armageddon.

  “Fine. A bokor attacked Dominic, and I sucked up some voodoo soul, resulting in this lovely tattoo.” I gritted my teeth. “Maybe instead of worrying about me and my power, you should focus on dealing with these events that, I can assure you, have to do with an
other demon, one who you are convinced doesn’t exist.”

  “How did you extract the soul from the dog?” Ivo asked, unperturbed by my demand.

  “I don’t know.” And even if I did, at this point, I didn’t care to tell him. Fuck Ivo. I had no idea how I’d absorbed the soul. My demon side had driven that impulse, without doubt. The chagur had actually guided me. I don’t know if Ivo had designed it to purposely lead me to my doom, or if it had somehow developed a symbiotic connection to my necromancer power.

  “You think I’m doing this, that I killed Dominic? The bokor exists. He attacked me and the vampire, Lysander,” I said.

  “The vampire whose blood you drink because you turned Dominic’s lieutenant into a zombie?” Ivo asked, smug accusation coating his tone.

  “Yes. That’s it exactly. And now I’m on a crazy necromancer rampage and killed Dominic. Because that’s what you’re accusing me of, right?”

  “I don’t have to.” He lifted one long, bluish finger and pointed it at my arm. “The chagur has already decided your guilt and will deliver the final sentence.”

  HOT TEARS STUNG my eyes. I stood outside the council chambers, waiting for Malthus and Ivo to finish their conversation. I felt Ewan approach behind me, stopping at my side.

  “I’d like to be alone right now,” I said.

  He let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m sorry. Ivo’s an asshole, and what he did, what he’s doing, is wrong. I wish I could do something to change things, but I’m just as constrained.”

  Ewan often bore the brunt of my anger toward the demons. Sometimes I thought he willingly served himself on the platter, and I tried hard not to poke at him, but it was difficult separating him from the transgressions of his race. I turned and dragged my gaze to his. “What happened? The jaezai played demolition derby in the basement, and you guys didn’t come back. Then we find you down here, all cozy, not too worse for wear.”

  “I fought off another jaezai on this side. By the time I’d killed him, the portal was too damaged to cross over. Malthus explained the only other way was through the temporary portal. I was about to go when he told us you and Damon were on your way.”

  Before I could respond, Malthus’s footsteps pounded toward us. “Ewan, take Ruby back to the human realm, quickly,” he said. “I’ll join you later.”

  I avoided facing him. I didn’t know what he and Ivo had discussed. I’d confront him when I was better prepared to hear his explanations, but right now, I’d reached my limit of demon disclosures.

  “I’ll explain everything. I promise. But you must leave now. I’m going to work on stabilizing the portal, but the longer you stay, the less chance you have of making it back,” he said, more insistent.

  He gave me an indecipherable parting glance before returning to the chamber. Ewan clutched my arm and steered me over to Damon, who sat, slumped on a stone bench that barely contained his hulking frame, tapping his axe on the floor. He stood when Ewan approached, and the two clasped hands. Ewan thanked him in demon. I had no idea for what, but he slid a glance at me while speaking. I was learning rudimentary demon words and phrases—enough to say “hi” and “where’s the toilet”, in any case. When the two finished conversing, Ewan turned to me. “Let’s go.”

  I touched his arm, and he raised his eyebrow. “Wait. I want to visit the Chronicles.”

  He gave an impatient sigh. “Why?”

  “I saw a painting when I came in with Gus, a record of a woman.” I cast my eyes at the wall behind him. He’d been pretty pissed over that trip, after he learned I’d investigated his background. A frown marred his features when I looked at him again. He hadn’t forgotten. “Please. I have one of those gut feelings. Tivor called her a soul collector. Maybe it’ll help me, especially with Ivo.”

  His expression softened. “Only if you’ll accept my role in your life, let me help you when the need arises? Stop running into cemeteries alone.”

  Or call Lysander for help? “I’m including you now,” I quipped.

  “Only because you have to.”

  I sighed. In trying to mute my feelings for him, I’d also denied his basic instinct to protect me. “I know we’ve said and done things to hurt each other, but you are an important part of my life, one I’m still trying to figure out. I’ll try not to push you away anymore. Will that work?”

  He nodded, swept a finger over my cheek, while giving me a small, worried smile. I treasured these rare, bittersweet moments when we let our guards down. Even now, he jerked his hand back, as if remembering we couldn’t follow through with the kiss I saw coming, and ushered me down the hall. Damon picked up his axe and followed.

  “We need to visit the Chronicles,” Ewan said to Damon over his shoulder.

  Damon stopped. “I let you have your little chat, and now you find it necessary to delay our departure more?” Damon looked at me while asking the question, wanting to make me squirm. “We don’t have time for this.” He brushed past me.

  “Draemavos, wait,” Ewan said in a deep tone that echoed down the immense hall.

  Damon pivoted slowly, brow arched, muscles tensed. Ewan inhaled, preparing for Damon’s displeasure, which warrior demons tended to emote with their musculature. And since they had lots of muscles, it could be an intimidating display. Damon was one of Ewan’s surviving warrior comrades. They’d forged an unwavering loyalty on the battlefield, and that was the only reason Damon tolerated me. But watching him with the axe, I didn’t know how much more mileage I could squeeze from their relationship.

  “Damon, please,” I asked.

  While Damon glared and contemplated his next move, Vyx popped in, his eyes intent on the two demon warriors. He emitted a gurgle of displeasure and bared his tiny spiked teeth at Ewan. Vyx couldn’t stand Ewan, and Ewan returned the sentiment. I rummaged in my pocket for something to offer it. I’d once ingratiated myself to Vyx with gum. Ha. I felt a coin. I held out the shiny nickel, and he widened his eyes and snatched it from my fingers. You never knew what a demon would fancy.

  Vyx chattered to Damon, and to my complete shock, Damon relented. His pointed the axe at me. “One hour.”

  THE CHRONICLER, Tivor, met us at the arched entry to the demon hall of records. The dispassionate attitude he’d had before had been replaced by a slight agitation, visible in the way he alternated between gripping his robe and thrumming his fingers together.

  “Tivor, thank you for meeting us,” Ewan said, giving his shoulder a brief squeeze which elicited a shadow of a smile from the stoic Chronicler. When Tivor had provided a loophole for me to see into Ewan’s past, I’d suspected he bore some sympathy for Ewan’s plight. Now, seeing them interact confirmed my conjecture.

  Tivor led us to a small alcove. “The record you seek was removed.”

  “Removed?” I said in shock. “How?”

  Tivor met Ewan’s eyes. “We cannot talk here.”

  We followed him to a turret, housing stairs that screwed into the depths of the library, down a corridor that opened to an underground tunnel carved out of the rock foundation. The white rock walls glowed with a natural fluorescence that lit our path until we turned down another, darker passage that eventually opened to a crowded underground bazaar. Demons of all colors and sizes crowded the intersection, bartering wares out of booths, intent on their own business with the occasional shifty glance to indicate they noted our presence. We definitely stood out, but no one paid us any mind, not wanting to attract attention to their own dealings.

  This must be a demon black market of sorts, and I was oh-so-curious as to what the hell a demon dealt on the sly. I peeked over the shoulder of a very short, rotund demon, to catch a glimpse of what he was vociferously trading when Ewan tugged me back to his side. He gave me a warning glance and maintained a tight grip on my shoulder as we weaved through the crowd. Vyx bounced off to poke through a booth sparkling with
what looked like precious stones. When we caught up to Vyx at the stall, the little creature held out a stick with a purple amethyst-like rock on top and pointed at my mouth, his blubber rippling with excitement.

  Ewan smiled. “I think he’s been bursting to share one of his favorite treats since you gave him the Big Red. Go on, it’s like a lollipop.” Oh my God. I gaped at the gleaming display that turned out to be a candy stall.

  I took the demon pop and licked the crystal texture, finding my taste buds cheering at a flavor that resembled spicy chocolate. “This is delicious.” I smiled down at the little creature. “Thank you,” I told him in broken demon.

  Ewan laughed, and Vyx emitted a tiny squeal at the same time grabbing a handful of creosote-colored stones and shoving them in his mouth. The vendor sputtered a litany of demon curses, some of which I understood, giving credence to the precept that curses are the first words learned in any language. Damon glowered at Vyx, but handed over a few coins to the vendor. Vyx judiciously bounded away, as he often did, and disappeared.

  I took one more lick of my crystal pop, giving Damon a look of sugar-coated defiance, and Ewan laughed and pushed me forward. Tivor turned down a less crowded, narrower passage, and if I’d hadn’t known better, I’d have said we’d entered a red light district of sorts, with demons stumbling about as if drunk. I raised an eyebrow at Ewan, and he just smiled and waved me onward. Tivor ducked into an opening in the rock. Damon had to bend almost ninety degrees to clear the entrance to what could only be a bar packed into a small cave, as dark and musty as an aged British pub. Stone benches lined the walls circling a stone pillar in the center out of which an enormous, multi-eyed, octopus-like creature served up drinks with his tentacles. I clasped Ewan’s arm. “Why is Cthulhu the bartender?”

  He laughed. “Ah, Cthulhu, as you call him, won’t hurt you,” he reassured me, but I wasn’t—reassured. “I guess he does look pretty Lovecraft-inspired, but don’t tell him that. I think he much prefers Poe. Damn good bartender though.”