Then everything stopped. No pain, no elasticity of mind and flesh. I saw a double exposed image of myself with one of the images peeling away slowly. I screamed again, but no sound came out of my mouth.
I tried to form a thought, but it proved almost impossible when my mind was splitting in half. Sweat popped and poured down my back and chest.
With the few shards of thought scattered in my head, I tried to recall how I’d absorbed the soul inhabiting the dog at the ball. Could I take Delatte’s soul? I screamed again, reaching, reaching. Fuck. Where was my inner demon? My mind continued to fracture.
My arm burned.
The mark. While it condemned me, it also seemed to help me access my deeper demon powers. I focused my last shreds of conscious thought on the mark, on Naala. The more I concentrated, the more the pain shredded my nerve endings. I felt hot blood leak from my nose.
With a final, agonizing burst of concentration, I managed to glue the shattered pieces of my power together and yank out Delatte’s soul. He howled. The ground trembled, and the shadows screamed in protest.
I stood with one hand against the sticky wall to stabilize my wobbling limbs and breathed deep into my diaphragm. Delatte’s soul had melded all my parts into one serendipitous whole. Demon, necromancer, human. It had shattered the boundaries separating them, and I was no longer sure which one was in control. The shackle around my ankle had fallen off, and I assumed I’d done it, somehow.
I could taste the sweet decay of Delatte’s soul inside me. He’d been right. Maybe I could hold onto it, just a little, to confront Xavier.
Everything around me stood out in stark relief. Ewan had said demons felt things differently than humans. Is this what he’d meant? The grooves in the brick walls, the tiny parasitic creatures swarming over the floor, and, oh my God, the dead souls. I sensed them lingering around their bodies, felt the agony of their deaths. I dropped to my knees and pressed my fingers to my temples. They were screaming inside my head. My arm stung. The chagur lines writhed and burned a path to my clavicle.
“Bring us the souls.” The whispers resumed all around me, inside me, in a symphony of death.
“How?” My voice rasped.
Before they could answer, the door above me crashed open, and the voices scattered, retreating back to the shadows or wherever they’d come from.
I was vaguely aware of someone bending next to me, lifting my chin and staring straight through my haze of agony. Ewan.
“Release Delatte and send these tormented souls to rest,” he said.
I shook my head, unable to speak.
“You can undo the evil he inflicted on these people,” he said quietly while wiping the blood off my upper lip.
“I don’t know how.”
“You can figure it out, just like you released the baka.”
How had I done that? When I reanimated corpses, I poured death energy into the body, but with the dog, I had somehow punctured the energy encapsulating the body, and when it leaked out, I took it.
I directed a beam of power into the dead bodies, piercing the auras floating around them and let their essences float away instead of taking them for myself. Then with one final heave, I spat out Delatte’s soul and heard a final shudder from the shadows. A brief spate of hunger clawed inside me. When it finally subsided, I stood, accepting Ewan’s arm around my waist. He helped me up the stairs and out of an abandoned building in the Tenderloin scheduled for demolition.
“I was looking for you. I went to Xavier’s gallery,” he said after we’d put some distance between us and the building.
I gave him a sharp look. “Was he there?”
“No.”
“We need Malthus. Xavier’s the Big Bad.”
He clenched his jaw, but stayed quiet.
“You don’t look surprised. I guess I’m not, either.”
“There’s a lot of history between Xavier and Malthus that I don’t understand, but no, I’m not surprised. Ultimately, Xavier commands enough power to orchestrate everything that has occurred.”
Had Malthus known about Xavier and didn’t tell me, just like he’d known about Cael and didn’t tell me, because he’d wanted me to exercise my power and embrace the necromancer and fuck knows what else? My demon side? Voodoo? Fucking zombie rats? I’ve embraced just about everything that had come my way since I rejoined the supernatural community, and all the embracing has chafed my sense of supernatural philanthropy.
Ewan cupped my cheek and caressed my chin with his thumb. I smelled bad; my ankle sported a red welt from the chain, but right now personal hygiene didn’t rank high on my stay-alive list. I had to find Malthus before Xavier found me.
“What happened?” he asked softly.
“The bokor kidnapped me and tried to do the soul-sucking ritual.” I shivered slightly, remembering the abhorrent sensations the ritual had caused.
Ewan pressed his lips together which only accentuated the muscles twitching along his jaw. He wanted to say something, but what? “Okay, I’ll hear the rest when you talk to Malthus.”
I sighed heavily. “Is Malthus in the demon realm?”
He nodded, his hand slipping to my arm.
“We have to go there.” I calmed my breath from coming out in anxious spurts. “Is the portal safe?”
“Malthus patched it up. It’s safe enough, for now.”
WHEN WE REACHED the demon lair basement, Ewan placed his hands on my shoulders and turned me around to face him. “You sure you’re up for this?”
I physically arched my spine to stay straight because at that moment, gazing into his eyes, full of intense concern, all I wanted to do was crumple against him and let him carry me away to a magic realm without demons, vampires, voodoo priests—the day-to-day place where humans thought they lived.
Sensing me close to breaking down, he reached around my waist, but I resisted his small tug. I hadn’t seen him since our night together. I searched his face for any signs of . . . what? Scars? “Do you, ah . . . hurt?”
In response, he tightened his arms and kissed away all thoughts of pain and torture, turning my senses thick with lust. I pushed against his chest and broke the kiss, but he kept his arm around my waist, thankfully, because my legs muscles were still syrupy from the kiss.
“You’re making light of whatever they do to you.” I brushed his cheek with my fingers, and he grabbed my hand and pressed his lips to my palm.
A shadow crossed his eyes that he quickly dispelled with a small smile. “I’m not making light of anything, but it’s no use crying over something I can’t change.”
He gave me one more long look, then took my hand and extended the other into an empty space. The creature attack had permanently destroyed the beautiful mosaic that had once been there, leaving a void that now rippled and pulsed at his touch.
We stepped into the void and landed in a hallway that stretched far beyond the reach of my vision, but I recognized the arched ceilings of the demon council building. The air seethed with disquiet, as if someone or something else was sharing the space with us. Ewan squeezed my hand and reached for one of the wicked weapons decorating the stone wall. He dislodged a sword with a serrated black blade. The fact that he felt it necessary to procure one of the decorative weapons floored me. He only sought a weapon when he expected something big and scary. The moment his hand touched the pommel inlaid with jade stones, his eyes glowed, mirroring the deep green of the jade. His skin scintillated in Ewan fashion, almost changing texture. I carefully reached out and touched his shoulder with my fingers, expecting to feel cool, hard stone, but encountered the familiar, muscular hot flesh.
“I love this sword,” he said, his voice more guttural, but still Ewan.
He urged me forward while scanning the hall. The hairs on my neck sprung up, and I scrunched my shoulders, expecting somethin
g to land on my back. He increased his pace, and finally we reached the arched entrance to the council chamber, curiously devoid of the tattooed guards. When Malthus’s voice drifted from inside, I released the tension I’d collected in my shoulders, only for the muscles to tighten again when a hiss sliced through the air.
A black mist coalesced, slowly gaining substance and form, while the hissing grew louder, echoing off the walls, until three black humanoid forms stood before us. They had no hair, only night-black skin, although I wasn’t sure it was skin, and silver eyes that flickered at us with something ravenous stirring in their dead depths. One of the creatures spoke. The voice quavered, but not from some inherent weakness, but more in anticipation. “Kill them,” the voice said.
The things rushed at us in a blur of movement, their ephemeral bodies making them difficult to track. Ewan moved with equal stealth, and his body shimmered, creating its own special effects blur, making it difficult for the wraiths to lock onto him. One of them lunged at me. I managed to sidestep it, but not before it clamped onto my wrist with frigid fingers, surprising me with its hard, solid grip. It twisted and snapped my wrist with a crackle and pop. I cried out and stumbled against the wall. That fucking hurt. It swooshed toward me. I had mere milliseconds to act. Ewan was enveloped in a black shroud, the sound of his painful groans ringing in my ears. I decided to take the wraith on and charged him. I don’t think he expected the direct approach, and his confusion gave me a few extra seconds to grab a large vase to my side and crack it over his head, giving Ewan the moment he needed to slice it off. The other wraiths lay still on the floor with black ooze spilling from their bodies.
“What were those things?” I asked, cradling my throbbing wrist in my other hand.
“Cleavers. Very deadly sock puppets, which have to be conjured by another demon.” He took my wrist in his hand and bent it gently.
“Ow! That really fucking hurts.”
“Let’s get to the chamber before more show up.” He moved me along in front of him. By this time, one of the tattooed guards showed up just as more cleavers appeared out of the air. Ewan spoke gruffly to the guard, who nodded and charged the forming mist.
“Go,” Ewan ordered, practically pushing me into the chamber.
I hesitated a moment, drank in the sight of him, greenish and all, before running inside. Why was I afraid I wouldn’t see him again?
When I stepped into the chamber, Ivo and Malthus swung their heads to me in surprise.
“You can remove the chagur now. I know the big bad demon. It’s Xavier,” I said.
They both looked at me, both seemingly digesting the news, not really surprised, as if my revelation confirmed what they’d already suspected. Ivo jerked his head at Malthus. “You and Xavier started this. You bear equal responsibility for the Scions, and now Xavier will use her to help them.”
Ewan’s shouts drew my attention, causing me to miss some of the exchange I was desperate to hear. What the heck were the Scions? When I redirected my gaze to Malthus, he was glaring at Ivo. “We had a deal. I even agreed to the chagur, although now I regret that decision, but what’s done is done.”
Ivo seemed unimpressed by Malthus’s words and flicked his palm up. “It’s time. I will take your essence.”
“No!” Malthus roared. “That was not part of our accord.”
“No more accords. I will do what it takes to rid us of the necromancer abomination and the hell you created.”
“Wait, stop!” I thought to stall Ivo and give Malthus a few seconds to do something. “You told me you’d remove the chagur when I brought you the name of the demon mastermind.”
“Once activated, the chagur must be allowed to complete its cycle. If I remove it now, you will die. I could have removed it if you hadn’t used your power to claim souls.” He looked so fucking smug, the bastard. Right now, I wanted to claim his soul, but I doubted he had one.
“Enough,” Ivo said, turning to Malthus, but Malthus had already made his way over to me, gripped my head with both hands, and pressed his fingers with acupuncture-like pressure against my skull. My mind flared white hot, and the only thing else I perceived was Ivo’s roar before I fell to the ground.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I WOKE TO A million voices scrambling in my head, jockeying for space. So many thoughts and sensations. Where was I?
“Ruby.” The voice reached inside my mind, soft, yet compelling. Familiar.
Malthus’s voice. I slit my eyelids open and found myself sprawled on the couch in the demon lair study, Malthus kneeling on the floor beside me. I moved to clamp my hands over my head in an effort to drive out the pulsing swell of regret and anguish, but yelped and jerked my hand back at the pain spiking my wrist. I cradled it close to my chest.
“You’re hurt,” he said.
I nodded, more affected by the uprising in my head than my throbbing wrist. “What is happening to me?” I asked.
“I transferred my essence to you.”
I swung my legs to the floor and sat up, ignoring the surge of pain and dizziness that rocked my head. “What? Are you crazy?” Another wave of emotion crashed over me, drowning me with its sheer intensity, each one slamming into my chest. My hands trembled. Is this what Malthus felt every day? How did he contain all this emotion in that hard, impassive exterior?
“It will settle. Don’t fight it,” he said softly.
I pushed air deep into my diaphragm and rode the wave of pain, a contraction of emotion, as it squeezed and tightened every muscle in my body before letting go. I cried out at the release, tears streaming down my cheeks. “Oh God, Malthus. Why?”
“You’ll need it for what lies ahead.”
I finally met his eyes. He seemed deflated, reduced from his imposing self to one more accessible, frail even. He sat next to me on the couch and rested a hand on my shaking shoulder.
“Why is Ivo targeting you?” I asked.
“I broke a law by having a child with a necromancer, with Cora.”
I fisted my good hand and waited a few moments to allow my vocal cords to loosen. The demons harbored no qualms over delivering harsh punishment. No second chances. No appeals. “Why did you support the genocide?” I asked quietly.
He rose, poured himself a drink, then reclaimed his spot next to me. He swirled the liquid around the glass, and while studying the tiny amber whirlpool he’d created, he answered, finally. “To spare you, Cora, all the ones that survived, the descendants. Ivo was intent on eradicating everyone. He resented Xavier and myself. He used the necromancers and the genocide to label us as heretics and incite an uprising against our dying catair. We opposed him, and so did some of the other catairs, wary of his power grab, but Ivo had amassed too much support among some of the lesser cults. He’d whipped them into a frenzy, saying we’d debased the purity of demon culture with our practices. He offered to spare us a civil war if we supported the genocide.”
He sighed heavily. “I insisted on targeting only the necromancers and demons who had killed humans by removing their living souls. Xavier viewed me as a traitor for making even that concession. I thought, at first, I would be able to temper the genocide, but things got out of hand . . . the death of Xavier’s lover . . .”
“Colette?”
He raised his brow. “He told you about her?”
After I nodded, he pinched his nose and continued. “I met secretly with Ewan’s father and enlisted his warrior roa to halt the genocide, which we did, but at great cost. Many demons and necromancers were killed, Ewan’s father . . . killed.”
Malthus gulped down the whiskey and rested the glass on his knee. He’d drunk half the contents in one long swallow, curious given he usually drank with measured sips. “The newly-formed demon council decided enough had suffered and wished to put everything behind us. Both Xavier and I were brought on the council as a symbolic
gesture to demon society, a reconciliation for the atrocities committed during the genocide, which pissed Ivo off.”
He placed his glass on the table and set determined eyes on me. “Enough of the past. We must discuss the present. How did you find out about Xavier?”
I wanted to hear more, needed to understand the past to make sense of the present, but I could tell from his look that he was done for now. “You knew, didn’t you? He killed Cora, orchestrated Cael and Delatte. Everything.” I shuddered before getting off the couch to carefully pour myself a glass of Scotch with my good hand. “Why didn’t you say something?”
He joined me at the bar. “I suspected, but—” Malthus cradled his head in his hand. “To a certain extent, like you, I didn’t want to believe Xavier was responsible. You admired him. He gave you a sense of stability that you refused to accept from me.”
“Aren’t you furious at him for forcing Cora to attempt a soul steal, causing her death?” The thought continued to rock my conscience.
“Yes.” His face darkened. “But my rage over what he did to Cora competes with my guilt over what happened with Xavier.” He took a few moments to regain his composure.
I took a small sip, letting the alcohol heat me in a false comfort and dull the manic edges made by Malthus’s essence sliding around inside me. I had let my opposition to Malthus turn into a Pavlovian reaction. Even if at times I understood his motivations, I never forgave him for convincing me to raise Adam, only to discover it hadn’t been necessary.
“I want to bring him to justice, but the right way, without causing bloody chaos again.” He placed a hand on the bar and steadied his shaking breath. “We need proof. To figure out his endgame, which we still don’t know,” Malthus said. “Which brings me back to my original question which you deflected. How did you find out?”
“The word of a dead man—Cael.”
The Necromancer's Betrayal Page 25