American Demon

by Kim Harrison

  “Ah, Quen?” Trent said, and I turned from the bookcase to see Quen cut the zip-strip from him. Smirking, I spun to put my back to them all as I felt the elf take communion from the same ley line I had hung a stray thought in.

  “The power of the ley line won’t make you strong enough to hold me,” I said, feeling confident as I plucked a book from the shelf and tucked it under my arm. It wasn’t Trent’s, and I wanted it back. “And stop looking at my aura,” I added, knowing he was by the prickly feeling.

  Trent stood, and the prickles skating over my skin worsened. “Rachel, wake up,” he demanded. “This wasn’t what we had intended.”

  “No kidding,” I said with a sneer. “And it’s Ms. Morgan, if you don’t mind.” I eyed his aura, seeing the damage I’d wrought over the last few nights he had dared sleep. He’d woken every time, pushing me from his mind, but the damage was there, his soul as thin as the demon’s I was now in. He hadn’t told anyone, and if I wanted him, he was mine for the taking. . . . Maybe.

  Quen moved toward me with a stealthy swiftness. My head turned, and a flash of memory rose, one of his body pinning me to my kitchen floor, colored cookie sprinkles in his hair. “Stop!” I demanded, hand outstretched, and then I squirmed in pleasure, smiling at the heat of the line flowing through me. God, it felt good. Nothing like it had through Landon, and I purred a contented sound, satisfied when Quen slid to a halt, the zip-strip dangling from his hand.

  “Talk to it!” the young elf said, clearly unnerved. “It’s here.”

  The baku? I mused, dabbling my memories in the ley line like toes in a pool. But there was nothing in my mind that shouldn’t have been. It was only me. I was just seeing things clearer. And Trent was a whiny little wannabe of an elf. Nothing like the spell warriors who had made me. Made me, and lost me. I would kill them all, a cancer from within.

  “Quen, stand down,” Trent said. “She’s not violent.”

  “Not yet I’m not,” I said, remembering how furious I’d been with Quen when he’d “tested” my skills by assaulting me in my own kitchen. I should have killed him right then and there. I didn’t know why I hadn’t.

  But Trent had inched forward into my line of sight. He was cautious and careful, and I chuckled, thinking that he was going to “careful” himself into a grave. I should put him out of his misery.

  “I want to talk,” Trent said, a hand raised as if for patience. “Landon sent you to kill me.”

  “True,” I said. “I didn’t see the need, but perhaps he’s right. You could have had everything, but are nothing.”

  “Stop!” Trent shouted, but he was talking to Quen, and I half-sat against a tall table and opened the book I’d taken from his shelf.

  “Where’s the loss?” I said as I thumbed through it. “Pathetic drug lord only concerned with his bottom line. The enclave is right to withdraw the Sa’han title from your family name.” I snapped the book closed to read later. “Shirking your duties, family, and church?” I said. “Preferring my company to those who can move you forward in the world? You aren’t going to have anything to show for it in the end, so why not take you out now? Make room for someone who will do something of worth. Something big.” Like take out the demon as Landon wants, I thought, smug, because even though I was one, I knew Trent would never touch me. Love. What a waste.

  “Maybe I was that person once,” Trent said, a finger raised to keep Quen from moving. “But that’s not true anymore. You changed me. You, Rachel.”

  My head jerked up at the rattle of dragonfly wings. The pixy was coming right at me, sword in hand and a pained, determined look in his eye. With a tug on the line, I threw a mystic at him.

  “Hey!” the pixy shouted, spinning head over heels when it hit him, and I laughed, seeing his dust flash black for an instant under my will.

  But Quen had moved in my split second of distraction, and I spun, wadding the line up in my hand, mystics dripping from my fingers until he slid to a halt, shock in his eyes. “Just so,” I said, warning him off. The mystics’ voices were mute, tumbled about like so much lint, mine to control. But they saw me not, and my anger thickened. Trent had stolen my voice from them. I could have been a goddess if not for him. He’d hurt me, kept hurting me. My God, I slept with the man! What kind of a glutton for punishment was I?

  “Stop,” Trent demanded again, frowning at Quen. “Everyone, stop. Relax. Rachel, you can kill me in a few minutes. I want to talk first. You like to talk, don’t you?”

  I eyed Quen, then faced Trent. Zack wouldn’t dare move. He never had before. “Yes,” I said, satisfied I was the strongest one here. “Hearing you lie is amusing.”

  That pixy, though, wouldn’t stop moving. “Wake her up,” Jenks said, sword held high as if ready to cut me. “It’s going to eat her to a shell.”

  “I can’t believe I sleep with you,” I said, and Trent took a quick breath, the pain in the back of his eyes mirroring his aura flashing red and settling.

  “Maybe I can give you something Landon can’t,” he said, and I laughed, having had this conversation with him before when we first met.

  “A Brimstone plantation in the South Seas? You foolish, stupid man. I want a body. Can you give me a body?” Which was really weird, because I had a body. I was in it.

  Trent didn’t seem to have a problem with the incongruity, though, shaking his head and inching closer, that damn pixy with him. “You can’t have hers,” he said.

  “Why would I want to be a stinking whore of a second-class demon when I have a powerful elf for the taking?” I said, my words confusing me even as I felt a surge of confidence. “Maybe you can tell me why Landon wants me alive and you dead. Demons spared when elves are slain. Still, killing you gives Landon all the power, dewar and enclave alike. Maybe Landon is right. I’m tired of you hurting me.”

  Again I pulled on the line, my knees going watery as the power of the line flowed in with an unexpected force, singing through my mind as if it was angels exalting me home. So much power, I thought, looking at my hands and wondering why they weren’t burning. Perhaps Landon was a mistake. Perhaps this was the body I wanted to keep. It wouldn’t take much now. My eyes rose to Trent. Either way, he was going to die.

  “Corrumpo!” I demanded, marshaling the whining mystics streaming through me into motion. It was a mundane curse, but the force behind it would shatter stone.

  “Septiens!” Quen shouted, and Trent ducked as my force hit the circle he’d invoked around them, sealing me out. Zack yelped as my magic ricocheted, screaming past me to explode in the cavern of the fireplace. Rock chips flew like daggers, and the scent of dust and burnt amber rose.

  I turned from the cracked wall as the adolescent elf skittered to put a chair between us. From across the room, a dog barked to warn me off as I pushed myself into motion.

  “You will not hurt him, baku,” Quen said, and I jerked. He had said these words to me before. A long time ago. He might not have remembered, but I did.

  Wavering, I felt something open in my thoughts, a memory I’d never created swimming up from the sliding sound of salt spilling from one lobe of my mind to the other. “I know you,” I said, letting the memory slip to the front of my mind, and I gasped as I recalled what he and that elf Trisk had done to me.

  Hatred boiled up, and I took a step closer, the line screaming through me as I pulled on it until my hair floated. “You were why I was imprisoned in a worthless body,” I said, hitting my chest as if I was in it still. “Decades I waited, until magic failed and I was freed.” My lip curled, and my hand fisted into death. “You die first. It’s personal.”

  “Quen!” Trent shouted, hunched in indecision.

  But I was already in motion. Quen was too fast with his circles. I remembered from before, and a part of me spun in confusion as two pasts tried to make one present.

  “Septiens!” Quen shouted again, and I slid to a halt,
magic dripping from me, hatred rising from my pores. He’d hidden behind a second circle. Son of a bastard, I thought, relying on my memory, and then I jerked as a new thought, one of my newest, rose like a pearly wave of sun. I was a demon. Quen’s new circle was undrawn. Without salt or chalk to give it structure, it was weak and wouldn’t stand before me. Not now that I was a demon.

  “Nice try,” I said, and then I hauled off and slammed my glowing fist right into his barrier.

  “Rachel!” someone shouted, and I ground my teeth against our two forces screaming their ego-ridden signatures. Neither would give, and I pushed on Quen’s circle with my will and my energy, letting more flow through me until it slithered over the elven barrier like oil on water.

  His magic would fail. I was stronger. I was stronger!

  And with a ping that seemed to echo through me, Quen’s circle fell.

  I stumbled, cutting the line from my thoughts before the backlash could find me. I ducked, arm over my face as the wave pulsed through the room, rocking me back. I felt a smile on me as I lowered my arm and turned to Quen. He had bested me once, but now I was a demon, stronger than any who now lived because no one had told me there were limits.

  Quen stared, his jaw slack as if he had never considered how much power I could hold.

  “Oh, what pretty things I know,” I said, considering what curse to use next. “After I kill you, I kill Trent.” And then I yelped, going down as someone hit me from behind.

  It was Trent. I could tell by the feel of his body on mine as we hit the floor, and I howled, frustrated as a band of charmed silver slid over my wrist and the line energy drained from me. “You son of a bastard elf!” I squirmed and he grunted as my elbow found him. The stink of dog filled my nose, and then there was the sound of claws on the carpet as he was dragged away.

  “Wake up, Rachel,” Trent gasped, fumbling for a hold. “Wake up!”

  “Get off!” I shrieked, bucking as the memory of Trent caging me rose up, potent and hot. I’d been helpless. He had allowed that bastard Jon to torment me—all to prove that I was Trent’s plaything. Not again. Never again. “You will die, and I’ll be the one to do it!”

  Infuriated, I pushed up, arms straining, almost getting free until Quen sat on me as well. I went down again, my air huffing out. “You murdering son of a bitch elf. I will slice your gullet and use your guts to soften my cuticles! I will skin you from your ankles to your scalp and put it back on you inside out! I will pour lava down your gullet and laugh at your screams!”

  “Take a chill pill, Rache,” the pixy said, hovering before my face, and I shrieked, infuriated.

  “Landon never did anything like this,” Zack said as he bent low to look me in the face.

  “Landon is a fool,” Trent said as he sat on me, and I struggled to get a hand free. Yes, Landon was a fool, but he wouldn’t be when I got done killing Trent. Once Trent was dead, Landon would be mine. “Quen,” Trent said calmly as he pinned me to the floor. “Do something.”

  Quen swooped in close. Finally I got a fist free, smashing it into his nose. Grunting, Quen fell back, a hand to his face as Trent grabbed my arm and twisted it painfully behind me.

  “Let go!” I shouted, tears starting. I wasn’t crying. I was furious. There was a sliver of satisfaction at Quen’s anger, but the thought that Landon was right was a bitter truth. Demons were powerful, but when you cut off their access to a line, they had nothing. Once I killed Trent and took Landon’s body, I’d have power that never died, that of the body politic.

  “Wake her up!” Trent demanded as he sat on me. “Now!”

  “How?” Quen looked at me, one hand on his nose.

  “I don’t know. Slap her.”

  “Don’t you dare,” I gasped. “Quen, don’t you dare!” I squirmed, taking a huge breath, and tried to rise. They would die. All of them.

  “My apologies, Tal Sa’han,” Quen said as he bent low, and then his hand met my cheek.

  Pain exploded in my face, sparkles radiating through my skull and my head rocking back. With a snap, my blurred vision steadied. Their auras were gone. The baku was gone. The anger at Quen’s slap was still there, though, and I gasped, breathless from Trent’s weight on me.

  “What the hell is wrong with you! I swear, Quen, if you ever hit me again, I’ll put snakes in your sock drawer,” I shouted, totally pissed.

  Quen pulled his hand back again, and my eyes widened.

  “It’s her!” Jenks shrilled, dropping down before my face. “Quen, it’s her! Can’t you tell?”

  Eyes narrowed, Quen peered at me and let his raised hand fall. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure, I’m sure,” Jenks said, darting about as Trent got off and I rolled to sit up.

  “Holy Goddess spit,” Zack said, and Buddy came out to sniff me, his tail waving apologetically. “Landon only mumbled a lot when he talked to the baku.”

  My face flashed warm, and I sat between the couch and the knocked-over table, horrified. The things I had said. Embarrassed and afraid, I looked at Trent. His back was to me as he righted the table, but he was slumped and looked depressed and beaten down.

  “Trent?” I said hesitantly, and he didn’t turn. “I didn’t say those things. It was the baku.” Which wasn’t entirely true. Every ugly feeling that had poured through me and found voice had been in my thoughts before. It had been me, but it was a me lacking the understanding, or perhaps the ability, to forgive and love.

  “I know.” He came close to extend a hand to help me rise. “But they’re true.”

  “Were,” I said firmly as I fitted my hand into his and he pulled me up. “Maybe once, but they aren’t now. Trent, I’m sorry,” I added as he let go. I couldn’t let Trent think that what I’d said was true. I loved him. What had happened before mattered, but only in that we’d overcome it.

  “There’s nothing to forgive,” he said, but his smile was thin as he looked at the crack in the back of the fireplace. “This was . . . not helpful,” he said, and I nodded, wishing he would come around the table, take me into a hug, anything.

  “I said it would be a mistake.” Quen stalked to the end table, stoic as he took a tissue to wipe his face.

  “It wasn’t a mistake. It just didn’t work like we wanted it to,” I said as I sat down, wondering if this was what Madam Curie had felt like when her research killed her.

  “Looks like a mistake to me,” Zack said as he lifted Buddy up onto the chair with him.

  “I still say we can catch it. It’s like antimatter, maybe,” I said, remembering the feelings I’d had. They were mine, but mine untempered by love or forgiveness. Perhaps the baku was opposite to a soul, canceling mine out. “Antimatter exists,” I said when Quen scoffed, then winced, a hand going to his nose.

  “Perhaps, but anti-souls do not,” Quen muttered as he reached for another tissue. “Zack, put that dog back on the floor.”

  My face throbbed where Quen had hit me. “At least we know you can talk to it,” I said as I sat down and gingerly felt my face. Thanks a lot, Quen.

  “Okay. But not you. Not again,” Jenks said, unusually close as if to reassure himself it was still me.

  “Agreed.” I looked at Trent, now slumped on the edge of the couch with his elbows on his knees.

  And then my head snapped up as I remembered. I had possessed the baku’s knowledge when it had been in me. I knew how Trent’s mom and Quen had tried to capture it. “Uh, guys? I saw how the Order trapped it. I’m not making a zombie out of anyone, but, Trent, your mom and Quen nearly had it on their own with a circle. If we can circle it, we can put it in a bottle.”

  “Zombie!” Jenks exclaimed as Trent looked up, hope smoothing his brow. “The Order uses zombies to catch the baku?”

  I nodded. “Zombies are the living dead. Not awake, not asleep, and unlike vampires, they have souls to trap it and no will to kick it out
. Because of what they are, once it’s stuck in one, it can’t escape even if it wants to.”

  Quen grunted in surprise, but Trent clearly wasn’t convinced. “You can’t catch an energy being in a circle,” he said warily. “It just slips through the spaces between.”

  “But that’s what they did,” I insisted, then scooted to the edge of the couch. “They combined their circles into one impenetrable one. I saw them do it. Hell, I remember being angry at being trapped in it. I simply don’t know how they did it. Maybe it’s in her other journals.”

  Together we turned to Quen. He had been there. Done it.

  “Sa’han . . . ,” Quen said, and at his pained voice, Trent’s gaze went past him to the fireplace, an unknown emotion pinching his brow.

  “I’m done discussing this with you,” Trent said, his voice raspy with anger. I stood, my gut twisting as he pulled on the ley line running through his compound with a savage intensity. His hand stretched out, and a violent ball of magic wreathed his fingers, gold and red, dripping with sparkles. Silent, he physically flung it at the wall. I tensed as it hit with a soft pop—but nothing happened. Gold and red slithered over the back of the fireplace until slowly it began to disappear. My shoulders slumped. Whatever it was, it hadn’t worked.

  But Trent was gritting his teeth, his expression tight in determination. He wasn’t done yet, and his hand, still outstretched, held a faint ribbon of his power running from him to the wall.

  My lips parted as I realized that his spell was in the cracks of the wall. “Get down!” I shouted, launching myself at Zack as the oblivious kid stood to investigate.

  “Cum gladio et sale!” Trent shouted, his hand gathering up ribbons of strength and pushing them down the trace to the wall to force it in.

  I hit Zack. Together we fell into the chair, sending it over backward as Trent’s magic exploded among the mortared stones with a sharp crack and thump that shook the room’s floor.

  Rock chips and chunks of masonry rolled past with the scent of dust and stale Brimstone. “You okay?” I asked Zack as I got up, but the kid was faster than me and was already staring at the fist-size hole in the back of the fireplace. Jenks darted from me to Trent like a deranged hummingbird, finally vanishing into the hole when his curiosity became too much.