by Karen Chance
And then there were times like these.
“Fuck it,” he rasped, which would have made his point quite clearly had anyone been listening to him.
“I think I found something,” Cassie’s excited shriek drifted out of one of the rocks on this godforsaken hill.
Literally God forsaken, Casanova thought grimly, and he didn’t blame Him one iota. Ugly, barren, and creepy as, well, hell—and he’d thought that the city was bad. Out here, nobody bothered with a spell to disguise anything, because there was nothing worth the effort. Just rocks, a little on-the-brink scrub, and a lot of dark, the latter broken only by the faint urban sprawl in the murky valley below them.
Why did anyone live here? Surely even demons could do better than this? And more importantly, what in the name of sanity was he doing here?
“Did you hear me?” Cassie demanded, and Casanova’s hand clenched.
He knew what he was doing here. She was like a disease, a human virus that infected everyone around her, turning off their good sense and making them do things completely against their own best interests. Someone should lock her up, study her, figure out a vaccine before the whole damn world caught the madness—
A curly blond head poked out of a crack in the rock so that its owner could glare at him. “I’m not going in there,” he said curtly.
Blue eyes narrowed. “Why not?”
“Why not? Why not? Because this—” his savage gesture took in the entire train of events that had led him from a warm, soft bed in Vegas to a frigid, rocky mountainside in Hell— “is insane. The only thing that could possibly make it more insane would be to crawl inside an unexplored hole in the ground after a mage who, on a good day, is suicidally reckless and who on this day is chasing a demon battle queen.”
Cassie looked at someone over her shoulder. Rian, he assumed, since his traitor of a demon had floated in after her a few minutes ago. “I thought you said he’d calm down once we got out of the city.”
Rian murmured something reassuring.
“Well, I don’t know,” Cassie told her. “He’s getting pretty shrill.”
“I am not shrill!” Casanova said, and all right, perhaps that had been a little shrill, but if so, he thought he’d earned it. “I am the voice of reason—”
“Well the voice of reason needs to get his butt in here.”
Casanova didn’t even bother to respond to that. Instead, he pulled the little silk pocket square out of his coat and made a point of placing it exactly in the center of the nearest sort-of-flat rock he could find. He smoothed it out, sat his Gucci-covered ass on it, and looked at her. Calmly, considering that he really didn’t see how this could get any worse.
“Okay, fine,” Cassie said. “I just thought you’d prefer it to the alternative.”
“What alternative?”
“I think she means me,” Rosier said gently, from behind him.
Casanova spun, but even vampire reflexes weren’t fast enough this time. A blast of power picked him up and sent his body hurtling backwards through the air, right at the wretched little cave. And for a moment, things became a bit blurred.
That was possibly because his head hit the overhang hard enough to send his brain cavorting around inside his skull. Or because the impact half collapsed the structure on top of him. Or because he was grabbed by the shirt and jerked into the falling mass of debris, half of which put dents in his already abused body, while the rest rapidly blocked the way behind him.
Which bought him perhaps seconds with the power Rosier had at his disposal.
That thought had Casanova staggering off the remaining wall, which for some ungodly reason appeared to be glowing, with his brain still sloshing about between his ears. But despite that, and the mountain of dirt he’d just swallowed, and the fact that he appeared to be missing maybe half a pound of flesh, he somehow got fumbling hands on a certain blond-haired menace. And shook her like a maraca.
“Shift us out of here!”
Burning blue eyes glared at him through the dust. “I can’t!”
“You shifted us in!” Her power wasn’t supposed to work outside earth, but that hadn’t stopped her from hopping them in stages across the damn desert, following the sight trail Rian had laid out.
“I shifted us outside.”
“Then shift us outside again—far outside!”
“Are you listening? I can’t,” she repeated, jerking away from him.
“It’s a form of magic,” Rian told him agitatedly, “when she shifts, I mean, and right now—”
“What difference does that make?”
“A great deal,” she said, her dark eyes on the cave-in behind him, as if she could see right through it. And maybe she could, because he’d never seen her that upset. “You need to listen, Carlos—”
His real first name usually got his attention, but not this time. “What I need,” he said, his voice trembling only slightly, “what we all need, is to get out of here, now, before—”
“I’m not going anywhere without Pritkin,” Cassie informed him, making Casanova want to scream. So he did.
“He’s a war mage! He can take care of himself!”
“Not if he can’t use magic!” she said heatedly, while scrabbling for something in the debris on the floor. “If he doesn’t know the risk, he could blow himself up. And even if not, he’s stuck down there facing that . . . that thing . . . with nothing more than a gun that probably won’t even dent it. And I won’t—”
He didn’t hear what the wretched woman wouldn’t do this time, because the rock fall took that moment to implode, sending a dozen shards of whatever made up this blasted hill into Casanova’s backside. But he’d grabbed the girl, covering her body with his as he tumbled to the floor. Which promptly cracked and dropped, and then gave way entirely.
Of course, it did, Casanova thought, as they plunged into darkness.
Chapter Seven
N o magic,” Sid said, spelling it out. “No type, no amount. Not unless you want to get yourself killed.”
“I thought that was the idea,” John slurred, causing the demon to shoot him a look, as if suspicious that he was pretending to worse injuries than he had.
If only.
“No, wouldn’t be much use then, would you?” he finally said.
“Use?”
“It was supposed to be your father,” Sid complained, bending over to tug at John’s boots. “We specifically waited until it was his turn. But I should have known that Rosier would find someone else to do his dirty work. He was always like that, even as a child.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” John muttered, trying to work the ropes over his chest loose while Sid was busy examining his footwear.
But while Sid obviously didn’t know much about tying someone up—he’d left John’s wrists free—he’d made up for it in sheer enthusiasm. John was cocooned in rope from nipples to ribs, and it wasn’t the kind with much in the way of give. Every movement just made the damn cords eat deeper into his flesh, threatening to cut off what little air supply he had. Without some way to cut the bonds, his arms weren’t going anywhere.
Which left his legs.
Despite common perceptions to the contrary, it was perfectly possible to be deadly without using the upper body at all. John could almost see the maneuver he needed—a sweep outward to dump Sid on his ass, then a quick scissoring movement to trap his neck between John’s feet and ankles. And then it was merely a matter of an abrupt twist and listening to the bones crunch. It wasn’t the easiest of maneuvers, but it was doable, and it would also be pretty damn satisfying right about now.
Unfortunately, it would also be pretty damned useless.
Killing a demon as old as Sid was never as simple as snapping a neck. But that was especially true when they happened to be one of the two-natured—demons who could take both spectral or physical form. In Sid’s case, he was an Uttuku, a type the Sumerians had once mistaken for ghosts due to their ability to leave their bodies behind. S
o even if John managed to kill Sid’s body, he’d be left tied up and weaponless, facing a very unhappy ancient spirit with who knew what kind of abilities.
Frankly, he’d had better odds.
Of course, he’d had worse ones, too, but he shoved those thoughts away. Things weren’t that bad. Yet.
“And you needed Rosier for what?” he asked, while trying to come up with another option. He didn’t really expect an answer, since Sid had no reason to tell him anything.
Except for what John belatedly recognized as the intensity of a zealot.
The little demon looked up from ripping apart John’s boots, and his whole face lit up with it. “It’s what we were talking about before. You saw the potential—you even had the right idea. Merely the wrong target.”
“The wrong target?”
“It’s not Ealdris and the ancients who are the problem. It’s the bloody council.”
John felt his blood pressure increase a little more, if that was possible. Because as corrupt, self-seeking and generally appalling as the Demon High Council often was, it did serve one vital purpose—it was the one thing keeping the species from running amuck. And it was based here, in the Shadowland.
He thought he might finally understand what Ealdris wanted with the place.
“Even Ealdris can’t take on the council,” he said, fear making his voice harsh. “They’re too powerful—”
“We’ll see.”
“They’re the ones who imprisoned her in the first place!”
“Through trickery!”
“It was that or a blood bath in which thousands would have died! What would you have had—”
“I would have had them face her!” Sid screamed, suddenly in John’s face. And while the small man’s features hadn’t changed, it was amazing how much he currently looked like a demon. “Properly, honorably—on the field of battle! There would have been no tricks then, no deception. If there is such now, they have only themselves to blame!” He hurled John’s boots at the still-glowing wall.
John met his glare squarely, not flinching. Of course, the ropes helped with that. But it seemed to be the right move. Because after a moment, Sid calmed slightly.
“No honorable death this time, then?” John asked.
“She’s learned,” Sid said shortly. “I told her, times have changed. To survive, we have to change with them.”
“I didn’t think the old ones were good at that.”
Sid sat back on his heels, the genial mask slipping perfectly back into place even though he didn’t need it anymore. John supposed it got to be habit when you wore it for something like six thousand years. “She always did adapt well. You have to in battle, you know. But she still didn’t believe me, when I told her that an incubus could be our salvation. In our day, your lot were considered rather . . . hopeless.”
“And we’re not now?”
“Oh, no,” Sid said, an edge creeping into his tone. “Rosier has a finger in every pie these days, an ear in every court. Your kind have made a profession out of weakness, gaining power through soft words and pretty speeches, lies and deception, while being too innocuous for anyone to worry about. Ironic that it’s your only strength that will bring you down!”
John didn’t have to think it over, as there weren’t a lot of options. Unlike most families, the incubi hadn’t been blessed with an arsenal of weapons. “We can feed from anyone?” he guessed.
“It makes you unique among the races.”
John licked his lips, wishing his head didn’t hurt quite so much. Because he was fairly certain that he was missing something important. “And how does that help you?”
“Me?” Sid shrugged. “Not at all. There’s only so much energy I can absorb at one time. Any surplus is wasted, I’m afraid. But Ealdris now . . .” He suddenly scowled. “They sent her to an awful place, John; you should have seen it. There was almost nothing to eat. It was supposed to keep her too weak to find a way back, but she almost went mad with hunger—”
“She didn’t stay that way for long. She killed dozens before I trapped her!”
“Dozens, yes,” Sid nodded. “But what she needed was thousands. Tens of thousands. There’s no limit on her ability to absorb power. That’s what made her so formidable once—and will again.”
“Unless history repeats itself.”
Sid suddenly laughed. “I don’t think so.”
“And what’s to stop it?”
His head tilted, as if surprised that John didn’t understand. “You are, of course. We tried it with a few other incubi, but they weren’t strong enough. The effect lasted seconds only, and we’re going to want more than that. That’s when I realized, we needed someone of the royal line.”
He waited, but John still didn’t get it. Until suddenly he did. Sid saw when his eyes widened, when the beauty and horror of it hit him, all at once.
“Perfect symmetry, isn’t it?” Sid asked. “She can absorb an unlimited amount of power, but only of certain types. You can absorb any type, but only in limited amounts. But put the two of you together . . .”
“You’re mad!” John said, struggling uselessly against the damned ropes.
“And you are what you eat—isn’t that what the humans say?” Sid asked mildly. “In the past, we hunted only the strong, we hunted each other, and so we were strong, too. But then we find a perfect feeding ground, with plentiful, prolific, stupid prey, and what happens? The feeble are elevated beyond their station; the greatest among us are hounded almost to extinction. The easy hunting has ruined us, made us soft, made us weak!”
“You’re going to blow it up,” John rasped. “You’re going to use the brimstone to destroy the city.”
“And the council along with it. And thanks to that royal blood of yours, when all those souls are released, Ealdris will have the ability to absorb every single one. It will wipe out her enemies and return her to her former glory, all at the same time.”
“But the council is the only thing keeping the races in line! Without it—”
“Everyone will be free—free to feed, free to gorge. And once the humans are gone, we will go back to preying on each other.” Sid grinned, baring a lot of teeth, none of which looked like they belonged in the mouth of a shopkeeper. “Until only the strong survive.”
And all right, John decided. Maybe things were that bad.
And then he dumped the demon on his ass.
* * *
Rian screamed, Cassie cursed, and someone kicked Casanova in the head. That last was Rosier, who had leapt into the hole after them, even as Casanova hauled the damned girl against his side, preparing to jump back up. But they were falling too fast, the rock rushing by in a blur, the square of slightly less dark above their heads rapidly diminishing as his feet struggled for purchase on nothing more than—
Than a solid piece of perforated metal.
He stared at it for a split second, uncomprehending. It was dull gray, except for splotches of rust and bits of red soil that were flying up to hit him in the face. It suddenly dawned on him that they were on some type of platform—it was too kind to call it an elevator—that was plunging with wild but possibly not life-threatening speed into the heart of the mountain.
Which would have been quite a relief if their passenger wasn’t about to murder them all.
“Why are you just standing there?” Cassie yelled, as Rosier got unsteadily back to his feet.
This is it, Casanova thought blankly. He was going to die. He was going to die hearing that voice bellowing at him, and the knowledge that she would probably swiftly follow him into the hereafter was exactly no consolation at all.
“Where do you go if you die in Hell?” he wondered aloud, only to have her sink those tacky pink nails into him.
“Do something!”
“What would you suggest?” Casanova demanded.
“Beat him up!”
“Demon lord,” he pointed out, and Rosier grinned.
“Not now! He can’t use magic!�
�
“Like hell he can’t!” Casanova had bruises that said otherwise.
“Not in here!” she said furiously. “Rian said—”
Casanova didn’t get to hear what wisdom his demon might have imparted, because Rosier took that moment to spring across the platform and take a swing at his head. Which, for a being as powerful as he was supposed to be, seemed a little clumsy. Casanova ducked with vampire speed and glanced at the girl.
“Can’t use magic?” he asked. She shook her head frantically, as the demon snarled and spun on a dime, coming back at Casanova.
Who calmly punched a hole through his face.
Or, at least, he would have, had the creature been human. The blow didn’t appear to have had the same effect in this instance, although it did send him flying back against a rusted support beam. Casanova couldn’t be sure, because they were moving too swiftly, but he rather thought that particular beam might have a Rosier-shaped dent from now on.
But the demon shook it off and staggered back into the middle of the platform, glaring and holding his jaw. “Bastard,” he snarled.
“Vampire,” Casanova smiled and spread his hands.
So Rosier kicked him in the kidney.
Casanova gasped and thought about throwing up, while the girl grabbed a lever on the floor of the contraption and gave it a jerk. The platform shuddered, jolting them all and throwing the demon off his pale gray Prada loafers. Nice, Casanova thought, before picking him up by the lapels and shoving him into the side of the now even more briskly streaming rock face.
And holding him there.
The demon spat something Casanova decided to ignore because he was enjoying the sound of jagged rock grating his victim’s backside. It made up for some of the pain in his own. At least it did until the vile, unprincipled son of a bitch kneed him in the nuts.
Casanova stared at him out of watering eyes. “Who does that?” he screeched, in disbelief.
“Demon,” Rosier said pleasantly. Then he did it again.
Casanova staggered back, trying to tell if he was still intact, only to have his arms grabbed by the girl. “You can take him!” she said, turning him back around.