Devil's Punch

  “After Greydusk administered the antidote, almost a full day.”

  “And how long did it take him to find it?”

  “Eight hours.”

  So it had been over twenty-four hours, in demon time, since we found her pack. Damn it. My injury had cost us a day we might not have to spare. Angry with myself, I strangled a curse.

  Gathering my resolve, I tried to sit up and failed. Still too weak. “How long will it take me to recover?”

  “Do you not understand you almost died?” His features were tight with exhaustion and worry.

  “I get it,” I said. “I also know that Shannon may not have much time left.”

  If she has any at all.

  “Corine,” he said. “I know you love her. But I don’t. You’re the one I care about, and it kills me to see you go down this road.” He stroked a hand through my tangled hair. “You’re ready to sacrifice anything for her.”

  “Yeah. But I’d do it for you too.” That shut him up, as I’d known it would. “Where are we?”

  “Greydusk’s place.”

  “Wow, he took us home with him?” Talk about going above and beyond the call of duty. Suddenly, it didn’t feel right to think of the Imaron as “it” as if he wasn’t a person. “Sybella must be furious.”

  Chance shrugged. “I haven’t been out of this room.”

  “I’m sorry I scared you,” I said quietly.

  “It wasn’t the first time. I doubt it’ll be the last.” A ghost of a smile chased across his face.

  “I didn’t do it on purpose.” In fact, just the opposite. I had been trying to get out of the way, but in the confusion of combat, shit happened. Chance knew it as well as I did. “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Soon,” Greydusk answered from the doorway.

  “Seriously—” Chance began, but the demon didn’t give him an opportunity to complete the objection.

  “I can give you a tisane to hasten your recovery if you wish.”

  “If? Why would you even ask? Let me guess—there’s some hideous side effect, like I grow horns or bark like a dog for the rest of my life.” Butch raised his head from the pillow on a nearby chair and gave me a look. “Sorry, bud. No offense.”

  He heaved a particularly eloquent sigh.

  “There are consequences for every action,” the demon said. “As you well know, Binder.”

  “Lay it on me.”

  “The cost for a swift recovery of your strength is a year of your life, should you ingest this potion.” The demon held a slim vial in one long-fingered hand. When he held it to the light, it swirled in shades of red.

  Chance tensed. “How long will it take her to heal naturally?”

  “Nine of your months.”

  I pushed out a slow breath, thinking. It made sense. If I used sufficient energy in one pass to heal that much damage, there had to be a cost. Nine months’ time couldn’t just magickally disappear; it had to come from somewhere. Whatever. In the end, I could make only one choice. The same one I’d been making all along, no matter how shitty the path before me. But…

  “What’s the catch?” I asked. “What you said doesn’t guarantee I knock a year off my life span. It could also mean that I lose a year of my past—when something important happens—or I might wind up in indentured servitude.”

  “I cannot offer any warranty,” Greydusk said. “All of the above are possible side effects. The ultimate payment results from the will of the potion’s creator.”

  Which I have to deal with later. I often took actions that would cost me down the line in order to survive present circumstances. So be it.

  “I understand.” I reached for the tisane.

  Chance caught my hand. “Are you crazy? Isn’t there any way to narrow down the potential costs?”

  “He’s right,” the demon said. “You should give this more consideration.”

  Implacably, I turned my arm so my palm faced up. Silently demanding. There was no merit in arguing with either of them. Words were no use after a certain point. I would not be gainsaid or advised by my men when I had not sought their counsel. Greydusk yielded to my stare without further objection, delivering the vial. Chance turned his face away as I broke the wax seal and downed it. It tasted of blood and heartbreak, burning all the way down my throat. My stomach roiled as the demon magick streamed into my veins, lacing my system with black wildfire.

  At first it hurt, and then it spun me around, almost as powerful as the Nephilim blood, only instead of colors I saw darkness. Shadows and layers and whispers of gray, marking the demon, and Chance’s hair, which had once only been raven black to my human eyes. Now I saw the hidden glimmer, like the sheen of oil in the sunlight, too subtle and deep for my formerly limited senses to discern.

  I felt strong and fast and damn near invincible. Laughing, giddy, I leapt from the bed and demanded, “Where the hell are my clothes?”

  Wordless, almost subservient, Greydusk fetched them for me. It was only afterward that I caught myself, a long way past the euphoria, and some part of me shook her head and worried and choked on words of caution. This isn’t you. You don’t think of people as your servants. You don’t give orders. You grew up poor, and you’re not the queen of anything. But that voice was small and boring, and I squashed it. Chance had a grave look about him, and I thought I might need a new consort if he couldn’t learn to be more obedient.

  That was a difficult and thorny issue, however, as I didn’t want to ally with any one caste. I would raise no demon higher than another. That way led to unrest and eventual civil war. No, I would be better off with Chance beside me, even if his behavior became tiresome. He offered precisely the measure of presence and charisma I required in a mate. On my arm, he added consequence, as others would certainly know he was no mere human. I liked the fact that I had ensnared a godling; I dropped a careless kiss on his quiet mouth and dressed quickly.

  “Bring me her bag.”

  “She’s not herself,” Chance said sharply to Greydusk.

  “It was a risk of the tisane.”

  “What was?”

  Outrage built inside me. Were they talking about me like I wasn’t here? Do they not know who I am?

  “What’s happening to her?”

  In another minute, I was going to blast one of them. The power gathered, and it didn’t feel wrong anymore. It was dark and luscious in my bloodstream, like a black velvet throw, just the right weight to show I meant business. Magick flowed to my fingertips as my rage burned as bright as a falling star.

  “She’s starting to ascend.”

  Good. All this fucking around made no sense. Skulking? Hiding? I’d level this city, find Shannon, and then run the place properly. These demons knew nothing about fear as of yet, but so help me, I would teach them.

  “What does that mean?”

  I held the black fire, burning in the palm of my hand. Enough curiosity stirred that I wanted to hear the answer before I smote them for their impertinence. Greydusk turned to watch me, expression unreadable. And then he sank to his knees. Chance turned his head, his brow furrowed in disbelief. The demon used his unnatural strength to drag my consort down into a reluctant obeisance.

  “It means the demonic part of her soul is on the rise.”

  “Explain,” I demanded, letting the fire die. This seemed like something the Once and Future Queen should know. And since they’d abased themselves before me, my ire was appeased. After I heard the explanation, I would dispense an appropriate punishment for their defiance.

  “You have doubtless been told that the Old King’s power over demons came as a gift from the archangels,” Greydusk said softly.

  I inclined my head.

  “What your source did not reveal, I suspect, is how they imbued the first Binder with that power.”

  “My patience wears thin.”

  “Long ago, there was a true queen of Sheol, named Ninlil. She ruled over the castes and all owed her fealty. Then the greatest of the archangels
called her forth. On the steps of the temple, after a great battle, he slew the demon queen and bound her power to the Old King’s soul. The angels gave Solomon other gifts, such as the ring of Aandaleeb, known to most as the Seal of Solomon. He used it to summon and bind Asmodeus, who had been Ninlil’s consort, at which time we bestowed upon him the title Binder. Your line has carried it ever since.”

  “So…the more she uses demon magick, drinks potions fueled by it, the more she’ll change. Become less herself and more the demon queen.”

  Since it was more or less what I’d have asked, I didn’t reprimand the male. Yet. But he had to learn subservience if he was to remain with me. And under me.

  “Rise,” I said. “And bring me the bag. We need to find the girl. She’s one of mine, and those who stole from me will suffer.”

  Greydusk obeyed with alacrity, as it should be. Once I had the pack in my hands, a wave of…something swept over me. It was soft and warm, aching, and I had no name for this feeling. The scene replayed in my head; it was a young girl—the one we were searching for—and me in a store, shopping, laughing over nothing in particular. She nudged me gently, grinning, and a lock of dyed-black hair flopped into her eyes. We’d picked out this bag together. All at once, I wanted to weep, but demon queens did not. Obviously the girl was mine, and that was why I wanted her back.

  I ignored their stares as I unzipped the backpack. It had her things in it: a change of clothes, a toothbrush, some books, her netbook, and iPod. Oddly, they both still had power. I clicked through her playlist, wondering if she’d cowered in the dark listening to the music that drowned out her terror: “Fear of the Dark” by Iron Maiden, “Trains” by Porcupine Tree, “Don’t Fear the Reaper” by Blue Oyster Cult, “Drumming Song” by Florence and the Machine, “The Weeping Song” by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, “Wretches & Kings” by Linkin Park, “On My Own” by Three Days Grace, “I’m Not Okay” by My Chemical Romance, “Cryin’ Like a Bitch” by Godsmack, and “Last Man Standing” by Pop Evil.

  At that point I stopped scrolling. Her music told me so much about her—or rather, it reminded me. A lot of it was old, a hallmark of her stunted childhood in Kilmer. Other bands were those she’d discovered since I freed her, and they reflected more of her personality.

  Steeling myself, I curled my palms around the iPod, which I knew she loved. There would be a charge. If her time in this room had been as traumatic as I expected, I’d learn something. Sufficiently braced, I let my concentration drop and the pictures screamed into my head, and I became Shannon Cheney.

  I’m bound, hand and foot. Someone shoves me roughly from behind. My iPod clutched in one hand, I tighten my fist so I don’t drop it. This is my one link to safety. What the hell am I doing here? What do they want? These things don’t talk to me. They don’t tell me anything. Oh, God, I’m so scared.

  Jesse.

  I want him so much I ache with it. He’s my first love, and he doesn’t know where I am. And maybe to him, I’m just another weird, gifted girl who wigged out because I have a less-than-stable background. He thinks maybe I’m too young for him, like he’s a dirty old man for being with me, but I’m not a kid. I’m not.

  I wanted him from the first moment I saw him. But now I’m here in a nightmare I can’t wake up from. Where is here?

  Monsters skitter at my feet. Hideous things that are like spiders, only they’re not; it’s like they ate a baby’s head or something, and they’re so hungry. I wish I had my radio. Surely there are dead things even here. I’d wreck them all.

  The bastard behind me whispers low in a language I don’t understand, calming the spider things. They back off, permitting my faceless captors to shove me toward the closet. They’ve kept me blindfolded until now, and I still haven’t seen anything. Stop talking about me.

  A hard push launches me inside, and then the door shuts behind me. I land hard, slamming into the far wall. My face is bruised. Blood drips down my chin. Chains rattle as they fasten me in here. My hands are bound, but not my arms. With some careful maneuvering, I get my earbuds in so I don’t have to listen to the monsters scrabbling at the door. I won’t let them break me. I won’t.

  Maybe the music can take away this awful, endless pain—because I remember now. Passing through that water gate burned all the cobwebs out of my mind. Something was done to me—it made me forget. I don’t understand it, but somehow, I lost all my memories of my best friend. And then I stole her boyfriend. So I probably deserve to be here. Whatever happens next, I’ve got it coming.

  I fell out of her thoughts then. Maybe the music calmed her so that her mood leveled out, stopping the imprint. Whatever the reason, I lost connection. Tears caught me by surprise, burst out in a noisy rush. Oh, God, Shan, it’s not your fault. It’s my fault. Everything is. I couldn’t shut off my grief. The sobs felt endless, and I couldn’t resist when Chance pulled me to him. He rubbed my back, whispering in low, worried tones to Greydusk, but with so much of Shannon’s terror and anguish in my head, it was impossible to do anything but weep.

  It took long moments for me to cry it out. Chance pressed little kisses against my hair, holding me close. Eventually I mustered the self-control to explain what I’d seen. I didn’t share Shannon’s private thoughts, her guilt. That was my burden to bear alone, until I could find her and explain. She had to know I didn’t blame her for anything that had happened with Jesse. In fact, I was happy for them. My own relationship with him hadn’t progressed far enough for me to want anything but his happiness—and if he could find it with Shannon, then they had my blessing. But it tore me up to hear her beating herself up for the spell I cast on them, against their will. I accepted full responsibility for the fallout.

  “Unfortunate,” Greydusk said when I finished.

  “What is?” Chance was still holding me, but he had a look like he was handling a crate of C-4 instead of the woman he professed to love.

  Then I remember how I’d acted before I handled the iPod. Cringed. “God, I’m sorry. The potion—”

  “Then you didn’t see anything that could aid us in tracking Shannon?” the demon interrupted.

  The remnants of Ninlil’s power, passed down through the ages, flared at his presumption, but I stamped her down. I didn’t intend to let her take over my head again. Now that I was forewarned, I’d be stronger. I wouldn’t ascend and rule over Sheol. I would not. I’m Corine Solomon. I run a pawnshop. And I’m going home.

  At least I knew the identity of the whisperer in my skull. I wasn’t losing it.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered to Chance again.

  “It’s all right. That wasn’t you.” But he still seemed…unsettled, as if I’d become way more than he bargained for.

  I swallowed hard. “That was who I could become.”

  “That was…scary as hell. You didn’t even see me. And the fact that I couldn’t bring you out of it…”

  Yeah, I got where he was going with that. It had taken Shannon’s fear, Shannon’s pain, to shock me back to myself. Yet I had been immersed in it. That was more powerful than someone talking to you, no matter how much you cared about that person. But I understood why he felt worried.

  “You’re faster than me,” I said then. “And you’ve got the gloves. If you see me going darkside, knock my ass out.”

  He laughed then. “You say that like I could hit you.”

  “And there’s no guarantee it would fix the problem,” Greydusk put in. “You might only wake up in demon queen mode, three times as enraged.”

  “Okay, so maybe that’s not the solution. Let’s head downstairs so I can sort through the rest of her stuff.”

  “As you wish, Binder.”

  After having Ninlil in my head, the Imaron’s instant obedience didn’t feel wrong anymore. And that bothered me. Chance still wore a troubled expression, and when he let go of me, I got the feeling he’d love to put some space between us so he could do some thinking. I didn’t blame him.

  God knew I’d like some distan
ce from myself. Only it wasn’t possible. I had to live with everything I’d done and everything I was. Until the end.

  Rock Steady

  I trudged downstairs in silence, clutching Shan’s backpack. There were other items, the laptop, books, and articles of clothing. I’d handle everything, just in case, but it didn’t make sense to sit in bed while I did it; I had to recover quickly. With any luck, I’d find a clue that would tell us what our next move should be.

  Less than five days before I had to return to Sybella.

  My one consolation was that Shannon had been alive in my vision, listening to her iPod, and the music player still had power. So it couldn’t have been too long since they took her to the new location. There had to be something that could lead us to her. I’d find it.

  Chance took off. Not into the city, but he stayed upstairs, making clear through his body language that I should give him some space. Though I regretted hurting him, there was nothing I could do. I wished his concern had been enough to drive the demon queen out of my head, but he could either accept me or he couldn’t. I had no energy to spare for reassuring him.

  Clearly I had been here for a while, but I didn’t remember, so I took stock of my surroundings, inside and out. In Mexico City, I’d call this a town house, as it didn’t touch the other homes nearby and there was a small courtyard out back. It was similar in design, in fact, to Tia’s home. Otherwise, in furnishings, design, and building materials, they were nothing alike. Not surprisingly. The Imaron favored neutral colors, tan and brown, and odd sculptures. I couldn’t really be hanging out in a demon’s house. Soooo surreal. But after everything that had happened to me, my brain didn’t balk as much as one might expect.

  Greydusk had a padded bench in the central sitting room, so I dropped down on it, opening Shannon’s backpack. I pulled out each item and laid it beside me.