He would either hold up his end of the deal or he wouldn’t. Either way, a demon or two—or more—was going to die. I was going to see this thing finished.
Nothing else mattered.
CHAPTER 34
There’s no pretty way to describe the Vegas Waste.
The nucleus is an immense slag-crater full of radiation and thin glass where silica sand fused together, broken by twisted screaming shapes of ferrous metal. On the outside edges, the Ghost City slumps and crawls. Even from the air bones are visible, buried in drifts of sand that ride up and fall away so the entire place shifts. Moaning wind is the only sound left.
Once, the city stretched into the desert, full of gambling, liquor, and the peculiar Merican Era duo of fleshly urges and frantic penance for those urges. The Gilead government was like every other totalitarian regime—the ones in power wanted a playground, and Vegas was nothing if not accommodating.
Maybe the hard-line Republic thought it was being tricky by moving its StratComm into the city once it was pushed out of DeeSee by opposition forces after Kochba bar Gilead’s assassination. Maybe they had nowhere else to go, having been blown out of the Coloradin Bunkers in massive firefights. Maybe it was just sheer disorganization.
Whatever it was, their threat of nuclear strike was met by an actual nuclear strike. Nobody after the Seventy Days War took responsibility for actually giving the codes to drop the bomb. Whoever did it saved plenty of lives—the hard-liners weren’t going to go out quietly, and they had enough fanatics and material to wage war for a while, especially in the mountainous regions.
But whoever did it also slaughtered a million civilians if not more, not just in the first bomb-blast but also in radiation sickness and pure misery in camps afterward as the provisional government struggled to figure out who was a Gilead guerilla and who was a civilian.
McKinley was in the cockpit, guiding the hover over the shallow dips and crests of desert. Acres of broken ruins stretched in every direction, old crumbling concrete and real steel too twisted and heavy to be salvaged, crusted with rust. Glaring light reflected from sand in shimmering dapples wherever there was a porthole, casting weird shadows into the interior. The hover was slim, much smaller than our previous version, with no extraneous chambers. The cargo bay was open, a deep narrow well bare except for one pale-haired demon trapped again in a silver-writhing circle, her face tilted back to look at me above her.
I had my scabbarded sword in my left hand and the Knife in my right, its hum rivaling hoverwhine. Behind the cockpit, Vann leaned against the hull, occasionally exchanging soft words with McKinley. Japhrimel loomed behind them, his hands clasped behind his back, his hair gleaming. And, wonder of wonders, Anton Kgembe, his springy hair wildly mussed, shot an indecipherable glance at me before leaning toward Japh to whisper, very fucking familiar, into Japh’s ear.
Plot and counterplot, double agents and deception. Where was Leander? Had he survived whatever had happened to the last hover?
Lucas, arms folded and a scowl settled over his thin sallow face, stood at the railing at my right shoulder. “You shouldna done that.”
You shouldn’t have pointed a gun at me. You’re working for me. Or at least, you said you were. “I already said I was sorry.” I sounded unhelpful even to myself. “I’m having kind of a bad week, Lucas.”
“Not used to my clients tryin’ to kill me. I’ve put rabid bounty hunters down for less.” He shifted his weight as the hover tilted, wind pressure moving against its skin.
My back prickled. I swallowed my temper with an almost sweat-inducing effort. “You were firing on her.” And on me, come to think of it.
“Orders. Your boyfriend’s got better sense than you.” The sneer loading his whisper was almost visible.
“So you’re working for him now?” I stared at Eve’s pale head, the ropes of her hair stirring as she crouched immobile in the empty cargo bay. The humming line of silver tautened as her shoulders came up, as if she felt my gaze. “Just so I’m clear on this, because I thought I hired you.” When he didn’t respond, I considered the point carried. “Fuck you, Lucas.”
“No way, chica. You too high-maintenance.”
“Now is not a good time to bait me.” I just might do something silly.
He was unimpressed. “Not a good time to try to kill me, either.”
“You welshed on me!” I rounded on him. “I’m warning you, Lucas. Don’t ride me. I’m not in the mood.”
“I been watchin’ this whole thing play out.” His yellow eyes narrowed, and despite his slumped shoulders and crossed arms Lucas was on a hair trigger. If he twitched for a knife or a plasgun, what was I going to do?
The engine of chance and consequence inside my head returned the only answer possible. If he moved on me, we were going to find out if he was as deathless as everyone claimed.
Once, before Japh changed me, I stood in a Nuevo Rio deadhead bar with a demon in my shadow, facing down Villalobos, almost too terrified to talk. And now there was only the calm, almost-rational consideration of how I’d kill him before he could return the favor.
My, how times change.
He continued, and I forced myself to pay attention. “I gotta admit, you were smart when it started. But you gettin’ dumber and dumber. Wind you up and watch you knock down everything in your way’s kind of fun, but it don’t get the job done.”
“Where’s Leander?” I didn’t want to hear how stupid Villalobos thought I was. I didn’t care if I was stupid or not. All I wanted right now was a chance to kill a demon, and I was getting to the point where I wasn’t too picky which one.
Lucas stared through me. His lean sallow face was the picture of contempt. “You just gettin’ around to wondering? Glad you didn’t get a crush on me, or I might be in even more trouble.”
That was uncalled-for. I couldn’t drop my eyes, trained reflex resisting the urge to look away. “Keep your goddamn commentary to yourself, Villalobos.” If Leander hadn’t been able to keep up, would Kgembe be any different?
Was it horrible that I didn’t care? The thought was a pinch in a numb place. He was human.
But he’d taken his chances.
You sound just like a demon, Dante. He took his chances, so sorry, too bad. I shifted, restlessly.
“What if you need to hear it? You’ve fucked this up six ways from Sunday and it’s only goin’ to get worse. I always see a job through, but—”
“Lucas.” Japhrimel’s quiet word sliced through our rising voices. The hover rattled. “Enough.”
As if we needed any reminding who was actually in control of this situation. We stared at each other, Lucas Villalobos and I, and my sudden desire to smash his fucking face in made the Knife quiver in my hand. It was a weapon meant for demons, but I wondered just how much damage it could do to the man Death had denied.
“Are you thinking about it, Valentine?” Very softly. If Lucas had ever had a lover, he might have whispered to her in just this deadly quiet tone, almost-tenderness over razor-sharp rage. “Come on and try me. It’d be a fight worth having. Before you do, though, you’d better think about who was on that hover with Leander. D’ya think she stopped to cover his retreat? You think she gave a rat’s ass about him? You bein’ used, and if it wasn’t so pathetic it’d be goddamn hilarious to see you barkin’ up whatever tree ol’ Blue-Eyes there points you at—”
I pitched forward, but Japhrimel arrived, his fingers locked around my wrist. I had started to bring the Knife up, its humming in my hand a sudden siren call. Strike. Kill. Make someone bleed.
“Lucas.” Japhrimel matched his quietness. “You have a contract with me.”
“I lived up to it so far, ain’t I?” Villalobos’s teeth-baring grimace wasn’t a smile. “You an idiot too, demon. You shoulda done what had to be done when you had the chance.”
“I did not ask for your opinion of my methods.” Japhrimel’s hand tensed and released, his coat ruffling slightly along its wet lacquered edges. “I asked f
or your skill in killing Hell’s citizens. Any more is not your concern.”
“Your funeral.” Lucas wheeled and stalked away, the effect of his retreat ruined by the close quarters. He ended up near the cockpit, reflected desert light stippling his lean face. I wondered if the flesh between his shoulderblades was prickling because of my nearness, now.
Japhrimel did not look at me. Instead, he clasped his hands behind his back and stood very still, gazing down into the well of the cargo hold. Eve still crouched, motionless, and my heart gave a sudden pang. She was trapped down there without even anyone to talk to, alone in a bare hold.
Not a very human way to treat someone, is it, Danny? “Can I go down there?”
Japhrimel appeared not to have heard, staring fixedly at the demon’s pale head. I drew in breath to ask again, but he stirred. “Why?”
Sekhmet sa’es. “Do I have to get a permit?”
“You hold the Knife, my curious. I can hardly stop you.” A single shrug, his shoulder lifting, dropping.
It hung heavy in my hand, curved, obscenely warm wood. My rings sparked and sizzled in the uncertain air. Out here in the radiation wastes, static would build up, discharging in blue-white sparks. I could almost feel the silent killer against my skin, lethal power unleashed by the splitting of an infinitely small piece of the universe.
Should I be worried? I’m part-demon; will I get radiation sickness? Will I care if I do? “When were you going to tell me about this prophecy thing?”
“Meaningless gibberish.” No shrug this time, but a slight tension in the straight line of his shoulders. “I suppose the Androgyne made it sound tailored to you.”
The hand that can hold the Knife has faced fire and not been consumed, has walked in Death and returned, a hand given strength beyond its ken. “It sounds pretty specific.”
“Ilvarimel’s hedaira did speak before her death. She spoke her A’nankhimel’s name, and cursed me. The prophecy is simply noise.” Each word was so bitter it was a wonder it didn’t dye the air blue. “I suppose you will not believe me.”
I don’t know what to believe. My eyes snagged on the Knife’s finials, clasping my hand. Revenge. Kill the bastard and stop him playing around with me.
But what then? Could I even imagine anything past that? If the gods smiled on me and I was lucky enough to kill Lucifer—by no means certain, even with Japh’s help—what the hell would happen then?
There was Gabe’s little girl in Saint City, playing in a House run by a sexwitch transvestite. I’d promised to raise her, to look after her and protect her.
I’d also promised to protect the demon crouched in the cargo hold, the child-demon who held bits of both me and Doreen in her genetic matrix. Who set me barking at trees in a way Lucas found so fucking amusing.
Who I would have killed for—or died for—atop that Paradisse tower. If Lucas or Vann had been human still, would I have slaughtered them in the name of keeping Eve safe?
Who was I really trying to save? Eve, or myself?
My teacher’s voice drifted out of a cracked memory vault. Compassion is not your strongest virtue, Danyo-chan.
I could not keep every promise I made. I’d broken my vow of vengeance on Gabe and Eddie’s killers; I had left that faithless murdering sedayeen bitch alive. Because Anubis, my god, my patron, had asked.
More than that, though. Because she was incapable of fighting back, because she was a healer. Because I could not murder an unarmed woman and retain any tattered shard of my honor. Because I had lived my life with no shortage of killing and violence—but always directed at someone who deserved to die, by any standard. Someone who had chosen to fight without honor, broken the law, or attacked me first. It was who I was.
Or who I used to be. Who was I now? A Necromance who couldn’t stand to face her god. A half-demon with a head full of reactive fumes, liquid fury in place of blood, and a weapon that could hopefully kill the Devil in my fist.
Nobody’s ever tried this Knife on Lucifer. You don’t know if it works or not.
Still, I had Japhrimel, didn’t I? He had declared war on Lucifer. If I could believe him. If I could trust him to hand Eve over to Lucifer in one breath and rescue her with the next.
What then, Danny? What comes after this?
More lies and games? What would happen in Hell with Lucifer gone?
Kind of late to be thinking this over now, sunshine.
The hover jolted a bit, steadied. Silence crackled, and when I blinked, returning to myself, I found Japhrimel had half-turned. He looked at me now, the silver threading his hair dappled with reflected light and his eyes burning holes in the artificial dusk left by the sealed portholes.
The human darkness behind a screen of green fire sent another sharp bolt through me. Had he even paused before throwing himself off a high-rise after me?
Of course not. You know he didn’t. Sounding disgusted with myself was turning into a full-time career by now.
I set my jaw and lifted my chin. I also lifted the Knife slightly, but he didn’t look at it. “I need a sheath for this. The old one won’t fit.”
He nodded. My heart ached. There was nothing else to say; I couldn’t tell him a quarter of what I wanted to, and he wouldn’t do a quarter of what I needed him to do. Go figure, the love of my life, and I couldn’t trust a goddamn word he said. I had to trust what he would do.
I turned away, breaking eye contact with a small sharp pain, a needle going into whatever heart I had left. There was a ladder leading down to the cargo bay, and I slid my sword into the loop on my rig, needing at least one hand free for climbing.
“Dante.” Why did he sound so ragged, as if he’d just finished some huge task? “May I ask you one thing?”
I studied the blank hull on the other side of the open cargo well. Deathly silence even managed to quiet the whine of hover travel. Vann and McKinley had stopped their murmuring. “Ask away.” All I can do is lie to you, you know. All I can do is betray you, keep things from you, manipulate you. Like you’ve done to me. Is turnabout fair play?
“When Lucifer lies dying at your feet, what will you do?”
Good question. I swallowed dryly, closed my left hand over the railing, and prepared to climb down. Let out the breath I’d been holding. “I’ll find out when I get there, Japhrimel.”
I just hope that’s the destination you really have in mind.
Sand swirled. The cargo hatch opened, a thin gleam bowing out as the airseals took on the load of oven-hot, evening desert wind. A flat glass field shimmered under a pall of fierce sunny heat, and even though I knew it was invisible I shivered, thinking of the radiation soaking that reflective waste. The hover would need decontamination and a plurifreeze wash on the way back, if there was a way back.
Eve still hadn’t opened her eyes. She crouched in the very center of the thin silver circle, its taut drone an octave or so lower than the Knife’s buzzing against my hip. Vann had produced yet another leather sheath, fitting the ancient weapon as if custom-made.
Airseals bowed again as the wind picked up, moaning between struts and sending fine sand hissing against the static containment field. I imagined radiation creeping into my flesh and shuddered again. Long shadows stretched away from the hover, made tall by the westering sun. We’d spent the whole day circling the city, wastes of twisted metal and old shattered buildings heaving under the hover’s metal belly.
Vann tried again. “At least let us accompany you. For her protection.”
Japhrimel shook his head. He checked a silvery gun, sighting down its barrel, and made it disappear. “I am all the protection she will require, and if I fail you could hardly succeed. No, Vann. It ends here.”
“My Lord.” McKinley this time, even paler than usual. “It’ll be dusk soon. Tiens—”
“No.” Japh’s tone brooked no further argument.
Lucas slung a bandolier over his shoulder, buckled it. “Goddamn sun,” he muttered. “Goddamn Vegas. Goddamn everything.”
&nb
sp; I heartily agreed. At least my clothes were still mostly in one piece and not too filthy. My hair tangled wildly, and I ran my fingers back through it, wincing as I encountered matted knots. My heart thumped, skipped, and settled into a fast high walloping run. Inside my head, the thin red ribbon of rage smoked. My shields crackled, another flush of Power reinforcing the tissue-thin energetic scabs. I was in no shape to take anyone on, let alone the Devil himself.
My knuckles drifted against the Knife’s smooth warm hilt, the remainder of my left hand closed firmly around Fudoshin’s hilt. A hot burnished smell of cooking glass and oven-warm sand filtered in through the seals, distant wet mirage-shimmers on the curved, receding horizon.
The sword kills nothing, my teacher whispered inside my head. It is will, kills your enemy.
I hoped it was true. Old Jado had given me this sword, and it had already tasted Lucifer’s flesh once without breaking.
Sekhmet sa’es. Lady, I invoke You. You answered me once. Be with me, I pray. The reflex of faith was too deeply ingrained for me to escape. I’d spent forty-odd years or more praying to the god of Death, my own personal shield against the vastness of whatever lies beyond human understanding.
Now I was praying to someone else, and I hoped She was listening. My right hand rose to my throat and touched the knobbed end of a silver-dipped baculum, Jace’s necklace quietly resting against my collarbone, its weight a comfort. All the voices in my head were silent, for once.
Waiting.
Japhrimel stepped to the edge of the silver double circle. The glyphs between the inner and outer layers responded, their dance becoming a single solid streak of light, running through the grated metal flooring without a single hitch. “It is time.”
Eve’s gasflame eyes opened. She rose to her feet in a single fluid movement. She tilted her head back, the pale supple cervical curve gleaming. Demon-acute sight picked out the pulse throbbing in its secret hollow, vulnerable and strong.
“Consort. You are a piece in this game.” Japhrimel’s tone was flat. He stood in his habitual manner, hands clasped behind his back, head slightly cocked as if the demon he regarded was an interesting specimen in a kerri jar, nothing more.