Dante Valentine

  “Indeed.” The Prince turned back to the fireplace. “I have a mission for you, Dante. Succeed, and you can count me as a friend all the years of your life, and those years will be long. It is in my power to grant wealth and near-immortality, Dante, and I am disposed to be generous.”

  “And if I fail?” I couldn’t help myself.

  “You’ll be dead,” he said. “Being a Necromance, you’re well-prepared for that, aren’t you?”

  My rings glinted dully in the red light. “I don’t want to die,” I said finally. “Why me?”

  “You have a set of… talents that are uniquely suited to the task,” he answered.

  “So what is it exactly you want me to do?” I asked.

  “I want you to kill someone,” he said.

  CHAPTER 6

  Whoa.” I looked up at him, forgetting the hypnotic power of those green eyes. “Look, I’m not a contract killer. I’m a Necromance. I bring people back to ask questions, and lay them to rest when necessary.”

  “Fifty years ago, a demon escaped my realm,” the Prince said mildly, his voice cutting through my objections. “He is wandering your realm at will, and he is about to break the Egg.”

  Did he say crack the egg? Is that some kind of demon euphemism? “What egg?” I asked, shifting uncomfortably in the chair. My sword lay across my knees. This felt too real to be a hallucination.

  “The Egg is a demon artifact,” the Prince said. “Suffice it to say the effects will be very unpleasant if this particular demon breaks the Egg in your world.”

  My mouth dried. “You mean like end-of-the-world bad?” I asked.

  The Prince shrugged. “I wish the Egg found and the thief executed. You are a Necromance, capable of seeing what others do not. Some have called you the greatest death-talker of your generation, which is high praise indeed. You are human, but you may be able to find the Egg and kill the thief. Jaf will accompany you, to keep your skin whole until you accomplish your task.” He turned back to the fireplace. “And if you bring the Egg back to me I will reward you with more than a human being could ever dream of.”

  “I’m not so sure I want your reward,” I told him. “Look, I’m just a working girl. I raise the dead for issues of corporate law and to solve probate questions. I don’t do lone-gun revenge stuff.”

  “You’ve been dabbling in the bounty-hunting field since you left the Academy and with corporate espionage and other illegal fancies—though no assassination, I’ll grant you that—for five years to pay off your mortgage and live more comfortably than most of your ilk,” he replied. “Don’t play with me, Dante. It is exceedingly ill-advised to play with me.”

  “Likewise,” I said. “You’ve got a fully armed Necromance who knows your Name sitting in your inner sanctum, Your Highness. You must be desperate.” My mouth dried to cotton, my hands shook. That was another lie.

  Despite being more research-oriented than most of my kind, I didn’t know the Devil’s Name—nobody did. In any case, he was too powerful to be commanded around like a mere imp. I doubted even knowing Tierce Japhrimel’s Name would do more than keep him from outright killing me. Lucifer’s Name was a riddle pursued by Magi, who thought that if they learned it they could control the legions of Hell. The Ceremonials said Lucifer’s true Name was more like a god’s Name—it would express him, but didn’t have power over him. The exact nature of the relationship between Lucifer and the gods was also hotly debated; since the complete verification of the existence of demons the various churches that had survived the Awakening and the Ceremonials had conducted experiments, largely inconclusive. Belief in the power of the words to banish imps was necessary—but sometimes even that didn’t work unless the demon in question was extremely weak. As Gabe’s grandmother Adrienne Spocarelli had remarked once in a footnote to her Gods and Magi, it was a good thing demons didn’t want to rule the earth, since you couldn’t even banish one unless it was a bitty one.

  “And you must be greedy.” His voice hadn’t changed at all. “What do you want, Dante Valentine? I can give you the world.”

  It whispered in my veins, tapped at my skull. I can give you the world…

  I actually thought about it, but Lucifer couldn’t give me anything I wanted. Not without the price being too high. If I was sure of nothing else in this situation, I was sure of that. “Get thee behind me,” I whispered, finally. “I just want to be left alone. I don’t want anything to do with this.”

  “I can even,” he said, “tell you who your parents were.”

  You son of a bitch. I rocketed to my feet, my sword whipping free. Blue runes twisted inside the steel, but neither demon moved. I backed around the chair, away from Jaf, who still looked like a statue, staring at my sword. Red firelight ran wet over the blade, blue runes twisting in the steel. “You leave my parents out of this,” I snapped. “Fine. I’ll do your job, Iblis Lucifer. If you leave me alone. And I don’t want your trained dog-demon over there. Give me what information you’ve got, and I’ll find this Egg for you.”

  For all I knew my parents had been too poor to raise me; either that or they’d been too strung out on any cocktail of substances. It didn’t matter—since my Matheson index was so high and they’d had me in a hospital, they hadn’t been able to sell me as an indentured. That was the only gift they’d given me—that, and the genetic accident that made me a Necromance. Both incredible gifts, when you thought about the alternative. It wasn’t the first time somebody had twitted me about being an orphan.

  Nobody ever did it more than once.

  Lucifer shrugged. “You must take Japhrimel. Otherwise, it’s suicide.”

  “And have him double-cross me once we find this Egg? You must not want word to get out that someone took off with it.” I shook my head. “No dice. I work alone.”

  His eyes came up, bored into my skull. “You are under the illusion that you have a choice.”

  I lifted my sword, a shield against his gaze. Sweat trickled down my back, soaking into my jeans. It was damnably hot—what else, in Hell? You were expecting a mint julep and a cool breeze?

  I didn’t even see Jaf move. In one neat move he had the sword taken away, resheathed, and the gun pressed into my temple. One of his arms was across my throat. My feet kicked fruitlessly at empty air.

  “You are intriguing,” the Prince of Hell said, stalking across the room. “Most humans would be screaming by now. Or crying. There seems to be a distressing tendency to sob among your kind.”

  I spat an obscenity that would have made Jado-sensei, with his Asiano sense of decorum, wince. Jaf didn’t move. His arm slipped a little, and I fought for breath. He could crush my windpipe like a paper cup. I stopped kicking—it would waste what little oxygen I had left—and concentrated, the world narrowing to a single still point.

  “Let go of her,” the Prince said calmly. “She’s building up Power.”

  Jaf dropped me. I hit the ground and whirled on the balls of my feet, the sword blurring free of the sheath in an arc of silver, singing. No think, little nut-brown Jado in his orange robes yelled in my memory. No think, move! Move!

  I didn’t even see Jaf move again. He stepped in close, moving faster than a human, of course, twisted my wrist just short of breaking it, and tore the sword from my fingers. I punched him and actually connected, snapping his head back. Then I backed up, shuffling, away from the two demons, my two main-gauches whipping out, one reversed along my left forearm, the other held almost horizontally in front of me, ready for anything.

  Anything except this.

  Jaf dropped my sword. It chimed, smoking, on the floor next to the scabbard. “Blessed steel. She believes,” he said, glancing at the Prince, who had stopped and was considering me.

  Of course I believe, I thought, in a sort of delirium. I talk to the god of Death on a regular basis. I believe because I must.

  “Do you think you can fight your way free of Hell?” the Prince asked.

  “Do you think you could be polite?” I tossed back
. “ ’Cause I have to say, your treatment of a guest kind of sucks.” I gulped down air, a harsh whooping inhalation. It was slow suffocation, breathing in whatever gas these demons used for air.

  Lucifer took a single step toward me. “My apologies, Dante. Come, sit down. Japhrimel, give her sword back. We should be polite, shouldn’t we, since we are asking her for her help.”

  “What’s in the Egg?” I asked, not moving. “Why is it so important?”

  Lucifer smiled. That smile made me back up until my shoulders hit a bookcase. “What’s in the Egg?” he said. “None of your concern, human.”

  “Oh, boy.” I gulped down air. “This is so wrong.”

  “Help me, Dante, and you will be one of the chosen few to claim my friendship.” His voice was soft and persuasive, fingering at my skull, looking for entrance. I bit savagely at the inside of my cheek, the slice of pain clearing my head slightly. “I swear to you on the waters of Lethe, if you retrieve the Egg and kill the thief, I will consider you a friend for eternity.”

  I tasted blood. “What’s the demon’s name?” I asked. “The one that stole it.”

  “His name is Vardimal,” Lucifer said. “You know him as Santino.”

  I considered throwing my left knife. It wouldn’t kill him, but the blessed steel might slow him down long enough for me to juke for the door or the window. “Santino?” I whispered. “You slimy son of a—”

  “Watch how you speak to the Prince,” Jaf interrupted. Lucifer raised one golden hand.

  “Let her speak as she wishes, Japhrimel,” he said. For the first time, he sounded… what? Actually weary. “Value the human who speaks truth, for they are few and far between.”

  “You could say the same for demons,” I said numbly. “Santino…” It was a longing whisper.

  —blood sliding out between my fingers, a chilling crystal laugh, Doreen’s scream, life bubbling out through the gash in her throat, screaming, screaming—

  I resheathed my knives.

  Lucifer examined me for a few more moments, then turned and paced back to the fireplace. “I am aware that you have your own score to settle with Vardimal,” he continued. “You help me, I help you. You see?”

  “Santino was a demon?” I whispered. “How—” I had to clear my throat. “How the hell am I supposed to kill him?”

  “Japhrimel will help you. He also has a… personal stake in this.”

  Jaf gingerly picked up my sword, slid it into the sheath. I watched this, sweat trickling down my forehead. A drop fell into my eyes, stinging. I blinked it away. “Why doesn’t he just kill Santino?” I asked. My voice trembled.

  “A very long time ago, during the dawning of the world, I granted this demon a gift in return for a service,” Lucifer said. “He asked for an immunity. Neither man nor demon can kill him.”

  I thought this over. “So you think I can, since I’m neither.”

  “It is,” Lucifer pointed out, “worth a try. Japhrimel will protect you long enough for you to carry out your mission.”

  Awww, jeez, isn’t that sweet of him. I was about to say that, had a rare second thought, and shut my mouth. After a moment I nodded. “Fine.” I didn’t sound happy. “I’ll do it. It’s not like I have much of a choice.” And I’ll get free from this Jaf guy as soon as I’ve got the scent. How hard can that be?

  “The rewards will be great,” Lucifer reminded me.

  “Screw your rewards, I’ll be happy just to get out alive,” I muttered. Santino was a demon? No wonder I couldn’t find him. “Can I go back to Earth now? Or is this Vardimal hanging out in the Infernals?” The thought of hunting for a murderous demon through the lands of the not-quite-real-but-real-enough made suicide seem like a pretty good option.

  “He is among your kind,” Lucifer told me. “Your world is a playground for us, and he plays cruel games.”

  “Gee, imagine that.” I swallowed, a dry dusty click. “A demon who likes hurting people.”

  “Let me tell you something, Dante Valentine,” Lucifer replied, staring into the flames. His back was rigid. “I saw your kind crawling up from mud yesterday, and pitied you. I gave you fire. I gave you civilization, and technology. I gave you the means to build a platform above the mud. I gave you the secrets of love. My demons have lived among you for thousands of years, teaching you, molding your nervous systems so you were no longer mere animals. And you spit on me, and call me evil.”

  My mouth couldn’t get any drier. We called them demons, or djinn, or devils, or a hundred other names, every culture had stories about them. Before the Great Awakening they had been only stories and nightmares, despite the Magi who had worked for centuries to classify and make regular contact with them. Nobody knew if demons were gods, or subject to gods, or Something Else Entirely.

  My vote went for Something Else. But then again, I’d always been the suspicious type. “Lucifer was the very first humanist,” I said. “I’m well aware of that, Your Highness.”

  “Think of that before you open your mouth again,” he continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “Now get out, and do what you’re told. I give you Japhrimel as a familiar, Dante Valentine. Go away.”

  “My lord—” Jaf began, and I rubbed my sweating hands on my damp jeans. I would need a salt tablet and a few liters of water—the heat was physical, pressing against my skin; sweat drenched my clothes.

  “Get out,” Lucifer said. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

  I wasn’t about to argue. I looked at Jaf.

  The demon stared at Lucifer for a moment, his jaw working, green eyes burning.

  Green eyes. They both have green eyes. Are they related? Jeez, who knows? I swallowed again. The tension buzzed against the air, rasped against my skin.

  Lucifer made an elegant motion with one golden hand. It was a rune, but not one I recognized.

  Fire bit into my left shoulder. I screamed, sure that he’d decided to kill me after all, me and my big mouth—but Jaf stalked across the room, holding my scabbarded sword, and grabbed my elbow again. “This way,” he said, over my breathless howl—it felt like a branding iron was pressed into my flesh, the burning— and he hauled me back toward the door we’d come in through. I struggled—no not that again it HURTS it HURTS it HURTS— but when he opened the door and pulled me through there was no hall, just an icy chill and the blessed stink of human air.

  CHAPTER 7

  My shoulder ached, a low dull throbbing. It was dark. Rain fell, but I was dry. My clothes were dry, too. I was covered with the smoky fragrance of demon magic.

  I blinked.

  I was lying on something hard and cold, but something warm was against the side of my face. Someone holding me. Musk and burning cinnamon. The smell drenched me, eased the burning in my shoulder and the pounding of my heart, the heavy smoky pain in my lungs. I felt like I’d been ripped apart and sewn back together the wrong way. “… hurts,” I gasped, unaware I was talking.

  “Breathe,” Jaf said. “Just keep breathing. It will pass, I promise.”

  I groaned. Kept breathing.

  Then the retching started. He rolled me onto my side, still holding me up, and I emptied my stomach between muttering obscenities. The demon actually stroked my hair. If I tried to forget that he had just held a gun to my head, it was actually kind of comforting.

  I finished losing everything I’d ever thought of eating. Retched for a little while. Then everything settled down, and I lay on the concrete listening to sirens and hovers passing by while the demon stroked my hair and held me. It took a little while before I felt ready to face the world—even the real human world—again.

  I said I’d kiss the ground, I thought. Not sure I’d want to do that now that it’s covered in puke. My puke. Disgusting.

  “I suppose this is pretty disgusting,” I finally said, wishing I could rinse my mouth out.

  I felt the demon’s shrug. “I don’t care.”

  “Of course not.” I tasted bile. “It’s a human thing. You wouldn’t care.”
br />   “I like humans,” he said. “Most demons do. Otherwise we would not have bothered to make you our companions instead of apes.” He stroked my hair. A few strands had come loose and stuck to my cheeks and forehead.

  “Great. And here I thought we were something like nasty little lapdogs to you guys.” I took a deep breath. I felt like I could stand up now. “So I guess I’ve got my marching orders, huh?”

  “I suppose so.” He rose slowly to his feet, pulling me with him, and caught me when I overbalanced. He put my sword in my hands, wrapped my fingers around it, then held the scabbard there until I stopped swaying.

  It was my turn to shrug. “I should go home and pick up some more stuff if we’re going to be chasing a demon down,” I told him. “And I need… well.”

  “Certainly,” he said. “It is the Prince’s will that I obey.”

  The way he said it—all in one breath—made it sound like an insult. “I didn’t do it,” I said. “Don’t get mad at me. What did he do to me, anyway?”

  “When we get to your house, you should look,” the demon said, infuriatingly calm. “I hope you realize how lucky you are, Necromance.”

  “I just survived a trip to Hell,” I said. “Believe me, I’m counting my blessings right now. Where are we?”

  “Thirty-third and Pole Street,” he answered. “An alley.”

  I looked around. He was right. It was a dingy little alley, sheltered from the rain by an overhang. Three dumpsters crouched at the end, blocking access to the street. Brick walls, a graffiti tag, papers drifting in the uncertain breeze. “Lovely,” I said. “You sure have a great flair for picking these places.”

  “You’d prefer the middle of Main Street?” he asked, his eyes glowing in the darkness. I stepped sideways as soon as my legs seemed willing to carry me. His hands fell back down to his sides. “The Prince…” He trailed off.

  “Yeah, he’s a real charmer, all right,” I said. “What did he do to my shoulder? It hurts like a bitch.”