You Slay Me

  "That sounds strangely like a quantum physics class I once took," I said warily.

  She gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Quantum theory is just another way people have of ordering that which can­not be ordered."

  "Ah. As I failed miserably in that class, I think I'll quickly change the subject to something I can think about without having to lie down in a quiet room with a cold wet cloth over my eyes. You don't happen to have any idea of why someone would want to kidnap Ophelia, or where they would take her?"

  She shook her head. "You do not see, and yet it stares you right in your eyes. Do you have your talisman?"

  "Sure." I plucked it out from where it rested between my breasts.

  She took it from me, holding her hand open flat to show it resting on her palm. Slowly she closed her hand over it, then held up her other hand, also closed. "Now, tell me, which hand has the talisman?"

  I touched her left hand, the one that I had seen holding the talisman. She opened her hand. It was empty.

  "Uh ... well, you must have palmed it to your other hand, although I don't quite see how since your hands never moved—"

  She opened up her right hand. It, too, was empty.

  "Now," she said, tapping me on the forehead. "Close your eyes and open yourself up to the possibilities. Tell me where the talisman is."

  I felt a little silly doing this in the middle of a busy park, but I sensed she was trying to show me something important, and since I hadn't done too well trying to mud­dle through things on my own, I figured it was to my ben­efit to learn. I closed my eyes, pushed away all the noises and distractions that surrounded me, shoved down all the worry and panic and confusion that filled me, squashed even the faint burn that was my feelings about Drake, and opened the magic door in my mind. I pictured the talis­man, remembering what it felt like, how it felt beneath my fingertips, visualized the smooth, curved lines of the warm jade touched here and there with cool gold.

  I opened my eyes. I knew where it was. "It's in my hand," I said, blinking in surprise at the hand that rested on my thigh. I turned it over, opened my fingers, and stared at the talisman resting on my palm.

  "How ... I don't understand. It was there all along, but I couldn't see it or feel it?"

  "That is because you did not consider all the possibil­ities, only the one you believed to be true. In order to be a great Guardian—and I believe you have that within your ability if only you will seek it—you must learn to see not just what you know to be, but those things that also might be."

  I absorbed that for a few seconds. "So you're saying that I should consider the possibility that Ophelia hasn't really been kidnapped?"

  Amelie just looked at me, neither confirming nor denying that idea.

  "If that's so, then it would mean she disappeared for some reason of her own."

  She raised an eyebrow.

  "Which would also mean that if Bafamal was in her bedroom, it was because ..." Goose bumps rippled up my arms. "Because she summoned it there. And if that's the case, then I couldn't have summoned it when I thought I did. Oh, holy grenouilles—that's why it could lie to me! She summoned it before I could, probably telling it what I was going to do and what to say to me after it pretended to be summoned." I stood up and faced Amelie. "That's why the circle felt different! That's why I was so sick and feeling icky yesterday—it wasn't just a depression over leaving Jim behind—the demon was there all along. It was the demon's presence that I felt!"

  I spun around, holding my talisman to the sky, sud­denly feeling as if I were a hundred pounds lighter. "I wasn't wrong! I wasn't stupid! I was right about Ophelia! She is the murderer, wahooo!"

  "That is a very strange thing you are celebrating," Amelie said with a dry smile.

  I grinned and sat down. "I know, call me wacky, but it does make me feel better to know that I wasn't wrong about her. I've been wrong about so many other things. But I suppose I shouldn't be celebrating yet. I still have to draw her out and get her to confess before enough wit­nesses that Inspector Proust will be able to charge her."

  Amelie smiled and looked out over the park. Dusk was setting in, but the rain had stopped some hours ago, and now the soft, warm summer air was luring people out to the park.

  "It's going to be a long night," I said with a little sigh.

  "The longest of the year."

  I did a quick mental calculation. "Oh, that's right, today is the summer solstice. Midsummer."

  "Litha," Amelie said, still watching the people strolling by us. "It is also the night of the full moon." She slid me an odd look. "You have chosen well for the night of your challenge."

  "Pure happenstance. I didn't actually set it up this way. Ophelia kind of pushed me into it."

  She shook her head. "You are not seeing the possibili­ties, my friend. But come, we have much to do if we are to ready you for the tasks you have chosen to undertake."

  I stood up when she did. "We do? I don't want you get­ting into trouble on my account—"

  "We won't go back to my shop," she said, putting her fingers to her lips and blowing a shrill whistle. "What we . need we have here."

  The shrubs near us rustled; then Cecile emerged at a stiff waddle, Jim following with a plaintive note in its voice. "But baby, it can work. I'll lie on my back and you can lower— Oh, hi. This isn't what it sounds like."

  I glared at it with the squintiest eyes possible. "You are a heartbeat away from an intimate introduction to a pair of scissors and some rough twine, demon."

  Jim had the decency to look abashed. It didn't fool me, however. I kept a close eye on my furry little friend as we walked up one side of the Jardin and down the other, Amelie talking the entire time, lecturing me on every­thing from the foolishness of linear thinking to a brief history of the Otherworld.

  "This is all fascinating," I said an hour and probably several miles later, "but it's not terribly practical, if you know what I mean. I was hoping you'd teach me some wards or give me an idea of how to tackle one of the demon lords, something useful like that."

  "Demon lords?" she asked, coming to a halt. "What do you need to know about managing a demon lord?"

  "Eh ... well, I may have to summon one of them."

  "Which one?" she asked, going absolutely still, her eyes large and black under the soft yellow glow of a nearby lamp.

  "Bael," I said, hating to say the name.

  She shuddered and started walking very quickly, as if to distance herself from the unpleasant idea. "No. You are not that foolish. You would not attempt to bind the most powerful lord in all of Abaddon, not you who does not even yet know the extent of your abilities. It is impossi­ble what you say. You cannot control even the small pow­ers you have touched. You are making the joke to me."

  "This is not doing a whole lot for my self-confidence," I said as I trudged along. I was telling the truth. My stom­ach had knotted up into the size of a prune. A runty prune. One with a rotten core.

  "This is not funny!" Amelie suddenly shouted, spin­ning around to pin me with a look that shriveled my stomach even further. "You have challenged a wyvern! You intend on summoning a demon lord! These are not trivial events you plan—they could destroy you!"

  I made a placating gesture as I urged her forward. Peo­ple had stopped to stare at her outburst, and the last thing I wanted to do was garner anyone's attention after having my face on all the newspapers. "I didn't mean to sound flip. I'm taking the matter of Bael very seriously, very se­riously indeed. But you don't have to worry about the other thing—the challenge to Drake is just an excuse to draw Ophelia out in front of a bunch of witnesses. Drake won't mind if I cancel the challenge."

  She stared at me as if I had cheese growing out of my ears. "You cannot do such a thing!"

  "Sure I can."

  Her head shook vehemently. "No, you cannot. It is in the rules—once a challenge has been made, the two combatants must see the challenge through to the end. One must be the victor, the other the loser."

&nbsp
; I shrugged. "I'll just refuse to fight and let him be vic­tor. I was planning to forfeit anyway, that's how I'm going to get Ophelia to show. And if she doesn't, I have a little chat with Bael and have him bring her forth to admit her guilt."

  Amelie stopped, took a deep breath, and pulled on my arm until I was turned to face her. "You do not under­stand," she said slowly. "By the rules that govern the Vau-dela, the challenge must be fought. There is no los­ing by default. There is no forfeit. Either you fight or your opponent will destroy you. That is the law."

  I shook my head. "He can't destroy me. To do so would mean he'd kill himself, too."

  She just looked at me. "Yes, it would."

  I chill rippled through me at the certainty in her eyes. "He wouldn't do it. He'd refuse. He's not stupid. He wouldn't kill himself over something like a little formal­ity—"

  She sighed again. "You do not understand even though I have told you our history. The laws that govern the Vau-dela are not ones you can break. You accept them, or you are not a part of our world. Drake was born to the Vau-dela; he is immortal. He knows the laws and he will abide by them, even if it means his own death. You must fight him."

  "Oh, God," I said, my guts twisting with a new under­standing of just what I'd set into motion. "What have I done?"

  "That is a question you must ask yourself," Amelie said acidly as she continued on down the path. "For I do not have an answer."

  Even if she didn't have an answer, she had a lot of opinions. The next hour was spent with Amelie telling me in exacting detail just how stupid my plan was, but by the time the moon was rising beautiful and cold in the vel­vety blue-black sky, I had heard enough. I glanced at my watch and waved my hand for Jim to stop sweet-talking Cecile. "I'm sorry, Amelie, but there's nothing else I can do. I appreciate all your help, and your warnings, and all the information you've given me, but there's no other way out of this situation. Ophelia has us where she wants us—impotent. Justice for the deaths she caused aside, I can't let her blame Drake for her crimes. Or me. So that means I have to do what I have to do. If you'll excuse me, I've got to go to the south entrance and meet my friend Rene. He's promised to be my backup tonight."

  "There is nothing I can say to make you see the folly of your plan?" Amelie said, her face twisted with worry.

  I put my hand on her clenched fists and gave a gentle squeeze. "No. But I thank you."

  She straightened her shoulders and started down the path to the south. "Very well. I, too, will be your backup."

  "You don't have to—," I said hesitantly, not wanting her to get any more involved than she was, but aware of the warm fuzzy feeling I got thinking about her support.

  "Of course I do not. But I wish to. It will be... inter­esting. Cecile? Come, ma petite, we march."

  "I have a feeling interesting is going to be the least of it," I said with a morbid sigh.

  I just hate it when I'm right about things like that.

  20

  It was standing room only when we arrived at G & T. We had opted to wait for Rene to find a spot to park before walking to the nightclub, but even before we got to the building, crowds were visible streaming in from all di­rections.

  I felt a lot like a big, bad gunslinger coming into town as I walked down the sidewalk with my posse behind me. Rene was riding shotgun (literally, although in this in­stance the gun was a small snub-nosed .38 he'd tucked into his brown leather jacket) while Amelie and Jim were on my left. Cecile was left to snooze in Rene's taxi.

  "I still do not understand how it is the man Drake is really a dragon," Rene complained. We had filled him in on everything, and much to my surprise, he had been amazingly accepting of ideas I was still coming to grips with. "He seems so human."

  "Most beings use human forms these days," Amelie explained. "Some have been in human form so long, they have lost the ability to change back to their true form."

  I made yet another mental note, this time to ask Drake if he was stuck in a man shape. Not that I was complaining—

  I was just curious. Such trivial thoughts were quickly dis­missed as we approached the club.

  "I am confident," I said softly to myself as I slipped a hand into my pants pocket to touch the Eye of Lucifer I had placed there earlier. "I am a professional. I have power. I can do this."

  "Talking to yourself is a sign of mental instability," Jim said helpfully.

  I shot it a thin-lipped look.

  "Just trying to break the tension a little. Sheesh."

  As they had done before, the mass of people flowing into the club parted before me, people stopping to whis­per as we passed through the narrow channel of bodies.

  "You know," Jim said, looking from side to side as we walked the gauntlet, "I'd say this was really cool except I have a nasty suspicion we're all going to end up dead."

  "One more crack like that, and you'll find yourself in solitary confinement with no hope of .parole," I breathed in an undertone I knew it could hear.

  We walked up the steps to the club, the mass of people closing behind us. I stopped at the door, confused by the invisible net that seemed to be strung across the doorway.

  "What is it?" I asked, pushing against it. The net held for a few seconds, then reluctantly gave way and allowed me through it. It was like pushing myself through a dense mass of air.

  Rene pushed his way through it without too much dif­ficulty, Amelie on his heels. "It is a ward, a powerful one, intended to keep out all creatures of Abaddon."

  I looked back through the door at where Jim stood, fifty or sixty people behind it. "Jim?" I asked.

  It tried to step forward. For a fraction of a second an intricately drawn symbol glowed black on the air, then disappeared.

  Jim shook its head. "It won't let me in."

  I went back through the door, feeling no resistance as I left the club. "Here, let me help you. Maybe if I push, we can get you through it. I need you in there with me."

  As I approached the door again from the outside, I could feel the power of the ward filling the door.

  "I don't think this is going to work," Jim complained as I shoved him into the doorway. Its black body distorted as if a sheet of glass blocked its path. "Ow. Ow. Ow."

  "Oh, for heaven's sake," I muttered, glaring at the door. "I do not have time for this."

  I pulled the Eye out from my pocket, held it so it faced the door, and mentally envisioned a crack in the ward. The lodestone grew hot in my hand, drawing an answer­ing heat from deep within me—Drake's fire, the fire that never entirely left me. I let the two blazes join together into one conflagration, then directed it toward the ward at the same time I shoved Jim through. There was a crack like thunder; then we were inside.

  Amelie stared at me in horror. "Aisling ... you should not... you should not have been able to do that! The ward, it was most strongly drawn!"

  The crowd outside the door went absolutely dead silent at her words. Every hair on my head stood on end at the look people were giving me. I imagined it was the same sort of look the guys running the witch trials gave the convicted.

  "Just warming up, folks," I said with a weak smile, trying to diffuse the situation.

  "Oh, that's gonna make everyone feel better," Jim muttered.

  "Come on, let's get this over with. The sooner every­one has Ophelia to focus on, the quicker they'll forget about me." I marched forward, my little gang of three fol­lowing close behind.

  The inside of G & T was packed, but still people poured into the club, squishing together like sardines. We pushed our way through to the dance floor, which had been cordoned off. At one end Drake stood with Pal and Istvan. All three were wearing knee-length dark green silk tunics and black leggings, Drake's tunic embroidered with an intricate gold-and-black dragon on the chest. He looked incredibly handsome and absolutely dangerous. I stopped at the edge of the dance floor, aware that some­one had squeezed forward to unsnap the black velvet rope to allow us onto the parquet floor. The surrounding crowd was so
dense, it was almost impossible to see how deep they were, but I scanned them nonetheless.

  I didn't see Ophelia.

  Drake smelled the air, his eyes glittering black with anticipation. I knew without him even saying it that he was aware I had more than just the talisman with me, proving my suspicion that the talisman had indeed done well to hide the presence of the Eye. "You come to meet me in challenge. Guardian?"

  I stepped forward two paces and spoke the formal words per instruction from Amelie. "I come to meet you in challenge, wyvern. Who are your seconds?"

  Pal and Istvan stepped forward. "Pal Eszes of the green dragons, known as the wise, and Istvan Vadas of the green dragons, also named the hunter. Name your sec­onds, Guardian."

  Uh-oh. Ophelia was supposed to be my second. "Um... I call a time-out." I turned to face Rene and Amelie. "Guys, this is probably going to get ugly later, so why don't you both find yourself a good place to watch and let Jim be my second."

  Amelie spoke as she shook her head. "A demon can­not serve as second. It will be the greatest honor for me to serve you."

  Rene nodded. "Me, as well. I do not understand it all, but I know you need me."

  "You guys are just the best," I said, giving both their hands a little squeeze before turning back to Drake. "Team Aisling consists of Rene Lesueur, taxi driver, and Amelie Merllain, healer."

  "I'm the mascot," Jim said, pushing itself forward. "And our cheer is 'Aisling rules, others drool,' so you can just stick that in your pipe and blow it out your—"

  "Thank you, I think that will be enough." I glared Jim into silence.

  I swore one corner of Drake's mouth twitched as he in­clined his head toward me. "You are the challenger, Guardian; by what means will you meet me body to body to prove your superiority and claim control of the green dragon sept?"