Dead Man Rising

"I got whipped once. Put in the cage four times. B-branded. I was lucky it wasn't more." Lucky nothing happened that broke me. Nothing big. Nothing I couldn't handle, Jace.

"Lucky." His aura flushed with fury. "Da

"Clear off a space on the table, Jace. The sooner we get this done, the sooner I can bury this again." And by the grace of Anubis, I can't wait to bury this again.

He stared at me for a few more moments, jaw working, then turned on his bootheel and stalked away soundlessly. I knew that set to his shoulders, the controlled angry grace. Jace was furious. I had only seen him in a rage twice, but both times had given me a healthy respect for his anger. I wondered if I was going to see it again, hoped not.

If he went nova I might draw steel on him, and I didn't quite trust myself with edged metal right now.

I carried the books into the dining room. He moved jerkily, clearing a space on the table. Other texts on demonology and basic Magi theory, drifts of paper where I'd made notes, and the talismans Jace had been working on—he stacked them all to the side, and I put the eleven yearbooks down. Blew out a heavy breath.

"Who are we looking for?" He set a four-book set of Tierley's Democria Demontia on one of the chairs with excessive delicate care. I picked up a piece of fine parchment, a twisted glyph that was Japhrimel's name branded into my shoulder repeated over and over again in different permutations. I hadn't even realized I was doodling it.

I cleared my throat, suddenly more grateful for his presence than ever. I had to force myself to speak quietly. "Well, after we visit Polyamour we'll have some more names. But I want to find out if Christabel's class had anyone named Keller. Can you get my bag and your dat-pilot? I want to see if there are any Ceremonials in town."

"Hm. Why Ceremonials? You're thinking they might have a co

Ceremonial magicians weren't as rare as Necromances or as common as Shamans. They worked with the Nine Canons and the Seven Seals, charging and containing Power in objects, working with talismans, and providing permanent defenses for corporations, not to mention doing theoretical work and research into magick and the science of Power. Most teachers and trainers were Ceremonial magicians.

But there was a simpler reason why I wanted to find out who was in town. I met his worried blue eyes and gave him a smile that didn't feel natural at all. "I want to find out if any of them have gone Feeder."

Because, out of all psions, it was the Ceremonials—those who dealt with the theory of containing Power—who most often turned Feeder in adulthood. And if we had a Ceremonial on our hands who had gone Feeder and was hunting down former Rigger Hall students, the whole city's collection of psions would have to be alerted.

I would need all the help I could get.

Chapter Twenty-one

We were into the third book when the phone rang. I stretched and yawned while I padded into the kitchen. Jace tapped another name into his datpilot, glancing up briefly as I passed him. Late-morning light glowed in the windows. I leaned a hip against the counter and picked the phone up. " 'Lo."

A click and a pause, as if the call was on relays. My spine went cold, as if my body recognized the truth before I did.

"Dante Valentine. It is a singular pleasure to speak to you again."

My entire body turned to ice. There was only one being in the entire goddamn world that could strangle me with fear in just two sentences.

The voice was smooth as silk, persuasive, crawling into my head. My phone had no vidshell, for which I was now doubly grateful. If I had to face down the Prince of Hell again, even over a holovid shell, I wasn't sure I would come away from the experience quite sane.

The letter. I'd chucked it into the garbage. I owed him nothing. There was no reason for the Prince of Hell to want to talk to me. I'd done what he wanted, and I'd paid the price. I had screamed as Japhrimel turned to ash in my arms. Wasn't he happy? Wasn't that enough?

Why would the Devil call me on the phone instead of sending another demon to collect me if he wanted me? He'd done it before, sending Japhrimel and asking me to hunt down Santino, perfectly aware I had my own reasons for wanting that bastard dead.

Anubis protect me. The jolt of fear that smashed through my throat tasted like iron. What if Lucifer is involved with the murders?

My entire body went cold. My throat was dry. My hand tightened, digging clawlike fingernails into the counter-top. Ceramic screeched under the pressure of my fingers, claws springing free and dimpling the tough tiles. "I can't say the same," I husked, my throat burning with the memory of the Devil's hand crushing my larynx. "What the hell do you want? Leave me alone."

"Polite as ever." Lucifer's voice held a weight of amusement I wasn't sure I ever wanted to hear again. "I must speak with your lover, and I am unable to contact him in the usual ma

What the motherfucking hell is he talking about? My lover? Has Lucifer been spying on me? My entire body flushed hot, then cold again; my nipples drawing up, my skin going cold and tight as an icy glove.

"Is this some kind of joke?" I could actually feel my temper grow thin and brittle, rage rising to wash away sick, deadening fear. "I don't have time for this, Lucifer. You killed Japhrimel, you bastard demon; are you calling to remind me? You think I'm going to hand Jace over to you? Get a life." And he's not my lover either. Though that's none of your goddamn business, is it, you sack of diseased shit. The cupboards rattled as my voice turned sharp and cool, Power spiking under the harsh, throaty croak.

But the suspicion, once voiced, wouldn't go away. Oh, my dear sweet fucking gods, is Lucifer involved in this? My entire body turned to ice. A solid block of ice.

If this was something to do with demons, I was dead in the water. But Christabel's body had held no hint of demon, no scent of spice and dark flame.

There was a pause. "Can it be you have not resurrected him?" The Prince of Hell actually—chalk one up for me—sounded shocked.

I seem to have a habit of nonplussing demons.

My voice was a choked whisper. "Resurrected?" What the hell did that mean? Jace wasn't dead. And if I could have resurrected Japhrimel, I would have already done it.

Then I shook myself. Demons lied. The Prince of Hell was no exception. So he'd sent me a little love note, and now he was graduating to obscene phone calls. I had no fucking time for this, not when I was trying to deal with every goddamn ghost from my childhood trying to climb up through the floor and throttle me.

"Go away," I enunciated clearly through the scratching in my throat. "You don't need me, I'm not your errand-girl anymore. Japhrimel is dead, you can't hurt him anymore. You're just lucky I don't come after you for kidnapping Eve. Now if you'll excuse me, I have real work to do and a killer to catch." I slammed the phone down so hard the tough plasteel base cracked.

I wanted to pick it up again, see if he was still on the line. I wanted to scream, I wanted to dial the operator. Hello, Vidphone Central? Hook me up to Hell. Tell the Devil he can have me, if he just brings Japhrimel back Tell him I'll do anything he wants, if I don't have to face this alone.

Then welcome fury crawled up between the words. Tell him, while you're at it, that if he's involved with this he'd better say his prayers. Because he's meddled in my life one too many times, and if he's killing Necromances in my city I'm going to see how much demonic flesh my blade can carve. We're even, sure, but I have a score to settle with you, Lucifer Iblis.