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Try this on for size, Da
How far does Japhrimel’s protection extend? How expendable am I?
That was a distinctly uncomfortable thought. If Lucifer gave the word, would Japh cut me loose? After all, he had a demon’s Power now. Maybe I couldn’t be changed back into a human, but maybe Japh could get his freedom and his place in Hell back by bounty hunting these other four demons and finishing it up by tying off the last loose end.
Me.
That’s ridiculous, Dante. He’s your Fallen. He’s kept you alive this far.
Was that just because Lucifer had further plans for me? I knew Lucifer was my enemy, was fairly sure any other demon I’d come across at this point was an enemy. Could my Fallen become an enemy too? Especially since he wouldn’t tell me what Fallen meant? He’d held back during sparring, had kept things hidden from me—had he also only pretended some kind of emotional link to me? Or had he been amusing himself, as demons were wont to do in stories?
Do not doubt me, no matter what. I was busy doubting with all my little heart, now.
I considered him, sitting there with his eyes closed. My hand tightened on the swordhilt. I could draw and strike in a little under a second and a half while I was human; I was faster now. I wasn’t fast enough to hit him. But what would he do? What could I get away with doing as long as I still had value as bait?
He could tie me up and leave me with McKinley. I shuddered at the thought. He might, too, if I make any trouble. I was fairly sure I could break my way out of pretty much any human bonds, given enough time and concentration. But a demon probably knew how to tie a hedaira up so she didn’t escape. It was probably one of the things they learned in demon nursery school.
The thought of being tied up and having something like the hellhound attack was chilling, to say the least. McKinley’s footsteps continued their even tread. My rings crackled uneasily, golden sparks pulsing in the air above them and winking out.
There was another problem, too. A green-gemmed demon wanting to see me at the Haunt Tais-toi, which from the name was probably a Nichtvren haunt. I’d been inside one—the House of Pain in Saint City—and I never wanted to see another.
So Lucifer wanted to see me again. What the hell for? To finish me off, now that I’d served my purpose?
Had I served my purpose?
The sense of some missing puzzle piece returned. Gods above, how I hate that missing-piece feeling. It always means I’m about to get deeper into trouble than even I can handle.
Between one moment and the next, Japhrimel’s eyes flicked open. He studied me for a long moment, then stretched, the movement turning into a graceful rising to his feet. He offered me his hand. “Di
How did he sound so bloody calm? Was Lucifer pla
I made it to my feet on my own, bracing my left hand with my sword against the floor and levering myself up, my legs tingling briefly from forced immobility. I still felt a little shaky, but overall I seemed to have bounced back from the awful draining sensation. “I’m not hungry. I’ll go to this meeting, though.” My voice shook perceptibly. Congratulations, Dante. You sound about as calm as a Necromance before her Trial.
“It could be a trap.” Japh’s eyebrows drew together.
It’s almost certainly a trap. But for who? “I doubt Lucifer wants to kill me. We haven’t caught even one of the four demons he wants dragged in yet.” At least, not that I can tell. Though if he has other hunters out there, that might be inaccurate. I took a deep breath, carried the thought to its logical extension. I was begi
A swift snarl crossed Japhrimel’s face, green eyes laser-burning. “He will not.”
I shrugged. Not until he’s done playing with me and I’ve outlived my usefulness. If I’m bait, I don’t have long to live. “I’m a Necromance, demon. I’m not going to live forever.” I brushed past him, intending to stalk for the bathroom. If I was going to meet the Devil again, I wanted to at least wash my face.
He caught my arm, his fingers gentle but inexorable. Was his hand shaking? Impossible. “Do not say such things to me, hedaira.”
“Don’t call me that.” I tugged my arm away from him. He didn’t let me go, I set my heels and pulled, not caring if it hurt. “It’s Valentine to you, demon. Let go of me. I’ve got a meeting with the Devil to get ready for.”
Japhrimel shook me, gently, as if to bring home just how much stronger he was. How much more, even though he’d changed me. I tried to yank away from him again, almost feeling tiled wall against my back. Hearing a sudden roaring in my ears, the devouring feeling of helplessness as he held me still.
His voice turned cold. “Why must everything be a battle, with you?”
“Stop it.” My breath caught in my throat. “Stop it. Let go.”
He did, and I stumbled, righted myself. My rings swirled steadily. I stalked away from him, past McKinley, who was staring at me again. I was getting tired of being stared at. All my adult life as an accredited Necromance I’ve been stared at. Too much of anything gets old.
I locked myself into the bathroom, twisted on the cold-water tap. There was a glassed-in shower floored with granite, the entire bathroom was done in kobolding-worked stone except for the deep bathtub and the porcelain stand-alone sink. No toilet—a Nichtvren room wouldn’t need one, and I didn’t either. That had been one of the harder things to get used to about no longer being strictly human—a female bounty hunter was always looking for a decent lavatory. You learned to take bathroom breaks when you could.
The mirrors reflected back a rumpled and tired hedaira whose black hair fell messily over her face in seemingly-choreographed strands.
I didn’t feel a shock of nausea on seeing my own face, which must have meant I was finally getting used to it. I looked at myself critically, evaluating.
My own dark eyes, liquid and beautiful. Sculpted cheekbones, a sinful mouth now drawn down at one corner as I frowned, winged dark eyebrows. I touched my cheek, and saw the beautiful woman in the mirror brush her exquisite cheekbone, trace her pretty lips with a black molecule-drip polished nail. Japhrimel had made me demon-beautiful, but without the air of alie
If I looked hard enough, I could still see traces of who I’d been in my face—my eyes were still mostly my own, and when I relaxed my mouth still quirked up habitually on one side as if I didn’t quite believe what I was seeing. The little half-smile had always seemed welded onto my face before, a professional defense. If I was smiling, it couldn’t hurt that bad, could it?