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I lifted my head, shaking free of the vision with an effort.
When I could look out at the world again, everything had changed. Not much, just… a little of the color had gone, my demon-sharp sight blurring. A layer of gray covered every surface, from the cracked street to the uneven paving and the tired skin of the hooker still pacing across the street. The old wounds-Lucifer's kick, hellhound claws, and now bullet holes-all twitched as if they were about to reopen. I'd wondered what the limit was to my body's regeneration. Maybe I would find out now.
Dante, that's a spectacularly pessimistic thought even for you.
There was a faint green gleam at the edges of my eyesight, reflected off the plasglass of the booth's walls. The cuff glowed, and as my eyes locked onto it I suddenly knew, with an instinctive jolt, what I had to do next. The compulsion settled home, humming in the metal of the demon artifact, and the sensation of numb cold Japhrimel's mark had been fighting off closed around me like walls of diamond ice.
Time to throw all the dice down and see where it lands, Da
I sucked in my cheeks, biting gently. Trailed my fingers over my swordhilt.
What I was contemplating was madness. It was sheer suicide. The compulsion tapped at my brain, whispered in my ears, pulled at my fingers and toes.
Come on, it cajoled. Come with me. Someone wants to see you, Dante.
I lowered my head and banged out of the callbox, my bootheels clicking against the pavement. I knew where I needed to go. Compulsion married to premonition-instinct and logic rising and twining together-spoke in an undeniable whisper, like the voice of a star sapphire on its platinum chain.
Like the chill lipless voice of the wristcuff, glowing on my wrist and finally tugging me in the right direction. Gently, but with increasing urgency.
I caught a cab on the corner of Fiske and Averly, tapping my swordhilt as the driver kept up a steady string of invective at other hoverpilots. A cab can run on an AI deck for everything other than takeoff and landing. But the hovercab drivers won exemption status under the AI Job Loss Prevention Act and so were mostly fanatically determined to prove that a human was better than an AI for the cab-riding experience. I suppose it was nostalgia or nervousness that made my driver keep cursing.
When he let me out, I smelled the heavy wet blind scent of the sea. Fog was rolling in. I could catch a transport out to Paradisse or hovertrain to North New York Jersey or another hub. Would Japhrimel and Hellesvront be watching the transports for me? I would have to figure something out, I didn't want to lead him to Eve.
Dante, you know it doesn't matter.
When I got to the low slumped building, I found the demonic shields on the dilapidated place that had once been a school were now earthed. There was no sign of anyone-demon, human, or other-as I pushed through the broken-down fencing and paced over the cracked concrete of the outside gravball court.
I shivered, right hand clamped around my swordhilt. The place was silent. Too silent, and it reeked of spice and Power, the smell of demon. Gravel crunched underneath me, the sounds of tiny breaking bones. I flinched as soon as I thought that, drew my sword. Blue flame dripped along its keen edge, glad to be free. The cuff on my wrist thrummed, pulling me forward as if a fine chain was attached to it, pulling me along. Just like a leash bringing a bloodhound in.
If I couldn't spill the traitor's blood I would settle for trying to kill a demon. I would die, of course-I couldn't kill a demon, no matter how minor.
Could I? I'd killed a hellhound. The memory of claws tangled in my ribs made a small sound escape my lips. I'd also killed an imp, with the help of a lot of reactive paint.
A hellhound's not the same thing, Dante. Neither is an imp. What you're about to try is suicide.
It was. What else did I have left? Even the most faithless of traitors could redeem themselves by choosing the moment of their death.
"Just going to have a chat with an old friend," I whispered. The chilling little giggle that rose in my throat didn't comfort me. There was no amusement in it.
I let myself into the building I'd left just this afternoon. It felt like a lifetime ago. Eve wasn't here, and Japhrimel in all likelihood wasn't here… but I thought someone might be here. Someone I'd met before. Premonition blurred under my skin, pushed me forward, impelled as surely by my own minor talent for seeing the future as by the cold glow of the Gauntlet leading me on.
The mark on my shoulder was a glove of soft heat, curiously distant, trying to reach through the shell of ice. The wristcuff dulled. Green light stretched forward, easing me along. Seducing me through the labyrinth, luring me just as my own voice could lure a human.
Gods help me. Head held high, sword ready, I walked into the open jaws of the building.
The school resembled a stage set now, its walls bare and white, no furniture left. Everything was gone except the faint echo of musk and thrumming in the air, the sound of cackling, little whispers just out of human auditory range. Nasty little voices that jeered and whimpered even as they screamed and begged for release.
I extended a little past the borders of my shields. Power swirled, uneasy, my own fragrance of spice and musk rising to twine with a darker scent. I knew that smell. Phantom goosebumps crawled up my spine, ruffled my upper arms, and spilled down my forearms. My teeth chattered until I clenched my jaw, pain blooming down my neck. But my stance was good, and I checked the halls and empty rooms, working closer to an almost-familiar part of the building.
The gymnasia.
The layout of the school was clear in my mind. In the end, I simply stopped checking the rooms and walked slowly through the halls. Fog creeping up from the bay wrapped the entire building in a cotton blanket of silence. It might have been the last night of the world.
For all I know, it might be. The cuff on my wrist pulled me on, I didn't resist. It was useless to resist.
The voice of self-preservation shrieked at me. I paid it no mind. There was only one thing I could do now, one action that was mine alone.
Lucifer wanted to kill me.
Fine. But I'd choose the place and the time.
The door to the gymnasia reared up in front of me. I didn't even have to touch it, because it opened at my approach. A slice of ruddy light showed, and I could see leatherbound books, a rich patterned-red rug. I smelled woodsmoke, heard the crackle of flames.
The door was wrong. It pulsed, its lintels swaying like seaweed. I blinked, hoping my eyes were deceiving me for the first time in my long angry life. Power fumed in the air.
There were no books here before. Goosebumps-real goosebumps-turned hard and prickling on my arms, little fingertips trying to claw free of my skin. I had never had goosebumps before, not in this demon's body.
My blade began to sing, blue flame dripping wetly from its point to smoke on the floor, scorching the hardwood. My shields shivered, on the verge of locking down to protect me. The blood cracking and simmering on my clothes heated up, rough dried edges brushing my shivering, shrinking skin.
There was only one demon who would go to these absurd lengths of theater.
The door swung open all the way, its hinges uttering a small protesting squeak. I peered through a door torn in the fabric of the world and into a room I was unhappily almost-familiar with. A neoVictorian study done in crimson and heavy wood, carpeted in plush crimson. Leatherclad books lined up on bookcases against the dark-paneled wooden walls, three red velvet chairs in front of a roaring fireplace, red tasseled drapes drawn over what might have been a window. A large mahogany desk sat obediently to one side. Next to one red velvet chair by the fireplace stood a slim figure clad in black. His mane of golden hair blazed in the firelit richness of the room, a second sun.