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"I ain't no coward." Lucas gave me a straight yelloweyed glare. "But I can't see keepin' you alive much past sundown if we break cover. There's just too much fuckin' flak up there. Your green-eyed boy will keep you alive, and I confess I'd like a little backup m'self."
Now I have officially heard everything. For the man they called "the Deathless" to admit to wanting backup was thought-provoking, to say the least.
Thought-provoking isn't the word you want here, Da
I only felt slightly unsteady. Nauseous. And heavy, my limbs filled with sand. "I need clothes. And weapons." Where is my sword? I badly wanted to close my hand on a hilt, hear the deadly whistle as a keen blade clove air. I wanted my sword, the sword my teacher had gifted to me.
I came back to myself as the bottle groaned sharply in my clenched hand, thick green plasilica singing with stress. Lucas eyed me.
I had to force my fingers to relax. I breathed deeply, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Just like the first and last meditation instruction every psion has hammered into her head — breathe, and the mind grows still.
I wish that was true. My datband gleamed on my wrist, which looked suddenly naked without the thick cuff of silvery metal.
The Gauntlet, the demon artifact that marked me as Lucifer's little errand girl. Where was it?
That was another thought I didn't want. I pushed it away.
"You got it." Lucas levered himself to his feet. "You got any idea how we're go
My fingers tingled, and the scar on my shoulder burned, shifting. I could feel the ropes of scarring writhing against the surface of my skin. "We won't have to." My voice sounded very far away. "Sooner or later he always finds me. One way or another."
When he did, I would at least be safe for a little while. Everything else was just noise.
"Good thing, too. You get in more fuckin' trouble." He shuffled away, past the table with the dancing candleflame. Halted, his shoulders coming up and tensing. "Valentine? You okay?"
Do I look okay to you? "Yeah." I set the bottle down and scrubbed my hands together, as if they were dirty. I felt dirty. Filthy, in fact. Maybe it was the room. I dearly wanted a shower. "Is there a bathroom around here? Any hot water?"
"There's a bathroom. Knock yourself out." He started moving again, a fast light shuffle barely audible even to my heightened senses. "Spect you might want to get cleaned up." He vanished through the door.
I wanted to scrub myself raw under some hot water. Still, I had more important work to do. I'd left Japhrimel trapped in a circle of Eve's devising, and told him it was war between us. He probably wasn't going to be happy with me in the slightest.
It didn't matter. My fingers crept up to the mark on my shoulder, its frantic dance against my skin oddly comforting.
Japhrimel. The ward stuck in my throat. Even if you are angry at me. Even if you're furious. I need you.
My fingers hovered, a scant half-inch from touching the moving scar. I pinched my eyes shut, my skin crawling, and curled over, my arm coming down to bar across my midriff. Isqueezed myself, earning a huff of air from my lungs in the process. I was tired, and however good hot water sounded I suddenly didn't want to visit the bathroom.
There might be a mirror in there, and I didn't want to see myself.
Why not, Da
What are you so afraid of, Da
I didn't want to. So I just lay on the dirty floor and nailed my eyes shut, waiting for Lucas to come back.
Chapter 3
I jolted up out of a deathly doze when I heard the footsteps. Lay, my eyes closed, every inch of my skin suddenly alive with listening.
I'd scooted back under the rickety cot, seeking blind darkness. It just seemed like a good idea, especially with so many people looking for me. I was too exhausted to fight much, especially with my shields so fragile.
The fact that hiding under the bed wouldn't necessarily keep me safe never occurred to me. If it had, I'm not sure I would have cared.
Under the bed the floor was even filthier, but the wall next to the cot felt cold and solid against my back. I pulled my knees up, twitching the sheet under me and dispelling the urge to sneeze at the dust suddenly filling my nose. With that done, I listened, my sensitive ears dilating.
There. Four sets of footsteps. One very light, brushing the earth, one shuffling equally lightly — Lucas — and the third, a tread of heavy boots.
The last set I would have known anywhere. It was a noiseless step, quiet as Death Himself, but the mark on my shoulder woke with renewed soft fire spilling all the way down my arm.
My eyes squeezed shut. Shame woke, hot and rank, pressed against my throat and watering eyes. I didn't want him to see me like this.
Like what, Da
I couldn't name it even to myself.
The door opened. The footsteps had gone silent.
Ifelt him come into the room like a storm front over a city, his attention sweeping the walls once and focusing, unerringly, on the small dark space where I huddled on my side, curled up as tightly as I could without breaking my own bones.
The door closed, and he filled up the room like dark wine in a cup. The black-diamond fire of a demon's aura almost blinded me, with my shields so fragile and torn. OtherSight blurred through the veil of the physical world, showing me the thick cable of my link to him, a bond cemented by blood. His blood, and mine.
He'd changed me, given up Hell for me, and bargained to regain a full demon's Power as well. Lied to me. Hurt me, held me up against a wall and shaken me, left me sleeping alone while he hunted Doreen's daughter as I'd begged him not to.
Every time the water got deeper, I found out he'd known the game from the begi
And yet, he always came for me. My heart swelled, sticking in my throat like a clot of stone.
There was a slight sound as he reached the cot. I managed to open my eyes.
A pair of boots, well-worn, placed just so against the dirty floorboards. I saw the edge of his coat, too, liquid darkness stirring a little. He must have been agitated for his wings to move so much.
I saw something else, too.
The tip of a familiar lacquered indigo scabbard.
He eased himself down to sit cross-legged facing the bed, his coat flaring away along the floor. Set my sword down with a precise little click, just out of reach.
His silence was so absolute the candleflame's hiss became loud. I saw his knees — a pair of worn jeans ragged at the hems, and the scarred leather of his boots tinged with darkness. He'd been wading through something liquid, up to the ankles.
I didn't want to know what.
I stared at the sweet curve of my sword, lying quiescent and tempting. Hot water boiled out of my eyes, tracked down to touch the dirty, blood-crusted hair at my temple. My vision blurred.
Japhrimel said nothing.
It took every remaining erg of courage I possessed to make my right hand unclench. I eased forward, bit by bit, silent as an adder under a rock.
The mark on my shoulder flared again, Power spilling from it and coalescing, a cloak of black-diamond fire closing around my battered shields. It was the equivalent of a borrowed coat, the weight of so many psyches shunted aside from my shivering mental walls. Along with the soft caress of Power against my skin came something else — my rings begi