'So, I'm back!' Mari said. 'Have you seen anything on Néomi? What course should she take?'
Seeming to come back to the present, Nïx told Néomi, 'I see very little on you. I'm called ever- knowing, not all-knowing. But I know—for a fact—that the day anyone discovers what you're about to do will be your last.'
'What do you mean?'
'No one besides the three of us can know the conditions surrounding your transformation. None can discover that you will begin a countdown as soon as you assume the shell body.'
'Conrad's going to demand to know,' Néomi said, then hurriedly added, 'If he's there, and if I blood him, and if he apologizes for his past behavior, of course.' And if he doesn't still feel that crazed sense of betrayal.
Nïx snorted. 'I'm sure you can find ways to get around that, if you—oh, I don't know—want to live longer.'
'Then we vow that none of us will ever talk about this,' Mari said. 'We'll never reveal that Néomi's time here is definite or how she was changed. Agreed?'
Néomi nodded firmly. 'D'accord.'
'Agreed,' Nïx said. 'I do so love unholy alliances.'
'Good then. That's settled.' Mari pulled out a compact mirror from another pants pocket. 'And I'm ready for action. Are you sure, Néomi?'
Decades or even centuries as I've been versus even a single day of life? Néomi nodded. 'Let's do it.'
Mari opened the compact in her palm. 'Okay, then. Now for the profound existential question.' When she began to rub her thumb over the mirror, her eyes became silver, like mirrors themselves, reflecting Néomi's astonished expression. 'What do you want to wear?'
26
Hours after he'd arrived, Conrad squeezed his head, grappling for control of his thoughts. This frenzied overload of the gathering was wreaking havoc with him. If the Fallen reacted badly to quick movements and loud noises, then he'd just stumbled onto a special kind of hell.
Return to her...
He just wanted to find a way to tell her what he was thinking. To tell her that if he could take back his words, he would.
Right when Conrad was about to trace to Elancourt, he saw Tarut. All eight feet of him. The hulking demon was towering over an area crowded with other species of demons, accompanied by his gang of Kapsliga swordsmen. Each was shirtless with a wide leather band crossed over his chest. Conrad had once proudly worn the same.
His eyes narrowed when a haze of smoke suddenly appeared in the same area. A group of seven demons stepped from it, the Woede among them. Conrad had heard they'd somehow lost their ability to trace. Rök, the infamous fugitive, must be teleporting them. Just then Rök opened his mouth, sucking the smoke inside him again.
Tarut and the Woede—all three targets here for the taking, and more easily than normal. When Conrad engaged the Woede, they wouldn't hit their rage state completely, not without risking Conrad's life and the information he held. Rage demons in full demonic state were incredibly powerful, but near mindless.
And Tarut? Conrad no longer had to worry about being clawed by him.
Rydstrom and Cade didn't clasp forearms with Tarut in greeting. Instead, their hands remained near the hilts of their swords. Then Conrad saw Cadeon stiffen, his eyes narrowing on Tarut as if in realization. He dragged Rydstrom to the side, gesturing heatedly, while Rydstrom scowled in Tarut's direction.
So the demons knew they were hunting the same target—Tarut wanting to kill Conrad and the Woede wanting to keep him alive, at least for a time... .
Conrad tensed to attack, his fangs growing sharp.
That was exactly when he heard Néomi's laughter.
'Did you have to conjure that last bottle of wine?' Nïx said under her breath, but Néomi still heard her, even over the noise of the crowd and her own delighted laughter.
Fire. Creatures from myth. Revelry.
She was in heaven! For the first time in eighty years, Néomi was freed from Elancourt!
And, yes, she was a tad tipsy—had merlot always tasted so exquisite?
Now layers of sound meshed with layers of sensation: the constant rustle of leaves beneath her new leather boots. The scent of night-blooming jasmine and spent gardenias. A band tuning instruments in the background. The delicious closeness of her new dress.
When asked what she wanted to wear, Néomi had answered, 'Anything but this godforsaken black satin party dress. Something with color! Something short and really sexy.'
Mari had conjured a scarlet 'body-conscious sheath' for Néomi. The shameless garment was long- sleeved but backless, and was shorter than anything she'd ever worn.
Hardly the couture of the pitiful!
Néomi's hurt over Conrad's words dwindled with each second—because she wasn't pitiful. Again she'd taken control of her destiny.
By God, it was heady. I'm like the old Néomi. The one who would roll the dice and laugh in the face of fate. She was going to get 'capped,' and she didn't give a damn!
'I had to do the bottles,' Mari murmured in answer. 'You saw her—she was freaking out.'
At first the change had been overwhelming. Suddenly thrust into a world of perception, Néomi had stood in her studio, wide-eyed and struggling to adjust to the onslaught of feeling.
The weight of her body had abruptly pressed down on her feet, against a floor that was impossibly rigid. Her hair had pulled heavily along her back, and shivers had glanced over every inch of her skin.
It hadn't seemed to Néomi that she alone was changed, but that the entire world was altered, as if she'd been living in a dim bubble. Her new corporeal self had been shaking with sensation, dizzy with it. She'd patted her face in astonishment and whispered, 'M-maybe this wasn't a good idea.'
Mari had called what she was feeling hypersensitivity and said she had gone through the same not long ago. It would improve... .
'And we never would have gotten her to climb into the mirror otherwise,' Mari added. 'It was like trying to dunk a cat in acid.'
Women with small boxes fastened on chokers walked by. 'What are they wearing?' Néomi asked, a tad too loudly by the look on Mari's face. Each box had individual decorations or sayings painted on it.
'Voice modulators. The Sirenae are being polite,' Mari explained. 'If they sing, they could captivate all the unmated males here. Not very sporting.'
One box read: 'Yeah, you're welcome.' Another read, 'Boom! I got your boyfriend.' Néomi laughed with delight. Sirens! Of course!
A group of elven-looking women strolled by, wearing nothing but gauzy skirts. Their chests were bare except for body paint styled in intricate leafy designs.
'Goody,' Nïx muttered. 'The dendrophiles.'
'The dendro what?' Néomi said.
'Tree lovers—the tree nymphs.'
Their obvious leader said, 'Well, if it isn't Nucking Futs Nïx and the hex hack.'
'Well, if isn't the hookers,' Nïx replied blandly. 'Oh, I'm sorry, nymphets, this isn't the orgy—that's down the road.'
'Nïxie, every party is an orgy waiting to happen.'
Nïx opened her mouth, then closed it, dragging Néomi and Mari away. 'Well, you can't argue with reason, can you?'
