Devil's Punch

The demon mage was lying. He had to be. My dad left us. Albie Solomon was probably selling used cars in Des Moines. The man who sang off-key in the shower, loved Panama hats and bowling shirts had no place in this world. None.

His blood runs in your veins, Ninlil whispered. That is his value. He too carries the Binder’s power.

“I imagine you have many questions,” the mage went on.

In fact, I did. Too bad my captor was a sadist and unlikely to sate my curiosity. I tried to melt his face with my mind, but it didn’t work. He circled in front of me then.

He smiled. “I shall not tell you my name, Binder, as that would give you too much influence over me.”

Yeah, the minute I learn your true name, asshole, I own you.

“But you can call me Oz.”

As in the great and powerful? I wondered if he knew that the real Oz turned out to be a weakling who hid behind a curtain. I’d thought my dad was that kind of guy, someone who couldn’t deal with his responsibilities, so he’d bailed. My mind touched on and skittered away from the idea that he was here somewhere, held hostage by the Saremon. Gods and goddesses, he had been gone since I was a kid—twenty years. Was it possible someone could survive that long in demon hands?

All my life, I’d blamed him for deserting us. I’d told myself it didn’t matter. My mother seldom talked about him after he left, but sometimes I’d found her staring out the front door with a wistful air, as if she expected him to come walking down the lane, years later. She’d loved him deeply; that much I knew.

Twila, a vodun priestess who ran most of the supernatural business in Texas, had told me, By the way, you’ve carried the weight of a lie your whole life. Your father didn’t leave. He was taken. At the time, I didn’t believe her. I hadn’t seen enough of the wider paranormal world then. I’d done my best to stay away from it. I didn’t want to learn or explore; I wanted to be normal.

Given my heritage and history, I understood now how impossible that was.

As if he saw my inner turmoil, Oz laughed. “Soon I’ll take you to the arena.”

Arena? My eyes must have asked the question, because he answered it. “You’ll choose which of your companions fights to the death for you. According to our records, Ninlil was fond of such spectacles.”

The Imaron, the dark queen counseled immediately. He has centuries of stolen skill to call upon and his drain will immobilize almost anything.

“Which one?” The mage mused. “Either way, it will erode loyalty, as your designated champion cannot help but realize you deemed him expendable.”

“But I’m not your queen,” I protested.

The mage whispered a spell in demontongue and energy sparked against my skin. “No. You’re not. I don’t even sense her. Has she not awakened, then? Did the Dohan get it wrong?”

“Duh. They’re not geniuses.”

“Alas, no. The Drinkers are not known for their mental acuity.”

Neither are you, I thought.

Oz cut the conversation then, as he held all the power. He murmured to his minions, and then one hauled me away like a statue. I doubted any effigy ever boiled with hate quite like this, though. As the goon dragged me, the pressure on my skin waned. I wriggled the tips of my fingers, but I couldn’t move my hands, and even if I could have, they were bound at the wrists.

Did you hide from Oz? I asked her silently.

Surprise offers our only advantage. He must believe I’m dormant, sleeping. Now focus on regaining your voice, Ninlil urged. I don’t need to move. Only speak.

The paralysis was easing on my throat, but I still couldn’t feel my tongue, which meant any words would come out wrong. But there were no magick words, just the will behind them. I was unsure how that translated in the demon realm, however. Maybe Ninlil needed her voice to shape the spells.

I do, she told me.

The minion dumped me in a holding cell. Chance and Greydusk fell on either side of me. I guessed this was where they caged the gladiators. And I couldn’t turn my head to see if they were injured. I lay there, helpless, as the Saremon thug loomed over me. He showed a mouthful of sharp teeth.

“Boss said to put this on you.” The demon bent and snapped a cuff around my wrist. Afterward, the Saremon left and closed the door. It was made of heavy wood with bars across the small window at the top, too close together to permit escape that way.

A dampener, Ninlil whispered, seeming cowed for the first time since she’d awakened in my head.

What is it? It couldn’t be good; I knew that much.

It restricts my magick. As long as I’m wearing it, I cannot cast.

Shit. I wished I could scream, but I only managed a gurgle. Beside me, Chance made a sound in response, but it wasn’t a word, just a moan, seething with anger and fear. In increments, the feeling returned to my body. Eventually, I squirmed upright, then I concentrated on working my lips free of the disgusting resin they’d used to seal them. It was like glue, only more acrid.

“Chance?”

“Yeah?” His speech still sounded muffled, as if he hadn’t quite unstuck his lips completely.

“Did he put a manacle on your wrist?”

“No.”

“Greydusk?”

“Yes, I have one.” The demon sounded remarkably composed. “I can’t touch any of my extra skills.”

So that was the catch. If I chose Greydusk, he would be au naturel. Since I didn’t know who or what he’d be fighting, it might be the same as a death sentence. Knowing I’d as good as executed my only ally would certainly work on my state of mind, making it easier to break me down the line. I understood the Saremon mage’s thought process all too well.

“Let me fight,” Chance said.

“You don’t even know what you’ll be up against.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“You’re that confident in your skills?” I asked.

“I’ll fight for you as well,” Greydust put in, before Chance could answer me.

Great. So they were both willing to die on my orders. And that made up my mind. I sat bound, in silence, until the minion returned a long while later. Outside the door, I heard Oz’s voice, murmuring instructions in demontongue, but I couldn’t understand the words.

I could translate, the demon queen offered.

Go for it.

It was like she slipped the soundtrack into my head because the conversation cut in right away, midstream. “…and under no circumstances permit any of them to leave the compound alive.”

“Yes, sir.”

“After her companions die, take her to the labs and bind her beside her father.”

It took all my self-control not to react. I cut a look at Greydusk, and he inclined his head, indicating he understood. Both he and Chance were doomed unless we came up with an alternate plan.

Then the door swung inward, revealing Oz and his chief lackey. The mage grinned in delight, as if I were a clever monkey for maneuvering into a sitting position with my arms bound behind my back. Truth be told, it hadn’t been the easiest thing I ever did.

Oz rubbed his hands together in anticipation of the great show to come. “Tell me, then, have you decided?”

“I have.”

“Who will stand as your champion?”

Chance leaned into me, demanding my favor. Greydusk sat still and quiet. Ready, I thought.