I smiled. “After.” He cut me a sharp look, and the echo of the human woman I had been stayed my hand. When I said,
“I must burn their stink from my city, First,” I went on.
“First? Why’re you calling me that?”
“First male,” Greydusk explained. “You’re her consort. Be honored that she explained herself this once and did not take your head for the insolence. She is…not the woman you knew.”
Chance swallowed and then nodded. His silence hurt me because it cradled heartbreak in its depths, but beneath my need for retribution, it was a distant pain, a torch flickering in gale-force winds. With a practiced gesture, I called them to battle, and the males flanked me. I handed my makeshift weapon to Chance, still slick with demon blood, and he stared at the evidence of my conquest with a set expression.
“It was my first kill upon coming home,” I said dreamily. “I shall have that blade set in a proper haft when we finish here.”
Neither of them spoke. There was nothing they could add.
The hallway was dark and quiet; my minions had gone to do to my bidding with flattering alacrity. It wasn’t in delight at my return, however. Some of them were merely angry at the Saremon and wanted to make them bleed. So long as they touched nothing I had claimed for my own, the arrangement worked to our mutual benefit.
“We need to find our belongings and then my father,” I said.
Those words sounded odd to my ears. Part of me scoffed at the idea of a human male siring any creature so glorious as myself, but I could not permit anyone else to use him as Oz had done. Harm done against my blood was the same as injury to myself, and if I could not defend my line, then I deserved the damage.
“Can you find the creature you call Butch?” Greydusk asked.
It was an excellent suggestion; the Saremon compound had protections in place to prevent interference from the Vortex, and I was familiar enough with the dog’s life energies that I could easily seek for him. If they had left him with our things, then it would be a two-for-one solution. Closing my eyes, I built the animal in my mind’s eye, and then coiled the dark energy around the image. I whispered the right words in demontongue and then set the spell free. It soared from my brow like a raven, dipping and swooping on the shadows, rebounding off the walls, and then flitting almost out of sight. Belatedly, I signaled them to move and I ran.
The spell tried on several occasions to pass through solid walls, only to be stymied by various runes. They sparked in warning and the air stank of fresh lightning where the light died. Those moments gave me a chance to catch up and to find more passages where we could turn. This chase culminated at a storage closet near the front of the building. From inside, as we approached, came the frantic yapping of a confined animal.
Butch lunged out the door at me, growling, but his tail started to wag, and then he drew up short. His barks grew more hysterical when he sniffed at me, and then he scrambled away toward Chance, who picked him up without a word. With graceful hands, he soothed the small creature, and I spared a thought for how lovely it would be to recline in his arms later and receive that same treatment.
But first we had work to do.
“Greydusk, our bags.”
The demon complied with a small sound. He radiated pleasure, as if he had been waiting a lifetime to hear my commands. And the Imaron was, unquestionably, male—one with submissive tendencies, which made him an ideal servant. I wondered why I hadn’t been sure of that before; it seemed so obvious now.
I reclaimed my athame. The demon slung one bag over his shoulder, the colorful one that belonged to the girl I’d come to save. At the moment, I didn’t remember why I had been so alarmed at finding that she’d been taken to Sheol. My home was no more dangerous than the human realm, and even less so for the queen’s companions. Here, she would be well. Safe. Protected. Yet the same lesson must be taught to those who had stolen her. The Drinkers would be humbled too.
Chance took the other bag and stashed the dog in it. I was pleased he’d taken charge without being asked. As first male, it was his role to find ways to satisfy my needs, whatever they might be. This was a good start.
As I closed the closet door, shouts came from down the hall. Chance pulled his gloves from the bag and donned them, then he handed me back the broken spear. “This is yours,” he said softly.
I nodded.
Greydusk took a defensive position on my other side. As soon as I saw the enemy coming, I crooned their death in demontongue. The magick flowed in me like blood. I could pull it from the endless flowing river of energy beneath our feet. Here in their stronghold, the Saremon had done something impossible…and clever. They were leaching power from the Vortex and had built up a private supply that flooded the foundation itself. The rock had channels cut into it with microscopic precision, so when I gazed into the astral, I saw the dark tracery swimming through the stone.
This time Oz had sent more grunts to kill us…or capture us. Twenty, instead of ten. Unfortunately, they were low-ranking Saremon, so they didn’t have much magick. The leaders, like Oz, kept them stupid and feeble, good for nothing but frontline fodder. I watched them struggle for minor charms and fail to connect to the energy surging beneath our feet.
“Kill them all,” I said softly.
Chance whispered and flames formed around his fists. Greydusk shifted forms, as he had done in another fight, and whirled into motion with threshing claws. My consort stayed clear, and with each blow, he set the Saremon soldiers alight. They screamed and slapped at their own clothing, their skin, and in their distraction, Greydusk gutted them. It shouldn’t have been such a slaughter.
When there were twenty corpses, I stepped lightly through the pile. “Where do you suppose they’re keeping my father?”
Greydusk considered. “Hard to say. Oz said they had been experimenting on him, so the labs would seem an obvious place to start.” He paused, as if weighing whether to warn me. “They’ll send spell casters from this point.”
“I am aware.”
“We’ll kill them even quicker,” Chance said.
“You are worthy.” Surprised and pleased, I leaned over to kiss him. He must know how favored that made him, for me to show affection before witnesses. The queens of Sheol had never been known for their softness.
In another part of the complex, the released prisoners were rioting; they would thin the resistance we faced. Distant noises hinted at marvelous destruction—booms and thumps and shudders and the faint, delicate scent of smoke.
“I’m surprised they let you fight,” he said as we pushed deeper into the compound. “I mean, you’re such a powerful sorceress that they should have suspected it would be hard to restrain you afterward.”
“I suspect Oz didn’t know I could tap their secret well. He imagined I would be spent after the battle and subduing me would prove no challenge.”
“Secret well?” Greydusk asked.
Which answered my next question. The Imaron couldn’t sense it, apparently. “Tell me about the Saremon,” I ordered.
“They’re descended from Solomon’s line, as you are, Your Majesty, through scions who interbred with demons. In time, they organized sufficiently to form their own caste. They focus on events in Sheol over the human realm and are concerned with increasing their own arcane powers. They maintain an occult library which is the envy of the other castes.”
I thought about that. “That’s probably why I can sense their source.”
“And I cannot.”
After that, I fell silent. At length, I passed from the arena complex into the main compound, where the sounds of fighting became sharper. I joined the battle from the flank, throwing another cloud of chaos at my enemies with a whispered shaping in demontongue. The darkness drifted and maddened everyone it touched. They
