Temoc lurched as he walked, and held one of his arms akimbo. Light twisted in his grip, and trailed on the ground behind him. Caleb blinked, and the rainbow confusion resolved into many-jointed limbs, a barbed tail, and a chitinous body. A triangular head with serrated mandibles lolled at a broken angle from the neck clutched in the crook of Temoc’s arm.
Temoc let the demon fall. It struck earth, twitched once, and blurred to match the grass.
“I thought,” he said, “a uniform might let the building recognize me as one of its own. It seems your lawn is well defended.” He joined them at the steps, and ushered Teo toward the revolving door.
She climbed the steps, extended her hand, and touched the door. Glass glowed red beneath her fingers. She pulled her hand back. Nothing happened. She did not die.
She touched the door again, and this time it recognized her. She pressed, and it moved.
“Follow me,” she said, and stepped into shadow.
43
Crystal lamps hung lifeless above RKC’s dark lobby. No sun shone through the doors. Faint ghostlights set into floor and baseboard runners were the only source of illumination; they traced a branching red labyrinth that connected elevators and stairwell to the entrance. Bas-reliefs glowered from the walls—gods in agony, the King in Red triumphant, hearts torn from chests and altars split to shards.
Demons wandered through the foyer, their footsteps like glass on stone. They took many forms: a looming silent shade whose five arms ended in scalpel forests, a spider with legs six feet long. A bus-sized centipede tasted the air with tremulous antennae.
Caleb’s lungs and stomach tried to squeeze into his throat. Teo cursed in High Quechal.
The demons did not attack, or seem to notice them. Nor did they intrude on the labyrinth. A giant spider crossed one crimson path, but it lifted each leg well clear of the red lines and did not step between them.
Simple enough. Stay on the path, and remain safe. Stray, and be devoured. Strange to have a security system that posed no danger to any intruder with eyes.
Caleb stepped forward, but Temoc gripped his arm like a vise. “Don’t.”
“What?”
“There are demons here.”
“I can see that.”
“They haven’t attacked yet. We don’t know what might set them off.”
“It looks like we’ll be fine if we stick to the path.”
“What path?”
“That path.” Caleb pointed to the floor, to the red ghostlight lines—the red ghostlight lines, which cast no shadows. Oh. “You can’t see any light on the floor, can you?”
“I see a small red circle around us. You were about to cross the circle’s edge.”
“Ah. What about you, Teo?”
“I see green lines.”
“Damn.”
“Exactly. My lines turn left after five feet.”
Caleb’s red path remained straight for ten feet, then curved sharply to the right. “So there’s a safe path for you, and a safe path for me, and none for Temoc.”
“Makes sense. It can tell that we’re supposed to be here, and he isn’t.”
“RKC has fed upon both of you for years. The beast knows your taste, and hungers for fresh meat.”
“You’re a creepy man,” Teo said.
“This,” Temoc said, indicating the demon-filled room with a wave of his hand, “is your office building.”
Caleb tried not to think about teeth and claws and legs and pincers. “Dad, I don’t suppose you can fight them off?”
“This would not be a battle,” Temoc said. A thing like a crystal mantis scuttled up to the edge of the red circle, and stared at them with mirror eyes. “I would disappear under claw and fang.”
“Can you climb the pyramid from outside?”
“Perhaps. But there will be defenses outside as well.”
“Okay. Then I’ll carry you.”
“You’ll carry me?”
“If the demons can’t cross my path, we have to make it so they can’t attack you without attacking me.”
“Your carrying me will not solve that problem.”
“Do you have a better idea?”
Another silence of legs and claws. “No.”
“So we do it this way. Straight to the lift.”
“Not the lift,” Teo said. “The stairs.”
“You want us to take the stairs up twenty-nine floors?”
“If the lobby looks like this, do you trust the lift?”
“Stairs it is.” He bent his knees and surveyed his skeleton. “Watch my ribs. I think I broke one earlier, or bruised it. Breathing hurts.”
Temoc grunted, grabbed Caleb’s shoulders, and lurched onto his son’s back.
In that first moment, struggling to balance Temoc, Caleb almost stumbled into demon-haunted dark. The world pitched and righted itself, heavier. Temoc was muscle, sinew, and bone, nothing light or soft. Caleb’s first step fell so heavily he feared it would break the marble tiles. Temoc kept his muscles tight, at least, which made him easier to balance.
They crept into the labyrinth.
The first ten steps were the hardest, except for the next ten, and the ten after that. His father’s living weight pressed him into the floor. Demons writhed half-seen about them, enraged by Temoc’s scent, repelled by Caleb. In a paradox of obligations they gathered, champing teeth and flicking long tongues. Teo walked her own path with ease. Caleb felt a pang of envy that broke his focus, weakened his arms, bent his knees. The horrors of the night drew close.
The floor was dark as the inside of Mal’s mouth.
Caleb shook.
“You know,” Temoc said with a conversational air, “there’s a Telomere legend about this.”
“About—” Caleb sucked in breath. His arms burned, and his back trembled. “About what?”
“The Empire of Telomere traced its origins to a city near the mouth of the Ebon Sea. When that city was destroyed, the future founder of the Empire fled his enemies through the burning wreckage, bearing his father on his back. That father, too, carried the gods of their people.”
Two more turns, and ten feet. “Nice story, Dad.” Gods, how much did this man weigh? Did being a priest- king make your bones more dense? Were outlaws’ muscles heavier than those of normal people?
“Take strength from the story. Stories give us direction.”
Turn. His hip twitched, and his hand slipped on Temoc’s left leg. He lost time struggling for a better grip. “This hero’s father—did he weigh as much as you?”
“I do not think so. The man in the story was old, and frail.”
“Encouraging, thanks.” I bet his gods were more helpful, too, Caleb thought, though he didn’t say it. If Temoc started an argument about religion, Caleb might buck him into the demons, and to hell with Dresediel Lex and the Serpents.
He took the last curve with arms and legs of molten rubber. His lungs ached, and his ribs felt as if they might break through his skin. Mal—no, Mal wasn’t there, that was Teo, opening the stairwell door. Blinding light streamed through. The concrete steps beyond were free of demons. He lifted a silent prayer of thanks for office health and safety rules: in an emergency the stairs had to be safe to travel, no matter the security risk.
He staggered the last three steps across the threshold, tripped, and fell to his knees. Temoc pitched to one side and slammed into a wall. Caleb’s burned right hand struck the floor. The world shimmered with pain. He tried
