Goetia

He had vastlibraries of them now, and had found generators that allowed him to play them. The soundproof basement—where “special” services involving whips and chains hadbeen rendered—provided a safe place to watch them. But it was also a trap forhim if anyone discovered him.

At this point, Kelli’s zombie was a familiar thing, too. He couldn’t get ridof her, but he knew at some point she’d be gone. She sat quietly every day inone of the lower rooms and slowly withered away. He only checked on her every now and again.

Seated at the ornate desk in the suite, Warren opened the nylon bag the man had carried the book in. Warren reached inside and took the tome out.

The book was large and thick, eighteen inches by fourteen inches by six inches. The leather binding had been dyed virulent purple, but the result—byaccident or by design, Warren wasn’t sure—had left the book marked by lines thatlooked like blood veins.

Then he felt it pulsing in his hand, like the echo of a heart beating slowly and strongly somewhere deep inside.

Fear touched Warren then. Some books had lives of their own. Some were traps. He’d read about them and heard about them from other Cabalists.

All of the books of power were designed to protect themselves.

He ran his hand, his demon’s hand, over the book. A purr vibrated through thestill air at the contact. The book felt pleasing to Warren’s touch.

“Are you alive?” he whispered to the book. Even though he’d read about suchthings, he’d never actually seen a living book.

An eye opened in the center of the book.

Warren slowly drew his hand back.

The eye bulged from the book’s surface and glanced around. Warren almostexpected it to sprout legs to run away or wings to fly off. He wouldn’t havetruly been surprised.

A mouth opened below the eye. Jagged fangs and a forked black tongue filled it.

“Who are you?” The voice was deep, somber, and slow.

Warren thought about his answer for the briefest moment. True names often carried power, and Merihim had enough power over him.

“A friend,” Warren said.

The eye looked around the room again. “I don’t know this place.”

“You’re safe here.”

Suspicion narrowed the eye’s focus as it studied him. “What do you want?”

That was a dangerous question too. The book doubtless had protective spells, but how did the other man hold it?

“Only to know,” Warren said.

“What do you wish to know?” the book asked.

“Everything.”

The mouth below the staring eye smiled. “Then know.”

The book cover flipped open and struck the table a resounding blow that echoed in the cavernous room. The first page was a full-color illustration that had to have come from Hell itself. As Warren stared into the picture, he sank into it.

In the blink of an eye, Warren stood on that battlefield. Demonic roars, the shrill, frightened cries of the wounded and dying, and the clanking of ironbound wheels spinning across the rocky ground screamed into his ears.

All around him, fearful demons engaged frightened human warriors mounted on horseback and in chariots. Most of the demons towered above the humans. Some breathed flames and incinerated humans, horses, and chariots alike. Flying demons struck from above with spells, weapons, claws, and teeth.

Warren turned his head in an effort to look away from the book. All he saw was more of the battlefield. He didn’t know how he’d entered the scene in the book, and he definitely didn’t knowhow he was going to get out.

“Demon!” The harsh cry ripped through the air behind Warren. “Foul thing fromthe pits of Hell! I’ll send you back!”

Warren turned and saw a charioteer riding straight for him. In the chariot, a man with a square-cut beard, an olive complexion, and violet eyes drove his team furiously. He plucked a javelin from the quiver mounted beside him. The two horses that pulled the chariot were wide-eyed with panic and frothing at the mouth from being run too hard for too long.

Stand still, Warren told himself. Just stand still and let him run you through. That will break whatever spell you’re under.

The chariot raced toward him. The horses’ hooves thundered on thehard-packed, bloodstained earth. The ironbound wheels rolled over the bodies of the dead. With a lithe flick of his arm, the charioteer sent the javelin shooting toward Warren.

Self-preservation won out over Warren’s decision to stand his ground. Yearsof looking out for himself and fearing nearly everything and everybody wouldn’tbe denied. He stepped back and sideways to let the javelin pass within inches of him. No one human could have moved so fast. Merihim’s hand blending withWarren’s own flesh and the spells he’d laid on himself had increased hisphysical abilities.

Undeterred, the charioteer whipped his horses mercilessly and drove them straight at Warren. Either the horses’ flashing hooves or the churning wheelswould wound or kill him.

Warren gestured at the horses’ feet. Their legs tangled and they fell. Theharness jingled and rattled as the chariot overturned and slid along the ground. The wheel trapped under the vehicleshattered as the driver sailed forward and landed on the ground. Before he could get up, the chariot rolled over him and the broken wheel spokes tore into his chest and stomach.

Another human rider rode at Warren and swung the short-hafted ax he carried in one scarred hand. With his right hand, Warren caught the man’s wrist as heswung the heavy blade at his head. With a brief twist, Warren pulled the rider from his saddle and flung him away.

A riderless horse ran beside Warren. Effortlessly, Warren caught the saddle horn in his left hand and hauled himself into the saddle.

He was surprised at his actions. He’d never ridden a horse before in hislife, and he’d only seen the maneuver he’d just performed in movies andtelevision shows.

He leaned down and caught the reins, then pulled them back hard enough to make the horse rear. The blood that built up in the steed’s lungs from theexertions of battle caused pink foam to fleck his nostrils.

The horse wheeled at his command, and he looked down the long