Demon From the Dark (35 page)

           
Finally Malkom might determine why they'd gone to such pains to capture him. And he could begin his search for Carrow.

           
"Watch out for Chase, the one with the gloves," Lothaire advised. "He is much faster than he appears."

           
By the time the mortal guards entered to shackle his hands behind his back, Malkom could scarcely lift his head or shuffle his feet. But he wouldn't have fought them anyway. He wanted out of this place.

           
Down the corridor they led him. He hazily observed more immortals, species after species--

           
From the corner of his eye, he spied pale skin and jet-black hair.

           
He swung his head around. The witch.
She is here.
A prisoner like him, standing motionless in the center of a cell.

           
Though weakened, he thrashed against his bonds. Taking the mortals by surprise, he lurched for the glass that separated her from him.

           
For a split second, they stared at each other. Even after everything, he desired her, craved her to a blistering degree. "You lied to me! Betrayed me."

           
Her face lost even more color, and she stepped closer. "Malkom, please--"

           
"I will come for you!" he bellowed, fighting the mortals. "Make you pay!" He heard a shot and tensed too late. A dart filled him with poison.

           
He collapsed to his back, keeping her in his sights even as his vision grew dim....

           
When Malkom awakened, he was strapped to a metal table. The dried blood had been cleaned from his body, and he'd been clad in new clothes, a soldier's trews and shirt like the ones he'd worn before.

           
Strangers--enemies--had undressed him while he was unconscious. Another indignity the witch would pay for. He strained against his bonds, but they were unbreakable.

           
A door slid open and the tall man who'd observed Malkom's capture entered the room. Hair hung over his face, seemingly by design. He was dressed all in black--and he wore gloves.
Chase
.

           
"Why have you taken me?" Malkom demanded, renewing his efforts to get free. He was burning to return and seize the witch. She was here, for some reason imprisoned as he was.

           
Perhaps she'd failed to bring back the next male her masters had dispatched her to deceive.

           
"All in good time, Slaine." Sweat beaded Chase's upper lip, and his pupils were dilated. Malkom scented a sickly sweet smell, knew the man was taking some kind of drug.

           
When a dark-haired woman in a white coat entered, Chase told her, "His blood's been drawn. The second your lab's done, you'll destroy it."

           
"But his orders--"

           
"Destroy it!" Chase snapped.

           
Once the woman collected the glass tubes and left, Malkom said, "What do you want with me?"

           
"There's much interest in you. In your
genesis
." The man seemed both fascinated and disgusted by Malkom. "Today, you're going to tell me all about it. And tomorrow, my physicians will examine you, to see what makes you faster, stronger."

           
"So you can make more like me?"

           
"So we can make sure your kind is never miscreated again. By anyone." Chase had a demented gleam in his bloodshot eyes that even the Viceroy hadn't displayed.

           
Because the Viceroy had never
despised
the demons he'd tortured. He hadn't cared about them enough to.

           
"Do you think we're the only ones, mortal or otherwise, who have been seeking you?" Chase asked. "There are only four of your kind known. We have to acquire all of you, if for no other reason than to prevent someone else from doing it. You have proven the easiest to catch, since you can't trace."

           
The others
could
? Was it still possible for him? "Release me. Fight me yourself." Though the mortal appeared unwell, he was tall, his build rangy but strong.

           
Chase ignored him. "We'll start with the most basic question. Who made you?"

           
Malkom gave no answer. Instead he studied the ceiling above him, imagining the expression on the witch's beautiful face as he tormented her, possessing her body while stealing her blood.

           
In a low tone, Chase commanded,
"Answer me."

           
"You do not frighten me," Malkom said. "I know much about torture."

           
"Then I'm about to teach you more."

Chapter
 
30

           
Carrow was still shaking from her earlier encounter with Malkom when they dragged him by, half-dead, hours later. The whites of his eyes were fully red. Blood streamed from his nose, ears, and mouth.

           
What had they done to him? Her tears welled once more.

           
He thrashed to get free, to reach her cell. His voice a weak rasp, he said, "Bound forever,
wife
? Is this what you wanted me for?"

           
Though he resisted, the guards subdued him more easily, hauling him away, back to his own cell.

           
As soon as they were out of sight, Ember said, "Wife? The witch is
hitched
!"

           
Naturally, Ruby had peeked out, witnessing the exchange. "Who was that?"

           
Ember delighted in answering, "He's your new stepdad. Or rather, your stepdemon."

           
Portia cried, "Felicitations!"

           
"Carrow?" Lanthe slanted her an arch look. "Surely you didn't ..."

           
Ember laughed. "Yes, do deny it, witch."

           
"It was one of those demon proclaiming ceremonies," Carrow hedged.

           
Lanthe relaxed. "So it doesn't count."

           
Again, Carrow recalled Malkom's expression the first time he'd called her "wife." He'd gazed down at her with such pride, as if he'd carried a treasure. ... "It counts," she said. "I don't deny it--or him." Even if Malkom was lost to her.

           
Lanthe gasped.

           
Ruby frowned with confusion.

           
Ember snickered, and a haze fell over Carrow's vision.

           
Malkom's torture, and Regin's as well, these last days of misery, imprisonment with these evil bitches ... all too much to take.
With a strangled yell, Carrow launched herself at Ember, clocking her in the nose.

           
Blood spurted, but Ember rebounded, screaming thickly as she delivered a blow to the side of Carrow's head. Her ear sang. Damn, that sorceress was fast.

           
"Stop this, witch!" Lanthe snapped.

           
Too late. Carrow had already jabbed her fist against Ember's throat; at the same time, the sorceress popped Carrow in the mouth, splitting her lip.

           
"Portia, do something!" Lanthe said. "They're going to gas us."

           
"Stop!" Ruby suddenly cried. "Something's coming."

           
Lanthe grabbed Carrow, yanking her back. As Portia dragged Ember away, her gaze darted all around them, even above them. "The child is right. Evil flies to us on a foul wind."

           
"Evil flies to us?" Carrow dabbed the back of her hand over her bleeding lip. "Really? And on a foul wind, no less!"

           
"There's a malevolence nearing us, witch," Portia said. "You can't feel its fury? Your girl did."

           
Carrow did feel it then. The air around them was thrumming. But from what?

           
Down the corridor, the ghouls wailed their uneasiness. Gnomes hissed, and a centaur's hoofs clacked against the stone floor.

           
An outraged bellow sounded. Chase's? He was probably furious that Regin hadn't been destroyed completely.

           
Outside the storm grew fierce, rain pounding the roof and even the walls.

           
Ember wiped her nose, muttering, "I
hate
rain." She would.

           
Lanthe glanced from Carrow to Ruby. "Just in case ... get ready to
run
."

           
Carrow helped Ruby put on her boots, then hastily donned her own.

           
The lights flickered, the feel of power ratcheting up a notch.

           
"RIIIIINNNNNNGGGGG!"
some being shrieked.

           
Icy fear slithered up Carrow's spine. "What the hell is it?"

           
Lanthe mouthed, "Don't know."

           
The lights wavered once more, then failed altogether. No backup electricity fired. No emergency lights alleviated the pitch-darkness.

           
The facility was completely without power. Which meant no gas would disburse to sedate the prisoners?

           
Carrow jumped when more screams sounded.

           
"I hear others of our kind," Lanthe said. "Some of them have their sorcery back."

           
"Then why aren't they escaping?" Carrow asked.

           
"None would have the ability to break the glass yet, even without a torque," Portia said. "Unlike Ember and me. I've already felt a lovely granite monolith deep in the earth directly beneath us. I'll raise it, rupturing this facility from the inside out. Anything I can't break, Ember will burn."

           
Lanthe said, "Carrow, hold on to Ruby. Tight."

           
"Got her." She swooped the girl into her arms.

           
"RIIIIINNNNNNGGGGG!"
Whatever it was neared them.

           
Whispers sounded among the inmates, two words repeated:
"La Dorada."

           
When even the two evil Sorceri looked unsettled, Carrow asked, "Who's La Dorada?"

           
Lanthe answered, "A sorceress, the Queen of Golds--and of ...
Evil
."

           
Which meant she could manipulate evil better than anyone.

           
"She walks in apocalypse," Ember said. "I hadn't thought it'd be this soon."

           
"I have
nothing
to wear," Portia quipped, but Carrow thought it was to cover her anxiety.

           
Two Sorceri queens with their extraordinary powers feared this La Dorada?

           
"RIIIIINNNNNNGGGGG!"

           
Whispers sounded once more, another name added now.
"Lothaire ..."

           
Lanthe said, "I think she might be here for the vampire."

           
For Lothaire, the Enemy of Old?

           
Portia said, "Before we were captured, we heard he'd stolen her ring, waking her."

           
"Bet he's regretting it now," Ember said. Then she frowned. "But if he had her ring, then how could he have been taken by the mortals? It's the Ring of--"

           
Portia slapped her hand over Ember's mouth. "She's coming down the corridor, drawing near."

           
Moments later, La Dorada limped past their cell. She had a human form, looking like a rotting, mummified corpse brought to life--and soaked in water? Putrid gauze swathed most of her sopping body and trailed behind her. Her face appeared eaten away, and she was missing an eye.

           
An incongruous gold breastplate covered her chest and a crown sat atop her misshapen head.
The Queen of Golds.

           
Wendigos flanked her, their fangs dripping. They seemed to be commanded by her.

           
Not them.
Wendigos were quick, flesh-eating zombies with long, dagger-like claws and emaciated bodies that belied their strength. The only things Carrow feared worse than ghouls were the Wendigos. Both were contagious--a single Wendigo scratch could transform even a Lorean into their kind--but whereas ghouls were nearly mindless, Wendigos were cunning.