Demon Master (Demonsense series Book 2) (70 page)

"Bree," he responded. "Help me up."
 

There was something in his voice, in just those few words, that made a chill run up her spine and across her shoulders. She reached out and gripped his hand, and through that contact, forced her Reader sense into him. What she felt there made her world come apart. Dark power, nothing but dark power, and chaos, and madness.
 

Her shock must have registered on her face, because Daniel started laughing. "And to think I didn't want this to happen." He shook his head, as if in bemusement, and let go of her hand. With some effort, he pushed up off the ground, and turned to face the others. "Well, what have we here?"
   

It sounded like Daniel at his most wry, his most relaxed, and yet it didn't sound like him at all. Bree slumped back to sitting on the ground. She didn't have the strength to get up. She had stopped crying, and she realized, in a distant sort of way, that she was in shock. Out of all the terrifying things that had happened this night, this was the worst, that Daniel could change so utterly.
 

"What did you do to him?" she heard Varga ask Franchesca. He'd put a shield up the moment Daniel started to move.

"He was very demon burned. I just helped him over the edge," she replied. She sounded a little breathless, whether from excitement or dismay, Bree couldn't tell. She realized Franchesca really didn't have a clue about what she'd just unleashed. It wasn't a simple matter of Daniel being demon burned, it was worse, a whole other order of worse, if Gelsenim's stories of the divided were to be believed.
 

Daniel cocked his head. "Demon burned? Is that what this is? Funny, I don't feel demon burned. In fact, I feel great!" He spread his arms wide. "Isn't this fun, all of us here together like this? I wonder what will happen next?" He turned to face Scanlon. "I believe you were planning on killing me?"

Scanlon's lips parted in reply, but Daniel's hand shot out in a short, sharp punching gesture, and Scanlon clutch at his chest. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell backwards, into the arms of the tall black woman, who had darted forward to catch him. She bore him to the ground, and felt for a pulse. After a moment, she glanced up at Varga. "He's dead, sir."

Those words broke through Bree's fog. Daniel had just killed someone, without a thought, without hesitation. It was as he himself had feared. He was out of control, and too powerful to be put down. It could be that if Varga and all the other Keltoi present acted quickly, they could do it. Then she remembered. Leander had a gun.

Leander must have remembered at the same time. He swiftly raised the gun to aim it at Daniel, and without even glancing at Leander, Daniel gestured, and the gun flew out of Leander's hand and straight into Daniel's.

"Would you look at this?" Daniel said, waving the gun toward Varga. "Magic is all well and good, but sometimes a gun just feels good in the hand, you know? And besides, I'm a bit tired. Now, the question is, do I want to kill the rest of you?"

There was a long silence. Nobody moved. Nobody except the demon, Felakim. It had stayed outside of Varga's body after Gelsenim was vanished, and now it crept up on Daniel, a bit behind and to the right of him. Again, Daniel gestured and said, almost casually, “Be gone, demon." The demon collapsed into smoke and disappeared with a pop of energy.

In spite of how drained he must have been from the duel, Daniel appeared freakishly strong. Bree had to wonder if having that darker side take over had freed up some of his power. She'd always known that his Demon Master and Binder talents were nearly as strong as his Caster ability. They’d been locked away for so long, and now they were completely free.
 

She saw Varga and Franchesca exchange a glance. Franchesca gave a little nod and slinked toward Daniel.
 

"Daniel, my love, how wonderful to have you back," she purred, a little smile on her face.
 

Daniel's attention shifted to her, and he smiled back. It was a predatory smile. "Franchesca. Up to your old tricks, I see." Franchesca moved in close to him, and Daniel's gaze dropped to her cleavage, prominently displayed in the low neck of her dress. He extended a long finger and traced it along the edge of the vee, gaze speculative.
 

Everything, Bree was thinking, I've screwed up virtually everything. Daniel had been winning when Leander dragged her forward and threatened her. She had chosen wrong, and now Daniel was lost to her, lost to himself. Varga was free to act, to move forward with whatever political agenda he was setting up with all the demonic possessions, all the bombings. Free, that is, so long as Daniel didn't kill him. Suddenly, fiercely, Bree hoped that he would. "Daniel!" she cried. "You came here to kill Varga, so do it!"
 

Daniel's gaze flew to her, and for a split second, she thought she saw Daniel, the real Daniel, looking out at her. Then he looked down at his leg, where Franchesca had inserted a needle in his thigh. With a swift motion, she pushed in the plunger, withdrew the needle, and backed away. Daniel's face registered puzzlement, then anger, then his eyes fluttered closed, and he fell to the ground.

Leander
watched Thorvaldson lose consciousness with a profound, jittery relief.
 
He'd felt acutely vulnerable, watching how easily Thorvaldson killed Scanlon and took the gun from him. The man had well and truly snapped, that was for certain. He watched in disgust as Franchesca knelt over him, murmuring, straightening his limbs and petting his hair and face.
 

He glanced at Marton warily. He and Scanlon's people had just witnessed Marton cheat in a duel. Oh, maybe he hadn't been the one to drug Thorvaldson, but no one would believe Franchesca did it without Marton's orders. It was a profound loss of face, and there was every chance he wouldn't want any witnesses to the act.
 

He felt pinned in place. He wanted to go for the gun Thorvaldson had dropped when he collapsed, but Marton could feel threatened by the move and was perfectly capable of frying him where he stood, even without a demon on board.
 

Bree was still on her knees next to Marton. Her head was bowed, hair partially obscuring her face, but Leander could see that she was silently crying. He tried to steel himself against the sight. She was crying over Thorvaldson, after all, not over him, over his betrayal. Now that he knew she hadn't died from Marton's attack, he refused to feel guilty. She was a naive idiot to trust him as she had, and she was getting what she deserved.
 

Clearly, he had dithered too long about going for the gun, because Marton paced forward and got it himself. Leander watched with narrowed eyes as Scanlon's people tensed. In a move almost foolishly confident, Marton checked the rounds in the gun, put on the safety, tucked the gun in the waistband of his pants at the small of his back and turned to face Destry, where she'd risen to stand over Scanlon.

"My apologies about the death of your clan chief. As I'm sure you could see, it was not what I intended," Marton said cooly, almost negligently, to Destry.
 

To give her credit, Destry raised her chin and returned steadily, "That's clear, sir. And if I might, let me say I feel my chief was in error in insisting on Thorvaldson's death.
 
I'm in agreement that the bigger picture wouldn’t be served in that case." Her dark eyes glinted in something like approval as she looked down at Marton. She was taller by almost half a head, and Leander could read that she was nearly as unaffected by events as she was pretending. Nearly. He turned his Reader sense on Marton.

"The bigger picture," Marton said musingly, folding his arms across his chest. He stance was casual, relaxed, but Leander knew all his tells of old, and he could see that Marton was staying upright on will alone. He'd been badly drained by the battle, and by his injury. Now would be the time to take him out if Leander had a mind to.
 

He glanced down at Bree to find her looking up at him. She looked shell shocked, but like her senses were starting to return to her. Leander shook his head slightly at her. He didn't want her going after Marton. She didn't have anything lethal to use against him, unless she planned on going for the gun. For a moment, he thought about letting her try it. Would it be so bad to have Marton out of his life, to be completely out from under his thumb?
 

He took a cautious step toward Bree as Marton continued. "Yes, about that. It's best for you to know that this duel was set up by me. I had advance notice Thorvaldson was coming after me, and I was prepared, as you see. It was always about taking Thorvaldson. While I would normally accede to his right to non-interference in a duel, I had to make an exception in this case. We've spent too much energy, too much money and planning on our larger goals to allow Thorvaldson to interfere at this point."

"Agreed," Destry said firmly. She glanced back at her people, who all began nodding, straining not to look too eager. Leander took three more smooth, quiet steps towards Bree and put a hand on her shoulder, gripping it and pushing down hard. She looked up at him again, eyes dark and haunted, and Leander felt something in his gut twist, hard. He wanted to look away, but couldn't.
 

He heard Destry go on. "As you may be aware, I was recently promoted to Scanlon's chief of security. I've been the primary liaison with your people since they got here. You run a tight clan, sir, and you think big. We could learn from you."
 

"And now your clan lacks a chief," Marton said musingly. Leander ripped his gaze away from Bree's, made himself focus on Marton. He wasn't out of the woods yet, none of them were. "Is there, in your opinion, anyone as strong as I am waiting in the wings to take over as chief of your clan?" Marton asked.

Destry hesitated, and Leander could fairly see her thoughts in the air in front of her, clan pride warring with her desire to live through the night. "None, sir," she finally answered.
 

"As I thought," Marton replied. He walked a few steps to where he'd dropped his suit jacket on the ground and began putting it on with nary a wince as to the pain the movement must be causing him. "I think that if I've done nothing else, I've proven how strong the Keltoi can be if we set aside clan loyalties and work together toward something from which we all benefit. The clan system has worked for generations, I know, and I'm not proposing to change it wholesale. We've all profited by it, in many ways. There's a stability it gives us, and keeping to our territories keeps clan wars to a minimum."
 

Destry and the other Keltoi had their eyes glued to Marton. Destry had gone the kind of still Leander associated with someone preparing to fight if need be.
 

"But I think the time has come for something closer to the kind of government the normals have," Marton went on. "We need more central planning, central control, if we're ever going to break the stalemate with the Ecclesias and the Keepers. They have limited our actions and our profits for too long. You've seen what I've been able to accomplish in L.A. and with the recent actions here and around the country. Do any of you doubt I'm the man for the job?"

Bree stirred under Leander's hand as Destry and all her people shook their heads. He squeezed her shoulder harder, but didn't dare speak to her as Marton was glancing back at him, presumably to check that he had Bree under control, then spared a glance for Franchesca and Thorvaldson. Franchesca had Thorvaldson resting on his back, and was watching Marton now.
 

"Here's what I propose," Marton said, smoothing back his hair with his hands. "I become clan chief here in Seattle. I appoint a strong second who will, to all intents and purposes, fill the role of clan chief as you currently know it, looking after your clan's local interests. He or she will report directly to me and coordinate with me and my people on the political agenda we’re all pursuing, much as you yourself have been doing of late," he nodded at Destry.
 

Destry's expression had become speculative. It would be quite a coup if she could leap from security chief straight to Marton's second. A cold part of Leander knew Marton was planting the seed to get Destry's buy in so she'd have reason no to spread it about that he'd not taken Thorvaldson down fairly.
 

"Naturally, I leave it up to your clan to work out who to submit for my approval as second, just as I have with the clans who've given me their allegiance in California. I have no intention of interfering in clan autonomy any more than is strictly necessary to advance our larger agenda. Does this plan meet with your approval, and are you willing to take it to your clan?"

"Definitely, sir," Destry replied with a small smile.
 

It had worked. Marton had won her over. Leander allowed himself a relieved sigh. If Marton wasn't going to kill all the witnesses, he would have no reason to kill Leander. He was safe. Which left him space to think about how he might get Bree out of this alive. He wasn't sure what he would do if Marton moved to kill her. It would be suicide to oppose him. Even in his weakened state, Marton was ten times the Caster Leander was.

Marton moved closer to Destry, shook her hand, and said something quietly to her that Leander couldn't make out. When Marton let her go, she turned and motioned her people to pick up Scanlon and follow her. They walked off into the night, back in the direction of the museum.

Marton slumped as soon as they were out of sight and put a hand to his wound, hunching around the injury for a moment as if he were trying to get control of the pain. Leander felt the stir of magic in the air as Marton did some kind of casting on himself, probably something to block the pain. He straightened up and turned to face Leander and Bree, his face weary but speculative. "So this is Thorvaldson's woman," he said, approaching.
 

Again, Leander pressed down on Bree's shoulder, trying without words to convey to her the importance of not threatening or startling Marton in this mood. He’d seemed calm and in control, but Leander knew his pride was hurting, knew how much it galled him to let the Seattle Keltoi walk knowing what he'd done.