Devil's Punch (18 page)

“It's hers,” I said. “Grab it.”

I tried to take a step toward the pack, toward that link to Shannon, because I could read something in there, maybe get a clue. Find her. Save her.

But the stupid words the Noit had babbled echoed in my head instead:
Binder, binder, never find 'er. She's gone, gone, for a song, into the heart of where it's dark, and nevermore, forevermore
.

My leg buckled. I hit the dirty floor with it twisted beneath me, and I couldn't see. I heard Chance's voice cast in worried tones, and Greydusk's calmer reply, and then it all went away, as if through the water gate, and I became a thing spun in so many directions that I lost all cohesion, and went sailing into nothing at all.

Pain.

Darkness.

Someone's hurting me
.

My throat was too tight and dry to scream, but I heard it in my head. Echoes of voices chattered above me. Noise, not words. One of them was familiar. I wanted to reach for him. I couldn't. A fire blazed in my leg, eating into my muscles and bones. It stretched up from ankle to thigh, nibbling toward my hip, and my face felt parched and swollen. My eyes wouldn't open.

“Will she be all right?”

“I don't know.”

More nothing.

The pain lessened after the poking and jabbing. I sighed in relief as cool hands stroked my cheeks. Whimpering, I turned.

“Does she know I'm here?”

“Hard to say. I'd guess yes, though.”

I know,
I tried to say, through lips as solid as wax.
I know you, demon prince with the tiger's eyes
.

Slow fade.

The next time I came back to my head, I could move it. A few seconds later, I unsealed my eyelids and blinked against the low light. Chance was asleep beside me, and I
had
no idea
where we were. My dirty clothes were piled on the floor beside us, along with my wrecked boots. The room was small but neat, serviceable rather than ostentatious. Our bed had been built into the wall—or rather, it was a stone ledge with a mattress on it. Cunning design, I thought, and cozy with Chance spooned up against me. I touched his arm where it rested across my waist and his eyes snapped open instantly. He'd always been a light sleeper.

“Corine,” he rasped.

I turned into his arms, and even that small motion made me dizzy. “What happened?” It was all a blur, and then before he could answer, it came rushing back. The former demon brothel, the spiders with dead baby faces, Shannon's backpack. “How long was I out?”

“After Greydusk administered the antidote, almost a full day.”

“And how long did it take him to find it?”

“Eight hours.”

So it had been over twenty-four hours, in demon time, since we found her pack.
Damn it
. My injury had cost us a day we might not have to spare. Angry with myself, I strangled a curse.

Gathering my resolve, I tried to sit up and failed.
Still too weak.
“How long will it take me to recover?”

“Do you not understand you almost died?” His features were tight with exhaustion and worry.

“I get it,” I said. “I also know that Shannon may not have much time left.”

If she has any at all
.

“Corine,” he said. “I know you love her. But
I
don't. You're the one I care about, and it kills me to see you go down this road.” He stroked a hand through my tangled hair. “You're ready to sacrifice anything for her.”

“Yeah. But I'd do it for you too.” That shut him up, as I'd known it would. “Where are we?”

“Greydusk's place.”

“Wow, he took us home with him?” Talk about going above and beyond the call of duty. Suddenly, it didn't feel right to think of the Imaron as “it” as if he wasn't a person. “Sybella must be furious.”

Chance shrugged. “I haven't been out of this room.”

“I'm sorry I scared you,” I said quietly.

“It wasn't the first time. I doubt it'll be the last.” A ghost of a smile chased across his face.

“I didn't do it on purpose.” In fact, just the opposite. I had been trying to get out of the way, but in the confusion of combat, shit happened. Chance knew it as well as I did. “You didn't answer my question.”

“Soon,” Greydusk answered from the doorway.

“Seriously—” Chance began, but the demon didn't give him an opportunity to complete the objection.

“I can give you a tisane to hasten your recovery if you wish.”

“If? Why would you even ask? Let me guess—there's some hideous side effect, like I grow horns or bark like a dog for the rest of my life.” Butch raised his head from the pillow on a nearby chair and gave me a look. “Sorry, bud. No offense.”

He heaved a particularly eloquent sigh.

“There are consequences for every action,” the demon said. “As you well know, Binder.”

“Lay it on me.”

“The cost for a swift recovery of your strength is a year of your life, should you ingest this potion.” The demon held a slim vial in one long-fingered hand. When he held it to the light, it swirled in shades of red.

Chance tensed. “How long will it take her to heal naturally?”

“Nine of your months.”

I pushed out a slow breath, thinking. It made sense. If I used sufficient energy in one pass to heal that much damage, there had to be a cost. Nine months' time couldn't just magickally disappear; it had to come from somewhere. Whatever. In the end, I could make only one choice. The same one I'd been making all along, no matter how shitty the path before me. But…

“What's the catch?” I asked. “What you said doesn't guarantee I knock a year off my life span. It could also mean that I lose a year of my past—when something
important happens—or I might wind up in indentured servitude.”

“I cannot offer any warranty,” Greydusk said. “All of the above are possible side effects. The ultimate payment results from the will of the potion's creator.”

Which I have to deal with later.
I often took actions that would cost me down the line in order to survive present circumstances. So be it.

“I understand.” I reached for the tisane.

Chance caught my hand. “Are you crazy? Isn't there any way to narrow down the potential costs?”

“He's right,” the demon said. “You should give this more consideration.”

Implacably, I turned my arm so my palm faced up. Silently demanding. There was no merit in arguing with either of them. Words were no use after a certain point. I would not be gainsaid or advised by my men when I had not sought their counsel. Greydusk yielded to my stare without further objection, delivering the vial. Chance turned his face away as I broke the wax seal and downed it. It tasted of blood and heartbreak, burning all the way down my throat. My stomach roiled as the demon magick streamed into my veins, lacing my system with black wildfire.

At first it hurt, and then it spun me around, almost as powerful as the Nephilim blood, only instead of colors I saw darkness. Shadows and layers and whispers of gray, marking the demon, and Chance's hair, which had once only been raven black to my human eyes. Now I saw the hidden glimmer, like the sheen of oil in the sunlight, too subtle and deep for my formerly limited senses to discern.

I felt strong and fast and damn near invincible. Laughing, giddy, I leapt from the bed and demanded, “Where the hell are my clothes?”

Wordless, almost subservient, Greydusk fetched them for me. It was only afterward that I caught myself, a long way past the euphoria, and some part of me shook her head and worried and choked on words of caution.
This
isn't you. You don't think of people as your servants. You don't give orders. You grew up
poor,
and you're not the queen of anything.
But that voice was small and boring, and I squashed it. Chance had a grave look about him, and I thought I might need a new consort if he couldn't learn to be more obedient.

That was a difficult and thorny issue, however, as I didn't want to ally with any one caste. I would raise no demon higher than another. That way led to unrest and eventual civil war. No, I would be better off with Chance beside me, even if his behavior became tiresome. He offered precisely the measure of presence and charisma I required in a mate. On my arm, he added consequence, as others would certainly know he was no mere human. I liked the fact that I had ensnared a godling; I dropped a careless kiss on his quiet mouth and dressed quickly.

“Bring me her bag.”

“She's not herself,” Chance said sharply to Greydusk.

“It was a risk of the tisane.”

“
What
was?”

Outrage built inside me. Were they talking about me like I wasn't here?
Do they not know who I
am
?

“What's happening to her?”

In another minute, I was going to blast one of them. The power gathered, and it didn't feel wrong anymore. It was dark and luscious in my bloodstream, like a black velvet throw, just the right weight to show I meant business. Magick flowed to my fingertips as my rage burned as bright as a falling star.

“She's starting to ascend.”

Good.
All this fucking around made no sense. Skulking? Hiding? I'd level this city, find Shannon, and then run the place properly. These demons knew nothing about fear as of yet, but so help me, I would
teach
them.

“What does that mean?”

I held the black fire, burning in the palm of my hand. Enough curiosity stirred that I wanted to hear the answer before I smote them for their impertinence. Greydusk turned to watch me, expression unreadable. And then he sank to his knees. Chance
turned his head, his brow furrowed in disbelief. The demon used his unnatural strength to drag my consort down into a reluctant obeisance.

“It means the demonic part of her soul is on the rise.”

“Explain,” I demanded, letting the fire die. This seemed like something the Once and Future Queen should know. And since they'd abased themselves before me, my ire was appeased. After I heard the explanation, I would dispense an appropriate punishment for their defiance.

“You have doubtless been told that the Old King's power over demons came as a gift from the archangels,” Greydusk said softly.

I inclined my head.

“What your source did not reveal, I suspect, is how they imbued the first Binder with that power.”

“My patience wears thin.”

“Long ago, there was a true queen of Sheol, named Ninlil. She ruled over the castes and all owed her fealty. Then the greatest of the archangels called her forth. On the steps of the temple, after a great battle, he slew the demon queen and bound her power to the Old King's soul. The angels gave Solomon other gifts, such as the ring of Aandaleeb, known to most as the Seal of Solomon. He used it to summon and bind Asmodeus, who had been Ninlil's consort, at which time we bestowed upon him the title Binder. Your line has carried it ever since.”

“So…the more she uses demon magick, drinks potions fueled by it, the more she'll change. Become less herself and more the demon queen.”

Since it was more or less what I'd have asked, I didn't reprimand the male. Yet. But he had to learn subservience if he was to remain with me. And under me.

“Rise,” I said. “And bring me the bag. We need to find the girl. She's one of mine, and those who stole from me will suffer.”

Greydusk obeyed with alacrity, as it should be. Once I had the pack in my hands, a wave of…something swept over me. It was soft and warm, aching, and I had
no name for this feeling. The scene replayed in my head; it was a young girl—the one we were searching for—and me in a store, shopping, laughing over nothing in particular. She nudged me gently, grinning, and a lock of dyed-black hair flopped into her eyes. We'd picked out this bag together. All at once, I wanted to weep, but demon queens did not. Obviously the girl was mine, and that was why I wanted her back.

I ignored their stares as I unzipped the backpack. It had her things in it: a change of clothes, a toothbrush, some books, her netbook, and iPod. Oddly, they both still had power. I clicked through her playlist, wondering if she'd cowered in the dark listening to the music that drowned out her terror: “Fear of the Dark” by Iron Maiden, “Trains” by Porcupine Tree, “Don't Fear the Reaper” by Blue Oyster Cult, “Drumming Song” by Florence and the Machine, “The Weeping Song” by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, “Wretches & Kings” by Linkin Park, “On My Own” by Three Days Grace, “I'm Not Okay” by My Chemical Romance, “Cryin' Like a Bitch” by Godsmack, and “Last Man Standing” by Pop Evil.

At that point I stopped scrolling. Her music told me so much about her—or rather, it reminded me. A lot of it was old, a hallmark of her stunted childhood in Kilmer. Other bands were those she'd discovered since I freed her, and they reflected more of her personality.

Steeling myself, I curled my palms around the iPod, which I knew she loved. There would be a charge. If her time in this room had been as traumatic as I expected, I'd learn something. Sufficiently braced, I let my concentration drop and the pictures screamed into my head, and I became Shannon Cheney.

I'm bound, hand and foot. Someone shoves me roughly from behind. My iPod clutched in one hand, I tighten my fist so I don't drop it. This is my one link to safety. What the hell am I doing here? What do they want? These things don't talk to me. They don't tell me anything. Oh, God, I'm so scared
.

Jesse.

I want him so much I ache with it. He's my first love, and he doesn't know where I am. And maybe to him, I'm just another weird, gifted girl who wigged out because I have a less-than-stable background. He thinks maybe I'm too young for him, like he's a dirty old man for being with me, but I'm not a kid. I'm
not.