Succubus Takes Manhattan (26 page)

A demon could not get through the triangle, but I could call on a nondemon, an elemental being. Elementals are etheric creatures. They can affect the physical world without having to obey its laws. If I could get one into the circle I could have it snatch Raven and return through Yetzirah, the World of Formation.

Fire is the sword that cuts through all obstacles, besides being my natural element as a succubus. So I would call a Salamander and send it to grab Raven.

I had no experience calling a Salamander. All elementals were notoriously unstable and unreliable but Salamanders were the worst of the lot, which made it more likely that it could permeate the barrier.

I also had no equipment.

Cancel that. I had a mirror (on my lipstick case) and I bet I could find a candle and a knife in the kitchen. I remembered my instructor in Advanced Seminar, her gravely demon voice low and husky, and her accent vaguely like Marlene Dietrich’s, saying, “A true magician can do a ritual with a burning twig and a butter knife in the middle of Cathedral Square on a market day!” I was about to test that theory.

I went down the stairs as silently as I had ascended and found the kitchen tucked under the gallery hallway. It was a separate room with a door, which I closed behind me. The room was humongous. All in white tile and stainless steel, it looked more like an industrial kitchen than someplace featured in our sister home design magazine. No granite, no cherry cabinets, no homey crockery or food interrupted the pristine sweep of the stainless steel counters.

I found knives of all sizes and shapes, from cleavers to tiny paring knives, and selected one of the smaller Cuisinart chef’s knives with a stainless steel handle. I chose it mostly because of the metal handle, because that seemed more swordlike to me and because, if I remembered my lessons correctly, the magician should touch the metal of the sword directly.

So, middle of the kitchen. I had the sword. A wooden spoon would do for a wand, and a small metal candy dish would stand in for a pentacle. I had my pick for the chalice, but decided against the Waterford. I chose the plain juice glass instead. I still needed a candle.

Okay. Time to improvise. Even though I was isolated from the room upstairs, I could hear Raven’s cries, and they chilled me. That sound more than the possibility of discovery kept me focused.

I took one of the high stools from the breakfast bar and dragged it over to the stove. The gas burner would work for fire, and the stool would hold the rest of the tools as an altar. I set out my mirror and the collection I had scrounged and set off to work.

I had no incense or brazier to walk the circle and seal the space, but I did have an atomizer of Estée Lauder’s Beautiful that I’d gotten in one of their promotional packages. How it had ended up in the pocket of my blue fleece jacket I did not know or question. I just used it. I sprayed it as I walked a circle that, with a sweep of my arm, included the nearest two burners of the six burner Wolf stove.

I walked the circle with the sword, imagining blue flame to match the gas burning on the stove from the sharp tip. I saw it seal, a ring of electric neon blue that protected me and kept the magic concentrated.

I wished I knew a formal Fire invocation, but some kind of statement was necessary. “Element of Fire, I call upon you as your sister. Fire to fire I call, Salamander of the worlds, come to me as a friend and aid in this, my time of extreme need. Come, Salamander, come.”

I repeated the last over and over, my mind utterly focused on nothing but my own desire for the elemental to appear. Yearning, needing, imploring, I built the emotions and let them ride the words as I spoke them.

Come, Salamander, come.
I saw the words in raging red flames tinged with yellow; I imagined the creature itself brilliant and burning, called not by my words but by the force of my will and my power under Satan. My whole being was intent on only that, and if the entire 82nd Airborne had landed in that kitchen I wouldn’t have noticed.

In my mind’s eye I saw the Salamander. I felt its heat and violent energy. I felt its unshakable will within my own. This one picture filled my mind so completely that I could smell the flames and feel the heat blister my skin.

I gazed into the mirror and saw it reflected clearly back to me, every scale blazing, every talon sharp and flaming. Only its coal black eyes were dark and calm, unperturbed by the flames. The mirror became liquid and the Salamander poured through the glass and stood flaming on a stainless steel counter. The white ceiling blackened from the smoke.

“I hear your call, Sister,” it said in a raspy, crackling voice. “What would you of me, and what do you offer?”

A bargain. Always a bargain.

“I want the young demon being held upstairs,” I said. “Can you snatch her away from the place where they hold her confined?”

“And if I can, what will you give me?” the Salamander demanded.

I thought hard and fast. There are currencies in the world of magic, and one of the most desirable of those I have easily at hand. “I will give you a drop of my ichor,” I said. “Which you can use for yourself or to trade, so long as it is never used against me or mine.”

“One drop we will need for the working. I will have three drops when it is finished,” the Salamander demanded.

“Done.”

I used the blade of the chef’s knife to cut the tip of my finger. One drop of ichor glistened on the edge. I held it out to the Salamander, who incorporated it with a delicate flick of its tongue. And in a blaze that was so bright my eyes ached, the Salamander left and transported through the element into the room upstairs. I rode inside of it, disguised, my inner self (that would be a soul in a human) being overlaid by the ferocity of Elemental Fire.

The Salamander took us to the upstairs room and I saw Raven chained to what appeared to be an altar, her belly slit open and bleeding. I screamed. I could see everything and I was there, but from the vantage of the Salamander I couldn’t do anything to intervene.

A shocked voice roared out behind me. “What in hell are you doing here?”

I turned and there, in the middle of the working circle, dressed up in his gray silk robes with a pewter laman on his chest, stood Marten.

chapter
TWENTY-ONE

“Marten?” I squeaked, shocked. Ohmygoodness, was he one of the bad guys? Had he been one of the ones who was torturing Raven? I screamed inside my head. Outside the Salamander roared.

“Lily, get out of here. It is dangerous,” he said.

“What are you doing?” I demanded.

“Trying to save Raven,” he hissed, flickered, and disappeared.

And then, without warning, something flashed a brilliant red.

And I was in a beautifully appointed study, trapped inside a blazing red triangle. The Salamander had tricked me! It had dumped me in the physical reality, the actual room, and had itself fled.

I didn’t have time to wonder why. Raven was nowhere in sight. But four mortal men, one of whom I recognized, were ringed around me. The one I recognized, Craig Branford, held a sword pointed at my throat.

“Speak, demon, I command you in the name of Heaven,” he intoned.

“Buddy, I hate to break it to you, but I’m not the enemy of Heaven,” I told him. “The Hierarchy goes all the way down. Satan still serves On High, though don’t ask Her to admit that in polite company.”

“It tries to beguile us, Leader,” one of the others whimpered.

I sighed and sagged with more exhaustion than I had felt in a century. “I’m just telling the truth. It’s not my fault if you’re a bunch of half-educated halfwits. Where’s Raven?”

Only they weren’t going to tell me. They didn’t know what had happened, and I’d bet three pairs of next season’s Manolos that they hadn’t even noticed the substitution. If substitution it was.

But I could find no trace of Raven. She had vanished from the triangle, a triangle specifically designed to hold a demon. She was gone, and I was trapped.

As I realized the depth of my situation, I wanted to cry, to scream with frustration.
This is what happens when you try to do something decent,
I thought.

Then Branford pierced the triangle with his sword and it burned. It never touched me but the intention in that blade piercing my prison (and protection) became a torment.

I was hurt and angry, and I admit I wasn’t thinking very clearly. There was probably a better way; if I’d been a hostage negotiator for the FBI this could have gone down differently. But I’m not, I’m an accessories editor and a succubus. Diplomacy is not a job requirement.

So instead of trying to calm them down, I put my hand on the blade of the sword. And I shrieked with the pain of the intentions of the blade but I couldn’t let it go.

Branford had violated the most important rule of confining demons. He had breached the barrier. Give any of us the slightest crack in that magical barricade and we will exploit it. And I did.

I held the sword and swung it around. Every movement rent the triangle further.

I screamed. Branford screamed. The door burst open and Nathan entered, yelling and swinging a fireplace poker.

Branford’s companions fled, terrified, as I stepped out of the restraining triangle, which left me and Nathan to deal with Branford. Who, fortunately, was not about to let go of the sword. Yeah, he must have learned in Self-Righteous Fanatic School never to take his eyes off the demon.

Which would be good advice, but it didn’t take into consideration the mortal team member who wasn’t confined by magical barriers and who didn’t conform to magical protocols. As Branford and I danced around with the sword between us, Nathan swept his legs with the fireplace poker and the man went down. His hands came off the sword and I had control over the weapon. Which, being a ritual item, wasn’t at all sharp.

But Branford didn’t know that, or didn’t care. Or was more afraid of the magical properties than I understood, because when I held the point of the sword to his throat he lay very still. His eyes were steady and blazed with the absolute certainty of a raging idiot.

“God will save me,” he said with perfect conviction. “You may destroy my body but you cannot have my soul in Hell.”

“Don’t worry, we don’t want your kind,” I said as Nathan started to duct tape his wrists behind his back.

Branford smiled thinly. “Of course not. You can’t have me. I belong to the Lord God wholly and entirely, and my being is dedicated to doing His work.”

I shook my head and sighed. “I don’t think so. You people are so . . . ignorant.”

By then Nathan had gotten his ankles and came around front to tape his mouth shut. Thank goodness.

“What should we do with him?” Nathan asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t know. Where’s Raven?”

It was Nathan’s turn to look confused. “I didn’t see anyone but you and the men who were here. I thought you did some kind of magical snatch or substitution or something.”

“No,” I admitted.

But someone had. Someone had snatched Raven out of the triangle and substituted me. Something was going on, something that involved Meph and Marten and I didn’t know what else. But the vast array of sky visible through the windows was starting to lighten, and I was tired beyond belief. Craig Branford would wait a day or two. We could stash him someplace later, but for now I was too tired to think.

“Do you have someplace you can take him?” I asked Nathan.

Nathan hesitated. “I think so. Probably.”

“Then take him there and we’ll figure it out later,” I mumbled. “I’ve got to get some sleep. And I’ve got an editorial meeting tomorrow.”

“I’ll drive you home,” Nathan offered, but I waved him off. “No, you take care of Branford. I’ll take a cab.”

I nodded off until the cabbie announced we were at my door and I stumbled out. Only to be greeted by Vincent, looking handsome and unharmed, who took me by the shoulders and delivered me upstairs.

Three hours of sleep and two extralarge espressos later I was pretending to keep my eyes open during the editorial meeting. Which was excessively quiet due to the fact that Lawrence was notably absent. We had gotten through a very civilized discussion of sculpted wedgies, the hot new trend in shoes for next spring. Over a year away, and I still wasn’t into
this
spring’s clothes.

I was aware that my mind was wandering, but I managed to come up with deadlines and photo shoot information when I had to give a report about my shawl feature.

That was it. No mention of Lawrence or his absence, or whether we would ever see him again. After the meeting ended I walked down the hall with Danielle.

“No Lawrence?” I asked.

She raised an eyebrow in that oh-so-French way. “I have heard nothing. No rumors, no gossip. Not about him.”

“He could just have the flu, then.” I sighed.

But when we got to my door, Danielle followed me into my office. Which was fine with me, but we both had work to do. If I could work. I had been thinking about collapsing on the sofa for a couple of hours since really I was not equipped to handle an all-nighter and be fresh and productive the next day. Danielle pulled up one of the chairs to my desk while I sat down and pretended to be awake.

“I have heard no rumors about Lawrence,” she stared. “But, Lily, people are starting to talk about you. You have been out of the office a lot recently, and when you are here you look like you need to be someplace else. You are too tired during meetings and I think you are not keeping up with work. You have not contributed to the editorial meeting in weeks.”

I froze. My hands curled around the edges of my desk and I sat stock-still. Fear, cold and solid like ice in my stomach, knotted my insides.

“Did someone ask you to speak to me?” I asked carefully.

Danielle shook her head. “I do not believe that there is much said, not yet. But I am your friend, Lily, and I do not want to see you in trouble. I want this to stop before anyone else pays attention. I am worried for you also, because something must be happening at home for you to be so tired all the time here. And you do not focus the way you used to.”

“Do you think I’m in trouble?”