The Deception Dance (38 page)

“Stop that,” he says harshly. “This
is not the time for that. You can have doubts tomorrow when this is
all over. Right now, you need to be strong, sharp and confident. I’ve
seen you dance, and it was beautiful, you were graceful and
coordinated and careful, those are the things you need to be now...
but with words. You’ve been dancing within their deceptions,
dancing their dance all along, Raven. They’ve been leading you,
pushing you and spinning you around. Now it’s your chance, it’s
your time to lead the deception.”

“Won’t you help me, cue me what to
say?” I ask.

“I will, if you want me to. But if I
accompany you in there, it’ll only cast doubt on you.”
His arms tense around me. “And if I enter City Hall, Andras
will kill me.”

So, what he’s saying is that I have to go
into a Demon nest, alone? I should have known, should have known all
along that only I can face Andras. “What do I have to say? I
mean...how do I
lie
without
lying
?”

Stephen hisses instructions in my ear while
Fenrisúlfur’s shoulder blades shift beneath me. Stephen,
my
choreographer
,
whose “dancing” with the damned rewarded him with his
face nearly being split in two; but he’s right that this is my
only option: I can’t fight my way out of this one and I can’t
lie. I’m falling into the snake-pit with only my wits to get me
out, and I’m so tired.

I concentrate on everything he’s telling
me, I try to internalize every word, but there’s a chorus of
screams and it’s getting louder. What is happening to those
people to make them cry out like that?

I don’t want to know.

I move my hand from my nose to cover my eyes,
just in case some image could slip through my eyelids.

I realized I missed something Stephen said, but
I shouldn’t interrupt him. Should I? The screams and cackles
and… oh, what is
that
sound? The noises are getting so loud that Stephen’s yelling in
my ear and he’s still drowned out.

Fenrisúlfur jumps forward, probably over
something, and I grab his fur to keep my balance.

Stephen’s arms pull away; his hand
squeezes my shoulder. “We’re almost there, I have to
dismount.”

I sound breathless, “You’re leaving
already?”

“Unless you don’t want me to, I’ll
stay...”

“No, no, go,” is all I can manage.

“I’ll be close, just out of sight,
I promise.” He gives my shoulder one last squeeze; then, I
can’t feel his warm, comforting body behind me any longer.

I open my eyes. But the sight ahead is not as
gory as I feared. As in the church yard, the demons and humans have
cleared out of Fenrisúlfur’s path and all that’s
left on the street is blood and garbage.

The monumental red building ahead fared better
than the streets that led us here (as in, it’s still standing).
Dark stains splatter the red brick walls. A golden statue lies below
its pedestal on a bed of smashed cobblestones. But somehow, the
building still retains remnants of its majesty. Copenhagen City Hall
is withstanding all the forces of Hell.

A laughing shark toothed couple spill out of
the gaping door-less entrance but with a screech of terror they
hasten out of our path.

Fenrisúlfur stops at the foot of a
shallow stair that sweeps up to the entrance of the city hall. I know
it’s time to dismount, but my legs aren’t listening to my
commands.
Okay
,
Fenrisúlfur will protect me until I’m inside; when I’m
inside, I’m on my own.

I slide down Fenrisúlfur’s heavy
coat and land beside the golden statue; the statue, a nose-less
priest, stares unseeingly heavenward.

I pull my sword out of its scabbard. I’ve
never held a sword before; it’s awkward and heavy for my wrist.
The blade is plain but I can see the edge is sharp as a razor.
I hold my sword out, as Madeline did,
but there are no adversaries to threaten, they’re all cowering
somewhere far from Fenrisúlfur.

“Thank you for the ride,” the words
sound foolish as I call over to the hell-beast, but no good being
ungrateful. He doesn’t acknowledge me in anyway, just stands
sentinel.

I turn. The stairs are deserted but inside I
can see hundreds of moving figures, demonic or humanoid, or probably
both.

I straighten my posture, raise my head, and
pull a gun from its holster. I don’t know how to use it but I
can wave it around, that might help. I take my first step, and then
the rest are easier. I skip every other step until I reach the
massive entrance. The moment I step through the door I hear the
scrape of claws on pavement, it’s probably Fenrisúlfur
leaving, but I don’t turn around to check.

I keep my gaze fixed forward as the crowd of
demonic bulls, dogs, beasts of every sort, disheveled humans, humans
with wings, claws, horns, shark-teeth, some with all of the above,
all turn to stare at me. Most of them press back to clear out of my
path, acting as scared of me as they were of Fenrisúlfur; but
somehow, I don’t think it’s because of my fearsome
butt-kicking abilities (or lack thereof).

One lanky human man, jumps into my path, he
giggles and does a little dance where all his joints bend in the
wrong direction, he ends the exhibition by farting fire at me. The
demons pressing in a line at both my sides screech with laughter and
they fight each other to either get closer to the path, or farther
from it.
They
start to press in; I swing my sword out and manage to push back the
line a couple of inches.

The square room I enter is massive, and
completely filled with screaming, dancing fighting, and cackling
demons. All the humans I can see are somewhat demonic: puppeteers,
hundreds of them. Fires flicker from heaps and trashcans scattered
throughout. The flickering light illuminates the second level balcony
where a pack of giant wolves slather and prowl. The third story is
made up of an encircling colonnade each column meeting in decorative
rounded arches.

On the third story, a man with giant black
feather wings slumps over the balcony in the middle of the center
arc. He rolls his head back to his shoulders stretching. I’m
probably thirty feet below him, but I can tell from this distance
that the face is not Andras’s.
The
man’s eyes snap open and fix on me (as if he knew exactly where
I was), his emerald colored eyes.

We just stare, locked in each other’s
gazes. The screeching demons surrounding me might as well not exist
(for all the attention we pay to them). The man, whose eyes alone
mark him as Andras, leaps onto the balcony railing. He throws back
his head and screeches so loudly it silences the demonic rabble.
Andras doesn’t fly down to me; he springs. Where his bare feet
hit the marble a crater buckles in.

The demons might have backed away from me,
scattered away from Fenrisúlfur, but these reactions are
nothing to what they do in Andras’s presence. They stampede, as
if their existence completely relies on them not being whatsoever in
Andras’s way.

Andras raises his gaze to me; his eyes are
ringed in dark circles. The line of his nose and shape of his face
suggest that the body Andras stole was probably handsome and young,
maybe even younger than I am; but now, his skin hangs from his
cheeks, gray and sallow. Cracks fissure up his leathery dehydrated
skin on his neck and chin. With no shirt to cover him, his black and
charred chest and scorched pock marked arms and throat are hard to
look away from. My guess is the burns continue to venture down his
legs where his black suit pants cover. The only visible feature of
this body unmarred by Andras’s demonic-occupancy is a head of
perfect blond curls, the trashcan-fires light the edge of his hair.
His dark wings span out nearly fifteen feet in each direction, but
they quickly sag to the floor.

He takes a step out of the crater and toward
me. He’s staring so intently I can, literally, feel heat on my
face from his gaze. His voice sounds as parched as his skin looks,
“Are you really
my
Raven?”

I pause, choosing my every word. “It’s
me, Raven Smith, I’m really me.”

He narrows his eyes, “How?”

“I was raised from the dead, recomposed,
by magic.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a few
stragglers squeezing out of the door. Something catches my attention
and I turn from Andras. Several humanoid demons are dragging injured
humans from the hall; one of them has a big round pregnant belly
hanging out of her ripped shirt. Though I can tell this woman’s
skin tone is naturally darker than mine, every visible part of her is
discolored and swollen.

I run toward the woman being dragged by her
long black hair. “Hayvee?” I yell. “Are you
Hayvee?”

The pregnant woman doesn’t peek open her
swollen eyes.

“Hayvee!” I call, almost reaching
her. The demon hauling the pregnant woman tries to hurry his escape
by weaving through the crowd, but the congestion of demonic bodies is
too thick. I catch up and grab the pregnant woman by her feet. The
bug-eyed humanoid hisses, his forked tongue snapping out from behind
his teeth, but the moment his tongue darts back behind his teeth he
implodes into a cloud of ash. The pregnant woman plops to the floor
and the dust settles onto her hair. She moans and whimpers.

“Are you Hayvee?” I whisper.

Her eyelashes flutter but she doesn’t
answer.

A hand settles on my shoulder, “You know
this woman?” Andras says from inches behind me.

“I think so.” I turn to him, “I
think she’s Albert’s wife.” I hasten to add,
“Albert is a stupid jerk but she and her baby don’t
deserve to suffer for that.”

His hand caresses my cheek; his skin chafing
mine, like sandpaper. “She will not. Her life is my gift to
you.”

“Thank you,” I force a smile.

“Did you know that your friend came to
join me?” He turns to the side, “Chauncey!” He
shouts.

I turn to see the small crowd of demons that
did not flee the hall; Chauncey stands among them. Her teeth have
receded to normal and she’s changed into a clean dress but
Chauncey looks no less demonic than when I last saw her.

She skips forward, no trepidation, no fear of
me. I still have the sword and gun in my hand, I could just end her.
Andras wouldn’t stop me. But he’d know; he’d know
that there was so much more to my death, my rebirth. His head slumps
forward. I have so little time, so little time to convince him...

She stops to pout at me, her eyes gleaming red
in the firelight, “Oh, hi Raven, nice to see you.”

I swallow. The hand around my sword clenches.

“Chauncey, bring this woman to Albert
Tapper. Make sure she reaches him safe and not further harmed.”

Chauncey winks at me as she wraps her arms
around Hayvee and drags her from the room.

No. No. No. Should I stop her? Am I just going
to make it worse?

Andras turns to me. “Now that woman is
with your friend, are you happy?”

No, not at all. But I can’t say that.
“I’m relieved that I’ve made it here, to you.”
He could not guess how relieved I am, or how terrified.

“I only regret that you have to see me
like this, before my ascension. I do not like you seeing me in this
wasted shell.”

Stephen told me,
‘What you say doesn’t matter as much as how you say
it...’

I try to sound tender, “I feel the same
for you, no matter how you look. I’m just glad I’m
finally with you.”

He grins, the cracks of his parched skin
spreading up his face, “You want to be with me?”

“I dream of being with you.”

His withered hand cups my cheek. “I have
almost burnt through this body; I have little time left, but soon...”
he steps even closer, “…soon I can touch you with my
true body, with my true hand.”

“You mean, if you open the gates of
Hell?”

He smiles, not a kind smile.

‘
Ask questions, questions are never
lies.’

“How can we be together in a world where
Hell has taken over? How can we be happy together if everyone else I
know, my family, my friends are in danger?”

His wings seem to droop lower, feathers rain
down and settle on the marble. He sighs, his head swinging jerkily,
“I’m tired of touching you with the hands of lesser
beings; I want to be myself.” He says this as if that settles
things.

“No being in Hell wants us together,
Andras,” I try to sound distraught. “Andras, pretty much
every demon, but you, wants me dead. Don’t you see? How will
you keep me safe if there are demons more powerful than you among
us?”

“Raven,” He wraps his arms around
me, “Now that I have found you again, I will take measures so
no other demons will hurt you.”

“If you wait until another magician...”

He jerks back suddenly. “Whose vest is
this? And whose sword and guns are you holding?”