The Stone Demon (4 page)

“If you can, yes.”

“I’ll just dance with him at some stupid ball, ask him all about his demonic plans, and he’ll tell me … just like that. That’s what you think?” Donna shook her head. “Somehow I don’t think it’s going to work.”

Miranda shrugged. “It’s worth a try. You may have more influence with him than you want to believe.”

“Why? Because he’s taken a
shine
to me?”

“Perhaps,” her mentor replied.

“You’re telling me that the Order of the Crow is willingly sending me to hang out with a demon king? You’re quite happy to use me as bait?” Not that Donna was surprised, she just wanted to make sure she knew exactly where she stood.

Miranda tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. A vaguely guilty expression crossed her face. “There will be other alchemists present, keeping watch over you. We’re treating it as a diplomatic event—possibly even an opportunity to divert a war. At the very least, we can gather important information.”

Robert chose that moment to enter the library, catching the tail end of their conversation. “Miranda’s right,” he said. “All of the alchemists received a similar messenger.”

He looked more well-groomed tonight than usual, al-though for Robert that wasn’t saying much considering his general Goth appearance. He was tall and willowy, his half-Chinese heritage evident in his dark eyes and glossy black hair, which tonight was tied back into a partial ponytail—all the better to show off his cobalt-blue highlights. He actually looked like he might have been out for the evening before getting called to the meeting upstairs, and Donna remembered that it had been his night off. Maybe Robert had had a date with a cute guy—he totally deserved some fun, given how close to death he’d come just weeks ago.

Donna immediately latched onto a hope she hadn’t dared to believe might come true this soon. “Quentin and my mom—will they be at this ball?”

“Well, the Order of the Dragon has been invited to send representatives,” Robert replied. “As have the other Orders.”

“How are they going to get here in time for tomorrow night?” Donna had visions of them using her wildly untested abilities to somehow transport people, and her stomach tightened.

Miranda smiled grimly. “Demian says that arrangements for that will be made. I don’t doubt that our colleagues will be there.”

Donna scowled at the invitation. “Part of me doesn’t want to go, but the other part … well,
she
wants to kick Demian’s ass.”

Robert flashed her a quick grin. “He’d probably enjoy that.”

“What are you talking about?” Donna snapped, annoyed at the flush of warmth in her cheeks.

He ignored her, then turned to Miranda. “Don’t you think you should get some rest? It’s already gone midnight and there will be a lot of work to do tomorrow.”

Miranda checked her watch. “There’s no time for me to sleep yet. I have to start getting things organized. Not the least of which is finding a ball gown for you, Donna.”

Donna blanched. “A ball gown?”

“Yes. Never fear, it’s all under control.” Miranda turned on her heel.

Donna watched the petite woman stride from the room before turning on the tall alchemist standing in front of her. A slow smile was spreading across Robert’s face. Despite how irritating he could be, Donna couldn’t help liking him.

“So, what did you mean?” she asked, knowing she’d probably regret asking. “About Demian enjoying it if I kicked his ass?”

Robert rolled his eyes. “Isn’t it obvious? He fancies you.”

Fancies?
“Who even says that?”

“Doesn’t change the fact.”

“It’s not a fact. It’s your theory. A very bad one.”

“Well, it’s a theory that Miranda clearly shares. I didn’t hear you arguing with
her
about it when she said something about how the Demon King has taken a shine to you.”

Donna crossed her arms. “That’s because she’s currently my boss. Sort of. And Miranda’s choice of words was far less annoying.”

“I realize how
annoying
it must be that I’m right all the time, but I told you as much when you first opened the Gate to Hell,” Robert replied. “The look in Demian’s eyes when he spoke to you was pretty weird. Creepy, even. Like you were a commodity rather than a person.”

Donna knew something about that look, but not from Robert’s description of the demon. She remembered what her mother had written in her journal—about Simon Gaunt’s expression when he noticed the young Donna’s growing power. She shivered.

“We’re not just talking about some guy here, Robert. He’s a demon. The Demon
King
. Do you honestly think that’s what this is about?” Donna picked up the invitation and tossed it at him.

He ducked as the heavy paper fluttered to the ground like a dead, black thing. “Ah, so serious.” Seeing that she really was mad at him, Robert sobered. “Sorry, Donna. I was just kidding. Trying to take the edge off all this bloody tension.”

Her shoulders were still tight with anger. Or perhaps with fear. “Well, then, you’re doing a shitty job of it.”

He ran his tongue over the silver lip ring that caught the candlelight, a nervous habit. “Right. I got that. Once again, my apologies.”

Donna forced herself to relax. “Demian only cares about power. If he
fancies
anything, that’s what this is all about.”

“He wants something from you,” Robert said. “That’s certainly true.”

“Yeah,” she snapped. “Maybe he does, but it sure as hell isn’t a date.”

Donna stomped out of the library and ran upstairs to her bedroom. She wanted privacy for the phone call she was about to make.

When her mother picked up on the second ring, Donna’s face broke into a grin of pure relief.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Donna.” The smile was evident in her mother’s voice, although Donna could also detect a note of strain. “It’s good to hear from you.”

The strange bird with its invitation from Demian was the first thing on Donna’s mind, but she tried to wait. At least for a moment. “I miss you.”

“You didn’t call just to catch up.” Rachel Underwood’s tone was suddenly all business. “This is about that so-called ball the Demon King has dreamed up. Any excuse to get us all in one place, I’m sure.”

“So, everybody got invitations?”

“Yes. The Order of the Rose in Prague—they aren’t too happy about it, let me tell you! It takes something special to dig them out of that mausoleum they call a home. Even an alchemist from the Order of the Lion was found by Demian’s messengers. We don’t know how he managed it, but I would imagine that a demon has his ways.”

The Order of the Lion was the most clandestine branch of alchemy; the members were more like spies or super-secret agents. Half the time, nobody was even sure where their latest base of operations was—whether or not they were on covert missions or just sitting around somewhere sipping martinis (shaken, not stirred). Locating one of their members out in the middle of nowhere and deep undercover—to personally deliver an invitation to something as ordinary as a party—was pretty impressive. Demian clearly hadn’t had any trouble finding them, which was just another demonstration of his effortless power.

“At least we’ll find out what he wants—he may be about to offer terms,” Rachel added.

Donna immediately felt shards of ice smash any pleasure she felt at speaking with her mom. “Terms? Maybe he’s just feeling destructive. The British Museum is pretty much gone.”

“It’s terrible, of course, but this is exactly the kind of behavior we expect from a creature like that. Why do you think the alchemists worked so hard to lock him away for two centuries?”

Which made Donna feel guilty all over again for letting such a potentially powerful being loose on the world. She guessed it was a feeling that wasn’t going to disappear any time soon.

“So, Mom, how are you feeling?” If the change of subject was unsubtle, her mother didn’t call her on it.

“Better. Much better.”

“Are you sure?” Donna couldn’t help her constant anxiety about her mom’s illness and recovery. She wished she could have stayed with her in Ironbridge, just to keep an eye on her, but here she was stuck in England serving out her “sentence” for all the mistakes she’d made. It didn’t help any that her mom had a tendency to brush her sickness aside as though it had been a minor thing, rather than a ten-year trip around the bend to Crazy. Half the time, Donna wondered whether her mother’s recovery was yet another of the Wood Queen’s tricks, but so far things seemed to be moving in the right direction.

“You worry too much,” Rachel said. “I’m feeling almost back to my old self. I’ve been spending a lot of time with Quentin.”

“That’s great,” Donna replied. “I bet he’s happy to see you back.”

Her mother laughed. “He’s the only one.”

Donna couldn’t help her own snort of laughter. Aunt Paige and Simon Gaunt had been shocked to witness Rachel’s magical recovery. They’d tried to look and sound pleased, but neither of them did a very good job of it. Even Aunt Paige, who was experienced at putting a positive spin on things in her day job working for Ironbridge’s mayor, had looked shell-shocked.

Her mother sighed, filling the silence between them. “I’m just sorry you’re having to deal with any of this. You’ve already had a decade of secrets and lies to come to terms with. Now this.”

Donna’s fingers tightened on the phone. “I’m not even sure I
have
come to terms with it.”

“So you don’t want to try?”

“Not really, no.” She lowered her voice. “I want to leave, Mom. You know that, right?”

“I do,” her mother replied steadily. “I’m not surprised, and I certainly don’t blame you.”

“I’m just trying to figure out the best way to … ”

“Make your escape?” There was the hint of a smile in Rachel’s voice.

“Something like that.” Donna blew out a breath, relieved to be having this conversation, while at the same time regretting that it was happening while her mother was so far away. “I’m sorry. Are you mad?”

“Why should I be? I love you, no matter what. I never wanted this life for you.”

It was far too late for that, Donna thought. This was the life she had, and the only thing left was to make the best of it. At least until she turned eighteen this summer.
Not long
, she thought.
Not too long to wait
.

She wondered if she would even
reach
her birthday before the world ended at the hands of a reaper storm of demons. She’d probably die a virgin, knowing her luck; she smiled faintly as she remembered how close she’d come to sleeping with Xan, that night she’d teleported to his house.

Not like she could think about romance when there was a demon king knocking at the door. Pushing images of Alexander Grayson from her mind, Donna pressed the phone against her ear and focused on her mother’s gentle voice again as she recounted what had happened at the alchemists’ meeting. Anything to ground her, to take away the feeling of despair that suddenly hit her in the gut and made her dizzy.

Not many people her age had to worry about stuff like a demonic apocalypse, but it didn’t make Donna feel in any way special. She was tired. She felt old and worn out and cynical. She wanted the chance to be a kid again, before it was too late. She dreamed of traveling the world and going to college and doing normal teenage things. Perhaps those things would always remain just out of reach—more like a cruel mirage than a dream—but if she didn’t hold on to hope, what else was there?

Donna paced up and down the street, just outside the little row of Victorian houses in the heart of Pimlico. The lights of the city still burned, even at this time of night, and the sky was full of stars. Miranda hadn’t wanted her to go out alone, but Donna needed air before she could even think of going to bed. She’d promised to stay within sight of the house, but even this tiny slice of liberation lifted her spirits. She’d declined Robert’s offer to join her for an “early hours” walk around the neighborhood—she was still pissed at him for talking about Demian the way that he had. Sure, he meant well, but that didn’t mean he knew what he was talking about.

Power was the only currency that someone like the Demon King cared about. As Miranda had already indicated, it wasn’t about something as …
banal
as destruction; there was more to it than that. It wasn’t even about revenge. Donna had felt it that night in the Ironwood, when Demian had first stepped free of his prison—and then once again, that day on the bridge when he’d given her the first of many black roses.