Dragon Storm
Page 9
Constantine swore to himself for his mistake in leaving Gary where he could spill everything. Either he’d done it deliberately, taking in Constantine and leading him to believe the former knocker was a friendly, harmless being, or Constantine had the worst luck in the world in the form of befriending a monumentally clueless, overly chatty head. Either way, they were in a very serious situation, one out of which Constantine didn’t see an immediate way. Especially not with Bee to consider.
“What… on… earth…” Bee’s face was a mask of confusion and terror as Asmodeus stopped before them. Her gaze was locked on the birdcage, and Constantine had a suspicion she was a hair’s breadth away from screaming.
“That is Gary,” he said with resignation at the situation, gesturing toward the head.
“Gareth, really, but no one calls me that. Hi!”
“And I believe this is Asmodeus.” Constantine, whose mother raised him to respect his elders, even if they did head up a bunch of demons, bowed formally. “I am Constantine, wyvern of the silver dragons.”
Asmodeus, whose eyes were as black as what remained of his soul, glanced briefly at him. Constantine felt the look as a whip of pain through his being. “Former wyvern, surely.”
Constantine inclined his head. “Unfortunately, that is so. I have yet to convince the current wyvern to return the position to me. I would like to take this opportunity to object to the bête noire that your minion has placed upon me. As you pointed out, I am a spirit, and as such, I do not have a part of the war between you and the dragonkin.”
Bee stopped staring at the head in order to look in frank astonishment at him. He couldn’t warn her against speaking, but trusted she had enough wits about her to keep from letting Asmodeus know he was bluffing.
Asmodeus’s eyes closed halfway. Power crackled around him in tiny little black whips that occasionally reached out and snapped painfully against Constantine. “You presume much, spirit. You will return to me what you stole from my chamber.”
Annoyed, Constantine looked at Gary.
The head made a little apologetic bobble. “Sorry, Connie.”
“My name is Constantine.”
“My lord!” A demon burst into the room began bowing and groveling. “My lord, there is word of your rival—Oh. Er. I have news of which you would be interested.”
Asmodeus sighed, and set down the head before striding over to the demon. The two spoke together in low tones.
Gary gave Constantine an apologetic moue. “The thing about the finger just kind of slipped out. I mean, I wasn’t going to tell Asmodeus why you were there, but we got to chatting, and you know how it is—one thing led to another and I happened to mention you were at the chest, and… well, I am sorry, truly I am. I hope this won’t affect our friendship.”
“There is no friendship,” Constantine said acidly.
Gary looked horrorstruck. His mouth hung open slightly until his lower lip began to quiver. To Constantine’s surprise, tears filled the knocker’s eyes. What was worse (Constantine hated tears from any anyone—man, woman, or disembodied head) Bee seemed to have a sudden change of character, for instead of gawking at the head as she had been ever since she clapped eyes on it, she rounded on him.
“Well, now look at what you’ve done, you great big ghostly baboon! You’ve made Gary cry.”
“It’s all right,” Gary said nobly, his voice thick as he turned away. “I deserve his scorn. What sort of a friend grasses on his buddy? A horrible sort, that’s what. I am not worthy of his friendship.”
Bee punched Constantine in the arm, gesturing at the head, who was now quietly sobbing against the bars of the cage. “Well?”
“What is it you want, woman?” he asked irritably. He was watching the demon and Asmodeus closely, trying to lip-read the former, although he’d never really mastered the skill.
“Apologize to him!”
“To Asmodeus?” Constantine shook his head. “It will serve no purpose. It has all come to pass as I feared, and all because I stopped to save your life. It is your fault we are in this situation.”
“My fault? I like that! You’re the one who said you could disappear where no one could get you. Well, I don’t see you doing it.”
“Because you’re here,” he snapped. “If you hadn’t allowed yourself to be captured in the first place—”
“I was trying to do my job and help you dragons, not that you deserve it—”
“I am a spirit. Your foolish trip here could not help my cause at all.”
Bee took a deep breath and whomped him on the chest. “Stop being pedantic and apologize to Gary.”
“For what?” He didn’t look at the head. Ever since he had been a small boy child, he had been overly affected by tears.
“For hurting his feelings. I’m sure he didn’t mean to tell Asmodeus what you did.”
“No, I didn’t. I truly didn’t!” Gary wailed from where he sat on the floor. “The last thing I wanted was to endanger our friendship.”
“Five minutes’ acquaintance does not make a friendship,” Constantine tried to point out, but he knew in his heart that it was useless. Bee had clearly taken Gary’s side and would no longer see reason.
“Not if you’re a pigheaded asshat, no,” Bee said, glaring.
For some insane reason, Constantine wanted to laugh. He wondered at that fact, since it had been a long time since anyone but Ysolde had had the power to tickle his sense of humor, and yet, the irate woman next to him had done just that.
It wouldn’t do to let her see that, though. “Wyverns do not apologize,” he said stiffly, and turned his back on the still sobbing Gary.
Behind him, he heard the soft murmurings of a woman who was attempting to soothe the hurt feelings of a disembodied head. That lasted for half a minute before Asmodeus snarled something to his minion that had the demon prostrate on the floor, begging for mercy.
Asmodeus stalked away from him, heading straight to Constantine. He held out his hand. “Return to me what you have taken.”
Constantine hesitated.
“If you were thinking of escaping into the spirit world,” Asmodeus said in a deceptively mild voice, “you should dismiss the thought. The bête noire placed on you has the effect of limiting you to a corporeal form only. Permanently. There will be no escape for you.”
“What… on… earth…” Bee’s face was a mask of confusion and terror as Asmodeus stopped before them. Her gaze was locked on the birdcage, and Constantine had a suspicion she was a hair’s breadth away from screaming.
“That is Gary,” he said with resignation at the situation, gesturing toward the head.
“Gareth, really, but no one calls me that. Hi!”
“And I believe this is Asmodeus.” Constantine, whose mother raised him to respect his elders, even if they did head up a bunch of demons, bowed formally. “I am Constantine, wyvern of the silver dragons.”
Asmodeus, whose eyes were as black as what remained of his soul, glanced briefly at him. Constantine felt the look as a whip of pain through his being. “Former wyvern, surely.”
Constantine inclined his head. “Unfortunately, that is so. I have yet to convince the current wyvern to return the position to me. I would like to take this opportunity to object to the bête noire that your minion has placed upon me. As you pointed out, I am a spirit, and as such, I do not have a part of the war between you and the dragonkin.”
Bee stopped staring at the head in order to look in frank astonishment at him. He couldn’t warn her against speaking, but trusted she had enough wits about her to keep from letting Asmodeus know he was bluffing.
Asmodeus’s eyes closed halfway. Power crackled around him in tiny little black whips that occasionally reached out and snapped painfully against Constantine. “You presume much, spirit. You will return to me what you stole from my chamber.”
Annoyed, Constantine looked at Gary.
The head made a little apologetic bobble. “Sorry, Connie.”
“My name is Constantine.”
“My lord!” A demon burst into the room began bowing and groveling. “My lord, there is word of your rival—Oh. Er. I have news of which you would be interested.”
Asmodeus sighed, and set down the head before striding over to the demon. The two spoke together in low tones.
Gary gave Constantine an apologetic moue. “The thing about the finger just kind of slipped out. I mean, I wasn’t going to tell Asmodeus why you were there, but we got to chatting, and you know how it is—one thing led to another and I happened to mention you were at the chest, and… well, I am sorry, truly I am. I hope this won’t affect our friendship.”
“There is no friendship,” Constantine said acidly.
Gary looked horrorstruck. His mouth hung open slightly until his lower lip began to quiver. To Constantine’s surprise, tears filled the knocker’s eyes. What was worse (Constantine hated tears from any anyone—man, woman, or disembodied head) Bee seemed to have a sudden change of character, for instead of gawking at the head as she had been ever since she clapped eyes on it, she rounded on him.
“Well, now look at what you’ve done, you great big ghostly baboon! You’ve made Gary cry.”
“It’s all right,” Gary said nobly, his voice thick as he turned away. “I deserve his scorn. What sort of a friend grasses on his buddy? A horrible sort, that’s what. I am not worthy of his friendship.”
Bee punched Constantine in the arm, gesturing at the head, who was now quietly sobbing against the bars of the cage. “Well?”
“What is it you want, woman?” he asked irritably. He was watching the demon and Asmodeus closely, trying to lip-read the former, although he’d never really mastered the skill.
“Apologize to him!”
“To Asmodeus?” Constantine shook his head. “It will serve no purpose. It has all come to pass as I feared, and all because I stopped to save your life. It is your fault we are in this situation.”
“My fault? I like that! You’re the one who said you could disappear where no one could get you. Well, I don’t see you doing it.”
“Because you’re here,” he snapped. “If you hadn’t allowed yourself to be captured in the first place—”
“I was trying to do my job and help you dragons, not that you deserve it—”
“I am a spirit. Your foolish trip here could not help my cause at all.”
Bee took a deep breath and whomped him on the chest. “Stop being pedantic and apologize to Gary.”
“For what?” He didn’t look at the head. Ever since he had been a small boy child, he had been overly affected by tears.
“For hurting his feelings. I’m sure he didn’t mean to tell Asmodeus what you did.”
“No, I didn’t. I truly didn’t!” Gary wailed from where he sat on the floor. “The last thing I wanted was to endanger our friendship.”
“Five minutes’ acquaintance does not make a friendship,” Constantine tried to point out, but he knew in his heart that it was useless. Bee had clearly taken Gary’s side and would no longer see reason.
“Not if you’re a pigheaded asshat, no,” Bee said, glaring.
For some insane reason, Constantine wanted to laugh. He wondered at that fact, since it had been a long time since anyone but Ysolde had had the power to tickle his sense of humor, and yet, the irate woman next to him had done just that.
It wouldn’t do to let her see that, though. “Wyverns do not apologize,” he said stiffly, and turned his back on the still sobbing Gary.
Behind him, he heard the soft murmurings of a woman who was attempting to soothe the hurt feelings of a disembodied head. That lasted for half a minute before Asmodeus snarled something to his minion that had the demon prostrate on the floor, begging for mercy.
Asmodeus stalked away from him, heading straight to Constantine. He held out his hand. “Return to me what you have taken.”
Constantine hesitated.
“If you were thinking of escaping into the spirit world,” Asmodeus said in a deceptively mild voice, “you should dismiss the thought. The bête noire placed on you has the effect of limiting you to a corporeal form only. Permanently. There will be no escape for you.”
