Silver-Tongued Devil

Page 25

Rhea looked up then. “Amazing!” She looked so excited, like she’d discovered a new land. But I found it hard to share her enthusiasm.
“Did he ever figure out how to do it?”
She frowned. “No.”
“Why not?”
She turned to the last page of the book. “This ends just before your father’s disappearance. But before that, Ameritat said she was going to make him stop trying because it was getting too dangerous.”
“Dangerous how?”
“The Liminal isn’t just the borderlands between our world and Irkalla. It’s also the place our subconscious connects to during our dreams. Tristan reported seeing confusing images and getting lost in serpentine labyrinths. She was afraid if he kept trying, he’d eventually get too lost to find his way back.”
“Wait,” I said. “That doesn’t make sense. If this Liminal is where we go when we dream, how do we manage not to get lost there?”
“Ameritat’s theory was that our bodies act as a tether to our subconscious. So dreaming is kind of like an out-of-body experience. Our spirits go to the Liminal and our bodies anchor us to the mundane world. But Tristan, and now you, accessed the Liminal in your physical bodies. That means there’s nothing here to pull you back out. The only way to exit is through your will and magic. So if you get confused or lost, you could conceivably become stuck there.”
I was silent for a few moments while that sunk in. If what she said was true, I was damned lucky I’d made it back the other night. “You said there were hundreds of journals. Did you go through the rest to see if she wrote more about the Liminal after he disappeared?”
Rhea frowned and shook her head. Her eyes were shadowed with old memories. “Ameritat was so devastated by his disappearance that she refused to record those events in her journals. Those were very dark days for all of us. And once she took custody of Maisie after your mother’s death, Ameritat threw herself into raising your twin, as if Maisie could somehow fill the Tristan-sized hole in her life. All her journals after that are about raising Maisie and her work with the Council.”
My stomach twisted. I didn’t like to think about the events of more than fifty years earlier that led to my birth. “Well, at least we know what that place was.”
Rhea frowned at me. “Sabina, why aren’t you more excited?”
“Why should I be? You said it yourself: The place is too dangerous.”
“There are risks, sure, but I don’t think we shouldn’t continue experimenting. You could be the first mage to access Irkalla without dying first.”
“Rhea, just because I could do something doesn’t mean I should.”
“Don’t be silly, of course you should try!”
“Why?”
“Maybe the problems Tristan had won’t affect you, since you’re the Chosen.”
I slammed my hand down on the table. “Gods, not that again.”
Rhea looked confused and hurt by my tone. “Why do you continue to deny it?”
“Yes, sure. The Chosen who can’t get the leaders of the races to listen to reason. The Chosen who can’t even control her own minion half the time. The Chosen who can’t even get a simple interspatial travel spell right.”
“Yes, you,” Rhea said. “The Chosen who called on the powers of Hekate and Lilith to stop a war. The Chosen who united all the dark races in peace. You. Like it or not, Sabina, you are the Chosen.”
“Look, all that might be true, but I don’t know how you think it’s related to this Liminal business.”
“Well, according to Maisie’s prophecy, the Chosen is actually the New Lilith.”
“So?”
“So think about it: It’s always bothered me why you would be the Chosen and not Maisie. I mean, you had the same parents, were born at the same time. I think your Chthonic powers have to be the key. The same Chthonic powers that allow you to access the Liminal. And the Liminal could be your doorway to Irkalla… and Lilith.”
I crossed my arms and gave her a dubious frown.
“Your magic is special, Sabina. It gives you rare abilities. That has to be tied to the prophecy.” She shrugged. “I’m just saying that nothing is a coincidence. Maybe accessing Irkalla through the Liminal is part of the prophecy.”
I sighed and stood, choosing my words carefully. “No offense, Rhea, but I don’t give a damn. I’m not about to start screwing around with dark magic and instigating contact with the underworld just for shits and giggles—or worse, because some ancient arcane prophecy can be twisted to fit any situation.”
She held my gaze for a moment. I could see the gears moving behind her eyes, weighing the pros and cons of fighting me on this. I couldn’t blame her for her excitement and curiosity, but I wasn’t about to be a magical guinea pig. Not when there was a risk of getting trapped in the Liminal with that howling beast for all eternity.
Finally, her shoulders slumped as she surrendered hope that I’d relent. “I can respect your hesitation. But I think you’re making a mistake. Far better to pursue your destiny than to have it find you when you least expect it.”
I crossed my arms. “The only thing I’m interested in pursuing right now is dinner.”
She frowned at my lame attempt at humor. “Just think about it, okay?”
I’d already thought about it, but I didn’t have the heart to put my foot down. Rhea had done so much for me, and she’d proven a wise mentor and dependable friend. “I will.”
I said my good-byes—promising I’d let her know how my conversation with Maisie the next night went—and then promptly reneged on my promise about considering the Liminal experiments by pushing the entire issue from my mind.
By the time I made it back to the apartment, I’d totally forgotten about the concert. So when I walked in to find everyone waiting for me I paused.
“What’s up?” I asked slowly, tensed for bad news.
Giguhl crossed his arms. “You’re late. Again.”
I closed my eyes and silently cursed to myself. “Right. The concert. Sorry, guys.”
“Don’t let him give you shit.” Adam came forward and gave me a hug. “We’re still waiting for Pussy Willow anyway.”
As if his comment summoned her, the door to the apartment swept open and a vision in a black wig, leather pants, and a purple latex bustier sashayed in. “What’s up, bitches?”
“Wow, PW,” Adam said. “That’s quite an outfit.”
She blew a kiss at the mancy. “Thank you, darling!” She turned in an elaborate circle. “Are my pants too tight? I had to do my industrial strength tuck to fit in these babies.” She patted her boyish hips with pride and shot Adam an expectant look.
Adam shot me a wild-eyed plea for help. “That depends,” I said. “Did you intend for them to be tight enough for everyone to see your pulse?”
“Of course!” She threw back her head and emitted a throaty laugh. When she stopped laughing, she gave me a judgmental once-over. “Sabina, darling, can we talk about your ensemble?”
I frowned and looked down at the jeans and black T-shirt I’d thrown on earlier. “What about it?”
“You’re not seriously wearing that to the concert.”
“Um, yes, I am.” Granted it wasn’t the most glamorous outfit I owned, but who did I need to impress? Besides, I wasn’t about to take fashion advice from a lady-man whose fashion motto was “the more rhinestones the better.”
“Oh, honey. No, no, no.” She looked at me like I was a misguided child. “Don’t you want to look hot for your man?”
“Hey, don’t pull me into this,” Adam said. “She always looks hot to me.”
I patted him on the arm. “Good answer.” I shot PW a superior look, but she executed an exaggerated eye roll. I had to bite my tongue to keep from calling her out for her rudeness. Ever since she’d decided to be a full-time chick, her sense of humor had gone from sassy to bitchy. And not fun bitchy, either. All her jokes were as cutting as barbed wire and her dependence on passive aggression grated on my last nerve. So, yes, I bit my tongue. But the day was coming when Miss Thang was going to go too far.
“Can we go now?” Giguhl said into the tense silence following my exchange with the faery.
“Sure,” I said. “Just as soon as you change into cat form.”
A puff of green smoke erupted where he’d been standing. When it cleared, his little hairless body merged from the puddle of black sweatpants. “Bael’s balls, Red! Give me some warning next time.”
“Quit your bitching.” I rolled my eyes. “You know you can’t show up as a demon. There will be hundreds of mortals at the concert. Now go find your sweater and we’ll head out.”
He hissed in response and went to weave his way through Pussy Willow’s legs. The fae bent down to pick up the bitchy cat. She petted his head with her recently manicured silver-tipped fingers. “Don’t worry, Gigi. I have the perfect outfit for you. Some people might prefer to look frumpy”—she shot me a pointed look—“but you, at least, will show up in style.”
17
The audience clogged the dance floor like arterial plaque. Humans, mostly. Kids dressed in black with multiple piercings and enough angst to power the Eastern Seaboard.
“Um,” Giguhl hissed into my ear. “What the fuck are they doing?”
I turned my head to where he sat on my shoulder and had to squint. The club was dark, but the rhinestone skull on his knit cap reflected the stage’s lights and nearly blinded me. I don’t know where Pussy Willow managed to find Ed Hardy cat clothes, but she’d wasted her money. Instead of looking tough, he looked like a tiny, hairless douche bag.
In response to his question, I shrugged and watched the scene below with a grimace. For some reason, the fans of Necrospank 5000 enjoyed nothing more than taking a saliva shower with five hundred of their closest friends. Not that I was one to judge, given I’d consumed blood from hobos and rapists. But seriously, what kind of freak enjoys having strangers spit on them?