The Trouble with Demons

Page 41

Hellfire and damnation.
A knee-high, naked, yellow, potbellied demon was sprawled like a Nebian pasha on a pile of silk cushions. His eyes were closed, and his fleshy lips stretched in what looked like a contented smile on his flat and ugly face.
I’d squished his big brother yesterday.
I sucked in my breath and went for my daggers.
Ronan held up both hands. He wanted me to stay put; I wanted to move. If I was going to be a demon target, I was going to be a moving target.
An armored goblin dark mage slipped silently between the Guardians; he had an ornate and open bottle in his hands. One hand held the bottle; the other had the stopper. Tam and I had done the same thing in the Quad yesterday. I stayed put and let the mage do his work.
The little yellow demon snorted, rolled over, and started to snore.
After a hissing incantation from the goblin dark mage, the demon was doing his snoring from inside a sealed bottle.
We all started breathing again.
“I used an ancient Caesolian love song with a lullaby twist to put him out,” Ronan said with satisfaction. “He seemed to like it.”
“Looked like a bored stupor to me,” Talon muttered.
Ronan’s amber eyes fixed him with a look. “What was that?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“Are you both okay?” I asked Piaras and Talon.
“Sure,” Piaras said. “It was just a little one.”
Talon shrugged and grinned. “A little ugly never hurt anyone.”
I looked at Vegard, he looked at me, and we decided not to enlighten either one of them.
“Don’t demons wear clothes?” Piaras asked, clearly grossed out.
“No demons wear clothes,” I told him.
Talon looked at the bottle and made a face. “Some demons should.”
“How did that thing get in here?” I asked Ronan. I didn’t ask what it wanted; I had a good idea. Maybe I wasn’t the only one virgin hunting.
The maestro pulled back a section of silken drapes to reveal a mirror, a big one, easily the height of the room and at least six feet wide. After what had happened last week, I would have thought Ronan would have been the last man to have a mirror anywhere near him. I was about to ask Ronan how many different kinds of insane he was, when I saw the ripples rolling just beneath the mirror’s surface. It was warded. Nothing could get through a warded mirror.
Nothing, apparently except for demons.
Dammit.
Last week, spellsingers had been kidnapped through mirrors. This week, every big mirror on the island was still warded. If one demon could get in, so could hundreds or thousands of his brothers, sisters, or whatever.
Mirrors could be used to translocate people, manifest creatures, or move objects from one place to another. Mirror mages needed a crisp, clear image to do their thing. The surface of a warded mirror reflected an undulating wave, its pattern constantly changing. Seeing someone or something step out of my reflection was one of the reasons why I owned only one mirror and it was just big enough to see my face in. Anything that popped out through that mirror would be small enough for me to stomp on.
My expression must have spoken volumes. “It’s been warded since my students were abducted last week,” Ronan assured me.
“Your mirror mage must have missed a section.” Or done a piss-poor job.
“She didn’t miss anything. After she left, I checked her work myself.”
I indicated the bottle and its snoozing contents. “And potbelly still got in.”
“Obviously,” Ronan said. He pulled the curtain back over the mirror.
My stomach was grateful; looking at a warded mirror made me dizzy.
“Though I wasn’t aware that demons could come through a warded mirror,” he added.
Mychael wasn’t aware of it, either, and the same applied to almost everyone else on this island—everyone except for Rudra Muralin and his dark mages directing traffic down at the Hellgate.
“Vegard, where’s Mychael?” Ronan asked.
Vegard told him. The maestro scowled.
“Get word to him about this,” Ronan said. “He needs to know.”
Vegard shot a questioning glance at me.
“I’ll be fine. Ronan and I can take out anything that comes in. And we’ve got plenty of backup.”
“I’ll go find another message runner,” Vegard told the maestro.
“Another?”
“Don’t ask, sir.” Vegard gave me a look that said he’d really like it if I didn’t budge from the exact spot where I was standing. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll be right here.”
He left and I turned to Ronan. “Are you finished with Piaras’s lesson?”
“I am now. Talon, you’re excused as well.”
I didn’t think I’d ever felt more awkward in my life. And I knew it was just going to get worse. “Piaras, can I talk to you in private?”
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“Just more of the same stuff that’s been wrong since we got here.”
“You can use my office,” Ronan offered.
“Any mirrors in there?”
“None.”
“I’ll take it.”
Piaras’s new guards started to follow. I stopped and blocked the door. “Gentlemen, this won’t take long, and it is highly personal. If Piaras suddenly gets possessed, I’ll yell. Good enough?”
They hesitated. They didn’t like it, but they did it.
“Thank you,” I said, and closed the door.
I’d never been inside a genie’s bottle, but Ronan’s office was what I imagined one would look like. The pasha’s throne room decorating theme carried over from the music room. Silk, velvets, gilt and gaudy. Ronan liked his creature comforts. A lot.
Piaras wasn’t having a good day; yesterday had started off the same way, and by last night, it had slid downhill into a cesspool. Today was showing all the signs of doing the exact same thing.
There was no easy way to ask what I needed to ask. Sure, I could just come right out and say it; it was a simple enough question, but the words just refused to come out.
“You and Katelyn like each other, right?” Yeah, I know. It was the cowardly way in, but at least it was a related topic.
Now the kid was completely confused. “Yes, we do.”
“A lot?”
“Yes, a lot. Why do you ask?”
“The two of you haven’t . . . done anything about really liking each other, have you?”
Now he was confused and concerned. “Not yet. I . . . That is, we want to . . . We think . . . But . . .”
“But what?”
“Before I came to class, the archmagus and I had breakfast together.”
I pressed my lips together so I wouldn’t snicker. Oh, I knew what was coming. Uncle Ryn had done the same for me. Any boy—or a couple of years later, any man—who wanted to see me socially had to go through the Talk. One of my hopeful suitors said going through the Talk was like being forced to walk through fire, except without the fun parts. You tried to get through it as quickly as possible and told yourself the pain would be over soon. To the best of my knowledge, Uncle Ryn had never actually laid hands on one of my suitors, but he’d always made it plain and clear what behavior he expected, and what actions would be taken if he was “disappointed” that the boy/man’s behavior fell short of those expectations. Needless to say, I didn’t date all that much.
Piaras was looking at me. “What?”
I swallowed a snort. “Nothing. Go on.”
Piaras glanced at the door; it was closed, but he lowered his voice anyway. “Archmagus Valerian said he would know if Katelyn and I . . . you know. Raine, I’d like to live long enough to graduate, or at least graduate in this form. He can’t really turn me into a squid, can he?”
“Is that what he told you?”
“And a couple of other things.”
“He can’t do it, at least not the squid part.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
Piaras let out a relieved breath. “That’s good.” His look turned suspicious. “Why are you asking about me and Kat?”
I really didn’t want to come out and say this. “I need to find the Scythe of Nen. And by the way, you weren’t too far off the mark. It is a dagger.”
“What’s it look like?”
I told him what my dad had told me.
“Something that small won’t be easy to find,” Piaras noted.
“No, it won’t. And apparently a certain type of person is helpful for finding this kind of thing.”
Piaras’s eyes narrowed. I had a sinking feeling he’d figured out where I was going with this.
“What type of person?” he asked.
I winced. “Uh . . . a virgin type of person.”
His lips narrowed into a thin line to match his eyes. “And when you found out you needed a virgin, you immediately thought of me.”
“Not immediately.”
“What, so you had to wait two seconds?”
“More like five actually. Don’t feel bad about it.”
“You think I’m the only virgin on this island! How’s that supposed to make me feel?”
I grinned hopefully. “Special?”
Piaras gave me a look. You know the one.
I threw my arms up. “Okay, I’m sure there are other virgins on this island, but I don’t have time to find them. I was pretty sure you were qualified—”
Piaras glowered. “As a virgin.”
I held up a hand. “No, no.” I was just getting myself in deeper. “I knew you were qualified in other ways to help. Levelheaded, good in a fight, that kind of qualified.”
Piaras arched an eyebrow. “Nice try.”
I hung my head and sighed. “Kid, just help me out here, will you?”
Silence. I looked up. Piaras was grinning.
“What do you need me to do?” he asked.