He rocked to a halt. Slowly, he reached out and wrapped his finger through the cord of her necklace. The stone spun, secretive and mute, as defiant as its bearer. “But the choice is yours. Just as when the demon first approached you.”
She pulled away. Despite the marks of loving still on her, shadows stalked behind her hazel eyes. “And you are just another demon offering me damnation and worse.”
If he hadn’t checked the axe, he might have wondered if it had sprung open to jab him in the gut. Just as well the alleged talyan bonding had faded into myth. “Welcome to worse.”
“Your promises have come to naught.” Corvus struck the flint in front of the torch. A blue-white flame flared to life out of the invisible propane. “The demon is not djinn.”
The Worm squirmed, as worms were wont to do. “Entirely unexpected. The signs all indicated—”
The sinister hiss grew louder as Corvus widened the flame. “I’ve grown weary of your signs. Battles fought by signs are only won in ballads. Crappy ballads.”
The Worm flinched.
Corvus held the tip of his finger to the flame. The black marks peeking out from beneath both sleeves flared yellow. The Worm sucked in a breath, then gagged at the stench of burning flesh.
Just right. Corvus balanced the torch in a vise and reached for two thick glass rods. So many small acts before the final effect.
In the same way, he’d insinuated his final plan into the dreams of the pharmaceutical researcher and the executive. He’d barely called on the confusing miasma of his djinn-infused aura to charm them. With just a few suggestive words, he’d opened a path to the center of their souls and bent them to his need. One man lusted for immeasurable wealth; the other longed to be a hero. Together, they spread a spiritual plague through the city. The world would come to curse those early unwitting carriers of doom, but at least a few innocents would be spared the coming annihilation.
Well, not actually innocent, and not spared, precisely. But their deaths would be kinder than what lay ahead.
He softened both canes in the flame and spiraled the transparent black into the matte. Dark and darker, like his endless servitude. How appropriate the crow had come to him as his last work in the darkest days of all.
The Worm cleared his throat. “Actually, the strain of the demon changes nothing.”
Corvus tipped his head. “True, nothing ever really changes.”
“A complication only.” Eagerness rose in the Worm’s voice. “The league has its newest talya well guarded, but the weakness in the Veil remains. Our work doesn’t require informed, or even willing, participation.”
“You should know,” Corvus murmured. More loudly, he said, “True again.”
“My formula for the chemical desolator numinis performs exactly as we wanted. Soon we’ll have the critical mass we need to punch through the Veil.” The Worm straightened. “So our agreement still holds.”
Corvus put down the glass. He took up the ring he’d laid aside and slipped it over his finger. “Why do you covet it? You cannot cozen the demon’s power for yourself.”
The Worm’s gaze fixed on the ring. “Of course I can.” His hands jerked at his sides, as if he reached for something just beyond his grasp. “The power, channeled through human flesh, is just that: power. Neither good nor evil, nor repentant.”
Corvus stroked his thumb over the smooth stone.“Are there more twistings to you than I knew, my Worm?”
If the Worm even heard the name Corvus had given him, he didn’t object. “Once we have the siphon through the Veil in place, we can focus the etheric energy however we wish.”
Seeing the glint in the Worm’s eye, Corvus tilted his head. “Such grand plans.”
“Damn right,” the Worm snapped.
Just as well he’d never been tempted to share his ultimate intent, Corvus thought. Seduced by the prospect of power the Worm might be, but still too small to appreciate the terrible might that, once unleashed, would free them all.
Damned indeed.
“We still need the talya and her teshuva to mark the flaw in the web of souls. And soon,” Corvus warned. “My desolator army is nearly complete.”
“And our next opportunity could be decades away.” Impatience overrode the last of the Worm’s trepidation, and his writhing fingers stilled into clenched fists. “I’m already working on it. She’ll have no place else to go and no time to balance the demon’s energies. Once we have her, I can trace the link through her teshuva to the demon realm and place the tap in that weakened point in Veil. I’ll get—we’ll have everything we need.”
“I have faith.” Corvus smiled.
The Worm smiled back.
When he had gone, Corvus returned to his glass. With each translucent layer, the disquiet in his soul sunk deeper out of his awareness, leaving him floating free of the murk. The Worm could never understand. Corvus doubted even the white-hot tip of the torch was bright enough to enlighten the man.
Meanwhile, he basked in a glow of satisfaction. He’d always known this day would come.
The playwrights of this era shied away from deus ex machina conclusions. The Greeks had loved the practice of actors, masked as the gods, descending from wires overhead to make their long-winded proclamations and neatly wrap up their complicated morality tales. Today’s playwrights found such a finish too unlikely, maybe even disturbing.
They didn’t believe that overwhelming, unearthly forces would come down and end their play.
Little did they know.
He found himself curious about this new demon-ridden warrior. He’d never bothered with the skulking talyan and their paltry teshuva, too fainthearted to reach for their desperately sought-after release. They should thank him for hastening their conclusion. But this one was powerful, the Worm said, and a female. Perhaps he needed to see this oddity.
He took his high spirits down from his tower into the streets. His passage rippled out in waves of frenzied darklings that would feast well before morning’s light.
No sense letting the talyan get lazy now. Their teshuva hadn’t much longer to repent.
Archer paused on the sidewalk in front of the refurbished old hotel, when Sera halted, staring up. “Betsy said it was almost a full moon.”
In the early-morning sky, the wan moon hung between the angular spears of the hotel’s Gothic crenellations, a fragile bubble over a field of needles. “Who is Betsy?”
“A nurse where I work. Worked. She told me the crazies would be out.”
“Not knowing she’d be talking about you.” The inadvertent cruelty of his words made him wince. “Never mind.”
“Demons.” Sera shook her head. “She’d probably find comfort in finally hearing an explanation for all the suckiness in the world.”
“Working with humanity wasn’t explanation enough?”
She dragged her gaze down from the sky. “What the hell is your problem?”
Hell. He didn’t answer.
She scowled, the pale moonlight in her eyes eclipsed with violet demon glow. “I thought you brought me here so I could learn how we fight to save the world.”
“We’re fighting to save our souls,” he reminded her. “The world is collateral damage.”
“Collateral salvation, you mean.”
“Guess that depends whether anybody survives.”
She shook her head, blond hair sifting over her shoulders. “Are all the other demon-ridden like you?”
“God forbid.”
Archer didn’t turn around at the voice behind them. “Will you set her a better example, Ecco?”
Zane stepped up on the other side of them. “We’re just getting off the hunt—worst ever, I gotta say—but Liam said to wait for you.” He turned to Sera. “Your honor guard, ma’am. I’m Zane.”