Lisa Shearin - The Trouble With Demons

“Covering the ceiling, ma’am.” A second lightglobe flared to life above Vegard’s open hand. It crackled with cobalt fire as it floated above our heads and just below the ceiling. The fire extended beyond the confines of the globe, hungrily licking the ceiling as it traveled ahead of us. Anything in its path would probably find itself fried.

“Nice work,” Phaelan said. “I like it.”

“The demons won’t,” the big Guardian told him.

“Even better.”

We kept going.

Piaras was still on the Scythe’s trail like a hound on a strong scent, and Vegard knew the layout of the place. Phaelan and I felt like hired blades along for the trip.

I knew better. Even if she already had the Scythe of Nen in her hands, claws, whatever, I had a sinking feeling that the demon queen still wanted to have that chat with me. And here I was walking straight into her waiting clutches. I just wanted the Scythe; I had no intention of taking on a demonic horde or slamming a Hellgate. And even if I wanted to, I didn’t know how. But we needed to get close enough to confirm that the demons had the Scythe, and I was sure Mychael and Sora would appreciate knowing where the Hellgate was. I swore silently. Mychael. He had no idea where we were and what we were doing; maybe Sora had gotten word to him that Rudra Muralin was topside playing goblin ambassador, with Carnades as his clueless host and tour guide. I wondered if Rudra had roped Carnades into showing him around town so the elf mage wouldn’t be in his town house when Rudra’s demon allies went after the Scythe.

With my next step, I felt a crunch followed by a squish. I jumped back and stifled a squeal; it came out as a squeak. I grimaced and raised my boot; Phaelan saw what was on the bottom before I did. The last time I’d seen him look that sick was after a business rival sealed him in a brewing vat and Phaelan had the bright idea to drink his way to freedom.

I flexed my ankle and looked down. The goop on the bottom of my boot was blue, which was a healthy color for a demon, but flat wasn’t a good shape. I tried to scrape it off, then froze. I sensed it before I heard it. Scuttling, sibilant hissing, straight ahead.

And right behind.

Above and all around us, glowing eyes peered out of abandoned offices. They were small, but when there were that many, size didn’t matter.

Phaelan had a wickedly curved blade in each hand. “Let’s hope these bleed and die.”

Vegard’s lightglobes flared bright as day, showing us things that made me want to scream, run, and not stop doing either one until I was back in the middle of Carnades’s kitchen. Tiny demons, no taller than my hand, scurried like mice. That is if mice were blue and spindly and looked like legs with teeth. Really, really sharp teeth. I’d just squished their sibling; they probably weren’t happy about that.

A swarm of demons, no room to fight, and we all had blades out. No good could come of this. Magic would be best; fire would be better-both would make the tiny demons seething around us scream, which would bring bigger demon reinforcements from upstairs.

“If we skewer the little bastards, they’re gonna scream,” I warned in a singsong voice through clenched teeth.

“If they jump on me, I’m gonna scream,” Phaelan shot back. “Can’t the kid sing them to sleep?”

Piaras grimaced. “I don’t think they have ears.”

He was right. With that many teeth, the only other things they had room for on their misshapen heads were yellow eyes.

Phaelan went back-to-back with me. “If we just stand here, they’re going to eat us.”

“Shield and torch,” Vegard said calmly.

“Phaelan can’t shield,” I hissed.

“Mine aren’t that good,” Piaras added quickly.

“And I can’t torch,” I told Vegard. He knew why. No containments on the Saghred meant no containments on me. If I used the tiniest fraction of what I’d used in the watcher station, the demon queen herself would be down here in nothing flat. We needed a quick, quiet, hot burst, not a volcanic eruption.

“Can you shield them?” Vegard asked me.

“Yes, but I have to drop my blades.”

Vegard couldn’t believe what he just heard. “What?”

“I need a hand on each of them, bare palm.”

“Can’t you-”

“No, I can’t!” I snapped. “I’m a seeker, not a soldier!”

“If we survive this, I’m teaching you how-”

“Whatever! I’ll shield; you roast!”

I slowly sheathed my blades with dozens of hungry demons within touching distance and grabbed hold of Phaelan and Piaras and pulled them close.

Vegard did his thing. A wave of ice-blue flame rolled off of the Guardian and engulfed the demons. It didn’t burn them-it froze them. The ones on the ceiling started falling to the floor like fanged icicles. Once the last one hit the floor, I let Phaelan and Piaras go.

Vegard took a couple of deep breaths. War magic like that was like lifting weights, and he’d just lifted more than his share.

“Ma’am, when we get out of here, I’m going to teach you how to-”

The shadows shimmered and parted, revealing a Volghul that had probably been there the entire time. I didn’t know if all Volghuls looked alike, but this one could have been the twin to the one Tam and I crammed into that bottle.

The demon looked straight at me and smiled, his teeth pointy and sharp, handy for things like ripping throats out. His claws seemed to be flexing with a life of their own and were similarly practical. Others flowed out of the offices ahead and behind us.

My steel was sheathed; I reached for my magic.

A Volghul’s claws whipped out, wrapping themselves around Phaelan’s throat. The tip of one razor-sharp claw rested confidently against the big vein in my cousin’s throat. Phaelan wasn’t going anywhere.

And neither were we.

“Our queen wants the Saghred bearer alive.” The Volghul’s smile broadened, showing me all of his teeth. “As do I.”

I wanted to get to the Assembly chamber as quickly as possible, but this wasn’t what I had in mind.

Fate was a bitch with a warped sense of humor.

“No resistance and this one lives,” said the Volghul holding Phaelan captive. The demon looked down at my cousin with confused distaste. “This one has no magic; it is a waste of skin.”

Phaelan opened his mouth to say something he shouldn’t. The demon’s hooked claw penetrated his skin just deep enough that a single drop of blood welled around the claw’s tip. “You wish to contradict me, little mortal?”

I shot Phaelan the mother of all shut-up looks. I’d seen what those claws could do. My cousin was not going to die in a pool of his own blood.

The demon queen wanted me alive, but I suspected that distinction was only temporary, and it applied only to me. The Volghul that had Phaelan’s entire neck in his hand wanted to play-and he was looking for an excuse. In our family, snarky one-liners came as naturally as breathing. But if Phaelan wanted to continue breathing, we both needed to keep our big mouths shut.

Phaelan was a hostage, the rest of us were prisoners. My cousin had no magic to defend himself, and now he had no weapons. And in a matter of moments, neither did the rest of us. I’d gotten my cousin into this; I’d get him out. I’d get us all out. Piaras was being treated like a prize. I knew why, and so did he. Phaelan was a hostage; Piaras was going to be a royal gift.

With an escort of nine Volghuls that I could see, and more that I could sense, we weren’t going anywhere but where our captors wanted to take us. And I couldn’t see them going anywhere but the Hellgate. We’d be there in minutes. Any plans I’d come up with until now had centered on getting in, locating the Scythe, stealing it if possible, then getting out, preferably without being seen by anyone. Capture by demons had put a major crimp in those plans. Not that the finding, stealing, and escaping parts of my plan couldn’t still happen. A master thief might be able to snatch the goods out from under their mark’s nose.