Ann Aguirre - Devil's Punch

Butch lunged out the door at me, growling, but his tail started to wag, and then he drew up short. His barks grew more hysterical when he sniffed at me, and then he scrambled away toward Chance, who picked him up without a word. With graceful hands, he soothed the small creature, and I spared a thought for how lovely it would be to recline in his arms later and receive that same treatment.

But first we had work to do.

“Greydusk, our bags.”

The demon complied with a small sound. He radiated pleasure, as if he had been waiting a lifetime to hear my commands. And the Imaron was, unquestionably, male—one with submissive tendencies, which made him an ideal servant. I wondered why I hadn’t been sure of that before; it seemed so obvious now.

I reclaimed my athame. The demon slung one bag over his shoulder, the colorful one that belonged to the girl I’d come to save. At the moment, I didn’t remember why I had been so alarmed at finding that she’d been taken to Sheol. My home was no more dangerous than the human realm, and even less so for the queen’s companions. Here, she would be well. Safe. Protected. Yet the same lesson must be taught to those who had stolen her. The Drinkers would be humbled too.

Chance took the other bag and stashed the dog in it. I was pleased he’d taken charge without being asked. As first male, it was his role to find ways to satisfy my needs, whatever they might be. This was a good start.

As I closed the closet door, shouts came from down the hall. Chance pulled his gloves from the bag and donned them, then he handed me back the broken spear. “This is yours,” he said softly.

I nodded.

Greydusk took a defensive position on my other side. As soon as I saw the enemy coming, I crooned their death in demontongue. The magick flowed in me like blood. I could pull it from the endless flowing river of energy beneath our feet. Here in their stronghold, the Saremon had done something impossible…and clever. They were leaching power from the Vortex and had built up a private supply that flooded the foundation itself. The rock had channels cut into it with microscopic precision, so when I gazed into the astral, I saw the dark tracery swimming through the stone.

This time Oz had sent more grunts to kill us…or capture us. Twenty, instead of ten. Unfortunately, they were low-ranking Saremon, so they didn’t have much magick. The leaders, like Oz, kept them stupid and feeble, good for nothing but frontline fodder. I watched them struggle for minor charms and fail to connect to the energy surging beneath our feet.

This will be…delightful .

“Kill them all,” I said softly.

Chance whispered and flames formed around his fists. Greydusk shifted forms, as he had done in another fight, and whirled into motion with threshing claws. My consort stayed clear, and with each blow, he set the Saremon soldiers alight. They screamed and slapped at their own clothing, their skin, and in their distraction, Greydusk gutted them. It shouldn’t have been such a slaughter.

When there were twenty corpses, I stepped lightly through the pile. “Where do you suppose they’re keeping my father?”

Greydusk considered. “Hard to say. Oz said they had been experimenting on him, so the labs would seem an obvious place to start.” He paused, as if weighing whether to warn me. “They’ll send spell casters from this point.”

“I am aware.”

“We’ll kill them even quicker,” Chance said.

“You are worthy.” Surprised and pleased, I leaned over to kiss him. He must know how favored that made him, for me to show affection before witnesses. The queens of Sheol had never been known for their softness.

In another part of the complex, the released prisoners were rioting; they would thin the resistance we faced. Distant noises hinted at marvelous destruction—booms and thumps and shudders and the faint, delicate scent of smoke. Perfection .

“I’m surprised they let you fight,” he said as we pushed deeper into the compound. “I mean, you’re such a powerful sorceress that they should have suspected it would be hard to restrain you afterward.”

“I suspect Oz didn’t know I could tap their secret well. He imagined I would be spent after the battle and subduing me would prove no challenge.”

“Secret well?” Greydusk asked.

Which answered my next question. The Imaron couldn’t sense it, apparently. “Tell me about the Saremon,” I ordered.

“They’re descended from Solomon’s line, as you are, Your Majesty, through scions who interbred with demons. In time, they organized sufficiently to form their own caste. They focus on events in Sheol over the human realm and are concerned with increasing their own arcane powers. They maintain an occult library which is the envy of the other castes.”

I thought about that. “That’s probably why I can sense their source.”

“And I cannot.”

After that, I fell silent. At length, I passed from the arena complex into the main compound, where the sounds of fighting became sharper. I joined the battle from the flank, throwing another cloud of chaos at my enemies with a whispered shaping in demontongue. The darkness drifted and maddened everyone it touched. They fought like wild things, screaming as they died, then Greydusk and Chance whirled into the fray like twin dervishes, born for death.

When the screaming stopped, four slaves were still standing. “Go,” I told them. “Spread the word of my coming.”

Though one was too injured to walk, the demon pulled itself along at a crawl, leaving smears of blood on the ornate tile. The other three ran toward the doors at the other side of the courtyard. I watched their obedience for a few seconds more and then turned toward the broken doors that led into the compound proper. The Saremon had guarded the egress to the best of their abilities, but it had been insufficient.

Instead, I found more wreckage. It was sad that the angry captives had been so thorough; there was little left for us to kill. But they’d had my permission, and so I swallowed the tang of disappointment and pushed on. They wouldn’t have gotten to the most powerful mages; those would be holed up somewhere, seeking a spell strong enough to kill the queen.

I went room by room, clearing each. A couple of times, we killed survivors who had hidden from the fight. Their cowardice did not earn them mercy. There was none for what their leaders had done. Should any Saremon be outside the caste compound on the day of reckoning, they would be sent from the city to shelter among the Xaraz, whose ranks they joined when they moved against me. A whisper in my head said it wasn’t fair to judge everyone the same way for the actions of a few, but I banished it like a buzzing insect.

At no point in my long and storied reign had I ever cared about “fair.”

Several rooms smoldered as I passed through, the result of spells gone awry, I guessed, before the mages went into hiding. As if that can save them .

Eventually I came to a tall, imposing door that didn’t open. I opened my gaze to the astral and examined the runes etched over it; the wards sealed it against all comers. Nobody was meant to get inside. Which only increased my desire to see what the Saremon prized so highly.

“This is the entrance to the library,” Greydusk said. “I have been here for research a few times.”

“Excellent. Stand back.”

The two males did as I requested, and I found the source running beneath my feet, boiling the rock. With a mental touch, I stole the magick in a smooth, sweet rush. Part of me realized, somewhat belatedly, that it didn’t hurt anymore, but instead of being relieved and thankful, that portion of my soul wept as if it had lost something precious. I ignored it; that was weak and would distract from my mission.