Ann Aguirre - Devil's Punch

Though I half wanted resistance, I encountered none. The mages had gone to ground and would strike next from a fortified position. They were smart enough not to want to face me in a dark tunnel with little preparation time. The strongest rituals took time to set in place. That was why I hadn’t dealt instant death in the arena.

The hidden passage led us into a plaza across the way, and when I turned, I saw the utter devastation of what had been the Saremon compound. They had shaken it to rubble rather than let anyone else gain a foothold there. It would take a salvage crew weeks to unearth their library, though the magickal shields should protect the books from harm. A host of curious onlookers had gathered to watch the fall of the house of Saremon. They didn’t see us emerge behind them.

“Summon the carriage,” I told Greydusk. “And take us to the palace.”

After handing my father’s body to Chance, the Imaron did as I ordered. I watched with implacable resolve as the cube unfolded and he sent the black mist of the Klothod into the mechanism. It wasn’t revolting anymore; it was a tool to be used. The demon assisted me into the coach, and we were off before the assembled mob took an interest in our activities.

The city—and the caste checkpoints—flew by in a blur; then the coach stopped outside a massive black gate with barbed points atop the walls. This wasn’t a glamorous fairy castle. It was entirely suitable for a demon queen. Time had been unkind, but with a little effort, the villa would glow once more with a dark luster.

“Home sweet home,” I murmured.

“You need to disembark, Your Majesty. The magickal protections sealed the place up when you vanished. Only your touch can raise the portcullis.”

Nodding, I dropped down to the cobbled street and strode toward the gate, where I wrapped both hands around the bars. “Open in the name of the Once and Future Queen, who is risen.”

A shudder rocked the ground I stood upon. Then the bars scrolled backward with a hideous, rusty shriek. I returned to the carriage.

“It knows me,” I said with satisfaction.

“As do we all,” Greydusk replied. “Even those who oppose you cannot dispute your identity.”

The coach clattered over the stones into the courtyard. Behind us, the portcullis lowered on its own, like enormous jaws slowly swallowing prey—an ominous and efficient magick. I approved.

Craning my neck, I took my first complete visual inspection. The structure was Gothic, with crenellated windows, four separate towers, flying buttresses, ribbed arches, and high vaults. In places the dark stone had crumbled away, leaving chunks broken on the courtyard tile. Part of me remembered when this place bustled with those eager to do my bidding, but it was dark and silent now.

No matter.

“Lay him out here,” I told Greydusk.

The Imaron set my father’s body down gently. Though it would take time and power, I knew a ritual that would burn him to ash, but I needed magickal accoutrements first, much stronger than the white witch herbs in the box my human half had treasured so. Unfortunately, her belongings had been left in a car abandoned on a mountainside. There might be some components left within the castle.

Inside, it was a ruin, and I found nothing salvageable, save a white curtain, which I used as a funeral shroud. With a stub of charcoal, I scrawled my needs on a scrap of ancient parchment. “You will fetch these items for me immediately,” I told Greydusk.

“As you command, my queen.”

That left Chance and me alone in the dying light, as shadows gathered around my father’s body. Yet I couldn’t bring myself to leave him. Someone should stand guard over him in death as no one had in life. His sacrifice must be respected.

“Can I hold you?” he asked.

It was proper that he did inquire, even in private, and I craved the comfort of his arms. Such behavior was not regal, perhaps, but there were none to see, not even the quasits, which had stalked our steps since our arrival. Now there was only darkness and silence.

In answer I went to him and he wrapped me up. I rested my head on his heart. “Is this all very strange to you?”

“You have no idea.”

“Yet you remain. Such loyalty is a treasure beyond price.”

“I’m not altogether sure who you are at the moment,” he admitted softly, “but somewhere in there is the woman I’ve loved for years. That’s enough for me.”

From the deepest recess of my mind, a whisper came: I love you too. The human’s joy cascaded through me until it became my own. She was stronger than I’d realized, forcing me to feel what she felt.

“I’m she, but more too.”

“Yeah, I got that earlier. I could tell you were different when you came back for us.” He ran his hands along my sides, grazing the wound I’d taken in the arena.

I hissed a breath and drew back.

“You’re hurt. How bad is it?”

I shrugged. In my natural form, such minor damage would have already healed. I had no idea how this hybrid thing I’d become would handle wounds, though certainly I was frail by comparison.

“I’ll survive. He won’t.” With my gaze, I indicated the white-shrouded figure lying supine on the stones.

“Don’t blame yourself for his choices. He loved you that much.”

“I am more concerned with vengeance than guilt,” I said silkily.

“Ah.” From his expression and the way he pulled back, folding his arms, I could tell I had disappointed him somehow, given an unexpected response.

“There will be satisfaction in destroying those responsible.” I tried to explain, and I hated the impulse. A consort need not approve my actions; he needed only to submit to my will.

“Do you remember where we first met?” he asked.

The knowledge swam at the back of my head, so far away that I had to sink to retrieve it. “At a dry cleaner’s?”

“Yes.” His voice went warm and husky with relief. “You returned my keys.”

This didn’t seem like the time to admit I didn’t really remember, experienced none of the nostalgic emotions that colored his beautiful features. I had an attachment to him, but it was an echo of the woman in the back of my head, a haunting of something lost.

His demeanor warmed, and he drew me back into his arms, careful to avoid my injured side. Eventually the dog pushed out of the bag and investigated the courtyard, and then christened a corner of it. Charming . We stood like that in silence, mourning the dead, until Greydusk returned.

“It took multiple stops,” the Imaron said by way of greeting, “but I collected everything you need.”

I nodded, but didn’t thank him, and stepped away from Chance.

The ritual took hours. First I deployed the ingredients in proper order, then drew all the sigils, infused them with magick, and etched the body with matching runes using special ink rendered from blood. By the time I finished, I was panting and exhausted. Here I had no secret source running through the stones. Finally, I backed away from the meat that had been my father, and I spoke the command words in demontongue.

The sigils flamed with darklight, incinerating his flesh in mighty bursts. I did Albert Solomon’s bravery the honor of not turning away. I watched every horrific moment, each puff of smoke, each breath of ash, until there was nothing left but cinder and char, chips of bone, and a great ruby that had been his heart.

Sorrow crowned me as I bent and plucked it with careful fingertips. It burned with a cold, eternal fire. From this jewel, I would have a necklace made, something exquisite, so I never forgot this moment. My enemies would see it glimmer at my throat and fear my resolve.

“Did you wish to speak a few words?” Greydusk asked.