Lilith Saintcrow - The Devil's Right Hand

Non satis est ullo, tempore longus amor.

— Propertius

Warlord: You are looking at a man who can run you through with this sword without batting an eye.

Monk: You are looking at a man who can be run through with that sword without batting an eye.

— old Korean folk tale

The last of the theories is the most intriguing: what if the Awakening itself was prompted by a collective evolution of the human race? Psionic talent before the Awakening was notoriously unreliable. The Parapsychic Act, by codifying and making it possible to train psionic ability, cannot alone account for the flowering of Talent and magickal ability just prior to its signing into law—no matter how loudly apologists for Adrien Ferrimen cry.

A corollary to the theory of collective evolution is the persistent notion that another intelligence was responsible. The old saw about demonic meddling with the human genetic code has surfaced in this debate so many times as to be a cliché. But as any Magi will tell you, demonkind’s fascination with humans cannot be explained unless they somehow had a hand in our evolution, as they themselves claim.

For if there is one law in dealing with demons, it is their possessive nature. A demon will destroy a beloved object rather than allow its escape; in this they are like humanity. A second law is just as important in dealing with demons: as with loa or etrigandi , their idea of truth is not at all the human legal definition. A demon’s idea of a truth might be whatever serves the purpose of a moment or achieves a particular end. This leads to the popular joke that lawyers make good Magi, which this author can believe.

In fact, one might say that in jealousy and falsity either we learned from demonkind, or they caught these tendencies like a sickness from us—and the latter option is not at all likely, given how much older a race they are…

— from Theory And Demonology: A Magi Primer

Adrienne Spocarelli

It’s for you,” Japhrimel said diffidently, his eyes flaring with green fire in angular runic patterns for just a moment before returning to almost-human darkness.

I blinked, taking the package. It was heavy, wrapped in blue satin, with a wide white silk ribbon tied in a bow. I pushed the large leatherbound book away and rubbed at the back of my neck under the heavy fall of my hair. Long hours of reading and codebreaking made my vision blur, the white marble behind him turning into a hazy streak. For just a moment, his face looked strange.

Then I recognized him again and inhaled, taking in his familiar smell of cinnamon and amber musk. The mark on my shoulder burned at his nearness, a familiar sweet pain making my breath catch. The room was dark except for the circle of light from the antique brass lamp with its green plasilica shade. “ Another present?” My voice scraped through my dry throat, still damaged; I didn’t have to worry about its soft huskiness, alone with him. The tattoo on my cheek twisted, and my emerald spat a single spark to greet him.

“Indeed.” Japhrimel touched my cheek with two fingertips, sending liquid fire down my back in a slow, even cascade. His long dark high-collared coat moved slightly as he straightened, his fingers leaving my cheek reluctantly. “For the most beautiful Necromance in the world.”

That made me laugh. Flattery will get you everywhere, won’t it. “I think Gabe’s prettier, but you’re entitled to your opinion.” I stretched, rolling my head back on my neck, working out the stiffness. “What’s this?” It was about the size of my arm from wrist to elbow, and heavy as metal, or stone.

Japhrimel smiled, his mouth tilting up and softening, his eyes dark with an almost-human expression. It looked good on him—he was usually so fiercely grim. The expression was tender, and as usual, it made my entire body uncomfortably warm. I looked down at the package, touched the ribbon.

The last present had been a copy of Perezreverte’s Ninth Portal of Hell in superb condition, its leather binding perfect as if it had just been printed in old Venizia over a thousand years ago—or been sitting in a stasis cabinet since then. The house was a present too, a glowing white marble villa set in the Toscano countryside. I’d mentioned being tired of traveling, so he presented me with a key to the front door one night over dinner.

My library breathed around me, deep in shadow, none of the other lamps turned on. I heard, now that I wasn’t sunk in study, the shuffle of human feet in the corridors—servants cleaning and cooking, the security net over the house humming, everything as it should be.

Why was I so uneasy? If I didn’t know better, I’d say the nervousness was a warning. A premonition, my small precognitive gift working overtime.

Gods, I hope not. I’ve had all the fun I can stand in one lifetime.

I rubbed at my eyes again and pulled at the ribbon, silk cool and slick against my fingers. Another yawn caught at my mouth—I’d been at codebreaking for a full three days and would need to crash soon. “You don’t have to keep giving me—oh, gods above.”

Satin folded away, revealing a statue made of perfect glassy obsidian, a lion-headed woman on a throne. The sun-disk over her head was of pure soft hammered gold, glowing in the dim light. I let out a breath of wonder. “Oh, Japhrimel. Where did you…”

He folded himself down into the chair opposite mine. Soft light from the full-spectrum lamp slid shadows over his saturnine face, made the green flashing through his eyes whirl like sparks above a bonfire. His eyes often held a green sparkle or two while he watched me. “Do you like it, Dante?” The usual question, as if he doubted I would.

I picked her up, felt the thrumming in the glassy stone. It was, like all his gifts, perfect. The funny melting sensation behind my ribs was familiar by now, but nothing could take away its strangeness. “She’s beautiful.”

“I have heard you call upon Sekhmet.” He stretched out his long legs just like a human male. His eyes turned dark again, touching me, sliding against my skin like a caress. “Do you like it?”

“Of course I like her, you idiot.” I traced her smooth shoulder with a fingertip, my long black-lacquered fingernail scraping slightly. “She’s gorgeous .” My eyes found his and the mark on my shoulder pulsed, sending warmth down my skin, soaking through my bones, a touch no less intimate for being nonphysical. “What’s wrong?”

His smile faded slightly. “Why do you ask?”

I shrugged. A thin thread of guilt touched me. He was so gentle, he didn’t deserve my neurotic inability to trust anything simple. “A holdover from human relationships, probably. Usually when a guy gives a lot of presents he’s hiding something.” And every couple of days it’s something new. Books, the antiques, the weapons I barely know how to use—I’m beginning to feel spoiled. Or kept. Danny Valentine, Necromance and kept woman. Sounds like a holovid.

“Ah.” The smile returned, relieved. “Only a human suspicion, then.”

I grimaced, sticking my tongue out. The face made him laugh.

“Oh, quit it.” I was hard-pressed not to chuckle, myself.

“It pleases me to please you. It is also time for dinner.” He tilted his head, still wearing the faint shadow of a smile. “Emilio has outdone himself to tempt you away from your dusty papers.”