Lilith Saintcrow - Working for the Devil

I just saw him blast six neopunks without even breaking a sweat. And he's a demon. Who knows what he'll do?

"Give me your Name," I said, "and I will."

As soon as it escaped my mouth, I backed up another two steps, wishing I hadn't said it. It was too late. The demon made a sound that might have been a laugh.

"Don't make me drag you, Necromance," he said, finally. "The Prince would be most displeased."

"That isn't my problem," I pointed out. "No way. I can't trust you."

"You have left the safety of your abode and followed me here." His eyes narrowed. "Unwise of you, to cavil now."

"So I'm too curious for my own good," I said. "Give me your Name, and I'll follow you."

He shrugged, spreading his hands. I waited. If the Prince truly wanted me delivered unharmed, the demon would give me his Name. It barely mattered—I was no Magi, able to force a minor demon into working my will or able to negotiate a bargain with a greater demon for years of service in exchange for blood, sex, or publicity. I rarely ever dealt with demons. He was right, that I'd come this far and it wasn't exactly wise to start backing down now, but better to back down now while I still had a running chance at reaching the surface than have the demon drag me into a subway tunnel. At least with his Name I might be able to stop him from killing me.

"Tierce Japhrimel," he said, finally.

I blinked, amazed he'd given in, and did some rapid mental calculations. "Do you swear on the Prince of Hell and the waters of Lethe that your true, full Name truly is Tierce Japhrimel?"

He shrugged. "I swear," he said after a long tense sweating second of silence.

I hopped down into the dark well of the tracks, jolting my knees. I'm too old for this shit , I thought. I was too old for this shit ten years ago . "Good deal," I mumbled. "Fine, lead the way, then. I'm warning you, though, any tricks and I'll haunt you, demon or not."

"That would indeed be a feat," he said. I think he meant to say it quietly, but the entire station echoed.

With that said, my sword ready, and no more excuses handy, I followed the demon into darkness.

If I had to say with any certainty where the demon opened the door that led into a red glare, I would be at somewhat of a loss. I lose a lot of my sense of direction underground. The demon's tearing at the fabric of reality to split the walls of the worlds… well, it's complex, and takes an inhuman amount of Power, and I've never seen anyone but a demon do it. Magi sometimes tried unsuccessfully to force doors between this reality and the world of demons lying cheek-by-jowl with it instead of pleading for a demon to come through and make an appearance, but I was a Necromance. The only alternate reality I knew or cared about was the world of Death.

Some of the Magi said that the higher forms of Power were a result of the leaching of substance between this world and the world of the demons. I had never seen that—humans and the earth's own well of natural Power were all I'd ever noticed. Even though Magi training techniques were used as the basis for teaching psions how to control Power, every Magi had his or her own kind of trade secrets passed on from teacher to student and written in code, if not memorized. It was like Skin-lin with their plant DNA maps or a Necromance's psychopomp, personal information.

There was an access hatch, I remember that much, that the demon opened as if it had been deliberately left unlocked. Then again, who would be running around down here? A long concrete-floored corridor lit faintly by buzzing fluorescents, and a door at the end of it—but this door was ironbound wood with a spiked, fluid glyph carved deeply into the surface of the wood. The glyph smoked and twisted; I felt reality tearing and shifting around us until the demon was the only solid thing.

I was seriously nauseated by now, swallowing bile and nearly choking. This isn't built for humans , I thought, vicious little mouths nipping at my skin. It was akin to freefall, this walking between the worlds; that was why you were only supposed to do it astrally. The physical structure of my body was being stressed, the very building blocks of my cellular structure taking loads they weren't designed to handle. Not to mention the fact that the twisting of visual and auditory input screwed up my perceptions, and the alienness of the Power here made my aura compress close to my skin and shiver. When the demon opened up the door and red light spilled out, I almost lost the chicken soup I'd bolted for lunch. The demon grabbed my arm and hauled me through, and I understood why he'd been standing so close to me. As soon as the smell of demon washed over me, I felt a little better. The demon's aura stretched to cover me, and when the door closed behind us with a thud I found myself with a demon holding my elbow, volcanic heat lapping at my skin, and a gigantic hall with what appeared to be an obsidian floor and long narrow windows. Red light from spitting, ever-burning torches ran wetly over the floor and the ceiling, which I only glanced at and then back at the floor, shutting my eyes.

I heard, dimly, the demon saying something. The sense of sudden freefall stopped with a thump, as if normal gravity had reasserted itself. Nausea retreated—mostly. I choked, and tried to stop myself from spewing.

The demon pressed the fingers of his free hand against my sweating forehead and said something else, in a sliding harsh language that hurt my ears. Warm blood dripped down from my nose. I kept my fingers around my sword.

It took a few minutes for the spinning to stop and my stomach to decide it wouldn't turn itself inside-out. "I'm okay," I said finally, feeling sweat trickle down my spine. "Just a little… whoa. That's… oh, shit—"

"It's a common reaction," he replied. "Just breathe."

I forced myself to stand upright, swallowed sour heat and copper blood. "I'm okay," I repeated. "The sooner I get this over with, the sooner I can go home, right?"

He nodded. His lips were turned down at the corners now, and I saw that his long black coat was now in the same geometric scheme as the rest of the world. That was part of the problem—the angles of the floor and walls were just a little wrong, just a crucial millimeter off. My brain kept trying to make it fit and failing, and that made my stomach resemble a Tilt-A-Whirl, only without the fun part.

"Fine," I said. "Let's go."

He kept his hand closed around my elbow as we negotiated the vast expanse of the ballroom. Is this the antechamber to Hell ? I thought, and had a difficult time not giggling. I think I'm doing well with this. Really well .

Then we reached the end of the hall, and the demon pushed open another large ironbound door, and all thoughts of dealing really well went right out the window. I even dropped my sword. The demon made a quick movement, and had my blade… I never dropped my sword. Never .

"A human ," the Thing sitting behind the massive desk said. It had three spiraling horns sprouting from its head and wide, lidless, cat-slit yellow eyes that fastened on me. Its body was a shapeless mass of yellow blubber, festooned with long bristling black hairs in a few random places. Three nipples clustered on its chest, and the skin looked wrong, and greasy. The worst part was the hinged mouth and razor-sharp teeth—but even worse than that were the long spidery fingers that looked like maggots crawling among the papers on its desk. My brain went merrily rambling on— a demonic bureaucrat, even Hell has its paperwork …

"Not for you, Trikornus," the green-eyed demon said. "She's for the Prince."

"What a lovely present. Finally back in the good graces, assassin?" It was still staring at me. A dripping, purple-red tongue slid out, caressed its chin with a sound like screaming sandpaper. "Ooooh, give us a taste. Just a little taste?"