Devil's Punch

“That I am an Imaron guide in service to Sybella of the Luren. And here are my contracts, providing provenance for the arrival of two specimens.”



Chance laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before.”



Me either. But I was too weary to take offense.



In exhaustion, I felt unable to take in all the wonders; the city blurred before my eyes as we clattered over rough stone streets, which seemed to be laid out in concentric circles. After we passed through another set of gates, we were ushered inside a magnificent estate. We waited a while, and then a silent, gorgeous male Luren guided us into a sumptuous chamber to confront Greydusk’s boss.



Sybella wasn’t just beautiful. She was…I didn’t have a word. Her hair was black silk; her skin gleamed like a pearl. Her eyes shimmered like tropical waters, and her mouth was lush and succulent like dew on a perfect red rose. Shit. I was only looking at her out of the corner of my eye, and I already had an uncontrollable urge to the throw myself at her feet and lick them.



Double shit.



Beside me, Chance studied the patterns on the floor.



Sybella was speaking, but I found it hard to focus on her words. She smelled luscious, cinnamon and candied apples with the richness of a caramel slightly burned, a sugar-sweet scent that made me step toward her, before Chance grabbed my arm. Even her toes, which I was studying intently, were lovely. Her feet were slim and high-arched, alabaster pale and smooth as marble. A layer of polish gleamed in a surprisingly innocent shade of pink, and the effect was…disarming.



“And so, I am pleased to make you welcome in my home,” the Knight of the Luren caste concluded.



Unfortunately, I had no idea what words had come before. Not an auspicious beginning. But maybe if I admitted I had been distracted, she might be flattered. Then again, she must be used to affecting people that way, and so it would merely reveal me as a weak link. Damn it. I cast a sideways glance at Greydusk, but its impassive expression gave me no sign as to how I ought to proceed.



“When would you like to get down to business?” I asked.



It was a bluff, of course. For all I knew, she might’ve already offered me a deal, but I suspected Sybella wasn’t the type. Such efficiency would strike her as uncouth.



“You need rest,” she said smoothly, “before you can be expected to begin complex negotiations. I give my word that you will be safe in my house.”



At this, Greydusk inclined its head slightly. I could trust Sybella to keep her promise. Like most demons, I imagined she would twist any agreement to her advantage, but this was a simple matter.



So I nodded. “I’d appreciate an opportunity to freshen up and sleep. Chance will share my quarters.”



“You’re dismissed, Imaron.” The scorn in Sybella’s voice raised my hackles, but I didn’t dare meet her eyes to express my reaction with a dirty look.



Greydusk planted its feet beside me. “With all due respect, mistress, you lack the authority to discharge me.”



Sybella went arctic. “Pardon me?”



“I have completed my contract with you in good faith, and the Binder now employs me.”



“I…see,” the knight said quietly. She stepped toward me as if to take my arm to guide me somewhere, and I darted out of range. “And you’ve been busy, filling her ears with tales, I see. Not necessarily with an eye toward my best interests, Imaron. I will not forget this.”



“Indeed.” The demon sounded like it didn’t give a damn.



Not nearly soon enough, Sybella summoned a lesser Luren to show us where we would stay for the time being. This one smelled delicious too, like nutmeg and allspice; he was golden like a lion, with tawny hair and gilded skin and eyes like layered topaz. He shot me a lazy, gleaming smile as if he sensed my rebellious hormones. I didn’t want any demon to affect me like this, but at least I wasn’t alone.



This was sort of their purview, after all.



Balls to the Wall



The hallways were palatial yet other. On the floor, patterns looked alien, laid in black and bloodred tiles. It seemed like a preternatural path the longer I studied it, but before I could unlock the riddle of where it led, the Luren paused outside an ornate basalt door, etched with peculiar symbols. Greydusk studied them and then gave me a half nod.



“They are protective sigils.”



“I am Gilder,” the minion went on. “And I will be stationed outside your quarters for your own protection. In the event our people grow…curious.”



That wasn’t why. Well, at least not entirely. But I already knew that demons could tell partial truths. He was in charge of making sure I didn’t escape this complex before Sybella got whatever she wanted from me. I pretended I didn’t realize the difference because it couldn’t hurt if they underestimated my intelligence.



Greydusk leveled a flat, black gaze on the other demon. “And I will be guarding the inside of the door. So be warned.” That was all it said, but the tone sent shivers down my spine.



By this point, I was so tired that I was swaying on my feet. Chance opened the door and we stepped through to a suite that would charm a Turkish potentate. Everything was gold and scarlet, not restful colors but opulent ones. And the furnishings were baroque in the extreme, as if I’d wandered into an old pleasure house. Yet everything gleamed, showing no signs of age.



“Thank you,” I said to Greydusk.



It paused in the midst of securing the door. I thought I had surprised the Imaron. “Knights do not thank their servants, Binder.”



“I’m not a knight.”



“No,” it agreed. “You are she who could be queen.” It settled on the sofa near the door, guarding me.



I didn’t have the heart to start the argument over again. It would be fruitless to claim I had no interest in ascending—whatever the hell that meant—and it might undermine the demon’s loyalty. Right now, Greydusk thought it was getting in on the ground floor of my regime. So I inclined my head in what felt like a laughable manner, but the Imaron didn’t react with mockery, as I half expected. Instead, it bowed.



“The bedroom’s through here,” Chance said.



I followed, needing sleep in the worst way. It had surely been more than one day in the real world, but it wasn’t like I had a watch that could convert from Sheol to Mexico time. However, my body felt as it had during the worst moments of my life, when I didn’t have a bed for the night and would try to snatch some rest in the bus station while keeping one eye out for cops, terminal employees, and people who had bad things on their minds. The result back then had been this same dry-eyed, bleary exhaustion, so I guessed it had been two days.



Our room had an enormous bed with heavy red velvet drapes; it was worthy of Henry VIII. Expensive tapestries with disturbing characters woven into patterns made me dizzy, mostly because they seemed to dance before my eyes, as if they wanted to assemble into forms I could understand. Chance closed the door and went around the room, looking for trouble. I could tell he was dowsing from the low-grade crackle in the air that raised the hair on the nape of my neck.



“All clear?” I asked when he stopped by a set of double doors.



He lifted a shoulder in a familiar half shrug. “Seems to be.”



Chance flung open the doors, revealing an otherworldly garden. I had no words for the shape of the plants that grew here, but they were dark and twisted, thick with thorns. Their stems shone like coppery metal with a patina of green; each leaf was a sculpted marvel, and the flowers exuded a siren smell, so that I wanted to step onto the stones and bury my face in the petals. At the thought, the foliage shivered around me as if it craved that—needed to slice my skin and drink my blood.



I stepped back at once, my flesh crawling. The beauty was unearthly, but it was dangerous too. “Butch can use the bathroom out here, but let’s keep a close watch on him. I don’t trust this place.”



“Me either,” he muttered.



When I peered into my purse, which Chance had been carrying, I found Butch sound asleep, and despite my best efforts, I could not wake him. He had been fine, after the crossing, but this didn’t look natural. Come to think of it, he should have reacted to Sybella, yapped a warning or something, because she had been a threat. Which meant he’d been out ever since we entered her compound.



I shared a worried look with Chance. “What do you think?”



“Not good.”



Though it was futile, I tried a little longer to rouse the dog. Maybe I had a spell that could wake him, but I was too tired to risk Butch’s safety by trying to cast. Look at how I screwed up the forget fog.



Quietly worried, I crossed to the other door and flung it open to reveal a bathroom. It was ridiculously posh, even more so than the one I’d used at Escobar’s estate. Even the fixtures were gilt. Whatever. I didn’t care what the place looked like, as long as it had running water. And it did. I thought it might come out stinking like sulfur, but it was smooth and soft, falling over my body in a hot rush.



I didn’t let the pleasure seduce my senses. I kept myself on task and used the soap and shampoo provided—so odd to think of demons like Gilder bathing. That made them too relatable. Shaking my head at the additional correlation, I stepped out of the tub and dried off. I had no thought to teasing Chance, as I’d done at the old house we rented in Kilmer.



He greeted me with one of his spare T-shirts. I hadn’t packed any underwear when I moved my stuff to his backpack, but that was the least of my worries. The tee was long enough, and I’d get covered up soon. Gods and goddesses, I was tired.



Chance headed toward the bathroom, and then paused. “Where should I sleep?”



Valid question. But I believed he’d changed. I trusted that he had, in fact, loved me at the end, and he’d been coping with his own shit and hadn’t meant to hurt me. Those were enormous leaps of faith.



“With me,” I said quietly. “The bed’s huge.”



He might not want to, though. We hadn’t talked about my confession yet.



“You sure?” he asked.



“Yeah. Well, unless you’d rather not. I can take the floor.”



Closing his eyes, he leaned his head wearily against the doorjamb; I took advantage of his momentary lapse of focus to swap my towel for his shirt, and then I slid between the covers. The sheets felt like the most expensive Egyptian cotton, all buttery soft, and I immediately wondered if this room was actually all dust and rags, whether the Luren could spin illusions like that. A shudder worked through me. I couldn’t trust anything here, not even my own mind. The Chasm of Despair had proven that.



“There’s no reason for either of us to be a martyr,” he said finally. “I’m shocked…and angry. But mostly I’m exhausted.”



“You think I should’ve told you this stuff before we came to Sheol.”



“I feel somewhat misled,” he admitted.



“You didn’t ask how I dealt with Montoya.” After the words came out, I wished I could take them back.



Chance stiffened. “And you didn’t ask whether I had anything to do with my girlfriend’s death. But that lack of curiosity didn’t stop you from blaming me later, after you ended up in the hospital.”