The Red Scrolls of Magic
“I’m not in your way,” said Aline. “I’m coming with you.”
“What?” Helen cried.
Aline’s reply sounded anything but confident, but it was firm. “I trust Alec. I’m with him.”
Alec did not know what to say. Fortunately, there was no time to talk about emotions. He nodded at Aline and they surged together out of the clearing and toward the forest path.
“Wait,” said Helen.
Aline turned back toward her. Alec barely glanced over his shoulder.
Helen’s eyes were shut. “?‘Go to Europe, Helen,’ they said. ‘Can’t be a homebody forever, Helen. Get out of L.A., soak up some culture. Maybe date somebody.’ Nobody said, ‘A cult and its demons will chase you around Europe, and then a lunatic Lightwood will lead you to your doom.’ This is the worst travel year anybody has ever had.”
“Well, I guess I’ll see you sometime,” said Aline, looking stricken.
“I’m leaving,” said Alec.
Helen sighed and made a gesture of despair with her seraph blade.
“All right, lunatic Lightwood. Lead the way. Let’s go get your man.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
* * *
Cursed Daughter
THE PIT TURNED OUT TO be an existing part of the villa, not a new addition by the cult: a circular stone amphitheater sunk into the ground. Stone terraces led down to a grassy circular lawn at its center, on which an elevated stage of rough wooden planks had been constructed. Two sets of stone stairs, opposite each other, allowed for passage from level ground to the terraces or down to the lawn, and along each terrace wooden benches had been set up. The stage was plain except for several awkwardly planted moonflowers in wildly crisscrossing rows. Most of them must have been crushed by the wooden stage. Cultists had no appreciation for the gardener’s hard work, Magnus thought.
The rows upon rows of benches were filled with cultists. Every seat was taken, and there were more people crowding behind them. Magnus supposed if he had to be a show, at least it was standing room only.
The cultists sat silent and still in their seats. They were dressed alike, in hideous fedoras and casual white business suits, with white shirts and white ties. The cult’s cleaning bills must have been astronomical.
The two men half-escorting, half-dragging Magnus brought him down the stairs, then threw him roughly onto the lawn next to the stage. Magnus picked himself up from his hands and knees, waved at the crowd, and bowed with a flourish.
He did not want to die in this banal pit, surrounded by the pallid ghosts of past mistakes, but if he had to die, he planned to die with style. He would not let any of these people see him crawl.
Shinyun stepped onto the lawn, her clothes starry white in the night’s gloom, and pointed in Magnus’s direction. Bernard, who’d followed behind, lifted a sword to Magnus’s throat.
“Robe him in white,” said Shinyun, “so the mark of the crimson hand will show upon him.”
Magnus crossed his arms and raised his voice and his eyebrows. “You can poison me and throw me in a dungeon. You can beat me and even sacrifice me to a Greater Demon. But I draw the line at wearing a white suit for an evening event.”
Bernard jabbed the blade toward Magnus’s throat. Magnus stared down at the curved sword in contempt. He put a finger on the sharp tip and flicked it to the side. “You’re not going to stab me. I’m the main attraction. Unless you guys plan to sacrifice Shinyun to Asmodeus?”
Shinyun’s eyes were twin hollows of hate. Bernard gave a nervous little jump and took a hasty step back.
Several cultists held Magnus still as Shinyun leaped toward him, delivering a spinning wheel kick to his chest and another to his stomach, doubling him over. As he struggled to keep his feet and not be sick, they forced him into a white robe.
Bernard shoved him upright, gripping him by the arms. Magnus gazed out at the implacable crowd through pain-hazed eyes.
“Behold, the Great Poison!” Shinyun shouted. “Our founder. The prophet who brought us together and then led us astray.”
“It’s just an honor to be nominated,” Magnus gasped.
He surveyed his surroundings closely, though he had little hope for escape. He noticed a number of Raum demons guarding the tunnel entrances like ushers. Overhead, several large flying creatures swooped by. It was too dark to see what they were, but they were definitely demons of some sort, unless dinosaurs had returned.
“There is no hope for escape,” said Shinyun.
“Who was looking for escape?” asked Magnus. “Allow me to compliment you on the high production values of your demonic ritual. I trust there’s a full-service bar?”
“Quiet, Great Poison,” said the cultist on his left, who had a tight, not particularly friendly grip on his shoulder.
“I’m just suggesting,” Magnus said. “Maybe we can settle this in a civilized manner, by which I mean in a conversation over drinks.”
Bernard hit him in the face. Magnus tasted blood as Shinyun’s eyes gleamed with pleasure.
“Guess not,” Magnus said. “Gladiatorial demonic death ritual it is, then.”
Shinyun’s voice became magically enhanced, thundering over his, booming across the entire amphitheater.