1 Blood Price (42 page)

It never came.

One second the pentagram was empty and the throbbing beat out a glorious rhythm inside his head. A second later, with no warning, it was full, and only echoes remained in the silence.

Norman cried out and fell to his knees, the grimoire forgotten as he raised both hands to cover his face.

Coreen whimpered and sagged against her bonds, consciousness fleeing what it couldn’t accept.

Vicki attempted to breathe shallowly through her teeth, glad for the first time she couldn’t really see. Every fear she’d ever held, every nightmare, every terror from childhood to yesterday came with the ill-defined shape in the pentagram. She clamped her teeth down on the urge to wail and used her physical condition—the pain, the weakness—to insulate her from the Demon Lord.
I hurt too much now to be hurt any further.

The thing in the pentagram seemed amused by that.

Colors ran together in ways that colors could not, creating shades that seared the heart and shades that froze the soul, and they built a creature with blond curls and blue eyes and very, very white teeth. Slender and hermaphroditic, it laid no claim to either sex while claiming both of them.

“Enough,” said the Demon Lord, and the terror damped down to a bearable level. It checked the boundaries of its prison and then the lives around it. Coreen, it ignored, but by Vicki’s side of the pentagram it squatted and smiled approvingly at the patterns of blood on the floor.

“So, you are the life that opens the way for my power.” It smiled and Vicki gave thanks she could see only a shadowy outline of the expression. “But you’re not being very cooperative, are you?”

Only the non responsiveness of her muscles gave her time to fight the compulsion that she lower her bleeding wrist back to the floor. A sudden shock of recognition lent her strength. “I . . . know you.” Not the face, not this creature specifically, but the essence, oh. the essence she knew.

“I know you, too.” Something writhed for a second in the Demon Lord’s eyes. “And this time, I’ve won. It’s over, Victoria.”

She really hated that name. “Not till . . . fat lady sings.”

“A joke? In your position? I think that your strength might be better spent pleading for mercy.” It stood and dusted its hands against its thighs. “A pity I can’t allow you to live. I’d get such pleasure from your reactions to my plans.”

All Vicki wanted at that moment was enough saliva left to spit.

It turned to Norman, still cowering by the hibachi. “Stand!”

Scooping up the grimoire, holding the book like a talisman, Norman rose shakily to his feet.

“Release me!”

Norman’s lower lip went out and his expression grew decidedly mulish. “No. I called you. I am your master.” He had the power, not this thing. He did.

The Demon Lord’s laughter blew the windows out of the apartment.

As though there were strings attached to his shoulders and the Demon Lord was the puppeteer, Norman began to jerk toward the pentagram. “No,” he whined. “I am the master.”

He’s fighting,
Vicki realized. She would have expected his will to be swept aside like so many matchsticks. Conceit and self-interest made a stronger defense than she thought.

As Henry stepped out of the elevator onto the ninth floor, the smell of blood almost overwhelmed him. It rose over the pervasive demon-taint and drew him to the door he needed. The door was locked.

The metal held. The wood of the doorjamb splintered and gave.

Vicki heard the noise as though it came from a great distance away. She recognized it, understood its significance, but just couldn’t seem to care much.

The Demon Lord heard the noise as well but ignored it. It kept its attention on Norman who stood inches from the edge of the pentagram, sweating and shaking and losing the battle.

The word seemed mostly consonants and it tore at the ears as it tore at the throat.

The Demon Lord snarled and turned, its patina of humanity slipping as it moved. When it saw Henry, its features settled and it smiled. “You call my name, Nightchild, are you the champion here? Have you come to save the mortal world from my domination?”

Henry felt it stroke at his mind and swatted the touch away, his own snarl barely less demonic as he answered. “Go back to the pit, spawn of Satan! This world is not yours!”

“Spawn of Satan?” The Demon Lord shook its head. “You are showing your age, Henry Fitzroy. This world does not believe in the Dark Lord. I will enjoy teaching it differently and you cannot stop me from doing exactly as I wish.”

“I will not allow you to destroy this world without a fight.” He didn’t dare take his eyes from the Demon Lord’s to look for Vicki although he knew it was her blood scent that filled the room.

“Fight all you wish.” It bowed graciously. “You will lose.”

“NO!” Norman stood, splay legged, grimoire tucked under his arm, clutching the AK-47 with enough force to turn his fingers white. “
I
called your name! I AM THE MASTER! YOU WILL NOT IGNORE ME! YOU WON’T! YOU WON’T! YOU WON’T!”

The short burst sprayed across the pentagram, almost cutting the Demon Lord in half. Howling with rage, it lost control of its form, becoming again the maelstrom of darkness it had been at the beginning.

Firearm violation,
Vicki though muzzily, as the slugs tore up the kitchen cabinets behind her.

The noise startled Coreen into full consciousness. With panicked strength she began to fight against her bonds, throwing herself violently from side to side, bouncing the chair legs inches off the floor at a time.

Like night falling in on itself, the Demon Lord reformed and the temperature in the apartment plunged. It smiled, showing great curved teeth it hadn’t had before. Once again, Norman began jerking toward it.

The lights came on, throwing the scene into sharp relief, and a voice yelled, “Freeze! Police!”

The first instant of frozen expressions was almost funny, then Henry raised a hand to shield his eyes, the Demon Lord spun about to face a new adversary, and Norman raced toward the door, screaming, “No, it’s mine! You can’t stop me! It’s mine!”

Coreen’s leg came free of the socks at last. As Norman passed, she kicked out.

He fought for balance, arms flailing. The grimoire dropped to the floor. A second later, Norman fell into the pentagram.

Then Norman wasn’t anymore, but his scream lingered for a heartbeat or two.

Mike Celluci stood at the light switch, his .38 in one hand, the other, under no conscious volition, making the sign of the cross. “Jesus H. Christ,” he breathed into the sudden silence. “What the hell is going on in here?”

The Demon Lord turned to face him. “But that’s it exactly, Detective.
Hell
is going on in here.”

This was worse than anything Celluci could have imagined. He hadn’t seen the punk with the assault rifle disappear into thin air. He didn’t see the thing standing in the middle of the room smiling.

But he had. And he did.

Then he caught sight of Vicki and all the strangeness became of secondary importance.

“Who did this?” he demanded, moving to her side and dropping to one knee. “What is going on in here!” The question came out sounding more than a bit desperate the second time around. While he felt her throat for a pulse, he kept the Demon Lord covered—the direction of the threat obvious after what he’d seen as he came in.

“Pretty much exactly what it looks like,” Henry told him. Clearly the stalwart officer of the law was a friend of Vicki’s. What he thought he was doing here could be settled later. “That is a Demon Lord. He just destroyed the . . . person who called him and we’re in a great deal of trouble.”

“Trouble?” Celluci asked, not bothering at the moment with whether he believed all this or not.

“Yes,” said the Demon Lord, and stepped out of the pentagram. It effortlessly pulled the gun from Celluci’s hand and tossed it out the window.

Celluci watched it go, there being nothing else he could do, then with lips a thin, pale line he bent over Vicki, ignoring the cold sweat that beaded his entire body, ignoring the terror that held his heart in an icy fist, ignoring everything but the one thing he could change. Fighting the knots out of the ties, he bound up her wrist with the first one he got free.

“It won’t do any good,” the Demon Lord observed. With all attention focused on Vicki, it sidled sideways, whirled around, and dove for the grimoire.

Henry got there first, scooped up the book, and backed away with it. To his surprise, the Demon Lord snarled but let him go. “You have no power,” he realized. “You’re in this world without power.”

“The invocation is not finished,” the Demon Lord admitted, its eyes still on the book, “until the woman dies.”

“Then the invocation will never be finished.” Brute strength forced the bindings off her legs and Celluci threw the ties across the room with unnecessary force.

“It will be finished very soon.” the Demon Lord pointed out. “She is dying,”

“No she isn’t,” Celluci growled, easing Vicki’s limp body over onto her back.

Yes,
I am.
Vicki wished she could feel the hand cupping her face, but she hadn’t been able to feel anything for some time. Her eyes itched, but she didn’t have the strength to blink. She wished it wasn’t happening this way. But she’d given it her best shot. Time to rest.

Then the Demon Lord raised its head and looked directly at her, its expression gloating and openly triumphant.

When she died, it won.

The hell it wins.
She grabbed onto what life she had left and shook it, hard.
I am not going to die. I am not going to die!

“I am . . . not . . . going to die. . . .”

“That’s what I said.” Celluci didn’t bother to smile. Neither of them would have believed it. “Listen.”

Through the glassless window, up from the street, she could hear sirens growing closer.

“Cavalry?” she asked.

He nodded. “I called in an
officer down
when I reached the building—the place felt like it was under siege. There’ll be an ambulance with them. I don’t care how much blood you’ve lost, they can replace it.”

“Concussed, too. . . .”

“Your head’s hard enough to take it. You’re not going to die.” He half turned to face the Demon Lord, throwing his conviction over his shoulder at it.

It smiled unpleasantly. “All mortals die in time. I will, of course, try to make it sooner than later.”

“Over my dead body,” Celluci snarled.

“No need.” Henry shook his head. “It can’t kill her or it would have the moment it left the pentagram. Her death is tied to the invocation and it can’t affect the invocation. All it can do is wait.

“If you stay,” he told it, moving closer, “you’ll be fighting every moment. We can’t destroy you, but without all your power you’ll have no easy time of it.”

The Demon Lord watched him move, eyes narrowed.

No,
Vicki realized, it
isn’t
watching him,
it’s watching the grimoire.

“So what do you suggest?” it scoffed. “That I surrender? Time is all I need, and time I have in abundance.”

Vicki pushed at Celluci’s arm, moving him out of his protective position. “A deal. . . . You want . . . the grimoire.” If only her tongue wasn’t so damned thick. “Go. . . Break the invocation . . . it’s yours.”

“In time, I will take the grimoire. You have no idea of how to truly use the knowledge it contains.” It made no effort to hide its desire as it stared at the book fo demonic lore. “There is nothing in your deal for me.”

“Power freely given has more strength than that taken by force.” Coreen went deep red as the two men and the Demon Lord turned to stare at her. “Well, it does. Everyone knows it.”

“And power freely given is not a power often seen where you come from.” Henry added, nodding slowly. The girl had brought up an important point. “It could be the makings of a major coup.”