Darklands (12 page)

The lead ball in my gut grew warmer, heavier. It spiked outward, expanding into multiple sharp aches. A sensation like nausea but deeper—and with knives—roiled through my abdomen. I didn’t feel like I was going to vomit, but I almost wished I did. It would be a relief to eject the feeling from my body.

Instead, I went deeper. A surge of dread swept through me, knowing what was coming, but I ignored it. To conjure an Eidolon, I had no choice; I had to reach down into my deepest, most heart-wrenching guilt. So I did. I turned my thoughts to my father.

It was my fault he’d died. The moment I allowed that thought into my consciousness, the pain cut through me like a laser. But
it was true. I grabbed the thought and held on to it, examined it, made myself see all the ways in which I’d let my father down—leading to his death.

It was nothing more than stubbornness. At eighteen, I thought I knew it all. I thought the rules didn’t apply to me. Back when I started my apprenticeship at age eleven, Dad said, “Listen to Aunt Mab. She may seem tough, but she loves you and she knows what she’s doing. She’ll never steer you wrong.”

Why didn’t I listen?

Seven years after my father spoke those words, I broke my aunt’s one unbreakable rule: I opened that damn book, the one she’d told me not to touch.

Even as I lifted the book down from its shelf, I knew I shouldn’t do it. I knew it would cause trouble. But I
wanted
trouble. I thought I could handle it. I thought my father would see my amazing prowess as a demon fighter, and he would be proud.

Instead of proud, he ended up dead.

The pain in my gut surged. I rolled onto my side and curled into the fetal position. But instead of pushing away the memories, I probed them further.

I writhed on my bed, remembering the horrible moment the Destroyer appeared in Mab’s library. The huge demon hunched over, cramped, too tall for the high-ceilinged room. Its warty blue skin dripped with slime. Flames shot from its eyes and mouth, flames that burn to utter annihilation. Flames that headed toward me.

Helpless. I’d been helpless against it. Unable to run, even to move, I watched in horror as the Destroyer advanced. Its flames crept closer, closer. They touched my arm. The pain, searing, was indescribable. I screamed and screamed. I was dying—I knew it.

My father saved me. He appeared in the doorway and challenged the Destroyer, turned the Hellion’s wrath away from me. Dad was no fighter. He was a teacher, a scholar who lived in a world of books. Yet this gentle man stood his ground, glasses glinting in the flames, against the worst demon ever to pass through the fiery gates of Hell.

He should have won. If life were fair, he would have won. He would have saved his younger daughter, and I’d have thrown my arms around his neck, weeping with gratitude. But life isn’t fair. Because my father fell.

My heart pounded erratically, and my mind struggled to shove away the memory of that night. But I couldn’t. I forced myself to remember, to experience again what I’d seen and felt on the worst night of my life.

My father on the floor, twisting and screaming as hellflames consumed his body. The Destroyer, pinning him in place with twin jets of flame. My utter inability to move. Staring at my father in his torment, knowing there was nothing I could do.

Dad’s eyes were clenched against the pain. As the flames diminished, his body stilled. A greenish flicker played over him. He shuddered, and his eyes flew open. They locked onto mine. I saw love there, and regret, but not an iota of blame.

A new emotion appeared in those eyes, pushing out everything else. Terror. Terror claimed my father. Not just fear—what I saw there was an unholy combination of horror and panic and utter despair. It consumed the man I knew and loved, and I saw my father fall away from me, the spark of his soul fading like a lit candle falling into the blackness of a deep well.

My father died in pain and hopelessness. He died in terror.

So what if he didn’t blame me? I blamed myself.

Pain seized my gut with the gnawing of hundreds of needle-sharp teeth. I rolled from side to side, clutching my stomach, doubled up with agony. I couldn’t bear it. My father’s terror-filled eyes wouldn’t leave me.
Dad, no—don’t die. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
I waved a hand in front of my face, fruitlessly trying to wave the vision away.

In my mind’s eye, my father’s expression changed. The despair and terror left his face, replaced by an urging. There was something he wanted me to do. It was the way he looked at me when he was cheering me on in some difficult task.
You can do this, Vic. I know you can.
Dad was the only person in the world who got away with calling me “Vic.”

His expression was the reminder I needed to return to the present. The Eidolon was here. There was no question about that. Guilt, remorse, regret—they all chewed on my guts with a steady, unstoppable gnawing. Now, I had to stare that guilt in the eye and question the Eidolon.

I took a deep breath. “Materialize!” I commanded.

The gnawing slowed.

“You heard me, demon,” I said. “Materialize so I can see you.”

“Nooooo.” The word drifted through the room like a feather on a breeze.

“I conjured you.” I made my voice stern. “Do as I say. Now.”

“No,” came another whisper. “No, don’t. I’ll go.”

I said nothing. I bent my whole will toward forcing the demon to take shape.

The gnawing ceased, and I felt a presence rise up through me. It passed through my skin as a misty, yellowish cloud, stinking of sulfur and offal. The cloud spread across my torso, gaining density as the Eidolon took on its physical form. Within a minute a fat, quivering maggot the size of a German shepherd squatted on my chest and stomach. The maggot body had a demon’s head, with a hooked nose, too many teeth, and a forked tongue. It flicked its tongue at me, spraying slime.

Gross. But this demon could tell me what I needed to know.

“Why did you summon me?” the Eidolon sniveled in a surprisingly high-pitched voice, like a mosquito whining in my ear. “Don’t you know you’re putting me in danger?”

Seeing how I planned to pop this maggot like an overinflated balloon when I was finished with it, I wasn’t too concerned about its welfare.

“There I was,” it continued, “minding my own business, and you pull me out of the demon plane and make me manifest here. What did I ever do to you?”

“Shredded my guts with agony, for starters. Now, I—”

“That’s because you summoned me!” The whine turned indignant. “What was I supposed to do once all that delicious-smelling guilt started floating my way? Demons gotta eat, too, you know.”

“Shut up, and I’ll tell you why I conjured you.” I needed to stay in control here. Of all demons, Eidolons are the most treacherous and manipulative. “It wasn’t to give you a meal. I need you to answer some questions.”

“Oh, charming. So you tempt me with the promise of food and then threaten my poor demon ass. Typical.” Its face turned crafty. “Isn’t that what your sister has always said about you?” The whine changed into Gwen’s voice. “‘You are
such
a bully, Vicky. Don’t you care about anything besides fighting?’”

“Gwen never—” Well, okay, she
did
say that once, when we were teenagers arguing over something stupid. I knew she didn’t mean it, but the memory sometimes stung, even now. In fact—

“Hey!” I said. “Cut that out. Your meal is over, done, finished—no second course, no dessert. I command you to be silent unless you’re answering my questions.”

The Eidolon pouted, drawing its wiry eyebrows together in a scowl, but it didn’t reply. I’d conjured the demon, and it was bound to obey me until I released it from its material form.

Okay. Now we could get down to business.

“Why have personal demons been disappearing from Boston?”

“Because we’re afraid.” The whine was back. “We’d rather stay safe at home in the demon plane, unless some
bully
forces us to come forth.” The demon glared at me. “Or unless hunger drives us—poor, weak spirits that we’ve become—out into the Ordinary in search of food.” The Ordinary is what demons call the human world.

“Will you stop with the food already?”

“No. That was a question, by the way, so I’ll elaborate. Every creature needs to eat. You blame us because our feeding habits happen to torment humans. But do you ever stop to consider your own eating habits? Do you? Of course, you don’t. That frozen chicken Parmesan you microwaved for dinner yesterday—did you ever stop to think that the hunk of chicken in it was once a living creature? That it started off life as a cute, fuzzy, yellow baby chick going
peep peep peep
?”

An image of a fluffy chick hopped into my mind, peeping adorably. Pain shot through my gut as the Eidolon used its second mouth, located in its belly, to chew on my feelings. “Stop it!” I forced my thoughts away from baby chicks. “This isn’t about what I ate for dinner. Now tell me, what are the demons afraid of?”

“Peep peep peep.”

Time to fight dirty. I rummaged around for a happy memory, something that made me feel good. I’d dived so deep into guilt that it took a minute, but then I had it. On a recent walk through the New Combat Zone, the block between Deadtown and human-controlled Boston, I’d noticed some daffodils and tulips blooming in a half-barrel planter. In that gray, gritty neighborhood, someone had cared enough about beauty to create a miniature garden.

“Owww!” the Eidolon wailed. “Quit it—that pinches!”

I smiled. Yellow and red and white. The flowers were so pretty, like a promise of hope…

“All
right
. Jeez, there’s no need to torture me. I’ll tell you what we’re afraid of.” I let the flowers fade from my mind, and the Eidolon huffed an overly dramatic sigh. “There’s a wizard. He looks like a demi-demon I used to know, but he has no shadow demon.”

Pryce wasn’t a wizard, but his father, Myrddin, had been. At his resuscitation, Pryce had absorbed Myrddin’s life force, along with much of his knowledge. “Is this wizard named Pryce?”

The maggotlike demon made a gesture I interpreted as a shrug. “I have no knowledge of Ordinary names. His shadow demon was Cysgod.” It squinted at me accusingly. “You killed Cysgod.”

“Damn right, I did.” Getting rid of Pryce’s shadow demon had put an end to his plans to throw open the gates of Hell. Or so I’d thought. “Why are you afraid of this wizard?”

“I’m not afraid of him when I can stay at home all snug in the demon plane. He has no shadow demon; he can’t enter there. It’s only when someone lures me into the Ordinary that I’m in danger.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” I started to picture spring flowers again.

“The wizard is grabbing demons,” the Eidolon said in a hurry.

“I’ve seen that. Why?”

“How should I know? All I know is I want to stay far, far away from him. He has this…this big kettle thing. A cauldron—that’s what you call it. He collects demons in a sack and then imprisons them inside the cauldron. There must be
thousands
crammed into that thing.” The demon glanced around the bedroom, real fear widening its eyes. “I’d rather you eviscerate me with one of your hidden bronze daggers than let him do that to me. I’ve heard about the cauldron. They say you can hear the demons who are trapped in it screaming. Screaming for miles around.” The Eidolon shifted on my chest and narrowed its eyes. Its belly-mouth licked its lips. “That’s what you’re planning to do, isn’t it? Force me to answer your questions and then kill me with one of those daggers. I’m not surprised. Mrs. Kinicki wouldn’t be surprised, either. She never gave you a Satisfactory on your report card for ‘plays well with others,’ did she?”

Mrs. Kinicki was my second-grade teacher. Her nephew, Timmy, thought he was a tough guy and tried to beat me up on
the playground, so I fought back. I didn’t pick those fights. My social skills were perfectly satisfactory. I’d deserved that S, damn it. Okay, so maybe I did go a little too far that one time when Timmy ended up in the emergency room. Fifteen stitches is kind of a lot. I still felt bad about that…

I shook my head, blinking. “I told you to stop that.”

“What? I was just answering your question. I’m supposed to sit here and spout off answers, knowing you plan to murder me in cold sludge?” The demon’s face contorted in indignation.

I ignored its question. “Where’s Pryce keeping this cauldron? In the demon plane?”

“I
told
you. He can’t enter the demon plane, not without his shadow demon. Without Cysgod, he’s as weak as any human. The cauldron is not in the demon plane. It’s in the Ordinary, but it’s hidden. The guy’s a wizard; he’s using magic to cloak it.”

“Where in the Ordinary—do you know?”

“If I tell you, will you spare me?”

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll wrap you up in a pretty pink bow and hand you over to Pryce myself.”

“Pink is
not
my color. Of course, you wouldn’t notice that. It’s not like a single thought for anyone else ever crosses your mind. When’s the last time you bothered to pick up a phone and call your mother?” The demon uttered a sigh that sounded a lot like Mom. “‘I wish Vicky would call. I wish she were a
good
daughter, like Gwen,’” it said in her voice.

“Overkill. My mother wouldn’t compare Gwen and me like that.” Although that was exactly what I’d imagined her doing. Of course, the Eidolon had eavesdropped on my thoughts.

“How do you know what she says all alone, late at night? Just because you’ve never heard her say the words—”

“You know, the other day I saw the cutest puppy.”

“No! Not a puppy!”

“Big brown eyes. Floppy ears. And—”

“Stop! Puppies give me indigestion.” The demon let out a huge, sulfurous burp to prove it.

I turned my head away. “Then knock it off with the guilt trips.”

“I can’t help it.” I’d tangled with more than a few Eidolons, but never had I met such a whiny demon. “What do you expect, anyway? I’m a guilt-demon—I’m only doing what comes naturally.”

“Just answer my question,” I said through gritted teeth. “Do you know where Pryce is hiding the cauldron?”