Demon Forged (53 page)

A vibration ran up her legs as if the ground beneath her feet shivered. But this wasn’t the brief tremor of a new Gate—the sensation amplified until the marble around them began to hum. A song rose from beneath, from above, swooping and rising through words she didn’t know.

Michael. Irena felt for Alejandro’s hand, her eyes filling, though she thought she couldn’t possibly have more tears. She looked up—she couldn’t see him, but she searched the skies, backing away from the tower with Alejandro. The others moved with her, faces tilted up, slowly circling.

His voice swelled, harmonious, almost bringing Irena to her knees. Always, Michael’s voice had been several voices in one but now more were held within it. She heard the mournful howl of a wolf and the rush of cold wind over her face. The roaring heat of a fire, the soothing murmur of a lover, the trembling heartbeat of fear, a sweet longing—sound that became sensation, emotion that became song, and Caelum responded to its touch.

Marble ivy appeared at the base of Dru’s tower, climbed as if seeking the sun. In the distance, a thin spire flattened and stretched, forming a bold dome against the cerulean sky.

A new building knifed upward, as smooth and narrow as a blade, rising high above the others. Fierce recognition tore through Irena. She had never seen any structure of its type, but everything within her leaped forward at the sight of that building, claimed:
mine.

The song faded. Irena strained to listen, trying to hold onto the music of it as long as she could. Already grieving its loss.

But it faded, and silence filled Caelum again—except for the heartbeats and breath of those around her. Those Irena trusted and loved; those who, like her, were rigid with astonishment and awe; those who were just as terrified for Michael as she was.

“Khavi may have predicted it,” she said, and clenched her fists. “But we will
not
let it come to pass.”

From inside a hollow iron structure as big as the Special Investigations gymnasium, Alejandro watched Ames-Beaumont kiss his partner a final time. His face taut and pale, the vampire strode to Michael, who waited nearby. They vanished.

Somewhere in Chaos, Ames-Beaumont would begin writing the symbols that would allow them to create a portal. Until then, novices, Guardians, and a few vampires waited in the cold empty room, and the only relief from the sight of the iron walls was the mirrored chamber that had been reassembled in the far corner.

Standing next to Mariko and Radha, Luther caught Alejandro’s eye. Larger, darker in his Guardian form, he gave a wry nod before returning his attention to the women. With a Gift that allowed her to manipulate glass in a manner similar to Irena’s Gift with metal, Mariko was small and quick, and light armor guarded her forearms, chest, and thighs. Radha wore little more than two strips of red silk and her long black hair; she’d painted her body blue. Her Gift allowed her to pierce the strongest psychic shields—painfully—and disorient her target with illusions.

With luck, her Gift would affect dragons, as well.

Beside him, Irena sighed. Alejandro studied her face, memorizing every feature . . . again. He couldn’t see her fear any more, just as he no longer felt his. It had settled into determination—and in Chaos, they would both wield their determination like another sword.

And he could not see the reason for her sigh. His breath froze to a vapor in the frigid air. “What is it?”

She glanced up at him, and smiled faintly. “I had the thought that if Ames-Beaumont hadn’t had any friends, we would not be here.”

Alejandro could imagine many meanings behind her statement, but he knew she only meant one: that if Ames-Beaumont had not made a blood-brother pact with his childhood friend when he’d been human, his blood could never have been tainted by Michael’s sword.

The weapon that Michael had used to pierce the dragon’s heart during the Second Battle still carried the beast’s power within it. The blade cut through stone like water and could blaze with magical flames. And it could leave within a small human boy an anchor to the Chaos realm—and when that boy was transformed into a vampire and cursed, offer him a glimpse into that realm through any mirror.

But Alejandro thought it was not just one human boy and his friend—there had been others that led them here. If Ames-Beaumont had not been friends with Lilith, he’d never have been accidentally teleported to the Chaos realm with Selah. If Ames-Beaumont had never cared for his friends, he’d never have allowed his blood to be used to send a horde of nosferatu into the Chaos realm. If Ames-Beaumont had never been friends with Castleford, the vampire would never have met Savi—and while trying to save her, discovered the combination of symbols that were tied to his blood and made a portal between Earth and Chaos.

And without friends, the secret of Ames-Beaumont’s blood would never have leaked out. Rael and Anaria would never have known to come for him.

Where that had led them, however, Alejandro saw only what Irena did: here.

Here
was atop an Arctic ice sheet, hundreds of miles from anything human. But its isolation wasn’t the primary reason they’d chosen this spot; the unending winter night was.

Once he returned here, Ames-Beaumont couldn’t open the portal without a psychic connection to his partner, Savitri; Savitri couldn’t help him unless she was awake and holding her psychic shields open. This far north, where the sun wouldn’t rise for another week, Savitri could remain awake until the Guardians’ mission was completed.

Once, Michael could have used his sword as an anchor to the realm and teleported the Guardians to Chaos without Ames-Beaumont’s and Savitri’s assistance, but the powerful weapon now rested in Belial’s hands.

Unfortunately. If Michael could have taken the weapon with him into Chaos, the sword’s value would have been immeasurable—as enormous as the value of the lives it would probably save.

And if Irena could, she’d have probably made a thousand of them.

He looked at her. Had she ever tried to replicate it? They had once seen a sword almost identical to it—Zakril’s sword. But that one hadn’t had any of the other weapon’s power. “What was the difference in Michael’s sword?”

Irena hesitated, as if uncertain. Could she not describe it, or had she never felt it?

“Did you never try to sense the bronze with your Gift?”

“I did.” She touched her forehead. “I woke up with blood coming from my nose and ears. I did not try again.”

“That’s what happens to me.” Drifter came up beside them, towering over Irena. “My apologies for listening in—couldn’t help it. But that blood . . . that’s what happens when I use my Gift to bust through the lock on the shielding spell. Except it’ll burst all the vessels in my eyes, too.”

Irena smiled. “Perhaps it did mine, but I could not see it.”

Drifter nodded. Faint worry lined his eyes. “It’s a shame we can’t make another like it. It’d be right handy.”

Alejandro tensed for the barest moment when Jake suddenly appeared in front of them. Christ. The young Guardian would end up with a sword through his heart if he made a habit of that.

Or a knife. Irena vanished the weapon in her hand, shaking her head.

Jake only looked a little chagrined. “Okay, so we don’t have Michael’s sword. What about anvils? Big ones. We can just drop ’em right on their heads, knock ’em out of the sky.”

Irena gave Jake a look. To amuse her, Alejandro said, “The dragons, the nephilim, or the nosferatu?”

Her mouth dropped open in disbelief, and she stared up at him. Her eyes narrowed when she realized he was joking. Her gaze promised retribution.

With a grin, Jake said, “Any of them.”

“I dropped a truck on a nephil once,” Drifter said. “It mostly just shrugged it off.”

Irena glanced up at him, frowning, then settled on Jake. Alejandro knew she debated between demonstration and telling—which was rarely as effective. But if a demonstration went badly this close to a fight, the shields and determination they’d all built out of fear might weaken.

She settled for forcing Jake to figure it out himself. “Why didn’t I drop iron blocks on the nephilim at my forge?”

Alejandro watched the young Guardian’s expression sharpen and the humor turn to speculation. Jake had a fine brain behind that mouth—he just had to use it.

“Because if they managed to catch the block, they’d whip it back at you—or use it for a shield,” Jake said.

“Yes. Never
give
your enemy something that they can use as a weapon against you.” She looked at Drifter. “Unless you are absolutely desperate.”

“I was pretty damn desperate. I reckon we might be again.” His brown hair spiked up when he dragged his hand through it. “How do you figure we kill these things? Nephilim, nosferatu—we know it’s the head or the heart. But the dragons? What do we do—just throw anything at them?”

Alejandro had wondered the same. From the images Ames-Beaumont had projected, he could clearly picture the creatures’ heavy frames, their bodies similar to a rodent’s in shape, with powerful haunches and slightly weaker front limbs that ended in sharp talons. They were enormous, some appearing a hundred feet in length, and as they flew, their bodies possessed a serpentine grace. Fast and sleek, the dragons could dart as quickly as a hummingbird, and dive like a hawk. The iridescent scales that covered their hides were most likely armor, and they belched fire from a maw big enough to swallow five Guardians at once.

“It is best not to leave it to guesswork,” he said. “We know from Michael that the dragons can be slain with a sword through their hearts. So I suggest two strategies: either strike for the heart or run as quickly as you can.”

Irena nodded her agreement. The speculative look in Jake’s eyes deepened. He quietly teleported away. Alejandro glanced around the room, didn’t see where he’d gone.

“He probably figures he doesn’t have enough explosives,” Drifter said.

Irena didn’t know if explosives would help them.

Michael and Ames-Beaumont returned, reeking of rot and sulphur. Ames-Beaumont painted two symbols on the wall in his blood, which immediately froze to the iron. When the vampire and Savi lowered their psychic shields, wyrmwolves in Chaos would swarm to the symbols he’d written in that realm, and begin ripping at each other. With enough wyrmwolf blood, the portal would open, creating a bridge from Chaos to the symbols here.

They might only have to wait minutes after the two vampires opened their shields; they might wait hours. They readied for it now.

Michael projected a picture of where the portal would open—a sheltered, rocky crag at the base of a black mountain. He called in a large table and spread a sheet of paper over the surface. They gathered round.

In black ink, he drew a circle in the center. “This is the mountain. On this side is our portal”—he drew a black
X
on one edge of the circle, then another on its opposite edge—“and here, halfway up the mountainside, is the mouth of a cave system. Several nephilim have been guarding the entrance against wyrmwolves, and more nephilim have been moving in and out of these caves in teams of ten.”

Even without the image Michael provided, it was easy to picture the nephilim like bees at the entrance of a hive. Irena frowned. “Is their portal inside—and their queen?”

“I am not certain about the portal,” Michael said, “but it is a strong possibility. Anaria has been outside the caves, however. She’s been focused on the barrier and on the dragons.”

The ceiling between Hell and Chaos. According to the diagram, the mountain sat near the edge of the enormous, circular span of dangling bodies. “Is she hunting a dragon?”

Michael nodded. “Once she has its blood, if she casts a spell to open the barrier between the realms, the magic of the symbols will be that much more powerful.”