Illusion (34 page)

Trent stood above her, close enough for her to see the journal thrusting out the top of his shirt.

“Bring her here,” Molokh said.

Trent hauled her, shivering, to her feet and tugged her over to the demons. No one looked up as she approached. She grasped her bag with cold, clammy fingers.

“Gentlemen, my consort. Say hello to my lieutenants, Pidray. They’ve dressed for you.”

Molokh grasped her hand with ice-cold fingers and her nausea redoubled. He said something in a guttural language, but it was a dim echo in her head. All her focus remained on staying upright and not vomiting. Her mind shied away from sensory overload, tears leaking from her eyes and running down her face. Molokh wrote something on her forehead with his finger and her stomach settled. Grateful, she collapsed in a chair at her father’s right side. She scanned the room and realized she sat in the middle of a flat piece of stone, roughly a hundred feet across, surrounded by black space. Her head bobbed, too heavy for her neck.
Breathe. Just breathe.

Molokh sat at the head of the table, wearing a pair of fitted black pants and a T-shirt. He’d taken his innocuous blond-haired form—all the more revolting in contrast with his lieutenants. She avoided his gaze and flicked a glance at the seven demons grouped around the table. They stared back. Dressed in a historical mismatch of luxurious satins, velvets, and laces, their faces were vaguely humanoid, if one didn’t mind elongated skulls and asymmetrical features.

“Lovely,” said one demon. His white shirt tied at the throat, and lace flowed over his hands to fall on the chair’s leather armrests. Above his shoulders, his head was an amorphous black smudge. Something wormlike drifted down his throat to darken his shirt.

She averted her eyes.

The female next to him was worse. Her white half-bustier looked painfully tight. The rest of her was nude, except for the hard iron belt around her hips and between her legs. Deep scratches spelled EROHW on her white belly.

Maya’s skin crawled and she turned back to Molokh.

“Finally, the prodigal daughter returns,” the demoness said. “This time as wife. Does that mean we get to share?”

Sweat trailed down Maya’s spine.

“Remain calm, Erohw. Nothing is decided.” Molokh’s voice was a low murmur, but he ran his spiderlike fingers across the table and laid a cold palm on top of Maya’s in a dark parody of affection. “It’s been a while since we’ve been together. You played me false there for a while, dear one.”

“Are you sure you can trust her?” The demoness reached out and pressed a sharp talon against Maya’s temple.

Molokh swept his hand across the table and the demoness flew off her chair and disappeared off the plateau with a brief scream.

Maya swallowed past the lump in her throat and kept her eyes on the table, realizing those letters had spelled “whore” in reverse. Of all the difficulties she’d had in her life, she’d never expected to end up at a demon’s side.

The demon beside Molokh leaned forward, his skeletal arms striking the table with a sharp sound. “Patience, Lord. You said yourself this is a neutral gateway. No blood may be spilled on sanctified territory. Remember the goal.”

Molokh pulled away and gestured to the darkness, his eyes a cold blue. “Erohw lives. None of you touch what is mine. Go. All of you. Take our newest addition with you. Play nicely—we may still need him.”

Trent stiffened behind her.

“Let him stay.” The words spilled out of Maya’s mouth.

Molokh crushed her hand in a viselike grip and pain radiated in a roar of fire up her arm. For a moment, Maya thought he’d broken it, and sickness lodged in her throat again. The world revolved slowly and she took a deep breath to stop herself from sliding into unconsciousness.

“This is all incredibly…” She swept her hand around the room. “Peculiar. He reminds me of home. It helps … my sanity.” Her voice was a low murmur in her constricted throat.

Molokh’s eyes were fixed on her face.

“Don’t take everything away. I won’t fight you.” Her voice rose in volume and she met his piercing gaze, shivering and trying not to retch.

“Very well, Pidray, you may keep him. As a gesture of goodwill.”

Chairs scraped back on the stone and she looked up.

“Enjoy yourself, Lord.” His lieutenants dissipated in clouds of black smoke.

“Pidray. Such a pleasure to have you back.”

Back? How many times had they done this? She met his eyes. Finally looked into her father’s gaze even though she wanted to hide. His eyes were a bluish-green, like paraffin before it bursts into flames. How she imagined Earth’s sky might have been once upon a time, before she was born.

Molokh regarded her.

The shadows crept closer; she could hear their faint whispers. The smell of patchouli grew stronger. “I never killed those children, did I?” The words tumbled out of her mouth.

He laughed and patted her hand. “As you wish, love. The future is what counts. I have several for you to choose from. Succeed and you can have any reality you wish.” He released her hand and clicked his fingers. An oblong wooden box appeared, hovering between them. He opened it and a bright white light beamed out, hitting his face and showing the bones beneath.

“Eodolon.” He made a grand gesture. “I’ll grant you any version of reality. A successful artist living back on Earth, adored by many. Or partner to that warrior in Balkaith, living in a castle. Your friend Jane returned to you. Or another dream. Wish fulfillment is my gift. There is more than one world to choose from. First you must open a portal and allow me entry to Balkaith. You have the skill. Give me physical presence in the realm.”

“Why not use the journal?” But she already knew the answer.

Molokh smiled and gripped her hand tight. His fist twisted into claws and the nails speared through her skin. “You create in your own image. The journal’s set for the apes. The magi and warlocks share genomes with them. But those of us of a different nature … well…” He shrugged.

“So the Khereb were once magi?” Her jaw ached it was clenched so tight. The pain in her hand redoubled.

He raised a brow at her refusal to cry out and dug deeper. “They carry the signature of their original form.”

“What if I can’t help you?” The words wanted to stick in her throat, but she forced them out, ground them out between her gritted teeth. His nails hit bone and she shuddered as slippery blood leaked onto the glass table. The light caught on the edges of Molokh’s hard cheekbones, throwing his face into skull-like relief.

The shadows crept across the table, touched her fingertips. The wraiths prickled on her arms, patted her skin with the slimy wetness of drenched leaves.

He seemed to be getting bored by her questions, his gaze sliding off her face into the distance, a strange look of discontent on his face. “Once before you failed and I interred you alive in a coffin. I’m sure you’ve learned something this time around.” He jerked his head around so fast she jumped. “Of course, there are your friends to consider.” He looked at the table and Jane appeared, floating above the glass-like surface.

Maya kept her back straight but a whooshing breath tore between her lips. “Let her go.” She grasped the satchel in her other hand, the only item of substance in this whole crazy existence. Something unraveled, waking inside, and she felt the stretch of her consciousness, like a rubber band pulled too thin. Her mind wandered helplessly away, danced out of reach.

“Create the portal. Or you’ll end up in a most distasteful version of reality, right here with me as my lover.” His claws retreated and he waved his hand. A large, silver-framed mirror appeared, the glass blue-green. In it were hundreds of reflections of Molokh and herself, a kaleidoscope of yellow and blue eyes.

“The warlocks will never get rid of the Khereb. Open a new portal and I’ll let your warrior live.”

She was freezing inside and out, goose bumps covering her skin. Something moved under the glassy surface near her hand. A pencil rose to the surface and bumped against her fingers with a liquid rush of sound. And she was back in the factory, right at the beginning, forced to draw for someone she despised. What choice did she have? She had nothing to bargain with; he was far stronger than her. She fumbled on her lap and found the shard of glass from the factory in her bag, clenching it so tight she felt the cold burn on her palm.

Her other hand grasped the pencil. She lay the tip against the glass, sketched a quick picture of her father standing on the ramparts above a promontory fort.

A thick silence filled the room as they watched the lead bleed into the mirror.

She heard her father sigh. He reached forward and pushed his hand through the surface of the glass. The portal expanded and a silver-gray aperture ripped open. He raised his fist and brought it down on the castle. The fort collapsed and huge blocks of stone tumbled into the ocean. In the surging backwash, tiny faces appeared.

Patchouli drenched her senses. The pencil dropped from her fingers.

The past superimposed over the present, embracing the future.

Favorite children dressed in white—stone bull’s cupped hands—one horn points to the sky one to earth—patchouli oil and white musk wiped across tiny brows—O Glory Be Thine Lord Molokh give us rain—infant lowered into metal hands—help me children whimper—smell of burning flesh—bull roars and parents scream—Never forget I’ll never forget I’ll never forget do not let me forget lest I forget Spirit of Remembrance find me Each Life neverforgetneverforgetyouneverforgetwhatIdid.

Her bracelet tinkled and she realized what she should have known all along. The djinni wasn’t an evil spirit haunting her. It
was
her. She’d split her identity because she couldn’t live with herself. She’d cursed herself so she’d never forget what she’d done.

Her body faded. She felt her cells dividing, splitting in two with the accelerated beat of two hearts. When she reappeared her double stood behind Molokh. In that moment she realized her whole life she’d been trying to control something wild.

She’d asked Resh for trust when she didn’t trust herself. Magic required balance, giving and taking. Victim-self, perpetrator-self, none clearly defined, both failing to balance the other. The djinni nodded and smiled. It all made an awful kind of sense. Molokh needed souls for power and she’d traded those children’s lives for safety back in Canaan. Now she needed to give something back. Resh’s necklace bumped on her chest, right next to her grandmother’s pentagram.

We are one,
Molokh had told her.

She breathed in, held it and exhaled, focusing on the djinni, who was now bathed in amber light. Air filled her lungs; patchouli, ozone, and yes, sulfur. Light and dark. She concentrated on the scents, forcing them apart, felt the energy building, winding inside, heat trickling through her veins. The
kila
pulled from her waist and flew to the djinni. The world slowed and the seconds dragged. Her djinni-self swung back her arm and stabbed Molokh’s back. Molokh roared. He rose to his feet and swiveled, the motion pulling his arm free of the portal.

At the same time Maya saw them in the mirror, little children, and she knew what to do. The glass tossed reflections across the room, burned with a white glow. Thousands of images of herself and Molokh. She squeezed the shard of glass, felt it bite through skin as she drove it through the mirror with every bit of strength she had. She twisted the shard, using her blood against him.

His first image had left spectral stains on the factory mirror. Now she returned it in full force, stabbing him with his own over nurtured self-belief. It tasted bitter, knowing that she might not survive this.

The mirror cracked.

“I surrender,” she screamed. “No matter the punishment, I’ll not do it again.”

The mirror shattered into thousands of pieces. The shock wave caught Maya and tossed her across the floor. She slid twenty feet or more on her back. When she stopped, close to the plateau edge, tiny motes of light surrounded her. A chill wind slapped her in the face, whipping her hair back. Pain flashed through her spine as she rocked to her knees and started rapidly crawling toward the table, but it lifted and thumped down, exploding with a huge whacking sound. She shielded her head with her arms as the world turned into splinters of glass. In the middle of the room, and where the table had once stood, a flash of lightning hit the ground with a harsh sizzle. Jane screeched, her body lifting and spinning in the whirlwind and Maya slid back several feet on her stomach.

Several chairs rose along with the satchel, now several feet away. Jane gave a high-pitched call as she tumbled in rapid revolutions. Maya didn’t have time to get to her feet because her heart stuttered.

Molokh was standing before the blood-soaked body of the djinni, holding a glistening red internal organ. The djinni fell to the floor, her eyes wide open. The black pillars elongated and bent, arching above the vortex with a concussive boom. Jane disappeared into darkness and Maya felt her ankles caught in a hold. She kicked free and twisted, seeing Trent behind her. Bolts of lightning struck the floor, sizzling with white-blue fire and she ducked and rolled, coming to her feet in one movement.

Fear filled Molokh’s eyes and he lifted a bloody hand above his head in protection. The heart pumped in his grip, blood flowing down his muscled arm. In the cacophony of sound the joined pillars separated into one figure.

The Guardian, Besmelo.

He reached out and yanked Molokh by the throat into the light. The demon thrashed and squirmed.

“Pidray released the trapped souls and your powers decline,” Besmelo bellowed. “Spilling blood on the Pillars is forbidden. Judgment is passed. Another five thousand years behind Mithra.”

Besmelo lifted his hand and the plateau turned to ice.

The stone floor bent and warped, cracks appearing like a mosaic pattern of frozen particles beneath her feet.

Using the adrenaline pumping through her veins, Maya twisted to face Trent. She grabbed the journal and he came to life, grasped her wrist. But as soon as she touched the parchment, she felt herself fold like newspaper, twist and shudder as she fell backward, flailing and screaming because it hurt so bad.