Kindling the Moon (28 page)

“Jesus, that hurt.”

I shook out my hand. It hurt me too. “Why'd you grab me like that? I thought it was one of the drunk perverts.”

He rubbed his eye. “You asked for a rescue. Next time, I won't bother.”

“You heard me?” I moved his hand away from his face to inspect it. His left eye was shut. After a couple of squints, he finally relaxed it.

“I told you I could. Are you ready to talk to Spooner?”

“What?”

Lon leaned down, his horns nearly touching my forehead. He lifted my chin with his fingers and studied my face. “Are you already so high from the ketynal that you forgot our mission?”

I slapped his hand away. “Not too high to injure a man twice my size.”

He chuckled, then leaned closer and spoke in a low voice near my ear, “Come on, then … Cady. Clock's ticking.”

We made our way through the noisy cavern, his hand warming the back of my neck as he guided me forward. For a moment, my mood improved. But when I figured out where we were headed, I wasn't all that keen on going to the back rooms, where Lon said things “got worse.” Awesome.

An armed guard nodded at Lon and parted thick red curtains that obscured a dim passageway beyond. We stepped through, and the red ballroom lights changed to blue. Water-etched lines ran the length of the narrow stone tunnel. Below our feet, the flooring was gouged and uneven. The sounds of the party faded behind us, replaced by a variety of grunts, groans, and moans that echoed from small chambers lining the corridor.

“Jesus, it smells like a brothel back here,” I whispered.

“No money exchanges hands.”

“That's a shame. Someone could be making a fortune.”

“Don't get any ideas. Turn left up here.”

We yielded to an even narrower passage guarded by a chubby college-age Earthbound who was too busy browsing the Web on his cell phone to pay us any attention. We continued past him, and after three small chambers, we turned into a larger one curtained off with a threadbare piece of green fabric.

Inside was a spacious, round room lined with gray rock walls; the ceiling was so low at the entrance that Lon was forced to duck his head to clear it. Dull, opaque veins of crystallized gypsum hung from the ceiling and trellised down the walls like crystal rosebushes.

Toward the back of the room, a single showerhead hung straight down over a round pit carved into the floor; water steadily dripped down and drained into a hole at the base of the cavern wall. The left side of the room was occupied by three thick mattresses pushed together on the floor. Tumbling off the mattresses were dozens of pillows, most that had seen better days. Dozing among them were two nude bodies, a male and a female.

A wide stone bench was carved into the wall opposite
the mattresses. A padded cushion sat atop it, and sitting on it was—I surmised—Spooner, smoking a cigarette.

He was hard to see in the shadows until he shifted to face us, allowing the blue light to illuminate the side of his face. Middle-aged and awkwardly tall, he had pale skin, stark orange hair, and matching freckles. Only a plain green halo, so not one of The Thirteen, then.

He studied me with an unsettling smile. Freshly showered, his pumpkin hair was slicked back, his cheeks pink. He wore an odd, crumpled suit; the jacket was brown and the vest beneath it cheetah-spotted, and topped with a green ascot instead of a tie. The man at the evidence room in Portland was right on the money; this guy really
did
look like a giant leprechaun. A badly dressed one.

“Hello, Lon … and friend.” He took a long drag off his cigarette, lazily crossed his long legs, and leaned back against the stone wall.

“Spooner.”

“And friend?” he prompted again.

“Cady, this is Spooner. He doesn't have a real job, but he's wealthy, if that impresses you.”

It didn't. Lon must have been reading my thoughts, because he lightly pressed his thumb against my neck in acknowledgment.

My eyes settled on Spooner's socked feet. They were mismatched, brown and black; the black one had a hole in the toe. His shoes rested on the cushion beside him. He moved them to the floor and patted the fabric. “Please, Cady. I wish you had come back here sooner.” He waved a pointy finger toward the couple on the mattresses. “They're momentarily exhausted, but they'll recover fast. If not, there are others.”

The dozing nude male rolled to his side, eyes closed.
That's when I noticed the gray scales on his shoulders and the tiny blunt horns on his head. No fiery halo, so he wasn't transmutated. Then I spotted the purple patch of skin at the top of his sternum.

“Incubus,” I said in an even voice.

“And succubus.” Spooner exhaled smoke in my face.
Rude.
I waved it away. It wasn't valrivia. It smelled like a stimulant, which was the last thing in the world anyone in these caves should be using.

“How do you have …” My words trailed off when I spotted the narrow channel that ran along the floor. A binding triangle inside a larger circle. The channels were lined with thin glass pipes containing a thick, dark substance. “Not red ochre,” I said, inspecting the glass. It was hard to tell much of anything in the dim lighting. “It looks like oil paint … a mineral bound in oil. Cinnabar?”

Spooner gave me another unsettling smile. “Close. Vermilion. You can enter freely without breaking the binding.”

Huh. I thought it was used mainly when you wanted to ensure that nothing could inadvertently break the binding, not to allow the magician free passage in and out of the binding area. Most magicians go to great lengths to protect themselves from contact with summoned Æthyric demons, and with good reason. A lot of demons don't like being summoned out of their plane. Would you like being ripped away from your life unexpectedly by some wheezing, power-hungry magician who only wanted to get information out of you or use you for your knack? Probably not.

Like humans, Æthyric demons vary in intelligence and physical prowess. There are plenty of docile demon classes, but just as many wild ones. And if you summon a demon who's pissed off and ready to rip your head off, given half the
chance? Well, that
might
not be someone you want to lock yourself up with inside a small, contained space. Honestly, the Pareba demon that Riley had summoned was only the second Æthyric demon I'd ever witnessed who'd been allowed to roam free without containment.

Granted, succubi and incubi aren't really dangerous; in fact, they readily enter pacts with magicians, willingly exchanging sexual favors for bits of earthly information or temporary use of a magician's guardian. But considering the elaborate binding in front of me, it was pretty clear that these two were being held here against their will.

This setup is kind of repulsive, just FYI
, I thought to Lon. He squeezed my neck lightly.

Spooner cut his eyes toward Lon. “Don't tell me you've brought her here to skip ahead in the initiation queue.”

“No one's taking your place in line. Don't be paranoid.”

“Good. Because I think one crazy wife is enough for this club.”

“Don't test me, Spooner,” Lon replied.

“I'm not here to join,” I confirmed.

He studied my halo but made no comment about it. “What
are
you here for, then?”

“We want to buy something you've recently acquired,” Lon replied. “The glass talon.”

Something dark crossed Spooner's face, but he remained composed and relaxed.

“Why would you want that?”

“Why would
you
?” I asked.

“I'm a collector.”

“And an opportunist. How much?” Lon asked.

Holding the cigarette in his mouth, Spooner settled the shoes in front of him and tugged at the laces to loosen
them, slipping one on. As he tied it, he said, “I don't have the talon.”

Lon toed the second shoe and kicked it aside. “Yes, you do. I talked to the person who sold it to you in Portland. I know how much you paid for it.”

Spooner leaned forward to hook the heel of the shoe with his fingertip. Scooting it back into place, he stuck his hole-y toe inside. “I sold it already.”

“When? To whom?”

“A week ago, and none of your business.”

Lon sat down next to Spooner and clapped his hand on his shoulder. Spooner cried out and tried to move back, then robotically stopped. A confused look flittered across his face. Then he smiled and laughed. “I always liked you, Lon.”

“Then do me this small favor. Tell me who you sold it to. Come on.” Lon grinned at him, and I realized that I was watching a show: Lon was manipulating Spooner's emotions. Holy Night, that ability had some scary potential. He swore he'd never use it on me; I hoped like hell my trust wasn't misplaced.

Spooner sighed and began tying his shoe. “Craig Bailey.”

“The retired cannery owner in the Village?”

“That human's got more cash than people realize.” Spooner made a neat, tight bow and moved on to the second shoe. “He's obsessed with magick. To be honest, I told him the talon had powers that could …
grant immortality
.” He waggled his fingers in the air in a faux-spooky manner and chuckled.

Craig Bailey. We had a name, and it was local. I knew it was too much to hope that we could just walk away with the talon that night, but maybe now we could go visit this Bailey guy and be done with it. If Lon could manipulate someone like Spooner, who obviously hated his guts, then surely
someone with no strong feelings one way or another toward him would be easy as pie, right?

“How much did you sell it for?” Lon asked.

“Come on, Lon. I love ya, but a man has to have his secrets.”

Lon pressed him, and they went back and forth, laughing and joking. I started to feel a little sick, and for a second thought it might be all that phony brotherly love. Then a humming sound filled my head, low and steady; distant but moving closer. I bit the insides of my cheeks trying to stave off nausea and turned away from the men.

A movement across the room caught my attention. The eyes of the incubus opened and his head popped up. He crawled to the edge of the mattress, looking down at the vermilion-designs on the floor. His eyes brightened with hope when he saw me.

Send me back, please.

His mouth didn't move, but I heard the words in my head, clear as glass, just like I'd hear my guardian Priya. I didn't realize incubi could communicate this way. I shot a look over at Lon and Spooner. They were still talking.

Mother! Send me back to the Æthyr. I'm weary of being trapped here. I'll do anything. What do you require? Information from the Æthyr? A task? Pleasure? Just get me out of here.

Another wave of nausea rose and broke. I tried to reply to the incubus without speaking.
Are you talking to me?

Lon stopped talking and turned his head to give me a puzzled look.

Yes! Mother of Ahriman! Please!

That damn slur again. You'd think someone in his position would try to be a little nicer.
I'd like to help, but I didn't summon you so I can't—

The air shimmered around the mattresses. I blinked, and everything went black. I could still see the two sex demons, and Lon, Spooner … but they were all transparent. Like imps. The vermilion binding in the floor was black and shiny like a glistening oil slick. Everything else was swallowed in a void. No cave, no creepy shower, no bench. Just darkness.

In the air above the two demons, a bright blue light appeared. About the size of a coin, it began expanding and changing. It grew until it was a round, blue disk of light. Pieces of the inside began falling away, like dough being removed with a cookie cutter; negative spaces revealed the blackness behind them. My head pounded. I held out my hands to the side to keep myself from falling.

The blue circle of light began forming an intricate design, like a laser etching the air. Then I recognized the pattern. It was a distinct combination of symbols … it was mine.
My
magical creation that I'd worked so hard developing for months: my imp portal. As far as I knew, it was completely unique. I'd damn sure never heard of another magician using one, nor had I seen one exactly like it in any grimoire.

The portal glowed in the void, a flat sheet of light. Then it flipped to its side and floated above the incubus. Heka began flowing from me, strong energy that I hadn't kindled. It poured into the blue portal, and in a bright flash, turned to silver, solidified in the air.

Thank you!
The incubus's voice in my head was fading quickly.
My name is Voxhele of Amon. I owe you a favor.

The portal snapped and disappeared, the incubus and succubus along with it.

Blackness lingered for a moment, then rushed away as the room and everything in it became solid and normal again and the humming stopped.

It was just the three of us now: me, Lon, and Spooner. They were still talking; had they not seen what just happened? Couldn't Lon hear me talking to the incubus? As I was thinking this, Lon's head turned, and he shot me a questioning look; he could certainly hear me now.

Spooner glanced across the room, then cried out in alarm. “They're gone! They've escaped!” He scrambled out of his seat, grabbed Lon's arm, and pointed to where the sex demons once were. “How—?”

“What the hell?” Lon muttered.

We all stared at the empty beds in silence.

“Shit!” Spooner said. “Do you think they're loose in the club? Did one of the vermilion pipes burst?”

A tiny puff of smoke trailed away from the mattresses. Spooner ran forward to inspect it.

I did it, Lon. I don't know how
,
but I sent them back,
I said in my head.

“They're gone!” Spooner said again. “Not loose, they're—” He turned around and gave us a suspicious look. Then he pointed at me. “You. What
are
you? Did you do this? Why is your halo that way? Lon, what is she?”