I didn’t expect our mission to be as simple as demanding to see Shannon and being taken to her. The fact that I’d been brought to Sheol was a power play, pure and simple, and the ones responsible for her kidnapping would try to make sure I did as they wanted—whatever that action might be. My goal was to survive, keep Chance safe, rescue my friend, and get the hell out.
The ride continued in silence from there. Beside me, Chance seethed. He hadn’t changed so much that he enjoyed seeing me take foolish risks. But this one was calculated more than stupid. Killing and draining me to a husk didn’t serve Greydusk’s interests at all at this juncture. That move, in fact, would’ve killed the Imaron, as it had an obligation to take me to Sybella. So with minimal risk, I made inroads into its good nature, such as demons might possess, and gave it reason to think well of me. I was a sentient being who had dealt honestly and kindly with it and who trusted its honor enough to make a pact that wasn’t rooted in death magick. That had to be significant.
I understood why this was called the Ashen Plain. It looked as if volcanoes had erupted for eons, before the lava cooled, leaving a dark, ashy earth that churned as our diabolic carriage clanked along. It plumed out in our wake like a macabre banner, and the bird-things swooped along behind us. There were more of them, singing our arrival in a cacophony that reminded me of tortured cats.
Greydusk threw a nervous look over its shoulder. “I do not like the interest the quasits have taken in our arrival.”
So that was what they were called. I asked, “Do they work for someone?”
“Perhaps.”
“They’re spying on us, then.” Chance firmed his mouth into a tight line.
“Indeed. We can expect trouble at the river, if not sooner.”
I sighed and shook my head. “Bring on the next assassination attempt.”
“I’m glad you’re amused,” Chance muttered.
“Better to laugh than cry.” Or I’d never stop.
I was in over my head here and scrambling for purchase on a slippery shore. Oh, Kel, I thought. Save me. But he wouldn’t. Not here. Maybe never again—he’d made that clear the last time I saw him. He didn’t have a life; he had a calling. And I had to save myself. Good thing I’d had some practice.
With the Klothod-powered carriage stinking up the area, it was impossible to smell trouble coming, like I usually did with demons. The plain grew darker as we approached the river, which doubtless fed the tiny tributary at the natural gate, and even that didn’t look like normal water. It had an unnatural blue tint, like it was full of dye. Overhead, the sun looked peculiarly broken, as if it hung in two halves with a dark rift in between them, and that darkness was full of blood. Shadows on the ground moved as the quasits chased us, their raucous cries telling anything that might be nearby where we were.
“I’d love to kill those things,” Greydusk muttered.
Chance asked, “Why can’t you?”
“Because if they’re indentured to a demon’s house, then I’ve injured him and will owe reparations.”
I thought about that. “Historically, it’s kind of like harming a man’s servant?”
I remembered something from my history lessons about when the lower classes weren’t seen to have much value, and so if you killed a maid or something, you had to pay her master for the inconvenience. I was pretty indignant over that law, as I recalled. Not so oddly, I cared less about the fate of weird winged monsters that were probably reporting on my whereabouts to those who intended to execute me.
“Close enough,” the demon replied.
Which meant we had to leave the quasits alone, no matter how annoying they were. I didn’t care to end up in debt before I worked out a game plan. So like Greydusk, I ignored the creatures flying in our wake and focused on the crossing ahead. A stone bridge arched over roiling water, but it wasn’t in good repair. Chunks of stone had dropped away, leaving a rock-lattice that didn’t look strong enough for the carriage to cross.
“Should we get down?” I asked.
Greydusk shook its head. “Just hold on.”
The Deadliest Desire
In response I grabbed onto the metal bar before me; Chance wrapped both his arms around me. I leaned against him and shut my eyes. The loud bang of the wheels striking the stonework made my stomach clench. More rock broke away and the demon coach shuddered; the Klothod strained to heave us across the gap.
“Whatever you do, don’t fall in the water,” Greydusk shouted.
I didn’t need to ask why. Lethe meant forgetting. Oblivion. Therefore, it followed that if we were submerged in the river, it would erase everything that made us who we were. Which was almost like death—and unlike the forget fog I’d cast on Shannon and Jesse, this wouldn’t wear off. Demon magick was always stronger; that was why practitioners craved it. Killed for it.
Nodding, I hung on for dear life as the carriage went airborne. It was an aerodynamic impossibility, but we weren’t relying on the laws of nature anymore. The Klothod used their power to carry us across the bridge, and another piece fell away behind us as the coach clattered onto the rocky shore. And so, at full speed, we hit an invisible wall. If not for Chance’s arms around me, I would’ve been flung against it, breaking all my bones in the process. He held me tight, face against my neck, and the Klothod hissed out of the infernal mechanism, dissipating into smoky tendrils all around us.
“What’s the deal?” I asked.
Greydusk held up a hand as it leapt from the vehicle. Watching it explore the edges of our unseen prison was a nightmare, mimery in hell. Expression grim, the demon felt its way around the edges. In the end, the Imaron shook its head. It seemed we were seriously encased in an invisible box. I tried to ignore the Klothod swirling around us. They whispered in my ears, so faint I couldn’t make out the words, but they sounded…hungry. Not. Good. For obvious reasons, the Imaron focused on getting the Klothod back in their vial, which required an incantation and more than a little magick. I recognized the signs of casting, though demon spells looked much different.
I climbed down and checked on Butch. He was cowering at the bottom of my purse, looking as miserable as I’d ever seen him. He didn’t even lick my hand when I picked him up. This was one traumatized dog.
“Sorry.”
Butch stared up at me with limpid, despondent eyes, and when I said, “Don’t worry—we’ll figure it out,” he didn’t even dispute me. Which was really, really bad. When your Chihuahua stops arguing with you, you know you’re in trouble.
“Magus trap,” Greydusk said finally.
“How does it work?” Chance joined the Imaron, unwilling to take the demon’s word that there was no way out. So I watched him mime his way around the square too. God, this really was hell. No wonder Maury wanted out so bad.
Greydusk explained, “Magical lines are drawn, and when the desired target crosses, they snap together, creating an unbreakable casement.”
“Shit,” I said. “So we just sit here, waiting for whoever to collect us?”
If possible, its gray skin went paler, sickly green, as if it contemplated the surety of its own death. “I know of no way to break this enchantment.”
For sure, mime-craft wasn’t doing it. “Cut it out,” I said to Chance. “There are four walls…we get it.”
Expression sheepish, he returned to my side and slid an arm around my shoulders. “Unbelievable, right?”
“Yep.” I pointed at the carriage. “You might want to put that back in the box. It’s taking up a lot of room. I figure the spell goes both ways?”
Greydusk nodded. Having something to do seemed to help it. I held out my hand for Chance’s backpack. Once he handed it over, I dug for grimoires. If we had limited time to figure out a way out of this before our captors arrived, I wanted to be ready. I flipped open the blue book and started reading.