Devona looked at me. “You’re joking, right?”
“Well, he doesn’t eat them right away. Among other things, back on Earth rakshasa were known for devouring the dead on battlefields. They like their food to age somewhat, say a week or two.” I put a hand up to block my mouth so Jambha couldn’t read my lips. “Watch out for his breath. I don’t have a working olfactory system, and even I can’t stand the stink of it.”
Without another word, I led Devona over to Jambha. As we drew closer, we could see that the heads on the necklace were replicas of ours, little Matt-heads alternating with little Devona-heads, one after the other, all the way around. The neck stumps were ragged, as if the heads had been torn off by force, and they were fresh. Tiny drops of blood fell in continuous patters from the torn necks and onto Jambha’s blue chest.
“How-” Devona began.
“Rakshasa are masters of illusions,” I told her. “So don’t believe everything you see.”
When we came within three feet of the demon, I stopped us. Any closer, and we’d be instant demon chow.
“Hey, Jambha,” I greeted him. “It’s been a while.”
The rakshasa looked me over from head to toe, and I felt like a piece of rotting meat in a demonic butcher’s display case. A line of drool rolled down from his left tusk.
“You smell absolutely appalling,” Jamba said, and licked his lips with a forked tongue.
“If that’s a compliment, I guess I should say thank you, but keep your distance: no free samples, remember?” Since rakshasa love dead, rotting meat, in my current state I was like a walking ten course meal to Jambha, dessert included.
Jambha looked disappointed, but he recovered quickly. “No sample, no elevator ride.”
I had a detached rotting ear I could give him somewhere in one of my pockets, and I started to fish around for it, but then I caught a glimpse of Devona’s watching me with disapproval. I remembered what she’d said about the price I’d paid Waldermar-a page out of my memory. What kind of man thinks so little of his own experiences that he’s willing to sell them for a few darkgems? So while giving Jambha the ear would’ve been the easy thing to do, in the end I decided not to.
‘Listen, Jambha, we need to see Varvara right now. It’s vital we catch her before she heads to the Spire for the Renewal Ceremony. Let us through.”
“And I told you: no sample, no ride.” He looked at me, his saucer eyes filled with carrion-lust.
The Deathknell sounded again, reminding me we didn’t have time for playing around.
“Don’t make me do it, Jambha.”
The rakshasa scowled. “Do what?” he said warily.
“I have a pair of true-sight glasses in my pocket. If you don’t let my friend and I use Varavara’s elevator right now, I’ll hand them to her and tell her to take a good look at you.”
Jambha’s scowl eased into a worried frown. “You’re bluffing.”
I shrugged.” Only one way to find out.”
The rakshasa and I stared each other down for a moment, but in the end Jambha sighed, pressed the button for us, and then stepped aside.
“Go on,” he said miserably.
The door slid open and Devona and I stepped onto the elevator, both of us trying to ignore the disconcerting way the tiny Matt and Devona heads on Jambha’s necklace all grinned as we walked by. Inside, there was only one button and I pushed it. As the door slowly closed, Jambha hurriedly said, “If anything does fall off, and you don’t happen to have need of it, I’d appreciate it if you’d save it for me.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Then thankfully the door shut and the elevator began a smooth ascent. We rode upward to the lilting strains of a Muzak version of Blue Oyster Cult’s “Don’t Fear the Reaper.” Varvara’s odd sense of humor seemed appropriate given what had brought us here.
“This will take us straight up to the penthouse,” I told Devona, “which is probably where Varvara’s at right now, getting ready for the ceremony.”
“Do you really have true-sight glasses?” Devona asked.
“No. I don’t know if such things exist. I just made them up to bluff Jambha.”
“Why would a rakshasa care if I looked at him with true-sight glasses-assuming any existed-or not? He certainly didn’t seem overly concerned about his appearance before.”
“Remember when I told you rakshasa were masters of illusion? In Jambha’s case, he uses his abilities to hide his true body from everyone’s eyes: in reality he stands a little under three feet tall and has arms like pipe cleaners. Not exactly the best look for a Darklord’s guard. If word get out about his true appearance, Jambha would not only be embarrassed as hell, he’d never be able to work security in this town again.”
“I’m just glad he let us get on,” Devona said, “and I’m impressed that Varvara lets you use her private elevator. How do you rate? No, let me guess: you did her a favor once.”
“Not quite.” I didn’t want to go on, but Devona was looking at me expectantly. “She finds me…amusing.”
“Oh. In a good way or a bad way?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure.”
“Do you think she’ll listen to us?”
“There’s no telling with Varvara. She might hear us out, or she might have us executed for bothering her before the Renewal Ceremony.”
Devona looked suddenly alarmed.
“Relax; I was joking about the last part.” At least, I hoped I was joking. It all depended on what sort of mood Varvara was in.
The elevator glided to a stop and the door opened to reveal a boudoir of silks, satins, and a thousand overstuffed pillows scattered everywhere. Every possible shade of red and pink was represented, and I later learned from Devona that the air was thick with the mingled scents of a dozen different cloying perfumes mingled with a truckload of potpourri. The whole place was like a romance writer’s wet dream.
Half of the large room was taken up by a monstrous canopy bed upon which lay the still, naked body of an obscenely muscled man. At first I thought he was dead, but he stirred slightly, and I realized he was only nearly dead.
I stepped off the elevator, and Devona followed. On the far side of the room, a stunningly beautiful redhead with a body that made most centerfolds look like concentration camp survivors stood before a mirrored wall, checking her outfit-a skin-tight dress made entirely of emeralds.
“That doesn’t look very comfortable,” I said.
Varvara didn’t take her eyes off her reflection. “Comfortability is not the point.” She turned around and examined her rear.
“Then what is?”
“Maximum amount of soul-gnawing envy from all women in the vicinity and maximum number of painfully unendurable erections from all men.” She nodded. “I believe this will do nicely.”
Varvara turned away from the mirror. “Hello, Matthew.” She quickly looked me up and down. “You are aware, I trust, of your achingly desperate need of a makeover? So, what brings you into my bedroom this fine Descension evening? And with such a cute little friend!” Her brow crinkled as she frowned at Devona. “Though you could use a good hosing down, dearie. A bit of advice: next time you decide to snack on someone, wear a bib.”
She turned to me and smiled. “Don’t tell me you want to get a foursome going, Matthew. I’m afraid I don’t have the time, and Magnus-” She nodded toward the insensate slab of beefcake sprawled on her bed-“does not have the energy, and most likely won’t for some days to come.” She gave her boy-toy an appraising look. “I do hope I didn’t break him. Victor Baron made him especially for me, and this was the first time I’ve had the chance to put the dear thing through his paces. He acquitted himself well enough, but there were a few moments there where I thought he might stroke out. Ah well, I suppose I can always send him back to the Foundry for a tune-up if necessary.”
Now that Varvara faced us, her single non-human feature-unless you count her exaggeratedly feminine body as non-human-was evident: her slightly overlarge eyes. They contained multicolored flecks which rotated slowly around the pupils. All demons, regardless of type, had those flecks, and they remained no matter what form a demon might assume. Varvara’s eyes were more striking than most demons’, though. They possessed an intensity that reminded me of an apex predator: cold, calculating, and always in the process of trying to decide whether or not to attack. She flashed us a dazzling smile that almost, but not quite, wiped away the eerie sensation of those savage eyes constantly sizing you up.