Power Game Page 5

  Arnaud despised the words as they left his mouth, despised Malphas for compelling him to speak them. But it was the game he’d had to play ever since Croft had cast him down a year before. He had spent the first days fending off his wretched tormentors—imps and lowly devils who existed only to torture, to break down bodies and minds into grist for their masters. But for the shadow fiend Arnaud had commanded, the vermin would have succeeded.

  Instead, he and his fiend ripped them to pieces.

  Arnaud spent untold days in a fugue of rage and killing, until the space around them looked and smelled like a charnel house. That tenacity earned him the notice of a higher demon. She plucked him from the rabble and placed him in her service. The six-armed demon Calista was as ambitious as she was grotesque. With his shrewd mind, Arnaud helped her undermine her demon competitors and ascend the teetering hierarchy of that underworld.

  But Calista became greedy, challenging a demon well beyond her in power and malice. Arnaud knew this but said nothing, for he saw an opportunity. He betrayed Calista and came under the service of the new demon, Barong.

  And so Arnaud negotiated the brutal terrain in this way, serving one master, biding his time, and then betraying that master to serve another, more powerful master, thus ascending the hierarchy himself.

  At last he arrived under the service of Malphas, who was one level from a demon lord.

  “We had a plan,” the demon Malphas said now. “I returned you to the world to claim human souls for my army. I have received no souls.”

  “Yes, a wizard interfered.”

  “A wizard?”

  “A protector of the city. He frustrated our plans. I was only able to claim souls enough to take form in this world, and I praise you for that. Praise you for sending me up and for the infernal magic that grows inside me. But I emerged a pathetic creature, even weaker than the one who is only just now capable of calling you forth. I have been building my strength these past months so that I may serve you, oh great—”

  “What happened to your leg?” he snapped.

  “I encountered the wizard tonight.”

  “The wizard again,” Malphas scoffed. “Have I overestimated you?”

  “My core remains bound to a pact,” Arnaud whispered.

  “A pact? Speak up!”

  Malphas was far too large to emerge into the world, but the Dread Council gave Malphas power over him. Through it, he could hurt Arnaud or recall the forces that sustained him, which would mean certain death.

  He could also bestow more power.

  “Yes, a pact between wizards and vampires,” Arnaud proceeded delicately. “I did not believe it would hold dominion over my new, demon form, but I am ashamed to admit that it does.” Though it went against everything inside him, he forced himself to whimper. “I want so much for you, Malphas. I want you to dominate your lowly brethren and take your rightful place among the Lords. I burn for it. I know this city. I controlled it once. I can do so again. As your servant, I will send you more souls than you ever dreamed.”

  Arnaud was sliding into the seductive voice from his vampire days. That power hadn’t left him, and he’d found that as long as he was prudent, the voice could sway even demons. Right now, he needed to fill Malphas’s head with visions of armies, control, and above all power, for that is what demons craved most.

  That was their game.

  “But the pact prevents you,” Malphas said.

  “It frustrates me, yes. And could frustrate our plans.”

  With his forehead to the ground, Arnaud felt Malphas searching him over for the least deception. Demons were ever suspicious of betrayal, and rightfully so, but Arnaud had chosen his demon masters wisely. The most arrogant never truly believed their servants would dare betray them, he had learned.

  “Why should I not destroy you right now?” Malphas asked.

  “I would understand if you did,” Arnaud said. “But your faithful servant is in the world now. Why not use me? With this one obstacle removed, I will destroy the wizard and carry out your designs.”

  In fact, what souls Arnaud claimed, he would use to grow his own power. He didn’t care about the Below or its demon lords. Someday, perhaps. Right now, his ambitions revolved around the world he’d once controlled from behind a wall in Lower Manhattan, a world he could dominate as a powerful demon.

  “You are not the only demon in the world,” Malphas hissed.

  Arnaud peeked up. He hadn’t known this. “No, my liege?”

  “Others followed you through the rift that you did nothing to disguise, you fool. Now they are claiming souls for their masters. For my competitors. My armies are strong, but the battles are becoming more pitched. All because you cower from a lowly wizard.”

  “Help me this once,” Arnaud pled, “and I will devote myself entirely to your glory.”

  Malphas fell into a brooding silence. Could the demon sense Arnaud’s deception? He would suspect it, of course, but Malphas stood to lose too much by being quick to judgment. A powerful servant in the world? One who could claim souls on his behalf, especially if competitors were already doing the same?

  No, he won’t jeopardize—

  An excruciating claw tore through Arnaud’s insides. He screamed and writhed on the ground, certain it was over. The agony! Not even the blast from Everson’s ring earlier had induced this level of pain.

  But just as suddenly as it had come, it left him.

  “The pact is bound to your essence,” Malphas said. “I cannot remove it without killing you. Though I am tempted.”

  Panting, Arnaud realized Malphas hadn’t attempted to destroy him, but his connection to the Brasov Pact. He took another moment to catch his breath. You haven’t the power to negate it? he wanted to demand. Did I choose poorly? But one didn’t call into question a superior demon’s powers—or lack thereof. Not if you valued your existence.

  “Then there is nothing that can be done?” Arnaud asked meekly.

  “There is something,” Malphas shot back.

  “Yes, tell me. I’ll do anything.”

  And he meant it. As much as he hated Malphas, the pain he’d just endured put a bright, shimmering point on how much more he hated Everson Croft, for he was the cause of it all. Arnaud would make him suffer before destroying him. And for that reward, Arnaud was willing to endure this temporary shame.

  “There was a scepter that belonged to Luther Underwood,” Malphas said.

  Arnaud repeated the name. He had been a fellow vampire CEO in the Financial District. He had fallen during the battle for downtown Manhattan. Without the benefit of a shadow fiend, he had perished in the Pits of the Below.

  “The scepter holds a powerful negating enchantment,” Malphas went on. “It will work on your pact.”

  “So all I have to do is find and bear it?” Arnaud asked, already cycling through the places Luther might have hidden it. During his life as a vampire, Arnaud hadn’t been as arrogant as the demons he would betray in death. He understood that his survival depended on trusting no one. At Chillington Capital, he used his blood slaves to spy on the other CEOs. He knew about the secret vault Luther kept in his building’s basement level. And yes, he had seen a scepter with a dark stone at its end.

  For the first time that night, something like joy flared inside him.

  “Thank you, great Malphas,” he said through slanted lips.

  “A full moon rises soon. I will expect my first delivery then.”

  “Yes, my liege,” Arnaud replied, still smiling, for how was the fool ever going to enforce that?

  At the thought, what felt like large hooks tore through Arnaud’s torso. He screamed and looked down expecting to find his body skewered and running with the crazy woman’s blood. But the hooks were psychic.

  An infernal bond, he understood in outrage and alarm.

  “What? Did you believe I would take you at your word?” Malphas laughed. “You are too much like me, faithful servant. I know your history. I know your appetite for powe
r. I am prepared to grant it, but you will only attain that power through me. As my fortunes go, so go yours. Do you see? Through the bond, I will compel you to invoke my council when and where I demand it. And I will demand it often.”

  Arnaud gasped as Malphas gave the hooks a violent tug.

  “Y-yes, my liege!” he sputtered.

  “Give me your leg.”

  Arnaud scooted around like a chastised dog until he was offering the nubile limb to the hovering cloud. Angry red eyes glared down at him as if he were a feces-caked rodent. In coils of black flame, infernal energy climbed Arnaud’s leg, infusing the limb, filling it out, until it was the same size as his left one. Malphas flung the leg to the ground, and Arnaud quickly pulled it to him. Now a gaseous vitality filled him.

  “There,” Malphas said when he’d finished. “I have given you everything you require to succeed. Do the work you have pledged me. And never again invoke me from a filthy hole, or I will destroy you.”

  “Y-yes, Malphas,” Arnaud replied meekly.

  The cloud dissipated, and Arnaud felt Malphas’s presence rush from his lair. He looked from where the demon had been to his restored leg. Scowling, he raked his talons through the symbol, creating a mud of blood and earth.

  “Stupid brute,” he growled.

  But he’d worry about his infernal bond to Malphas later. For now, he had an important artifact to recover.

  And a wizard to destroy.

  7

  One moment I’d been standing, reinforcing a light shield around a raven, and in the next I was being blasted into the street.

  But even as the asphalt rushed up at me, I remained in control. All in a second, I willed power into my shield and released it in a bright pulse that shoved me from the spot where I’d been about to faceplant. Like coming off a trampoline, I went from horizontal to vertical and quickly gained my footing. The pulse also caught my attacker. Behind me, I heard a woman grunt and stumble backwards.

  I spun, thrust my sword, and shouted, “Vigore!”

  The force invocation blew through the faint incandescence surrounding a slender blonde woman, lifted her from her feet, and flung her into the side of an apartment building. Golden light showered around her on impact, and she collapsed into a weedy strip of lawn. Behind me, the trapped raven cawed again.

  Wincing, I brought a hand to my low back. The place where the woman had hit me smoldered, the pain spreading. When I felt my shield begin to sputter, I realized who—or rather, what—I was dealing with.

  Fae.

  Their magic had an inhibiting effect on mine, and she’d nailed me with a solid dose. Fortunately, Gretchen was an expert in fae magic and had already taught me a couple tricks (even though she had dangled them over my head for two full weeks), including how to make my neutralizing potions even more kickass.

  Reaching into my coat, I pulled out a vial and incanted. Small gems sparkled inside the gray suspension, heating it and turning it bright green. I chugged down the bitter-tasting potion and threw the vial aside. As it shattered over the street, my magic stormed back to life. At the same time, though, healing magic was swirling around the woman. I reached into another pocket.

  Need to press my advantage.

  “Release Jordan!” the fae shouted, raising an arm.

  She must have been talking about the bird. Golden light licked from her hand, but I was one step ahead of her. Palming an amulet of cold iron—another of Gretchen’s gifts—I aimed it at her and bellowed, “Attivare!”

  The blue cone that shot from the amulet dissolved the fae’s bolt and swallowed her body. The fae withered into the grass, her glamour coming apart to reveal a gangly woman with plain hair and freckles.

  Now to find out who you are and why the hell you attacked me.

  As I stalked toward her, the raven cawed—too loudly. The damn thing had gotten out of the orb. Before I could pivot, the weeds at my feet writhed over my shielded legs. They twisted and cinched up my body like anacondas.

  With a shouted Word, I sent out another pulse from my shield, but the animating magic was stronger than my own. Rather than being blown apart, the weeds only paused before resuming their climb and turning into vines.

  I got in two good hacks with my sword before the vines arrested my arms. They pried the amulet from my grip. The blue cone fell from the faerie, and she crawled to safety. Though I’d managed to negate her power, these weren’t amateurs. The vines looped around my neck, twisting and cinching like a garrote.

  Second time tonight someone’s tried to strangle me.

  But this time I had a shield protecting my airway, and as long as I could draw breath, I could invoke.

  I whispered a low-level force invocation. A vial wriggled from a coat pocket and out of the shield through a seam. Sprouts punched from the vines and tried to grope their way inside, but I closed the seam again, severing their tips. My shield shuddered inside the crushing grip of the plant animation. Fortunately, the animation wasn’t particularly intelligent. I watched the vines take the vial into their leafy grasp and crush it apart, spilling dragon sand everywhere. Time to torch the jungle.

  “Fuoco!” I shouted.

  The fireball that exploded from the dragon sand reduced the vines to ashes. Freed, I spun toward my second attacker. He appeared through the smoke as a hooded figure wielding a quarterstaff and bore the same shadowy magic as the bird.

  A raven shifter, I realized. Druid, most likely.

  I had no beef with the druids. None that I knew of, anyway. Regardless, I didn’t have time for this shit. I aimed my own staff. Like with the fae girl, I’d drop him first, ask questions when I got around to it.

  And since a shield invocation had worked on him once…

  I sensed the incoming blow this time and ducked. Good thing. The fist that whooshed above me was almost the size of my head. I found myself eyelevel with a turquoise set of abs you could have cracked a coconut on.

  “Vigore!” I shouted, driving the opal end of my staff into the center of the six-pack.

  A force invocation that would have blown a normal person into next month only sent my latest attacker stumbling back several paces, giving me a good look. A good gawk, rather.

  The amphibious-looking being stood on webbed feet and stared back at me from black orbs. Beneath a spill of long, dank hair, fins wriggled at his ears. A sharp fin ran down his back to a tail that flicked back and forth on the street.

  “A merman?” I asked aloud.

  I’d read about the creatures but didn’t know they still existed around New York City.

  I kept my staff on him while aiming my sword at the druid. The fae had moved such that she was standing behind the druid, her glamour restored. Powerful energy shimmered through the air surrounding them.

  “Someone want to tell me what in the hell this is about?” I demanded, my voice trembling from the adrenaline still pumping through me. Did they even know who they were attacking, or was this some sort of mugging gone wrong?

  “You challenged us,” the fae said, then added, “Everson Croft.”

  Okay, so they did know me. “Yeah, because birdie over there was following me,” I shot back.

  “Is that a crime?” the merman challenged in a ghetto voice. “To tail you?” Though there were no anatomical features to indicate gender, the merman’s voice and side-cocked hip actually suggested mermaid. Regardless, the thing had a point.

  “Depends on why.” I turned back to the druid. “That’s your cue, bird boy. Start singing.”

  The druid drew back his hood by the sides, revealing the face of a black man. He looked to be about my age, maybe a little younger. The street light showed a glistening fade cut. A thin beard traced his jawline. When I picked out a pair of sigil-like tattoos on each temple, I wondered if he was connected to the Black Earth cult I’d faced in Central Park two years earlier. I had barely escaped those psychos with my life.

  I cinched my grip on my sword, an invocation ready on my tongue.

  “W
e’ve come to make you an offer,” the druid said in an even voice.

  “Oh yeah? And what kind of offer is that?”

  “Mutual protection,” he replied.

  “Protection,” I repeated. Judging by their unsmiling faces, the irony completely escaped them. “First, how do you even know me?”

  “Not here,” the druid said. “There’s a place nearby we can talk.”

  “I wasn’t exactly out for a stroll when you bumped into me. I’m headed somewhere. And no offense, but your cousins tried to burn out my eyes a couple of years back. So, yeah, we’re either talking here or nowhere.”

  The three glanced at one another, not sure what to say next, it seemed.

  I raised two fingers to my brow in salute. “Sounds like goodnight, then.”

  “Professor Croft!” a new voice called after I’d turned and gone several paces. “Wait!”

  A taxi had pulled up to the corner, and now a young man was getting out. He ran toward me in jeans and a gray puffy jacket, sneakers beating the pavement haphazardly. Something about him looked vaguely familiar. And then I saw his ponytail. In a dizzying spell of cognitive dissonance, I recognized him.

  But what in the hell was his connection to these guys?

  “Weren’t you the acolyte at St. Martin’s?” I asked as he arrived in front of me.

  “Yeah,” the young man panted, nodding his head. “Malachi Wickstrom.”

  He had been there when the Demon Lord Sathanas possessed the vicar and tried to break free from the cathedral’s hold. In fact, I had briefly suspected the young man of being the one possessed. He’d gone on to help me find the entrance to the ossuary where the demon and I’d had our final showdown. A memory of channeling the cathedral’s powerful fount of ley energy shuddered through me.

  Now, he offered his hand. His shake was the same dead fish I remembered from back then, but the eyes set in his narrow face had hardened in the two years since. From experience, probably, though they also appeared vaguely haunted.

  “I’m the one who told them about you,” he said quickly. “Please, just thirty minutes of your time.”