chapter
TWENTY-SIX

Some magicians would have stopped with the traditional three drops. Others, more committed and adventurous, would have done three times three. Marten stood rock steady until the glass was full to the brim, no counting of drops, no careful blotting. No, Marten just poured out his own life stuff, still warm and shimmering with the vital energy of his own soul, and created one of the most generous, elegant, perfect offerings I had ever heard of from his kind in three thousand years.

Then he placed the tiny cordial glass on the flat blade of the sword and passed it to the smaller altar in the triangle. Only a blade could pass the bonds, and my breath caught in my throat as he manuevered the little glass onto the table without tipping it.

Once the sword was withdrawn, he sealed the penetration points with words and will. But there was still a weakness there. There was a patch, undetectable to newer demons like Raven, but visible to me. After the triangle was resealed Marten tucked his robe around his legs and sat down on a cushion before his altar.

“What’s he doing?” Nathan asked.

“Now we wait for Raven to show. Given what he’s just offered her, she’d be a complete idiot to ignore the invitation. Well, I think she’d actually be under compulsion to arrive. Even Meph and I can feel it, and we’re not the targets.”

“Why is he sitting like that?”

Hmmmm. It might have made a more elegant picture if he’d been kneeling, I thought, with his head just slightly bent. The thought made my toes curl.

Though, really, the cell phone would do just fine.

What was I thinking? Nathan was right here. Was I over him, had I forgotten him in the extreme inducement of ritual?

But I didn’t have time to consider the problem any further because a dark roiling started in the middle of the triangle. Marten’s walls held firm and I could see the neat, triangular construction of the trap.

The gray, smoky etheric matter coalesced and I saw Raven, still looking like me, still wearing my Betsey Johnson blouse and her own stupid boots. She was all in shades of gray.

As her form became stronger, more defined, I could make out the look of absolute panic on her face. “No, no,” she whimpered so softly that I could barely make out the words. Raven was not alone. Squeezed into the triangular confinement, another demon was materializing. Someone large, someone who took up most of the space, leaving Raven pressed against the invisible barricade.

If only Marten had caught the head demon along with Raven in his net—but that would have been too easy. No, Raven had been overwhelmed and shunted aside for a male demon of incalculable beauty. He could have come off the cover of half a dozen romance novels, complete with the open white poet’s shirt and tight black jeans.

I knew at once what he was. He was one of my embittered male counterparts. He was an incubus. He must have been one of Raven’s tormentors, and had grabbed her to ride along when she was summoned.

Raven, poor girl, was crying and trying to put a brave face on things. “Send us back,” she whimpered, trying to be strong.

And, much as I had not been thrilled with her choice of footwear, or her angsty arrogance, I was still moved to my nonexistent soul by what she had endured. Her face and arms were covered in bruises and smeared with dirt and blood. Her hair, which was still auburn and in long curls, had been matted with sweat and filth and the weak new ichor that stained my Betsey Johnson.

Her hands and wrists appeared to have taken the worst of it. Purple bracelets of bruises showed where the restraints had been too tight and that she’d fought against them, and her fingernails had been bitten or ripped down to the quick. Other wounds showed where she had fought and tried to defend herself against some kind of blade. Silver, I’d bet, because some of them were still oozing.

I was moved to pity, but there was no time for that. The incubus was clearly not Raven’s friend and he was holding her with a large hand around her throat.

“What’s that other demon?” Nathan asked.

“They sent him with her so that the magician can’t bring her through,” Mephistopheles said. “It’s exactly what I would have done. Marten can’t pull Raven in without the incubus, who is loyal to my enemy. He’ll rip Marten and us to shreds if he’s permitted.”

Marten had gone dead white and his breathing was shallow. He could not break the seals and bring Raven out while keeping the incubus confined. And from the way the incubus smiled, I had no doubt he was looking forward to ripping Marten to shreds.

The incubus knew we were in a bad position. He smiled, a beautiful smile that would have been worth millions in a Colgate campaign, but so cruel it made me shiver.

“Well,” the incubus said softly, in a voice that was low, musical and seductive. I wondered if human men saw me as I saw this creature, my counterpart. I remembered the incubi from long ago, before the great rift, but mostly I remembered the screaming, the politics, the boys who didn’t want to play with the girls.

“Well,” he said again. “I wonder what you will offer me, Magician. The blood was . . . irresistible. As it was meant to be. But there are only two beings here with souls and I think we need to bargain. And—I am sorry to say, High Magician, you are tasty and oh so pretty, and I would enjoy claiming your soul. But you have already parceled out too much of it for my liking. I prefer to take the whole of a mortal soul.”

Marten remained stark still, keeping his eye on the demon.

The incubus’s eyes shifted and pinned Nathan.

No. He couldn’t have Nathan. The words formed not just in my head but through my whole body. He could not have Nathan. The guy might have made me miserable and even made me cry, couldn’t handle Hell (okay, that’s kind of a tall order, come to think of it) and had left me. But he also read to me in my own language and was smart and funny and had worked really hard for us when Vincent was kidnapped.

I glanced at Marten, sitting so very still and quiet. Would I have reacted so strongly if the incubus had wanted him? Of course, Marten understood these things; he was an experienced practitioner who knew what he was doing and getting into.

None of that mattered. I wanted to protect Marten too. He looked so vulnerable and brave there in his circle, unmoving. I could see the fear in the tension around his eyes and the way his hands went rigid, but I’d spent a lot of time recently paying a lot of attention to Marten.

I was terrified for him. I was terrified for both of them.

In that moment I realized that I was crazy in love with them both. Which meant I had to figure out a way to save them both.

Well, the incubus said he wanted a bargain.

That was . . . something I do exceedingly well. I know and love bargains and always have. Had I not bargained on six continents (there really being nothing on Antarctica worth acquiring)? Driven down the prices of opals and emeralds, Turkish carpets, and a lease in the East Eighties? Best ever, I had managed just last season to talk another twenty percent off the redline price for a Derek Lam dress and two Versace blouses at the last seasonal sale at Barneys.

“Incubus, I have something that you might find appealing,” I shouted across all the magically barricaded spaces.

“You? Succubus? Your kind are not friend to us,” he replied scornfully. “And you have nothing to offer me.”

I grinned. I think I must have looked that way at the Barneys spring sale. “Oh yes, I do. I have something very tasty indeed. Not my own, no, but a whole soul entire. And it is a victim that I cannot claim.”

The incubus licked his lips. “One you cannot deliver and you would give it to me? That is . . . interesting.”

I took a deep breath. I would have liked to come closer to him but I was penned in by Meph’s magical barrier, to say nothing of Marten’s circle. I had to make the point from where I stood.

“A human male, tall and well-favored,” I began. “Of my acquaintance and knowledge. I would give him to you, his place of work and his home address, and, when I am able to return to my home, a sample of his hair or nail or other piece of his corporeal being for you to use to identify him.”

“This one you could not conquer yourself? That would be a sweet victory,” the incubus said.

I shrugged. “He is impervious to women, even succubi,” I admitted. “But I will give you all you need for full access, and you rarely have the opportunity to deliver a man, I think. I am sure Satan would appreciate it.”

“How will I know that you tell the truth and that you will be bound to the bargain?” he asked. “And what do you ask in return?”

“The little demon you hold. Give her to us, as it was she we summoned. Let her go, let her remain in the triangle as you depart. Give me your name and sigil and I will deliver everything you need to you within three days.”

The incubus considered, long enough for me to get worried. “How do I know you will honor your word?” he asked finally.

“Mephistopheles is here, he will stand witness,” I said, pointing, just in case Mr. Idunno had missed the second most powerful demon in Hell standing right beside me. “You know what Mephistopheles will do to me if I do not honor my bargain. I swear on his name, and on the name of Our Prince Satan.”

I sensed a shift in the room but I was too intent on the incubus and the bargaining to pay attention. Every atom of my being was focused on making the incubus believe that I meant what I said. Which I did. A millionfold.

“I will bear witness,” Mephistopheles said, and his voice vibrated with all the power of Hell behind him.

Still the silly incubus pondered.

We waited.

“I will give you three days. If I do not have all that I need, or if the soul of this mortal is not as desirable as you have claimed, then I shall claim the right of revenge upon the magician.”

“Fair enough,” I agreed solemnly. “It is agreed, and sealed with this magician’s blood, which you have received in sacrifice. Now withdraw and leave the demon he has called to his bidding.”

The incubus nodded his agreement. His Harlequin-cover hair fell over his shoulders and his warm eyes sparkled with desire. For a mortal soul.

He withdrew, slowly, fading into shades of gray that became less substantial until the etheric matter drifted apart.

We heaved a collective sigh.

Marten waited until there was silence. Slowly Raven sat up. She looked a mess, the bruises standing out purple against her paper-white skin.

“He is gone,” Marten murmured to the beaten demon. “He is well and truly gone and will trouble you no more. We shall keep you safe. Take the offering, it will restore you.”

Raven looked slightly wild-eyed, as if she couldn’t believe that she had some respite from the pain. Marten repeated himself twice, three times. Me, I wouldn’t have needed a second invitation, but Raven had no experience of this kind of thing. And she wouldn’t know that there would be anything restorative in Marten’s offering.

Slowly she raised the glass. “Do I drink it?” she whispered.

He nodded and she raised the small crystal glass to her lips. She seemed hesitant, which I could understand. Our kind do not necessarily drink blood. There are so many stories of vampires, of blood as the currency of magic, that a young and quite ordinary demon would be confused.

The blood is the life.

We of Hell use blood to seal a pact, to bind ourselves and others. We use it because it carries the recognition of the soul. Demons have no blood to give. We have ichor, a thing very like blood. A human could not tell the difference, though possibly a chemist in a crime lab might. But our ichor is red and viscous to the degree of human blood, salty and slightly metallic. What changes it, what it lacks, is the energizing existence of an independent soul.

Raven drank the offering and made a face. But the soul stuff within it started the healing and, as we watched, as she was trapped in the magical triangle, we could see it take effect. The bruises faded, her skin became clear and then started to glow subtly, her hair straightened out and fell dark against her shoulders. But now that hair was gleaming, healthy and strong and clean. Her nails healed before our eyes, and the ends of her fingers, and suddenly her hands re-formed and became smooth and whole and undamaged.

Her body changed. The magic stripped the glamour that made her resemble me and she appeared as herself, but a vigorous, vital self that had more energy, more presence, than she had had when she appeared for the first time at my apartment. She didn’t even appear so skinny and drawn, but graceful and willowy. The same Raven, but Raven perfected, as she ought to have been, as perhaps she might have been before despair and fear had sapped her and led her to suicide and soul death.

She was still adolescent, and defiant. And she was still a demon. But I could see beyond that to the demon she could become if she survived and advanced and found favor. As she already had, since Satan had given her to me as a little sister of sorts.

I could even imagine liking her.

She got up, stretched, and showed off her navel piercing and the tattoos on her arms.

“I feel . . . fantastic,” she said. Then she turned to Marten and smiled. “Thank you.”

Marten smiled back, but not with quite so much innocence. “In return I will request a bargain,” he said evenly.

“Oh?” Raven asked, immediately on guard. She probably hadn’t gotten to even beginning bargains in the curriculum yet.

“First, of course, I will require that you do nothing to cause me, or my place and property, or my friends, any harm,” he said, setting out the first condition in the prescribed pattern.

“Oh, sure,” Raven agreed immediately. “I wouldn’t have done anything anyway.”

I heard Meph sigh next to me. She really did need to learn a lot before she could be sent off unsupervised.

Marten nodded. “Second, I will require that you come to me when I call, simply and without ceremony, and that you answer truthfully and fully any questions I will put to you.”

“Okay, I don’t like all the hokey stuff anyway,” she said, again too easily. “I mean, the implements are nice but some of the wording of those chants is just a bit pretentious. Don’t you think? Do you feel funny doing it?”

Marten raised an eyebrow. “You agreed to answer my questions. I did not agree to answer yours. But the truth is that no, I do not feel funny or hokey. The words and phrases and even entire segments are formulae that correspond to levels of Hell, types of demons, astrological conditions and—well, it takes years just to learn the basics. But no, I feel they are no more hokey than you might think singing a song was hokey.”

“I think he just likes saying ‘hokey,’ ” Nathan whispered into my ear.

It took all my concentration not to break out laughing. And suddenly my equilibrium was restored. I looked at Nathan again and saw why he was here, saw what I’d seen in him when I first met him at the end of the winter. He was attractive, beautiful even. At least as beautiful as Marten, though a different kind. The dark, brooding, scholarly kind, in fact, that I’d always found attractive.

But I’d recovered my memory of Nathan’s sense of humor, his slightly offbeat, sardonic take on events. And I could see as he adapted to the ritual that he was able to break through his own prejudices and assumptions. I started to wonder if he could adjust, if he could learn to handle my life as a succubus.

Hope sprang unbidden to my heart, evil bad hope that made me want what I couldn’t have. And that hope was tinged with something else—with a feeling that maybe I was being unfair to Marten in hoping for Nathan. Marten had proven himself to me over and over again, and even for Nathan I wasn’t willing to give him up. Was I?

But Marten wasn’t finished with his bargaining yet. “And further, you will agree to come to my aid, as I have come to yours. To do as I bid you and to aid those I have chosen to be my friends.”

Raven cocked her head. “That’s taking it a little far,” she said warily. “What if I say no?”

Marten shrugged. “Then perhaps I will send you back from whence you came.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not so sure about that.” Raven smiled and so did I. Much better, given her lack of experience and Marten’s long training. I was actually proud of her.

“You can take your chances, but vowing to aid me will help you in the end. You know that I work for your masters, that I am here at the bidding of Mephistopheles.”

Raven bit her lip as she considered his response. Bargains in Hell are . . . legalistic. We’re very careful about the letter of the law, about the precise language, about what we promise. Marten was giving her very little and asking a lot.

“Ask for something in return,” I muttered, but Meph turned to me and shook his head. “No coaching. You know that, Lily. No coaching once they enter negotiation.”

I could hear the tension in his voice, and I bet that he would dearly love to be coaching her. Oh, the things he would ask for—the things I would ask for! If I were in that triangle with him needing information from me, there were all kinds of things I would require.

She thought about it. “Well, if I agree to that then you have to promise that you won’t ask me to do anything that Mephistopheles wouldn’t approve of,” she eventually suggested.

Meph and I smiled together. She was good, this kid. That was a perfect comeback, a request that Marten couldn’t refuse as Mephistopheles’ ally, but that protected Raven from any requirement that she might find at odds with her own preferences and loyalties.

Well done, I thought at her. And I resolved then and there to take her to brunch on Sunday. Raven was showing the kind of mettle my friends would like. No wonder Satan wanted her groomed.

Marten agreed to her condition. Reluctantly, I could tell, because no magician wants to give up anything, even a codicil he had no intention of ever using. But I could see the way he looked at her now, with a new respect. In fact, I felt some of the respect myself.

I turned to Meph. “Girl’s got game,” I said. He smiled and nodded.

I turned to Nathan and took his hand briefly and squeezed it. He turned to me and I saw a bit of haunted pain in his eyes.

Or maybe it was just overwork and exhaustion. In any case, he didn’t pull away.