Illusion (17 page)

She stared at him.
Oh dear.

“If the body doesn’t manifest in the same place as the etheric force, it disintegrates,” Lucient said. “It’s crucial we retrieve his astral body. We have one sun cycle at the most.” His low tone dwindled at the end.

“The venerable elemental warlock means that Resheph is lost to us,” said Alexandr in a disgusted tone.

“He’s not lost, yet,” Anchal protested.

“I’ll find Clarice. If she can locate his body, we could increase his synapse firing rate, create a resonant wormhole and summon him home,” said Alexandr, staring ahead with a determined expression on his face.

“You’re insane … we’ll never get enough amplitude to cover the distance,” Lucient muttered, a white line rimming his mouth.

“What about dielectric dispersion?” Anchal said, ignoring Lucient.

“And blow up the entire city?” Lucient’s tone was hard. “He’s lost to us. Right now he’s extending beyond layers of reality into vastness.”

“We can’t leave him there. Is that what you’re suggesting? What about the custodians of the eternal doorways?” Alexandr demanded.

“Unheard of. Calling on the pantheon is a last resort. Remember what happened last time?” Lucient bellowed. He was met by dead silence.

Maya felt sick. “Can I do anything to help?” They turned to face her, surprise in their eyes as if they’d forgotten she existed. She was almost sorry she’d reminded them.

“We’ll find him. The Tribune will meet with you later,” said Lucient, looking at Alexandr with a tight expression on his face. They’d come to a fork in the tunnel. He gestured to the right with an open hand.

“I’d like to help. If he’s lost because of something I did, I’d like to make it right.” She looked at Lucient, who seemed slightly less disturbed than the other two. Given half a chance, Alexandr might carve her up and feed her to a flesh-eating plant.

“The best of us make mistakes,” said Lucient, casting a side look at Alexandr.

“I wouldn’t know. I thought I was human,” she said. If she had magic, she wouldn’t have sat at the top of a bloody cliff for an hour or more, or popped an inferior spell to keep the visions away.

Alexandr barked out a harsh laugh. “Human!” he said in disgust, staring at the other two. “Of course. Why should we expect anything else? It was a mad scheme, from the beginning. I don’t know why I let you convince me to act on your behalf. Look where it’s led us.” He turned on his heel and strode off into the darkness.

* * * *

“Resheph-wa-Khasis. Aren’t you happy to meet me? Is my countenance not pleasing?”

Molokh lounged on one arm, floating over a black pool of water, naked except for red glyphs glowing on his skin. “The terrible splendor of Mithra is remarkable, don’t you think?”

Jane floated next to him, her eyes closed as if asleep. A silver chain looped around her neck, falling to the water, shackling her to her own reflection. Wet black hair clung to her head, shifting in a nonexistent breeze.

Molokh confiscated her limp hand and nipped. When he lifted his head, blood lined his mouth and the pads of his fingers were black.

Her eyes fluttered and half opened.

Resheph strained to reach her and the scene exploded into billions of particles of Jane. The particles spun, accelerating until they were a cloudy blur of pale limbs and dark hair.

A heartbeat later they stopped. The hologram mosaics slammed into one another with terrible speed. Jane screamed, an awful gurgle that failed to hide the thump of impact as the pieces connected, forming a single phantasm. The woman lay in a fetal position over the pool.

Resheph staggered back and raised his palms.

Molokh’s blue eyes brightened. “She’ll live, for now.” He gave Resheph an arch look and leaned his hip against the metal lip of the pool. It tilted on its side, but the water didn’t run free.

Instead it reflected numerous images of him, Molokh, and Jane. The reflections moved together and separately, lacking a sequence, agitating his mind. Jane crept up behind Resheph. Molokh lay on top of Jane. Molokh brushed Resheph’s hair.

He bit back nausea, sickened by the visual load on his senses. Agares stood compressed by his side, holding Resheph’s elbow in a mockery of care, fondling his hair. The scent of rotten garbage caught in Resheph’s throat, making bile rise.

“My lord, I beg this warrior remain my prize,” said Agares, bending on his knee, bowing to Molokh.

“Leave us, Agares, you bore me,” Molokh said calmly, flicking his hand in dismissal. A surge of energy hit Resheph, flinging him back. He felt warm blood seep from his nose and drip down his chin. Agares flew back into darkness.

Molokh beckoned with his finger, dragging Resheph forward.

“You’re clever for a Balkaithite. I felt you build a bridge through the Abyss. Too bad you didn’t have coitus with Maya McAdam. You’d be a conjoined soul and I’d have her right now,” said Molokh.

“Let the woman go,” Resheph said.

“I desire my old throne, Resheph-wa-Khasis. And Maya McAdam. Haven’t you guessed why?”

The stench of rot made Resheph’s vision waver. His muscles loosened and he stumbled.

“Now, warrior. Sit. Before you fall.”

Resheph was forced to the ground and in a blink the demon stood over him.

“The idiot, Jhara, tried to renege on our deal. I promised him immortality and immortality he shall have, even though he failed to deliver Maya.”

Resheph rolled his tongue, bringing a small amount of saliva to his dry mouth. “Why?”

“Warrior, you know she’s mad, takes pleasure in her pain. She always finds me. She’s a devoted disciple of the old rites. Can’t help herself.” Molokh smiled, showing even, white teeth. “Let’s stop the games. I want to go home, you miss your magic, and Agares loves his sodomites. It’s a simple decision, surely?”

“I’d like to get out of here alive, but I won’t sacrifice Maya to achieve it,” Resheph said. Sweat slithered down his back, slimy and wet, reminding him of Agares’ touch.

“What do you really want, Resheph, my warrior? I can give you anything.”

How long would he be able to refuse? To the depths of his soul he wanted out of this terrible realm.

Molokh leaned over Resheph, his eyes gleaming like polished stones. “You mustn’t squander time thinking you have a choice. I saw you warlocks worm your way out of the ocean, crouch as apes, lose your pathetic city-states. You know I gave you the magical alphabet, watched you fight with your brethren, and leave Earth when the magi burned children in my name. I’ve hated the Canaanites for millennia because your king cursed me, relegated me to a forgotten cult, a lesser god.” Molokh stalked over to Jane and gazed at her fondly, tucking her hair back behind her ear with his left hand. “Give Maya to my Khereb. I’m prepared to let bygones be bygones. I’ll let you go free, return your powers, and focus my efforts on Earth instead of Balkaith. I’m sure your people would agree the terms are fair. You don’t have much time to decide. There are several on Earth willing to sell Balkaith out.” He swiped his hand and Jane fell beneath the surface, oily black water rippling backward, lapping to the center.

Resheph’s heart raced. His people were innocent, didn’t deserve this demon’s attention.

“Otherwise I’ll destroy Balkaith and every last warlock in it. The witches can have the remains.” Molokh lifted his hand, revealing Maya’s black journal. “Maya or Balkaith? My five thousand years behind Mithra has come to an end. I want my lieutenant back where she belongs.”

Molokh lifted a brow. Jane rose from the inky water, gasping for air, eyes wide with panic.

A glass pipe appeared between finger and thumb and Molokh raised it to his mouth, puffing on a coiling mass of liquid vapor flowing from Jane’s pale lips. He exhaled with a satisfied sigh, and smoke streamed from his parted mouth.

“Maya knows me and I know her. She tastes like ecstasy.”

Dryads and Companion Demons

“Dryads commune with the spirit world. They rule the temple under the sun to the east and represent the waters of Creation and Sacred Mysteries of the Afterlife.”

—Corpus Megistus, Volume VI, Enim Empire

Lucient escorted Maya to a small room with a white wrought-iron bed and a wooden side table. The room, with its smooth walls and almost overpowering smell of jasmine, was a stark contrast to her apartment. Ushering her inside, he’d told her someone would return for her once she’d rested. He pointed out her belongings sitting on the bed and rushed out the door, his robes fluttering behind him. Shortly after, a dark child wearing a scarf brought in clothes and left them on the bed. She left without glancing once in Maya’s direction.

Gaai showed her the pulley system that helped adjust the water temperature in the adjoining bathroom. Maya lay waist deep in the square onyx tub, letting cool water spill over her hair and down her back from a tilted silver urn. When she returned to the bedroom, the raven was sitting on a large armoire, fluffing his feathers and preening.

“Well, you look less bloody, but just as miserable,” said Gaai.

Maya bit her bottom lip and stalked to the window.

“I stuffed up. Royally.” She leaned her stomach against the deep window ledge and stared at the ocean. A floor to ceiling window showcased the dark blue ocean and lighter sky, but all she could see was Resh’s disquiet when he’d wakened her from her nightmare.

“He lied and I hated him for making me feel like a fool.” Despite the subterfuge, she wished he was here, especially now that she had to face a group of angry warlocks and field questions she didn’t have the answers to.

She scuffed the toe of her slippers on the red stones embedded in the floor.

Ambassador, my ass.

Someone had left formal clothes out for her, but she wasn’t sure if she wore them correctly. The tightly fitted gown clung to her body, showing too much cleavage.

“Ahh yes, well, privileged knowledge is usually unwelcome.” The bird cocked its head to the side. “Resheph has a fine soul. He’ll forgive you. Eventually. Although he never forgave his sister, so perhaps…” He blinked; gazing above her head at the sky, as if it held answers only he could see. “If the Tribune won’t bring him back, Pia will escort his soul to the afterlife.”

She gave a grunt. “Tell me honestly. What are his chances?”

“We lost an Enim warrior to the Abyss millennia ago. The warlocks summoned his soul, breaking the covenant, and the guardian, Besmelo, sent the Empire eighty years of famine for the pleasure.”

She clasped her arms around her waist. “Was he alive when he returned?” By now she had a general idea how the bird operated. It loved to give her half an answer and let her come to her own conclusions. In her case, they were usually the wrong ones.

The bird gave her a sardonic look and nodded in appreciation. “The Enim was crazed when he returned. But the war was won and the Khereb abdicated, agreeing to fall behind the Gates of Mithra with their demon general, Molokh.” He hopped from foot to foot.

The name rang a bell and she pursed her lips. “Molokh. The god you guys sacrificed kids to.” Resh had said the magi and warlocks had been one community until they fell out over the practice. Her journal doodles depicting kids’ tombs couldn’t be a freaky coincidence.

The bird looked down. “One of the tragedies of our past.”

“The Khereb do their master’s bidding.” The dots joined together, forming a picture and her mind spun with possibilities. “Molokh is behind this,” she guessed. The Khereb’s appearance on Earth, the
Conjurare
and Houses chasing her down, Jhara and his desire for immortality, even her visions of entities. It was all too synchronized to be a fluke.

“Someone on Earth summoned the demon lord,” the bird agreed.

“It’s a mage trying to bring down another House,” she said, recalling the news about the Horus compound. “We met some shop owners on Earth carrying unusual alchemical products. They’re trading in demon lore.” She wouldn’t put it past Jhara to get involved in chaos magic.

“Molokh will obtain the superior end of the agreement,” the bird said. “Demons are absurdly good at trickery.”

“And my picture on the factory mirror was a free ride for them.” Events started to click together in her mind, forming a bleak picture. The bugs the
Conjurare
had told her about must have come from Molokh’s realm. “Somehow Jhara and Oxyhiayal learned about my pictures. They wanted to use me. This is all about bloody mage politics,” she spat, furious that every damn road led back to the supernaturals living on Earth. She backed away from the window and began pacing.

The bird stood on one leg, tucking the other under his chest. “We guessed the magi dealt in chaos magic. Had no idea how deep they played. Besmelo guards Molokh behind Mithra. The demon lord can’t access the physical realms.”

That didn’t stop the Khereb. She sank onto the bed, her knees weak. “What in the hell has Molokh bargained for?”

“Who knows? He hates Balkaithites, and if the magi are doing his bidding, war is on its way. It’s why your pictures frightened the Tribune so badly. Now that they know the Khereb are on Earth, they’ll call an Assembly of War.”

“The Tribune is busy; we need to bring Resh back ourselves. Surely I can draw his soul and bring him home?” She walked over to her bag and started rifling through the contents of a small side pocket, anger knotting her stomach. The magi warred with one another continually. The last time they’d nearly destroyed Earth, and now they’d set their sights on Balkaith.

“Resheph wouldn’t want you to take any risks. You’re only a pawn in a game played out for millennia.”

And just as dispensable, no doubt. “I’ve got to try. Resh doesn’t have time for a bunch of bureaucrats to meet and decide his fate.” She selected a carefully wrapped package and stared at it, frowning, before tearing it open. Her stomach dropped. Several relaxation agents rested inside the brown paper. Each spell was marked with astrological symbols and a day of the week. Resh knew she needed charms to keep her sane, then? He must have prepared them and tucked them inside before they left Earth.