The Stone Demon (15 page)

Xan sat quietly and watched the old alchemist’s gnarled fingers dance across metal that shone with pure iron. He thought about costs, and whether the price could be too high. How much was he willing to go through in order to fly again—to regain his birthright?

How much pain could one man take? As he asked himself that question, Xan was no longer afraid. He knew all about pain.

Eleven

D
onna sat at Quentin’s desk, glad to have some time alone and relieved that she had an excuse for avoiding her aunt. They’d met Aunt Paige in the hallway while walking to the study, and Donna sent up a silent thanks that she would not have to be in the same room with her. Part of her knew she should at least try to be the better person and give her aunt another chance. At the very least, couldn’t she be civil? But she couldn’t help feeling resentment. She just wanted to shout at the woman who’d let her down so badly, and maybe use some of Robert’s cool fighting techniques to throw her aunt around. Just a little.

Oh, and Aunt Paige had arrived at the Frost Estate alone: still no Maker. Donna had overheard her aunt tell the others that Maker was acting very strangely, saying that he couldn’t leave a delicate experiment unattended and would call a cab when he could.

There was no moving the man when he refused to oblige. Even though Maker was supposedly part of the Order, and therefore answerable to its hierarchy, he was also … not. Donna had never been able to figure this out before, but from what Quentin had told her about Maker’s role in assigning the various artifacts to the races, the old alchemist apparently had powers she’d never dreamed of. This made his absence at their war council seem especially strange. The world was potentially ending—at the very least, Ironbridge could actually be destroyed in a matter of hours—and Maker was too busy with his latest pet project to come help out?

Unless whatever he was doing
was
helping. Perhaps he would save the day with an amazing contraption that repelled demons.

Donna took a deep breath and decided there was no more putting off the inevitable. She’d come in here to do a job—converse with the dead about the mysterious fifth ingredient—and that’s what needed to be done. She felt vaguely comforted by the smell of old books and incense, and the eloquent silence of the familiar house. Closing the impenetrable text that Quentin had given her to look through,
Communicating with the Otherworld
, she placed it to one side. The only useful thing she’d gotten out of it was a page that contained a short list entitled “Instructions on How to Talk to Spirits.” That had seemed clear enough, and it was at least written in a recognizable language—English—rather than Latin. Donna had never done well with Latin.

The scrying mirror was cold and heavy where it rested on her lap. About the size of both her hands cupped together, it was made of highly polished obsidian—a kind of volcanic glass. All she could do was stare at the surface and try to reach out from that now-familiar focal point of power in the region of her chest. Miranda had instructed her to keep her breathing slow and steady while concentrating on her desire to make contact with another world. She said that there were always spirits willing to talk, but that it might take some time.

Donna had no idea how long it took, but the minutes slipped by peacefully until something happened. The smooth surface of the scrying stone was opaque to begin with, but the more she focused the more that changed. She blinked as the inky depths cleared.

A strange-looking girl smiled at her from the mist in the mirror. “Hello,” the girl said.

Donna was so surprised that she just sat there for a minute with her mouth hanging open. She hadn’t known what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t
this
. And it had happened so easily, too. The others had told her that the first matter made her a seer, but she wasn’t sure she’d believed it. Until now.

The girl’s voice turned mildly petulant. “Are you still there?”

“Yes.” Donna shifted the scrying mirror to a more comfortable position on her lap. “I’m here. What’s your name?”

“Miya. Who are you? Why did you call me?”

Donna licked her lips, glancing nervously at the door. She absolutely couldn’t afford for anyone to come in and mess this up. Interruptions could ruin everything and too much was at stake.

“I’m Paige.” It was the first thing that jumped into her head.
Don’t give them your true name
, that’s what the book about contacting spirits had said. “I’m looking for something.”

Miya’s face floated closer to the surface of the glass. “Someone called.”

Donna frowned. “I used the scrying mirror. That’s what called you, I think.”

The girl narrowed her eyes. She no longer looked quite so pretty—or benign. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What mirror? What do you want?” It sounded like she didn’t fully understand where they were in relation to one another, or how they were communicating, and there was a hollow quality to her voice that sent shivers up Donna’s spine.

She tried not to think about it. She couldn’t worry about the
how
of the situation, she just had to use the resource in front of her and figure out whether or not to follow any information she got later.

“I’m sorry if I’ve confused you,” Donna began. She forced a smile. “Do you mind telling me where you are?” The “Instructions on How to Talk to Spirits” came to mind:
Always be polite to unknown spirits.

“I’m in the Otherworld,” came the reply.

Of course you are
, Donna thought. The demon realm. Hell. She tried to remember to breathe.

Miya pressed against the glassy surface almost eagerly. “Where are
you
?” she asked.

Give information in return, but not too much. Nothing that could lead a spirit to you later.

“I’m in … Massachusetts.”

“Is that your home?”

Donna only hesitated for a moment. “Yes. It is.”

“Oh.” The girl seemed to think about that for a moment. Donna could tell she wanted to ask more, but perhaps she wasn’t allowed to.

“I need to know something important,” Donna continued. “I’ve been told that only someone very knowledgeable will have this information. You look like you might be the right person for that.”

Use flattery.

Miya visibly preened. Her eyes shone. “I can help you! I know many things.”

Donna bit back a smile. “I need to know what the fifth ingredient for making the Philosopher’s Stone is—the one that is kept secret from all but … those such as yourself.” She didn’t know if she should actually use the word “dead.” Maybe that was an insult.

“Oh,” Miya said, delight practically radiating off her. “You’re an alchemist.”

“Yes.”

“You seem young to be an alchemist.”

“I’m still training,” Donna admitted.

“And yet you’re trying to make the Stone? Already?” Miya’s expression turned sly. “You’re just a girl, like me.”

“That’s true, but why should that mean we can’t seek power?”

Appeal to its desire to be more than it is. Many spirits want to be human. Some used to be human.

Donna pulled herself up straight. Her back was aching and she felt so tired, but she couldn’t stop now. Her eyes felt full of grit and a heavy pounding had started in her temples. Its slow beat seemed to match the pulse of power buried in her chest.

Miya seemed to be considering. She tapped her finger against the glass, and it was almost as though Donna could feel the vibration in her palms. It took her by surprise and she only just managed to keep hold of the obsidian mirror.

“If I tell you,” the girl said, speaking slowly, weighing her words, “what will you give me in return?”

“What do you want?”

Be prepared to bargain. Be prepared to give more than you want to, but less than you can afford.

“I want to be able to see the human world again—I’ll never play again, not the way I used to. I’ve been asleep for so long.” She bowed her head. “So very long.”

Donna swallowed a sudden tightness in her throat. She realized that the girl could be manipulating her emotions, playing for sympathy—she probably was—but that didn’t mean Miya was any less sincere in her desire for freedom. For
life
. That, at least, was something that Donna understood.

“How would you do that?” she asked the spirit-girl.

Eagerly, Miya pressed herself against the glass. “Using this! The scrying stone. I could watch the children in the park. In your home of …
Massachusetts
.” She suddenly hesitated, looking uncertain. “There are still parks, aren’t there?”

“Yes,” Donna said, a slight smile touching her lips. “Things don’t change all that much.”

“Ah,” Miya replied, “but at least they
do
change.”

“You’ll only watch? You won’t try to escape or do anything to hurt people?”

The girl’s eyes widened. They were huge and filled with innocence—and guile. “I only want to see, that’s all. Not blood. No, no, no. Miya would be a
good
girl.”

“How long would you want to … watch?”

“A day. Twenty-four of your human hours.”

“You don’t need twenty-four hours to watch some kids play in a park,” Donna said, her voice sharp. Suspicions started to rise once more.

Take control during the negotiations. Don’t let the spirit order you around. You’ll lose.

Miya crossed her arms across her chest and floated away a little. “Maybe just twelve hours, then. That would be enough.”

Donna shook her head. “One.” She didn’t doubt for a minute that Miya would use her “watching” time to try figuring out a way to escape. If that was even possible.

“Six.”

“One, or nothing.”

Miya’s face contorted into sudden rage. Her eyes grew too big for her face and her mouth seemed to stretch until it was almost touching her ears. Long teeth appeared and glittered like razors.

“That is not enough,” she hissed. “I’ve waited so long!”

“It’s all I can offer. And it’s not up for negotiation.”

“Two hours?” Miya begged, her face returning to normal.

Donna turned her heart to stone. “One.”

“Only one? One hour for Miya to see again, to watch the world that she misses so much?”

Donna kept silent.

The girl sighed. “One hour. It will do.”

“Do we have a deal?”

“Yes,” she said, sulkily. “You’re not very nice.”

“Maybe not,” Donna replied, “but you’re still getting what you want.”

Miya pouted for a bit longer before speaking again. “So you have the other four ingredients?”

“Not all of them.”

“But you know how to get them? You know about the Cup of Hermes?”

“Yes.” Donna thought about the Elflands and put a wall up around her fear.

“Do you have it?”

“Not yet,” she admitted.

“The Ouroboros Blade? That one will be difficult to retrieve. The faeries are even meaner than you are.”

“I can get it.”

Her eyes narrowed. “The Gallows Fruit?”

“I know I need it,” Donna said, trying to hold back a sigh. Just talking about this was exhausting. Terrifying. “I’ll get it. Somehow.”

“The
prima materia
?” Miya seemed to be holding her breath.

“Yes. That one I most definitely have.”

“How did you get it? I must know!”

Donna licked her lips and thought for a moment. She still didn’t trust this strange creature. “How about I tell you that, instead of letting you watch the world? We could renegotiate … ”

“No.” Miya shook her head. “No, I won’t give that up.”

“Well, those are the four ingredients listed in the Silent Book,” Donna said. “What’s the fifth, the one that seems to have been erased?”

The girl smiled, showing her tiny white teeth. Perfectly human. As if. “Even if I tell, you’ll never get it.”

“Let me be the judge of that. We made a deal, so just tell me.”

The floating girl remained silent, as though building up the tension.

Wow,
Donna thought,
spirits sure do know all about drama
. Even the seemingly young ones liked to string you along and squeeze the most emotion they could out of a single moment.

Refusing to play the game, Donna waited. Her heart was thumping so hard she wouldn’t be surprised if Miya could hear it all the way across the ether.

Miya sighed. “You’re really no fun.”

“Probably not,” Donna said. “I’m on sort of a tight schedule here. What’s the mysterious ingredient?”

“You need a tear from a demon.”

Donna stared into the mirror, wondering if she’d heard the spirit-girl correctly. A demon tear? “That can’t be right. Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.” Miya’s expression was indignant. “That’s the fifth ingredient. It needs to go into the cup.”

Oh, I am so screwed. Really and truly.

Miya’s voice broke into her panicked thoughts. “Shall I tell you a secret?”

“Okay.”

“Demons don’t cry.”

Yep
, Donna thought.
Totally screwed.

Twelve

N
avin screeched to a halt on his bike, nodding with satisfaction as he admired the path he’d gouged in his father’s newly laid gravel driveway.
That’s me
, he thought.
Navin Sharma: rebel without a flaw
.

He glanced over at Donna’s house next door. Her
aunt’s
house, actually. He couldn’t help checking for signs of a miraculous return, even though he had already promised himself to stop looking and hoping. It was instinctive where Underwood was concerned. She was his best friend. What was a dude to do?

Nisha came out of their own house looking severely pissed off. But his little sister was always moaning at him about something. She was fifteen. Wasn’t that her job? It wasn’t like she had much else to do with her time …

“Why do you always have to destroy everything with your stupid bike?”

“Hey, sis! Great to see you too. I’m very well, thanks.” Navin tried to hug her. “And you?”