The Stone Demon (27 page)

Donna breathed deep and
pulled
.

The metal gave way with a rending, shrieking sound. She managed to tear the entire section of rail off its moorings—

But it was hopeless. The stairs were still moving, closer and closer to the top.

Then the escalator stopped. Her eyes widened. It had
stopped
! She could run down again, back to Navin.

Donna flew down the stairs, wondering how long it
would take her to reach the bottom. She already felt ex-hausted, but she didn’t care. Not many people would consider entering the Otherworld by choice, even once. But to do so twice? Probably she was crazy, which was fine by her. She was sure she’d go even
more
crazy knowing that Navin was stuck down there while she went about her business in the world above without him.

Her chest burned and her knees ached, but she kept going.

Until the stairs suddenly sprang into life once more, and they slid upwards faster than ever, taking her with them.

“Shit!” She kicked the side of the stairway. It didn’t make her feel any better.

She sat down in despair and waited for the escalator to dump her at the top. She wasn’t getting down; she knew that now. Navin wasn’t getting out. He’d drunk water from the river and this was the price.

Opening her bag, Donna gazed at all the pieces of the puzzle. The Ouroboros Blade, something that had possibly already served its purpose by getting her here. The Cup of Hermes, the glittering demon tear, and now the shining pear, fruit of the Gallows Tree—all these things had brought her to this place. She squeezed her hands together. Was it worth it? Could creating the Philosopher’s Stone be worth Navin’s life?

Donna already knew the answer to that.

Biting back a sob, she jumped off at the top and ran out into cold darkness.

Twenty-five

D
onna found herself running straight into the heart of the Ironwood. Of course—where else would an escalator from Hell drop her off? Somehow, everything came back to this place. It always did. It was night, and she wondered how long she had until dawn. She hoped she was in time.

The trees that circled the clearing began to bend in a wind that was gathering around her, a portent that didn’t do her nerves any good. She stood in the center of it all and clutched the bag full of hope to her chest. What if she couldn’t do this? She didn’t know what came next. Okay, in
theory
she did, because she’d “read” the Silent Book and committed each diagram to memory—each stage in the creation of the Philosopher’s Stone. But knowing it and doing it were two very different things.

Donna looked at the frosty ground and imagined Navin somewhere far below. She refused to let the tears fall. She’d find him again. Somehow.

“Donna,” came a voice from between the trees. An old friend wheeled himself into the clearing.

“Maker! What are you doing here by yourself?” Donna ran to him, relief and joy surging through her.

He smiled through his beard and waved his hand to quiet her. “No time, no time. The others are coming. You need to make the Stone before Demian follows you. I knew you’d do it, Donna.”

Maker stayed close beside her as she laid out the ingredients. Then he handed her a small vial of salt, indicating that she should cast a protective circle around them. She hoped Maker would help with this part—with his power supporting hers, the barrier she created would be far more likely to delay anyone who might try to interfere with their work. But Maker shook his head.

“No, it must be your power, and yours alone. The first matter you draw upon will hopefully be enough to hold off a demon—even one as powerful as Demian.”

Donna didn’t question him, just cast the circle and set to work crushing the fruit and the glittering tear into the Cup of Hermes. She used the hilt of the blade to help with the process, wondering if it was what she was supposed to do; that part hadn’t been clear in the instructions, but it felt right. So she went with it, following her intuition and listening to the thread of power inside her like she’d been taught. Like Quentin and Maker had said to do.

Maker’s eyes filled with pride as he watched her, nodding approval and pointing out things here and there that she’d forgotten.

Donna began to believe she might actually do this. That there was hope, and she could make something as impossible as this final bargaining chip to use against the demons. Against—

Demian materialized directly in front of them, on the outside of the circle of salt. His pale face was drawn into tight lines and his mouth was hard, his skin practically glowing in the darkness. He pressed his hand against the invisible barrier surrounding them.

Sparks flew, and there was the sound of lightning.

Donna glared at him. “I’m busy, go away.”

“The Stone is mine.”

“Give me a chance, I haven’t finished yet,” she said, trying to stop her hands from shaking. She turned away and bent over the Cup of Hermes, reestablishing her connection to the
prima materia
within her. Maker watched the king of the demons, his wrinkled hands clutching the arms of his chair.

The first matter throbbed in her chest, beating in time with her heart. Donna focused on shaping reality, on making something that didn’t exist. She tapped into the power of creation and held her breath. Everything around her seemed to fade … Maker, trying to keep an eye on her and Demian at the same time, and the suspicious Demon King, waiting with his hands gripped tightly into fists.

She looked upward, into the sky, seeing the edges of the trees that vaulted above everything. Then she drank.

Darkness rushed into her, filled her, and then came light. Bright white light that cut her in half and made her scream. Her arms felt as though they might shatter, and her heart wanted to do the same. Wind stormed and howled like its own kind of demonic force, blasting back her hair, making her face hurt and her eyes stream. The trees tilted at strange angles and she heard the crack of branches.

Then the whole world went silent, and she realized she was lying on the ground.

Beside her, inside the circle, there it was. The Stone.

The Philosopher’s Stone. She got to her knees and touched it, reverently, forgetting everything around her, just for a moment reveling in the feel of smooth stone beneath her fingers, the pulse of heat she could feel slowly spreading from its center. It was a warm shade of reddish-brown, and egg-shaped—it fitted perfectly in her palm. As though it were made for her. For her and nobody else.

Maker’s eyes shone as he sat beside her.

Demian tried to cross the barrier, fury pouring off him in almost palpable waves. He hammered against the air with his fists, but Donna’s circle held.

“Come out, alchemist,” he screamed. “Come and out and face me!”

Donna’s head jerked up. “You can huff and puff all you like, Your Majesty,” she replied. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’ll stay right here.”

“You can’t stay in there forever, Donna,” Demian said. “Nor you, old man.”

Maker smiled a determined sort of smile. He wheeled his chair out of the circle. “I don’t intend to,
demon
.”

“No!” Donna ran to follow him, but stopped herself just in time as she reached the barrier.

Demian’s coal-black eyes seemed to glow as he grabbed the ageing alchemist by the throat and lifted him, one-handed, from his chair.

“Open the circle,” he demanded, his voice like thunder.

Maker was choking, his face growing red, but his eyes held triumph. “I can’t. The circle is hers. How else do you think I could leave it without it breaking?”

“Let him go,” Donna said, her voice quivering. Terror made it difficult to speak. She had the Philosopher’s Stone, but what good was that doing now?

Maker turned his head toward her. “Use the Stone, Donna. Use it to—”

“Quiet, little man!” Demian roared, tossing the alchemist away like he was nothing but an oversized ragdoll. Maker bounced against a tree, and there was a sickening noise as he fell to the ground and lay still.

Donna screamed, facing the Demon King across the barrier.

Demian placed both palms against the transparent wall formed by her circle. His hands exploded with black light, the strength of it making her shield her eyes. Everything turned into a sort of photo-negative … Demian was using his power to tear down her protective wards.

“Give me the Stone!” he bellowed.

“Never!” Donna shouted. Had he really thought that she’d just hand it over? Demian, Aliette—they were all the same. Blinded by their greed, their wants, so much so that they couldn’t figure out that Donna Underwood wasn’t about to follow their orders quite so easily. She’d learned a few things while training to be an alchemist, after all—and maybe the Stone was her greatest weapon. Why give it up now?

She licked her lips, wondering if it would work. Wondering if the demon’s desire for the Stone would be enough to distract him for a few moments more. Now was the time to find out.

She took a step back, exiting out of the other side of the circle so that the wide ring of salt stood between them. Then she held the Philosopher’s Stone up toward Demian as bait. His eyes widened in desire, and then in triumph, as he gazed at the prize. Eagerly, he stepped toward her—and into the circle.

The moment he did that, Donna crouched down, still clutching the Stone, and touched a small section of the salt. Her tattoos were moving so violently she thought she might throw up, but she managed to hold everything together as she remembered Robert Lee, surrounded by shadows, in this place in another time. She shouted, “
Lux
!”

White light poured upward from the salt circle, forming a whirling barrier around the Demon King. A king who was now trapped inside a solid ring of first matter energy. Donna wondered if it would be enough to hold him, at least temporarily.

Demian roared his fury. “What did you do to me?”

“Restrained you, Your Majesty,” Donna replied, staggering to her feet but barely able to stay upright. “I think you’ll find yourself unable to act quite so much like a petulant god now, running around destroying anything that makes you mad. Maybe you’ll have to fight fair. I wonder how long it’s been since you’ve actually had to do that?”

He reached for her, so fast it took her breath away. Too fast. His fist shot through the barrier and clamped in her hair.
Damn he’s strong
, Donna thought, feeling a vague shock. His arm sticking out of the wall of light had been terrifying enough, but now Demian began dragging her toward him. All his smooth seduction had disappeared. He looked truly awful, like the King of Terror he was.

Donna yelped as some of her hair was pulled out at the root. She felt herself being dragged toward him—it was either that or lose a chunk of hair. The searing pain all along her scalp made her eyes water.
How had he broken through the ward?
Despite his power, Donna had believed the circle would hold him. It should have worked! Even if it hadn’t contained him for very long, it should have held for more than a few seconds.

“Do you think your little prison can hold
me
?” Demian growled.

Donna struggled, in too much to pain to respond with anything coherent, but at least the Demon King wasn’t actually free. Not yet. Maybe he’d had enough strength to thrust that one hand through the wall to grab her, but it didn’t look like he could step all the way out. Strain showed on his face, as though breaching the barrier at all was almost too much for him.

Yet he kept hold of her. She was almost standing on the line of salt. If her foot touched it, even for a moment, the circle would collapse and the demon really
would
be free. Not to mention majorly pissed at her.

“I could tear you into pieces,” he said. Their faces were almost touching, on either side of the wall of light. “I don’t need to be able to destroy cities or worlds to be able to destroy
you
.”

“You say the sweetest things,” Donna said, the toes of her sneakers inching toward the barrier. She panted with pain, trying desperately to focus on the agony in her scalp so that she would stay conscious and be able to act. She pushed the thought of Maker’s broken body from her mind—at least, for a few more moments.

“There will be no mercy in me if I have to take the Stone from you, Donna Underwood,” the Demon King said. “Only pain. And perhaps death, eventually.”

“And to think,” she gasped, “you wanted me to be your queen at one time.”

“You are unworthy,” he spat. “Once I have the Philosopher’s Stone, I will wipe the memory of every pathetic human from this world.”

“You would have done that anyway.”

“I look forward to crushing you beneath my heel, al-chemist.”

“I think you’ll find it’s too late for that,
Majesty
,” Donna said, hope suddenly surging through her. “Look!”

Demian raised his head, keeping his brutal grip on her. One of his hands was firmly around her throat—maybe even preparing to snap her neck. Then the demon’s eyes widened.

A shimmering door had opened on the horizon, and the glittering army of Faerie was riding out of the light. The alchemists’ “war council” had clearly been a success; leave it to Quentin and her mother to convince the races to work together. Donna smiled through her pain.

Fey horses spilled out, looking almost as if they were riding the waves; their riders crouched low over their backs, inhuman eyes fixed straight ahead. White, black, chestnut—no matter their color, the steeds were tall and strong and impossibly swift, with shining armor around their fine heads. One of them even had wings, and Donna thought her heart actually skipped a beat as she watched its indigo wings curve up and down in majestic arcs. The faeries who rode the horses all brandished flashing swords and were clothed in the polished silver chainmail she was already growing familiar with. Donna saw that women rode alongside the men, and they were so fierce and beautiful that it hurt her eyes.

And then a new disturbance, on the other side of the clearing, drew Demian’s gaze away from the approaching army. The Wood Queen was coming toward him as well, striding tall and straight and dressed in armor made of polished bark. Her helmet was wreathed with ivy, and, attached to her shoulders, there was a cloak made of leaves and moss. Dozens of elves spread out behind and beside her. They clicked and scraped as they lifted weapons made of wood and thorn, their teeth bared and their black eyes glittering with vicious intent. They bayed for blood, a sound Donna well remembered.