Demon Bound (3 page)

Jake performed another mental sweep, but knew it wouldn't be reliable. Any demon or Guardian knew how to conceal his presence, and dense stone could dull psychic probes.

The footprints were probably nothing—but he wouldn't go in unprepared.

He stored several pistols and swords in his hammerspace, but called in a crossbow. The grip was comfortable when the weapon appeared in his hand; he practiced with it often.

The prints vanished past the second chamber, where the corridor angled to the right and led to a narrow stairwell. It was too far inside for the wind to blow, and only a trace amount of sand lay scattered on the bare floor.

He jogged up the stairs—three hundred and fifty—and into another corridor, his weapon ready at his shoulder. There were dozens more chambers on this level, and each he passed was stripped to its square bones. A few had stone benches carved around the perimeter of the room; more had recesses cut into the walls like shelves. The ceilings were high and flat.

At the top of another long stairwell, the darkness, which had threatened with shadows in the corners of each chamber, became absolute.

Surprised, Jake stopped. Even on moonless, overcast nights and in closed rooms, objects were clear to his Guardian eyesight. He only needed the faintest illumination to see: star shine, refracted light, the tiny glow of an LED indicator.

But this was like closing his eyes and wrapping his head in a heavy black sack—and it was the first time he'd seen true darkness since he'd done exactly that as a kid. He'd walked out to the middle of a Kansas cornfield, put on the hood, and stumbled around with his arms out—

His short laugh echoed in the stone chamber, revealing its enormous size and pressing away the suffocating darkness. Fifty years had passed, and he'd thought of that cornfield often, but had forgotten how that particular adventure had ended: his granddad had snuck up behind and scared the piss out of him.

He'd screamed and taken off running.

Jake shook his head, grinning. No wonder he'd tried to forget that part. His ten-year-old pride had been shredded.

His sixty-year-old pride withstood being scared all the time—but stumbling around here wouldn't get him very far.

He searched through his hammerspace, his mind skipping over each item. There'd be something he could use. He'd never bothered to store a flashlight; he'd never needed one.

Still didn't. The dim backlight from his cell phone lit the chamber like a carbide lamp.

It took a moment to register what he was seeing. The enormous chamber was terraced. A deep, rectangular pit had been carved into the floor of each level, with steps leading to the bottom. A colonnade surrounded the room; behind the rows of columns, giant arched entryways led east, west, north.

A bath, he realized. A Roman bath. Sculpted out of solid granite.

Inside
a mountain.

Two or three thousand years ago, someone in Tunisia had been flippin' insane.

Jake lowered the crossbow to his side, tossed a coin out of his hammerspace. Heads, so he went east.

An antechamber lay past the bath. Jake stopped, blinking up at the arch leading out—a line of symbols had been carved above it. Aside from the columns and the design of the temple, it was the first indication of a specific culture he'd seen.

But the symbols weren't Latin or Greek. He'd have recognized those. No, this reminded him of a script he'd only seen engraved in living flesh and used to cast spells.

A shiver ran up his spine. He turned and backed beneath the arch into the next chamber.

It didn't have to be the demonic script. There were many ancient languages he didn't know. He'd take a picture on his way out—another Guardian would recognize it, or he'd find a reference in the Archives.

Where he'd probably have to ask the Black Widow.

The shiver worked its way back down. The woman was straight-up creepy: always draped in black, playing with her spiders, and moving like a mechanical bird that'd been wound too tight. Talking to her made him feel eight again, his buddies daring him to trick-or-treat at Old Man Marley's house.

Finding the courage had been easy enough, but he'd still walked away with runny Jell-O for knees.

They almost gave out again when he turned and his phone illuminated the chamber.
Whoa, boy.

The bath had been enormous; this was a cavern. His light didn't penetrate to the ceiling. The black granite floor had been polished to a mirror sheen—and at the opposite side of the chamber, a winged statue overlooked the room.

Her braids were a crown, her wings folded behind her, her arms bare. Despite the sword she brandished in her left hand, her expression was serene.

Jake estimated that, even at an inch over six feet, he stood no taller than her ankle.

There'd been crazy bastards living here, for sure. But they were talented crazies. The statue all but breathed with life.

But damn if he would be intimidated by it.

Awe was acceptable, though, he decided, forming his wings and crossing the chamber by air. He did awe very well: wide eyes, slack jaw. Hell, the first couple of decades in Caelum, surrounded by amazing architecture and beautiful, often-naked women, he'd done nothing
but
awe.

He missed those years.

Unfortunately, the statue wasn't naked. Even in granite, her draped gown appeared fluid, as if caught by a wind.

Jake landed, casting measuring glances to the sides of the chamber. His gaze narrowed on the walls behind the colonnade. There were the friezes he'd expected throughout the temple, ringing the room with their life-sized scenes. From this distance, shadows obscured their details.

And, he realized, the primary statue was just off-center. Judging by the large rough patch on the floor, there'd once been another figure in front and to the left of her.

Kneeling, he thought. Her face was downturned, and her right hand extended before her thigh, like a benevolent queen bestowing grace upon her subject.

Had it been a willing supplicant, he wondered . . . or a conquered one?

The tips of her fingers were broken off. She'd probably been touching the other figure, had been sculpted from the same stone. So removing it had destroyed part of her, as well.

Jake eyed the fingertips. They were too lifelike, and he was too accustomed to scaring himself—he expected blood to drip from them at any moment.

Time to move on, then. Fighting his girly shudder, he crossed to the south side of the room.

As soon as his light revealed the first sculpted panel, Jake froze.

He'd seen
this
before.

There was the dragon that Lucifer had called forth from Chaos during the Second Battle, and the human Michael thrusting his sword into its heart.

And it was a near replica of a frieze carved into the doors of Michael's temple in Caelum.

Why was it
here
? Jake's heart kicked into overdrive.

And he heard a footstep from behind him.

A gloved palm slapped over his mouth before he could react. A slim hand rose in front of his face, fingers flashing a warning in the Guardians' sign language.

He nodded, but didn't relax. Demons also knew how to sign. And like a demon, she had no odor.

Quickly, he tucked his phone into his jeans pocket, leaving the backlit screen exposed, and raised his own hand.
How do I know what you are?

As if not being dead wasn't a gigantic hint.

The gloves vanished; the fingers pressing over his lips were strong, slender—and warm. A demon's would have been hot.

All right,
he signed, and she released him after another warning to be silent.

The moment he faced her, she asked,
Can you teleport away?

Probably not. Right now, he was more curious than afraid. Since she'd known about his Gift, she obviously recognized him—but he didn't recognize her. A hijab covered her hair and forehead; layers of loose robes concealed her tall form. Her dark eyes studied him from beneath black brows.

When he shook his head in response, the dusky skin over her jaw whitened and she looked toward the chamber entrance.

Jake knew almost every Guardian by sight, and most by mannerism. She'd probably shape-shifted into this form to blend with the regional population, but he didn't have a clue who she was.

And he wasn't going to get the opportunity to ask. Her weapon appeared in her hand: a tall staff topped by a long, curving blade.

Which Guardian wielded a naginata? Jake wondered as he replaced his crossbow with his sword. Even Mariko, the Guardian who'd introduced Jake to the weapon, didn't use it except for practice—the wooden staff splintered too easily.

But this one had obviously been modified to withstand a Guardian's strength and frequent use: the staff was fashioned of steel. To counter its weight, the blade extended half again a naginata's typical length.

With a wince, Jake glanced down at his own sword. He didn't quite measure up.

The Guardian's gaze followed his, and when she met his eyes again, he thought humor quirked her lips.

Use the crossbow,
she signed.
They'll flare their eyes to see.

Demons. Jake's grip tightened on the sword before he exchanged it with the crossbow again. Their eyes shone crimson; in the dark, they'd serve as a bright red target.

But rarely an easy one.

The Guardian was watching the entry again, and the low psychic thrum of her Gift pushed through his body. Her fingers moved at her side.
They've entered the bathing chamber. Three of them.

No telling what her Gift was, except that it had helped her locate the demons. Jake couldn't hear or sense them—but because she'd used her Gift, they'd have sensed her.

She turned back to him.
Do the bolts in your crossbow have venom?

Yes.
The shafts and arrowheads had been coated with hellhound venom—not enough to paralyze a demon, but it'd slow one down.

Don't miss,
she signed, and with an elegant sweep, she caught the edge of his cell phone on the point of her blade and flicked it out of his pocket.

Taking the hint, he vanished it into his hammerspace. Darkness surrounded them. Her hand clasped his, and he felt the brush of her wings before she tugged him into the air.

Okay. Apparently, her Gift was the ability to see in the dark. Jake dangled beneath her, aware that they were flying upward, expecting to smash into the ceiling at any second.

But she slowed, hovered, and maneuvered forward until stone was at his back, his side, and formed a shelf behind his knees. She lowered him onto the ledge, pressed her hand against his chest in an unmistakable
Stay put
.

He heard the air rip through her wings as she dove away. A moment later, light flashed from the antechamber. A grating screech accompanied it, like iron fingernails scraping a rough chalkboard.

What the flippin' hell was she doing? Jake tried to stand, whacked his head on the ceiling, and bit back his curse. But he didn't need to be silent to hear her. She wasn't flying anymore, but running. Her footsteps would make it stupidly easy for the demons to pinpoint her movements. Crazy.

And she'd stuck him up here in the corner, useless and—

On the opposite side of the cavern, a shower of sparks fell. For an instant Jake saw her, the blade of her naginata slashing across the granite wall.

Not so crazy, after all. Jake settled back down. The demons might not know there were two Guardians. Even if they did, she was forcing them to focus in her direction and making enough noise to cover Jake's heartbeat. He'd be able to get at least two shots before they located him.

In the antechamber, a female demon spoke. Another female answered her, then a male. Scarlet light gleamed across the floor before it was extinguished.

The female demon sang out a melodic stream of words.

Arabic. Jake didn't know the language, but the insult was plain enough. He firmed his jaw, waited.

From the direction of the statue came the Guardian's derisive snort. Then she was across the cavernous chamber, her steps echoing against the far wall.

The demon spoke again, in a lower tone. Her voice caught the Guardian mid-swing. The sparks illuminated her shocked expression; her head whipped around as she stared toward the antechamber. Dismay stabbed from her psyche before she blocked it.

The chamber went dark. Her whispered denial filled the silence. “No.”

A crimson glow moved through the antechamber, and the first demon stepped through. Wearing robes and—except for her eyes and the batlike wings folded at her back—in her human form.

Come on,
Jake urged the others. There was movement behind her, but he didn't have a shot yet.

In the wash of red light, he saw the Guardian standing in the center of the chamber, her arms slack at her sides, the tip of the naginata on the floor.

The demon smiled. Glowing eyes, leathery wings,
and
fangs. “And we've been charged to take something back to him as proof that you received his message. What shall it be—your hands? Your tongue?”

Just great. The demon had switched to English in response to the Guardian's “no,” but Jake still had no idea what had stunned her. It wasn't the threat; between demons and Guardians, bloodshed was pretty much a given.

But whatever it'd been, she was coming out of it. A slow smile crept up the sides of her mouth. She no longer held her weapon in a slack grip, but with the loose confidence of a seasoned warrior.