Light My Fire (9 page)

“Great. So Jim ate an important imp?”

She squatted on her heels next to a small rhododendron, picking something out of the dirt. I knelt down to
look at it. The object in her hand was a dirty bit of gold. It looked like a doll’s ring. “Not just an important imp.
The
important imp. This is a crown.”

We both looked from it to where Jim sat perfecting its
look of innocence.

“I’m very much afraid that your demon has eaten the
reigning imp monarch. I shudder to think of what sort of
retribution they will seek against you.”

I glared at Jim for a few seconds. It had the decency to
look embarrassed. “Lovely. Retribution from imps. Just
the sort of thing I need in my life, a bunch of imps pooping in my shoes and stealing my hairbrush, and whatever other sorts of things they do to people who piss them off.”

Jim looked even more uncomfortable.

“Aisling,” Nora said, brushing off her knees as she got
to her feet. “You do not understand. This is not some
minor matter of revenge. Your demon has eaten the imp
monarch.”

“Yeah. I’m really sorry about that, and you can bet I’ll
order Jim to a strictly imp-free diet from here on out.”

“Aw, man!” Jim groaned.

Nora put her hand on my arm. “Imps may appear
harmless, and most of the time they are. But I cannot
stress to you enough the dire nature of this act against
them. The entire imp nation will rise up against you in re
venge.”

The hairs on my arms stood on end. “Good god. How
many imps are there?”

“Worldwide?” She shook her head. “Thousands. Hun
dreds of thousands. And I’m afraid you’ve just become
their public enemy number one.”

“You’re talking about actions more serious than hiding
my toothpaste and short-sheeting my bed, aren’t you?”

“I’m talking about imps destroying you, Jim, and
everyone near you in a manner that would make medieval
torture look like a pleasant way to pass an afternoon,” she
answered, her voice grave.

I turned slowly to fix Jim on the end of a glare so
pointed, the demon should have been skewered up against
the tree behind it.

Jim burped. “Sorry. It seemed like a good idea at the
time.”

I lectured Jim all the way home. Nora left to deal with the
threat of possibly more kobolds, and Jim complained of a bellyache (no doubt the imp king was not digesting easily),
so a half hour later I headed out by myself to visit a nearby bookstore Nora had recommended, figuring I’d use the hour
before I had to meet Drake to bone up on Guardianish
things. I was so caught up in my own concerns, I didn’t catch
my name the first time someone said it.

A little zing of pain shot up my back the second time,
instantly attracting my attention to the man who stood
next to a bench in the small green square through which
I was strolling.

“Aisling Grey—if you have a moment of time, I would
like to talk with you.”

I recognized the man immediately. The curly dark
brown hair and dark eyes, square chin, and slightly above-average height were nothing out of the ordinary,
but the aura of power surrounding him was palpable even
several yards away. I stopped and allowed him to approach.

“We have not been introduced, I think, although naturally I have heard of the famous Aisling Grey.” He smiled
faintly, his voice a bit husky, tinged with a faint Irish ac
cent. “I am Peter Burke.”

He didn’t hold out his hand, something I’d learned
quickly was standard with people in the Otherworld.
Drake had told me that too many people could pick up on
things when they touched you, so only good friends or
close acquaintances shook hands.

“Nice to meet you. Is there something I can help you
with?”

“Indeed. Can you spare me a few minutes?” he asked,
giving me a polite, tight little smile.

“Sure. Are you in London for business?” Obediently, I
took a seat on the bench he indicated.

“In a manner of speaking. I have been attending to my
concerns elsewhere for the last few months and only re
cently returned to Paris. There I discovered that Albert
Camus had been murdered, and you were instrumental in
discovering his murderer’s identity.”

“I had a bit of help, but that’s more or less true,” I
agreed. Peter’s eyes bothered me—something about them
wasn’t quite right, but I couldn’t put my finger on exactly
what it was.

“Regardless, you made an impression on the members of the Paris Otherworld.” His face was oddly expression
less, making me uneasy.

“Ah, now I see what you want,” I said, the truth dawning. The reassuring smile I flashed at him fizzled when he
didn’t respond to it in the least. “You’re worried that I
want a shot at the Venediger’s job, right? Well, you’re worrying needlessly. I have enough going on in my life
and have no desire to be Venediger. My friend Amelie
said something yesterday about people thinking I should
take the job, but that’s not going to happen.”

“I see,” Peter said, the faintest hint of amusement
showing in his eyes. I relaxed at the sight of it, relieved
that he was showing some sort of emotion. “Naturally, I
am greatly reassured to know that you have no designs on
the position so well suited to me, and loath though I am
to disturb you at a time when you are so busy, I had
thought that since you are held in such high esteem by the
Paris Otherworld, you might assist me.”

“Assist you?” I cleared my throat and shifted on the
bench, Amelie’s concerns still fresh in my memory. “I
don’t know how I could do that. I think you’re grossly overestimating just how much influence I have.”

“Nonetheless, it would give me the greatest pleasure to
know I had your support in my campaign to become the
next Venediger.”

I had to tread warily here—dragon politics had taught
me that much. “I’m going to be honest here, since you
seem to be a reasonable man. I am flattered that you think
I can help you get the job, but I don’t know you. I barely know anyone in Paris, and nothing of the history of the
Venedigers, let alone exactly what the job entails, so it’s out of the question for me to throw my support behind
you. Or anyone else for that matter,” I added quickly, just
in case he was pricked by my refusal. “It’s nothing to do
with you personally. I’m just not qualified to recommend
anyone for the job.”

He pursed his lips for a moment. “Are you aware of the
laws governing the Otherworld regarding the position of
Venediger?”

“No, I’m not. And that’s just one more reason why it
would be stupid of me to recommend someone—”

“The laws of the Otherworld state that the position is
granted to the person who has beaten all other chal
lengers. If there are no challengers, then the position is
put up to a vote by the membership of the L’au-dela. In
short, the popular vote wins.”

“Very democratic,” I said as noncommittally as I
could. If Peter thought I was going to march around Paris
soliciting votes for him, he was quite, quite mad. “I don’t,
however, see what this has to do with me. As.I said, I
have no intentions of trying to get the position.”

“You don’t need to. If there are no other challengers—
and to date, I am the sole contender, the two other individuals who were interested having killed each other in an ill-fought challenge—then anyone who is voted into the position will be declared the new Venediger.” He
paused to let that sink in. “Even someone who is appar
ently unwilling to take the position.”

“They can’t make me be Venediger against my will,” I
said quickly.

“You think not?” His eyebrows rose. “There is prece
dent for it, in fact. In 1518, a friar was made Venediger when the man who sought the position was proven to
have participated in a number of human sacrifices. The members of the Otherworld refused to accept him and picked instead a man they felt would not abuse the po
sition.”

“That has nothing to do with me. I’m not going to be
Venediger, period.”

“My travels to explore the mystic side of myself have
sent me into the Far East for so many years, I’m afraid I
am unacquainted with most of the people in the L’au-dela now. They do not know me, but they know—and appar
ently trust—you. I very much fear that unless you make
it clear you support me, you may find yourself in the very
position you so fervently wish to avoid. As you can see,
it would benefit us both were you to make a public stand.”

The weight of the world settled onto my shoulders,
making me slump with weariness. Just how much was
any one person supposed to bear? Wyvern’s mate and
demon lord and Guardian ... and now Venediger? My
mind balked at the thought. I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t
take on one more responsibility. I hadn’t yet proven I
could handle the ones I had!

“I’m sorry,” I said, getting to my feet and shaking my
head. “This is not something I can become involved in.”

“You already are, Aisling Grey.”

“No, I’m not; you just think I am. And I’m not going
to be. Good-bye, good luck, and happy election or what
ever it is you have to go through.”

He said nothing as I walked away, but I could feel his curiously unemotional black eyes on me until I was out of sight. I pushed away the twinge of concern our conversation had brought me. Peter Burke and his
desire to become Venediger had nothing to do with me,
nothing at all. Or so I prayed.

₆

“So you’re saying there’s nothing short of a blood sacri
fice that will satisfy the imps and get them to leave me
alone?”

“If you convince them that your demon acted without
orders from you, and if you offer them sufficient com
pensation for the loss of their monarch, and if you allow
them to witness the sacrifice, if they agree to all that,
then, yes, it may allow you to survive this atrocity with
relative success.”

I slumped back against the chair in Nora’s small
kitchen, the phone clutched to my ear. “OK. I’ll send them
a message explaining everything and offering them...
what did you call it?”

‘The historic term is
danegeld.
But it’s basically a
punitive payment for the loss of life of their leader.”

“Right. I send them an abject apology, explain what happened, and more or less let them run amok with my
Visa card. I can do that.”

“I hope so. Because the alternative is unthinkable.”

Nora clicked her tongue, muttered something about late
trains, and wished me luck with the dragon meeting. “I shouldn’t be gone above a few hours. You can tell me
about the meeting when I get back.”

“Will do. Good luck! Have fun hunting for kobolds.”

“You look moderately less pissed,” Jim said after I
hung up the phone, tipping its head on the side to con
sider me. “Are you going to forgive me and move on, or
keep giving me those nasty little looks for the rest of both
our days?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” I poured myself a second cup
of coffee, leaning up against the kitchen counter to sip the
blessed life-giving fluid. How on earth was I going to explain to the European population of imps about Jim’s
snacking habits?

“Which means the latter.” Jim sighed. “Change of sub
ject time—you wanna tell me what was up last night, or do I have to break out the crystal ball and divine it? And why did you come back from your trip to the bookstore
looking so grumpy?”

“Don’t be silly. Demons can’t divine.”

“Where
do
you get your ideas?” Jim shook its head
and drank a little water from the dogs’ water bowl.