The Brimstone Deception (23 page)

I
scanned the opposite shore of the brimstone pond.

We'd been expecting demons throwing a beach party to celebrate their imminent invasion—at least that's what I'd expected to see. All we'd actually seen was the demon lord's mini-me, Marty's demonic toddler, and the shadow that had a mind of its own. Not that I minded reaching the Hellpit with zero attempts on our lives, but I didn't trust it. Not that I'd know what to do if one of the locals jumped out at me. Considering what the locals were, the first thing I'd do was probably wet my pants. While embarrassing, I didn't think anyone would blame me.

“Mac,” Ian said.

That one word contained a world of communication.

“I'm looking. Nothing and no one yet.”

I continued to scan what dry land remained that wasn't covered by brimstone. Ian didn't have to say he didn't like it. I didn't like it, either. None of us did. This setup had trap written all over it.

A stalagmite wavered.

Huh?

I blinked to clear my vision. It could be the heat. It was like a sauna in here, but nothing else around the stalagmite was wavering.

“Wavy rock formation at high noon.”

Ian and Rake stepped up next to me, one on each side. Fred was a solid presence at my back. Though considering what I most wanted to do was turn and run, a solid Fred right behind me wasn't good for either one of us, unless he wanted to get trampled.

If it was a veil or shield, it was the best one I'd ever seen or heard of. I wouldn't expect anything less from an elf dark mage strong enough to have opened a catfish-pond-sized Hellpit.

Rake's hands were at his side, glowing with the bright red of a defensive spell held in check. If this had been a dirt street in the Wild West, Rake would have been the gunslinger with his hands hovering over his six-shooters.

Ian had Sandra's actual six-shooter in his hand.

An elf stepped away from the front of the stalagmite, his face and form shifting from a perfect camouflage match for the rock back to his own features.

Damn.

He'd been standing in plain sight the entire time like a chameleon. His breathing was what had made what I was seeing waver.

If Isidor Silvanus hadn't been about to release literal Hell on Earth, I would have been impressed.

And yes, I knew it was Silvanus standing on the other side of the Hellpit. I didn't need an introduction. I'd seen him before. Twice. On the other side of the portals in Sar Gedeon's apartment and in the parking garage.

Tall, dark, pale, and evil.

His hair was black, his skin alabaster, and his eyes bright blue.

Rake was right. The elf was good-looking, pretty, even. Too pretty. And too perfect. If he'd been human, I'd say he'd had work done. Since he was an elf, I'd say their highborn family tree needed to add some new branches for variety.

Silvanus had framed himself in front of an arrangement of thin stalagmites that bore an uncanny resemblance to a certain throne on Ord's favorite show.

Someone thought highly of himself.

Rake had called him obscenely powerful. Alastor had called him arrogant. I'd suggest adding vain, narcissistic, self-appointed special snowflake to that growing list.

Emerging from behind the throne to stand next to him was exactly what Bert had described to Martin.

A demon lord.

Seven-foot tall, red skin, tail as long as I was tall, smooth back, swimmer's build, horns curved and slightly tilted toward the back. Then there was the one thing Bert had left out: glowing, yellow eyes. I don't know how he missed that.

Isidor Silvanus spoke, his voice like warm honey. “I provide you with the safest passage it is in my power to grant, and what thanks do I get?”

Rake's hands glowed even brighter; now they were the color of freshly spilled blood. “More restraint than you deserve.”

The elf smiled. “You took your time getting here, Rake.”

“No, we took yours.” The goblin met his smile and raised him two fully extended fangs. For the first time since I'd known him, Rake's fangs weren't for display only. He planned to use magic to defeat Isidor Silvanus, but if the fight got up close, I had no doubt that Rake would get personal with his incisors.

“You brought the individuals that I requested,” Silvanus noted. “And I didn't think you would grant even the simplest of my requests. I was wrong.” The elf turned his attention to me. “Miss Fraser.”

“That would be
Agent
Fraser to you and yours.” My voice didn't quaver in the least. Good for me.

“Ah yes. Agent. A member of that misguided organization that passes for supernatural law enforcement on this world. And Detective Ash. You chose to ally yourself with the mortal police.” The elf mage smiled in a show of perfect teeth, a smile that actually reached his eyes. “I will enjoy watching your comrade-in-arms' feeble attempts to defend this city's citizens once brimstone—and their blood—is flowing through its streets.” His sharp, blue eyes regarded Ian. “Agent Byrne I have heard about from a mutual acquaintance. He sincerely regrets that your reunion was cut short on New Year's Eve, and would very much like to—how do you humans say—‘reach out' to you in the very near future.”

Isidor Silvanus didn't say anything else, and he didn't need to. Ian knew exactly who the elf was referring to, and so did I.

That night, years ago, when Ian had first encountered the creature, it had taken the appearance of a ghoul. The creature had killed—and eaten—Ian's partner in the NYPD in an interrupted robbery gone wrong. Ian had joined SPI soon afterward to hunt down the thing that'd eaten his partner. When I'd seen the creature in the subway tunnels beneath Times Square last New Year's Eve, my seer vision told me that the ghoul face he'd worn then was but one of many faces and identities he'd taken over the centuries. I had seen each face, each identity, layered on top of one another, stretching back into infinity. And only last week, according to SPI surveillance, he'd been seen at the Metropolitan Museum gala.

So I believed Isidor Silvanus when he said the ghoul was still in town, waiting for the chance to get his claw-tipped hands into Ian.

Ian didn't move or show any sign that the elf's words had affected him in the least.

I knew they had, but my partner was pushing down his emotions until he could deal with them in the way he wanted. The ghoul wasn't here to be on the receiving end
of those emotions, but Isidor Silvanus was. My partner was a practical man; he'd make do with what he had.

“And Dr. DiMatteo,” Silvanus said. “Last, but far from least. The mortal who knows so much more about the darker realms than he should. You have been quite inconvenient.”

Fred slapped the demonologist on the back. “Hear that, Doc? You're inconvenient. Way to go.”

“My partners and I have been forced to accelerate our plans. I requested your presence since each of you, in your own way, is to blame for that. You will be the first to experience what your world will soon become.”

“That wasn't what—” Martin began.

“That was precisely what you agreed to, Dr. DiMatteo. In exchange for the contract, I will release Miss Poertner to you. However, I have no intention of closing the Hellpit.” He gazed around. “At this point, closing it would be more of a challenge than even I could overcome. Though it will be entertaining to watch the little mortal woman try.”

“If you can't close this pit,” Rake began, “then what is my incentive to give you the contract?”

“Give me the contract and you will not have to watch Miss Poertner die in one of the worst ways you could imagine.”

Rake wasn't moved. “One life saved over the lives of millions lost. You'll have to do better than that, Isidor. Again, what is my incentive?”

“You will have a
chance
, goblin. A chance that Miss Poertner might actually succeed where I might fail—should I be inclined to attempt to close my masterpiece, which I am not. A chance was more than you had before I allowed you through that portal. Humans are such optimists, even in the face of miserable odds. It will be—how do you say—a ‘win-win.' You and your companions die a noble death, and my partners gain unlimited access to this world.”

“That's a crappy win,” Fred muttered.

“For you, but not for Lord Danescu. This goblin has
survived every attempt to end his life, and there have been many, including my own.”

Rake shrugged. “Everyone has an off day.”

“But you won't be having an off day today, will you, goblin? Once again, you will fight to save your own life.” The elf mage smiled. “But in the next few minutes, will you fight for the lives of your companions—even if it will mean losing your own?”

Rake's dark eyes narrowed. “You've wasted enough of our time.”

“Oh, but I believe it is a fine use of time.” The elf began walking around the Hellpit toward us. “Your companions should know what they have welcomed into their fold.”

Ian snorted. “I wouldn't say ‘welcomed.'”

“Then you are a wiser man than I would have thought, Agent Byrne. I have been observing Lord Danescu and Agent Fraser, and have noted that the goblin goes through the motions of considering her more than merely a temporary human amusement. His performance was quite impressive at the museum last week and the café a few days ago. He nearly made a believer out of me, and I know Rake far too well to be fooled. You've known him for little more than a year, Agent Fraser, and as a human, you can hardly be faulted for being deceived.”

“Nice try,” I said.

Truth was it was a damned fine try. It was also the oldest trick in the book. Sow doubt, weaken the enemy. There were many levels of trust, and I still didn't know which ones, if any, Rake was good for. It probably depended on which way the wind was blowing. Isidor Silvanus knew we had to rely on Rake and his magic whether we wanted to or not, and he wanted to weaken what little trust we did have.

The question “Did I trust Rake?” had two answers: yes, and not as far as I could throw him.

Both were true. Both were Rake.

Goblins were complicated.

“You and Miss Poertner are valuable commodities,” Silvanus was saying. “Being a businessman, Lord Danescu is quick to identify and exploit any asset he may find. Tell me, Agent Fraser, has he offered you employment?”

Only within two minutes of meeting me.

“And when you did not accept, did his attentions turn to more of a romantic nature?”

Within two and a half minutes of meeting me.

“Our Rake can be most persistent—and patient—in acquiring the things he wants.”

Not people. Things.

Every word Isidor Silvanus said was true. However, there were also grains of truth in every lie. Rake may have started out wanting me because of my seer gift, but over the past year, that had changed.

Or had it?

I knew what my gut told me, and my gut had never been wrong. But when it came to Rake, my heart was reserving judgment.

I'd never been in love. I suspected if Rake ever had been, once he'd realized what'd happened, he'd probably run in the opposite direction like he was on fire. I think Rake liked me. I know he lusted after me—and any beautiful and breathing woman. I was breathing, but I wasn't beautiful.

The only thing left was what I could do, the reason Rake had wanted to hire me the first night we'd met. The thing he lusted after.

I was a seer. A good one.

A valuable commodity, as Isidor Silvanus had put it.

Rake's motives were a mystery.

But right now, his motives didn't matter. Perhaps he truly cared what happened to our world beyond losing a strategic outpost against the elves, or he was simply too stubborn and proud to accept defeat on any level.

Rake Danescu was a goblin. He could balance motives like a plate spinner. But there was one thing that I did trust.
Rake would never hurt me. If he thought he had a good reason, he would tell me white lies, black lies, and every-color-of-the-rainbow lies, but I knew in my gut, heart, and head that Rake would never hurt me.

For now, that was enough.

Isidor Silvanus and the demon lord arrived on our side of the Hellpit.

The elf beckoned Rake to him with a wave of his hand. “The contract, if you please.”

The goblin made no move. “Miss Poertner?”

Silvanus impatiently waved a hand, illuminating an area directly over the Hellpit, and dropping yet another veil.

We all looked up.

Oh my God.

Kitty was imprisoned inside a clear stalactite suspended only a few feet above the bubbling surface. Whatever it was made of, it was melting, dripping with sizzling plops into the Hellpit.

She didn't look frightened. She was furious.

Good for her. Better for her if we could get her out of there without either her or us getting flash fried in brimstone.

“As you can imagine, ice—especially hollow ice—doesn't last long in a place like this,” Silvanus was saying. “I can only do so much to slow the melting.” He held out his hand. “The contract, Danescu. Now.”

Rake casually strolled toward them, stopping less than ten feet away. It was entirely too close for comfort. Knowing Rake, that was precisely why he did it. “I find it difficult to believe that your partner failed to put his master's copy in a safe place.” He paused and smiled slowly. “Or did he put it in a place that was safe
from
his master?”

The demon lord's eyes were glowing bright yellow.

Rake hit a sore spot with that one.

“You toy with your betters, goblin,” Silvanus warned. “There was another goblin dark mage who, astonishingly enough, approached my level of skill, but he recently got
himself carried off by a particularly large demon. He only conjured demons to force them to do his will. I prefer networking.”