The Deception Dance (37 page)

He holds out the blood dripping plate and leans
into my gaze, “A blood offering. That’s my plan Raven;
when we get outside, we’re going to summon a demon.”

Day
Fifty Six (Continued)

“Quick, put the plate down inside the
circle,” Stephen says over his shoulder as he pours a stream of
granules onto the grass. “Make sure not to disturb any of the
salt.” I can barely hear him over the screeching fighting
sounds coming from where Albert, Nicholas and several commandos are
holding a horde of demons at bay. At least the seething mass of
fanged, clawed, and red gleaming eyed beasts seem to have scared off
the soul-bound, for the moment.

I quickly do as he says, stepping over the salt
line; the pool of blood on the blue ceramic threatens to slosh over
so I set it down ever, so carefully. I leap back out of the circle
before Stephen closes it with the last drips of salt; he throws the
empty container down and offers me his hand.

I slip my hand in his; both of our palms are
sticky with drying blood. “Have you ever done this before?”
My voice sounds higher pitched than I intended.

“No,” Stephen admits, “But
I’ve studied the theory.”

I nod, not trusting myself to say anything that
could improve the situation.

“Fenrisúlfur... wait,” He
squeezes my hand, “Raven, before I do this, you need to
understand something. No matter what I say, do not, under any
circumstance, touch Fenrisúlfur’s teeth.” He tugs
me towards him, “Not under any circumstance, not even if it’s
to save my, or Nicholas or Albert’s life, or all of our lives,
or your own life. Understand?”

I gulp and nod, “Yes.”

He inhales deeply through his nose and turns
back to his circle. “Fenrisúlfur...” Stephen
speaks in a deep voice and language I do not understand. He breaks
the long stream of words and whispers, “Chant with me.”
Then louder, “We offer you the blood of a Christian!”

My gaze snaps back to him and my eyes open so
wide they would fall out if they weren’t attached. I’m
not going to say that.

“
We offer you the blood of a
Christian!”

This is evil, entirely evil. Why did he have me
talk to a priest if he was going to pull me out here to damn my soul
interminably?

“
We offer you the blood of a
Christian!”

Now I see; I see why he told me to ice my
insides over, and do what has to be done. But, I can’t say that
to a demon, I won’t. It just feels so deeply wrong.

Stephen must realize that I’m not going
to chant with him because he switches to chanting in that same
unknown language.

The haze of smoke has not invaded the sky
above, and the night is beautiful, too beautiful. It’s as if
the weather didn’t get the memo that the world we know is
disintegrating like a threadbare curtain, exposing the horrors it hid
for so long on the other side. Shouldn’t the climate be as
bleak as the rest of Copenhagen? But, no, it’s warm with the
lightest breeze. But, this breeze doesn’t carry the scent of
the rose bushes surrounding us; it delivers the perfume of rot, fire
and old blood.

The giant empty salt-rimmed circle and fighting
forms beyond reflect the searchlight’s glare. Maybe it’s
not going to work; maybe the circle will stay empty. Stephen said he
only knew the theory, maybe...

I blink and he’s there. I jump back but
Stephen’s tight grip on my hand doesn’t let me flee. I
have to crane my neck to look into his face, his slathering, snarling
mouth. The wolf Fenrisúlfur is taller than any horse I’ve
ever seen, and about three times the girth. His thick glistening coat
is ebony black. His mouth drips with an oily substance that pools on
the grass at his feet.

He must still be inside the circle, but I feel
as if he’s looming over me, his row of six-inch spears, where
teeth should be, are positioned to snap me in half. And his growling
maw descends.

I turn to run, heading back into the church;
but Stephen’s grip won’t loosen and he tugs me back to
him. We’re going to be eaten.

But no, Fenrisúlfur’s teeth don’t
sink into my flesh. A big red tongue lulls from his jaws and with one
lick the plate is clean of Nicholas’s blood.

My stomach rings out like a towel; bile burns
my throat.

“Fenrisúlfur we have called you
forth to parley!” Stephen yells up at the hell-beast. “We
offer you this compromise: give us safe passage to where Andras the
Grand Marquis holds court without harming the men who protect us and
Raven Smith will not impale her palms on your fangs.”

The wolf’s face turns to expose his
bulbous black eye. He leans his head to where I’m sure he’s
pushing against the salt barrier.

I straighten up knowing I have to look
confident; as if I could actually have the courage to stick my hands
into those jaws. I hold out my palm, but not far.

He, ever so slightly, pulls back. He’s
scared of me; this towering demonic monster is scared of
me
.

I push my hand farther out.

He stands to his full height and cocks his head
to examine us.

“Do you agree to our terms?”
Stephen sounds amazingly steady.

Fenrisúlfur just examines us while
panting and dripping oil but, after seemingly forever, his snout bobs
once.

“If I open this circle will you attack me
or my brothers?”

The wolf shakes his muzzle slowly, like the
swing of a pendulum.

“Will you protect us until we are safely
inside Andras’s demonic nest?”

The wolf’s head swings down toward us in
a nod.

Stephen doesn’t let go of my hand as he
crosses to the salt circle.

The cries of battle must have drowned out
Albert’s approach because suddenly he is beside us. “I’m
going,” his voice booms at Stephen, grabbing at our clasping
hands.

Stephen swings our hands out of the way and
wheels on his brother. The snarl on his face is worse than
Fenrisúlfur’s, and Stephen’s scar is all the more
defined from it. “You left Nicholas to defend us against a
hundred demons?” He shouts, “Is there no end to your
selfishness, Albert?”

“You do not understand!” Albert
roars back.

Stephen’s voice turns colder than his
glare, “I understand perfectly. You’re about as subtle as
that mallet you swing. Do you honestly think I don’t know about
the wife you shame by hiding away? The last thing Raven Smith needs
right now is a hammer swing and, at the moment, that’s all
you’re good for.”

Albert doesn’t move. He’s dripping
with sweat and what looks like the same oily substance that spills
from Fenrisúlfur’s mouth. He might have the appearance
of a thunder-god but the expression on his face looks more like a
little boy who just got scolded by his mother.

“You go back and protect our brother.
Help him, carry him if you need to, and get him to the doctors in
Kastellet.” Stephen swings his arm toward where I can see
Nicholas and the surviving commandos overwhelmed with adversaries,
then drops his arm to return his glare to his brother. “Remember
Kastellet? Remember the thousands of people in there? Your selfish
acts have condemned them to a fate worse than death. If you were any
kind of worthwhile human-being you’d go protect them now.”
He points into Albert’s face, “You choose how many people
are going to die because of what you’ve done.”

Albert just stands there.

“Get out of my sight,” Stephen’s
says, voice cold.

The expression that Albert gives us almost
makes me feel sorry for him… almost.

Stephen sighs as Albert turns, “You
already know I’ll do everything in my power to save Hayvee.”

Stephen turns back to me, any trace of his
uncharacteristic rage gone from his marred but kind features. “Are
you ready?”

“Yes.”

He steps into the salt circle with one foot and
drags it back displacing the salt underfoot.

Fenrisúlfur’s mouth opens wider,
his panting almost sounds like chuckling. He swipes his paw over the
edge of the circle and steps down on the other side. He turns his
side to us like a horse, but unlike a horse he crouches down for us
to mount.

My heart is fluttering so fast it feels like a
humming bird trapped in my ribcage.

“Ladies first,” Stephen doesn’t
let go of my hand when he helps me up but he switches hands quickly
as he mounts behind me. Fenrisúlfur is so wide only the lower
halves of my legs hang over his sides. I can feel the rock hard
muscles under his skin shift as he stands.

The giant wolf crosses to the edge of our
little clearing where Albert, Nicholas and their men are still
slashing, swinging, and shooting to hold back the tide of demonic
beasts. Fenrisúlfur’s chest expands seconds before a
bone-shivering growl shakes the night. The effect is immediate; the
demons scatter like cockroaches in the light.

Nicholas slumps forward.

Stephen’s hand clasps my shoulder.

Albert crosses our path, grabs his brother and
throws him over his shoulder roughly. He barrels away from us toward
a distant gathering of small fires: Kastellet. I hope they make it
there. I hope they defend it.

Path cleared, Fenrisúlfur canters
forward. His paws make a smacking sound with every fall on the oil
and blood soaked grass. We cross into a street where neither the
scattered demons nor the soul-bound rush us, they are perhaps
following us, but I don’t turn to see.

The street has no demons or people but it is by
no means deserted. On every overturned trashcan, crashed car and
burnt storefront ravens perch. I can feel their many black eyes
watching me; their gazes are like thousands of beetles boring into my
skin.

I shiver. I need to talk about something
(anything) to distract me.

I lean back into Stephen so he can hear my
whisper, “So what does Fenrisúlfur’s bite do?”
Even though I’m only leaning into him for privacy, feeling his
body pressed against my back is both comforting and… a little
awkward.

Stephen whispers back, his lips right next to
my ear, “His saliva is infectious. If he bites you, you’re
infected with Lycanthropy.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

His voice lowers even more, “It means
you’ll turn into a hell-wolf, like him.”

“Like...like a werewolf?”

“Werewolves have a diluted form of
lycanthropy, but the people that Fenrisúlfur bites don’t
ever turn back into humans, if they survive at all. Also,” He
pauses, “Andras would not thank us if you sent Fenrisúlfur
to burn in the ashes of hell. Fenrisúlfur is Andras’s
dearest ally; and therefore possibly the only other demon that
doesn’t want to kill you, but, we can’t be sure of that.
Andras rides Fenrisúlfur into battle and always keeps one of
his elite progeny as a personal guard.”

So there are werewolves, and probably thousands
of other mythical creatures roaming among us. Then I remember, I saw
a giant dog with Andras in his house in Italy; or, should I say his
very own desecrated church. Now I know what desecrating a church
entails. Cold prickles run down my back and arms.

I peer around; every storefront window gapes
open like mouths with glass shard teeth. There’s blood
everywhere, but only ravens walk the streets until we turn onto
another wider avenue. There’s a crowd up ahead. The people I
see... I can’t understand what I’m seeing. My eyes sting.
I can’t breathe. What are those demons doing to all those
people?

“Close your eyes,” Stephen says
into my ear. “Close them; you don’t need to see this.”

I do as he says. I pinch my nose too, before I
get sick. My breath slowly returns. My voice is a bit nasally when I
speak, “Soon, I’ll get to Andras and all this will be
over.”

Stephen wraps his arms around me, pulling me
closer against him. I’m not sure whether his embrace is to
comfort me or to gain even more privacy for what he says next, “You
have to know...” he whispers, “…that just getting
to Andras is not enough. He’s a Demon Raven, to him
only
the ends matter
, you have to
remember that. You need to convince him that the only way for you to
be together is if he doesn’t break the seals of Solomon and
open the gates to Hell. He has to
believe
that you love him, that you want to be with him, and that you’ll
wait for him to find another inhabitable body.”

“I’ll...” my voice falters,
“I’ll lie.”

“No, you can’t lie.” He says
this with force. “Demons know if you lie, they have an internal
lie-detector that is never wrong. You have to do what they do, lie
with the truth. Think about it as… as a dance, you have to
dance their dance, their dance of deception. You have to twirl around
the truth, dip under it and tread around it ever, so, lightly. You
can’t even put one foot out of place, because if you miss-step,
if you slip, the gates of Hell will open.”

I’m shaking now. “I’m so
tired. I don’t even understand what you’re asking of me
and I’m sure I can’t do it.”