The Stone Demon (10 page)

The demon smiled indulgently. “This is Halfway. You’re seeing whatever your human mind conjures up. It’s different for everybody.”

“
Halfway
? We’re … between realms?”

He shrugged, and Donna couldn’t help noticing that even his clothes had changed. “Xan’s” tailored gray suit had been replaced by a black velvet jacket and slim-fitting black pants. Demian’s smart black shoes shone brightly enough to reflect the spotlights embedded in the ivory ceiling. But he’d been wearing white when she’d first seen him up on that dais in the ballroom.

His silver hair rested on his jacket collar, and his cheekbones were so defined she imagined she might cut herself if she dared to touch his face.

Which she had no intention of doing. Donna bit the inside of her cheek, trying to focus. The only reason she felt like this at all was because of his power. It was sick and twisted; something that he could use to manipulate humans to do things against their will.
Remember that
, she told herself fiercely.

“So this is like Limbo?”

“If that is what you prefer to call it. It is just a name, a label. As I said, we call it Halfway.”

“Nice trick with the fake-Demian on stage, by the way. While I was dancing with fake-Xan, I mean.”

“Thank you.” He bowed, echoing the sarcasm he could surely hear in her voice. He unbuttoned his jacket and Donna held her breath, her eyes fixed on how his black shirt clung to his slender frame.

“Stop it,” she said.

“I am not doing anything.”

“I mean it. I’m not going to talk to you if you keep messing with my head.”

Demian’s eyes flashed coal-bright. “And I tell you again, this is simply who I am. I cannot change it.”

He gestured to the crimson chair behind her. The chair that hadn’t been there moments before. “Sit, Donna Underwood. Hear me out.”

Donna set her shoulders, knowing that her stubbornness could be the death of her, but, in that moment, not caring. “And you really couldn’t have done this at the ball? Or somewhere else? I thought we were supposed to be having a meeting. With
all
the alchemists. But, oh no, you had to prove how manly you are and whisk me away to an in-between world that I probably can’t escape from.”

Demian raised both eyebrows in a disturbingly human gesture. “Why would you want to leave? This is where the negotiations will take place.”

“Well then, where’s everyone else?” Donna’s heart lifted at the thought of seeing her mother.

“Through there.” He gestured at a solid-looking door that definitely hadn’t been there a moment ago. “Or, they will be soon. I had to bring you here so that we could join them.”

He was up to something, she just didn’t know what it was. Yet. Or maybe he was simply playing games—he was a demon, after all. That’s what they did.

“Fine,” was all she said. “Let’s go.”

Donna gazed around the meeting chamber and hoped her jaw wasn’t dragging on the floor. She couldn’t help it; the paintings that covered three of the walls were so vivid—so
visceral
—that it hurt to look at them too long. The one that kept pulling her attention back, despite her best efforts to turn away, was of a young man, painted in an almost-photographic style to look as if he were inside a giant aquarium, staring into the chamber. He was pressed up against the glass of the tank, fully submerged so that his long black hair waved around his head like tentacles, and his eyes were wide with terror. Those panic-filled eyes seemed to move back and forth, watching her. She tried to convince herself that it was just one of those freaky illusions, that there wasn’t really a man trapped in a painting, drowning for all eternity.

She sat down at a long table, and the Demon King took his place at the head of it. The guy in charge of the seating arrangements was the goat-faced man she’d seen speaking with Demian during the ball. His mask was one of the more realistic ones Donna had seen, and it seemed to move with his face as he talked. Watching him suspiciously, she wondered just how much of a “mask” it truly was.

Perhaps most surprising of all were the demon shadows, drifting back and forth around the peripheries of the room as though keeping watch over their master. They were completely silent, and Donna shivered every time she felt one of them move behind her. She suddenly hoped that Robert wouldn’t come, after all—she didn’t know what he’d do if faced with a group of these things again.

Then Demian’s steward, the goat-faced man, began announcing each person in turn as they walked through a doorway that had simply materialized in the center of the only wall empty of demonic “art.”

“Representing the human alchemists, Simon Gaunt, Magus from the Order of the Dragon, he whom we call Demon Slayer.”

As he walked through the door, Simon removed his Venetian Plague Doctor’s mask and smiled, showing the edge of his teeth. Donna shivered. How could she ever have found this man someone to be laughed at? Spending the past month with an ocean between them had been a luxury; but now she could see, more clearly than ever, how truly dangerous he was.

“Also here on behalf of the alchemists, Miranda Backhouse from the Order of the Crow, and her apprentice, Donna Underwood.”

So it was just Miranda and Simon here at the meeting, apart from herself. What about the other invitations that had been sent? Where was her mother? She’d been hoping to see her so much, and the knowledge that Rachel wasn’t there after all made Donna feel incredibly lonely. And what of Quentin? As Archmaster of the Order of the Dragon, he was spokesman for the Council—surely he needed to be here, to speak for all the alchemists. And then there was what Xan had told her. The
real
Xan. When they’d talked on the phone yesterday, he’d said that Maker believed the wood elves would be represented. Yet another thing that didn’t make sense.

Demian’s eyes rested on her, making her feel hot and cold all at once. She straightened her spine and refused to look in his direction. This was all getting to be far too much; she was overwhelmed by the importance of the event. She didn’t know anything about diplomatic negotiations—if that’s what this meeting was even about.

Well
, Donna thought.
I need to get some answers, so I might as well start now
.

She glared at Simon. “Where’s Quentin?” She knew it would do no good to ask about her mother, but he should at least answer for the Archmaster’s absence. “Why isn’t he here?”

The Magus sneered at her. “He is … unwell.”

“I don’t believe you,” Donna said. “I think you made him stay at the Estate so that you could take over.”

“Donna!” Miranda’s eyes were wide. “You mustn’t speak to the Magus that way.”

Donna swung around to face her mentor. “Why not? You haven’t had to live with him sticking his nose into your life for the past ten years. He’s got some kind of plan, and I want to know what it is.”

Demian narrowed his eyes as he watched them. “Donna Underwood speaks truly—Quentin Frost should be present. Perhaps he is afraid to face me. After all, it was his magic that contributed to the sealing of my realm two centuries ago.”

Simon’s hands were clenched on the table, his knuckles so white it looked almost as though the bones had burst through his skin. “He paid the price for it, demon. As you well know.”

Donna was torn between standing up and demanding to know—there and then—what the hell they were talking about, and letting the argument take its course so she could learn more. She opted to keep her mouth shut.

The Demon King shrugged one shoulder. “He brought it on himself. No alchemist should have been able to wield such power. It is incredible that he even survived.” Demian tilted his head, gazing intently at the Magus. “Though perhaps he has you to thank for that, hmm?”

Simon’s lips tightened, but he said nothing. Donna could see a muscle flickering in his scrawny cheek.

“Perhaps,” Demian continued, “your own ill-gained immortality is feeding both of you. Only I am given to understand that you are somewhat …
mortal
once again. What a pity. I wonder how that affects your beloved Archmaster?”

Donna’s eyes, by this stage in the verbal sparring, were almost bulging out of her head. She was suddenly glad to have been dragged into these so-called negotiations—especially if it meant she would find out more of Simon Gaunt’s secrets. Was he “mortal” once again because of her? Because she’d destroyed the remains of the elixir of life? Should she feel guilty about that?

No way. She didn’t feel guilty about doing anything to break Simon’s power, but she did worry about the possible effects on Quentin.

Demian’s steward continued the introductions, dragging her attention away from her fears for the elderly Archmaster. “From the Elflands, we welcome Aliette Winterthorn, Wood Queen and friend of the Otherworld.”

Aliette entered the room, her unglamoured face splitting into a nasty grin as her narrow gaze met Donna’s. She stood tall and straight, almost as though carved out of one of the tallest trees in the Ironwood. Her brown skin looked like the bark of an old tree, and her eyes were black slits of malice. She wore a cloak weaved of leaves and ivy, and she leaned on a tall staff made of sturdy-looking wood.

The Wood Queen was attended by two of her dark elves, hovering behind her as though they’d been left out of a particularly tricky round of musical chairs. The elves were much smaller than their queen, although they looked as much creatures of earth as she did with their tree-bark skin and mossy hair. One of them hissed at Donna when it caught her watching, and she quickly looked away.

“And from Faerie, it is our pleasure to welcome Queen Isolde’s official representative, Taran, chief knight and advisor.” The goat-faced steward sketched a mocking bow as the first of two tall men strode into the meeting room.

All heads turned toward them, and Donna caught her breath. She hadn’t expected anyone from Faerie to be here. High-born faery knights—which both of these men clearly were—brought all kinds of thoughts crashing down on her. When had the Queen of Faerie opened their door?
Why
had she done so? Was it because Demian had demanded it? Perhaps the fey thought their realm would be next on Demian’s destructive agenda … when the Demon King said “jump,” everyone asked “how high?” for fear of being wiped out in a fit of demon rage.

But experience told Donna that it was unlikely to be something that simple. The fey had been free of Hell’s reign for two centuries, not having to pay their tithe of human sacrifice to the demons while Demian was locked up. They could have just stayed safely in their own realm—the door to Faerie could only be opened from the inside, after all. Donna had found that out the hard way, when Aliette had manipulated her into opening the door to Hell instead.

Taran, the queen’s advisor, had a long pale face, huge almond-shaped blue eyes, and black hair that reached the middle of his back. His hair was woven into an intricate braid threaded with green twine, and he was dressed in what looked like silver chainmail. But it wasn’t anything like the armor that Donna was familiar with from history books—it might almost have been spun from spider’s silk. It shone with its own inner light, glittering and sliding across the knight’s body when he moved. There was a silver circlet resting on his brow, and he held himself with a stiff sort of arrogance.

His companion stood slightly behind him, but he was just as tall and dressed in similar armor. This faery’s skin was more golden-hued and his eyes flashed green as he kept a careful watch on everyone in the room. His blond hair swung loosely at his shoulders. Both men wore swords sheathed in beautifully embellished scabbards.

Both men also had slightly pointed ears, and Donna tried hard not to stare.

Displeasure flashed across Demian’s face. “Queen Isolde does not see fit to attend these negotiations herself, Taran?”

The dark-haired faery nodded, tilting his head just far enough to indicate respect. “Queen Isolde is also …
unwell
, your Majesty.”

Taran’s companion shifted his stance, resting his right hand on the pommel of the silver sword that hung at his waist.

The steward stopped reading from the scroll. “Who is this other person with you, Knight of Faerie?”

“I bring Cathal, a favored knight from the Court of Air who volunteered for this duty.”

The blond knight bowed, but his eyes were ever watchful. Donna noticed his gaze flicker in the Wood Queen’s direction several times—and then in hers.

Volunteered?
That was interesting. She filed the information away for later.

Aliette shook her head, spilling leaves onto the table. “Interesting that my cousin sends warriors to a peace negotiation.”

Donna hated to agree with the Wood Queen on anything, but she couldn’t really argue with her on that. It did seem strange that the monarch of Faerie would shun this gathering and send knights armed with grand swords in her place.

Taran raised an eyebrow. “Just as the outcast Court of Earth sees fit to send guards with their representative.”

“My companions are unarmed,” Aliette replied. “You are looking for trouble where none exists, Taran.”