The Stone Demon (11 page)

Everybody took their seats at the table and refreshments were brought by women dressed similarly to those whom Donna had met on her way into the crypt. She watched them, curious about what they looked like beneath their masks.

“My Lord, His Amaranthine Majesty Demian, King of Terror and of the Otherworld, returned from his exile of two centuries, bids you all welcome,” the steward announced, gesturing to the head of the table. “Who would speak first?”

Miranda leaned forward. Her face was pale but composed. “I want to know what we’re all here for. Why go through this charade when you could just kill us all with barely a thought?”

Demian’s lips twisted into something resembling a smile. “You overestimate my power, alchemist.”

“I don’t think so,” Miranda said. “You demonstrated your power when you destroyed the British Museum.”

The Demon King waved his hand, dismissing the complete destruction of a British institution as though he’d kicked over a child’s sandcastle. “That was nothing. I merely needed to get your attention.”

Simon glared at the demon from behind his glasses. They magnified his eyes and made him look like a balding white bug. “You have our attention, demon.”

Donna didn’t want to be sitting at a table with Simon Gaunt. She didn’t want to be on his “side.” Truth be told, she didn’t want to pick sides—not if it meant more innocent people were going to suffer. Or die.

She noticed Taran’s companion, Cathal, watching her, and flushed when he didn’t look away. He nodded, very slightly, as though acknowledging her in some way. She frowned at him. What did a faery knight want with her?

Demian stood up. Demon shadows stirred against the wall, their heads turning eerily in his direction.

“Let me make this simple,” he said. “I want two things and I will get them. If I do
not
get them, I will grind the human world beneath my heel and turn every human that remains into a shadow, to serve me in my Court of Fire.”

Simon was squeezing his hand so tightly around his goblet that Donna thought he would smash it, as if he were the one who had the iron tattoos and super-strength. “You cannot threaten us here,” Simon declared. “This realm is neutral territory, and the only reason we agreed to come without a fight was because of your promises. You—”

“Do not presume to tell me what I can and cannot do, Magus,” Demian spat. “You are fortunate, indeed, that we are Halfway. I would enjoy removing your head from your shoulders and keeping you alive, as you have done with my people.”

Donna stifled a gasp, her mind flashing to Newton. Trapping demons in the human realm … was this something that other alchemists had done, too? She clenched her hands in her lap and stayed silent, thinking about the creepy head carved out of bronze that served as a half-alive security system in Simon Gaunt’s laboratory. She’d first encountered Newton with Xan, when all the statue had done was scream to alert the Magus to their unauthorized entry into the lab. But then, during her trial, Donna and Navin had actually spoken with the statue, and discovered that a demon’s essence was trapped inside—summoned and then snared by Simon, who used the demon to serve him and provide him with knowledge of the Otherworld.

Demian’s steward slipped quietly away, and returned moments later.

“It seems we have a late arrival,” he declared, sounding excited, bored, and put out all at the same time. Which was no mean feat, Donna thought.

Demian sighed. “Fine. Admit him.”

“
Her
, My Lord.”

The wall shimmered and the door appeared, allowing the newest member of the gathering to walk serenely into the room.

Rachel Underwood lowered the hood of her emerald cloak and shook out her unbound red hair. The strange lighting above her head made it look as though fire cascaded down her back.

“Mom!” Donna didn’t give a damn about ceremony. Just let Miranda—or Simon—try to stop her.

She ran to her mother and the two women embraced. Rachel pressed a kiss to Donna’s forehead and then another on her cheek, before they finally pulled apart and regarded one another. It had only been a month, but to Donna it seemed so much longer.

Her mother smiled, ignoring the irritated expression on Simon’s face. “You look beautiful.”

Donna shook her head. “No way,
you’re
the one who looks beautiful. I see you got your dress back.”

Rachel shrugged, still smiling. She’d unclasped her long cloak to reveal the forest-green dress that Donna had found in the chest in Aunt Paige’s study.

“This is all very touching,” the steward finally said, sounding anything but touched, “but can we proceed? You are late.”

Rachel raised her eyebrows, full of a haughty grandeur that surprised Donna. “Please accept my apologies—I had some difficulties with my transportation.” Donna couldn’t miss the look in her mother’s eyes when she glanced at Simon.

Simon, for his part, looked as though he were about to explode. His forehead had gone shiny and his cheeks were almost purple.

Miranda leaned toward him. “Is there a problem, Magus?”
Her tone was deferential, but Donna was pretty sure she caught a hint of amusement.

The Magus seemed to have gotten himself back under control. “Rachel, what a pleasant surprise.”

“Surely not a surprise, Simon,” she replied, making no attempt to disguise her disdain. “I was scheduled to accompany you in Quentin’s place, after all.”

“I was unaware of that,” Simon replied smoothly. “How fortunate that you were able to make alternative travel arrangements.”

“Yes,” Rachel said, glancing at Demian, who must surely have provided her “alternative travel.” “Very fortunate.”

Donna looked around the table, taking in the strange gathering and trying to keep calm. There was her mother, sitting with Simon and Miranda; Aliette and her wood elves watching her back; the two hot fey guys sent on behalf of the Queen of Faerie, casting furtive glances around them; and Demian sitting majestically at the head of the table, his demon shadows drifting close by like guttering candles in the nonexistent breeze. His steward stood calmly behind his chair.

It was Demian who broke the silence.

“I want the Philosopher’s Stone,” the Demon King an-
nounced. “Give it to me, and humanity will not suffer any further at my hands.”

Eight

E
verything clicked into place. Fear tightened Donna’s chest, making it momentarily hard to breathe. A demon king in possession of the Philosopher’s Stone? She couldn’t bear to imagine that—not considering the power the Stone supposedly possessed. Apart from the obvious things—riches beyond imagining, immortality, its crucial role in creating the elixir of life—there was also the not-insignificant legend that whomever held the Philosopher’s Stone could reshape reality. Manipulate matter … maybe even change history itself. Of course, these were stories that she had read in books, but that didn’t mean there might not be some truth in them.

From the look on the Demon King’s face, maybe a
lot
of truth.

Miranda had visibly paled, but her voice was steady. “I expected threats from you, especially after the destruction you caused in London.”

Demian tilted his head to one side. “Human beings are quite capable of inflicting all kinds of creative forms of suffering on one another. They do not need the help of demons. However, we are perfectly …
willing
to provide that help, should I not get what I desire.”

Rachel and Miranda exchanged a look, but it was Simon who spoke for the alchemists. “That’s what all this is about? The Stone has been missing for centuries, presumably destroyed long ago by our ancestors. And even if we
did
have it, we would never give it to you.”

Demian narrowed his abyss-black eyes. “Then make another.”

Simon nodded sardonically. “Oh yes, because it is so very easy to do … ”

Rachel leaned forward, resting her hands on the table. “We can’t do what you’re asking, Your Majesty. The alchemists no longer possess all of the ingredients needed to create the Stone.”

Donna’s head jerked up at this proclamation. She turned to Miranda and whispered, “I thought part of the reason for my being here was to help the Order of the Crow create a new Philosopher’s Stone.”

Miranda shook her head. “We’ll discuss this later, Donna,” she said in a low voice. “Now is not the time.”

Demian steepled his white hands in front of him, clearly able to hear every word. “No,” he said, “let Donna Underwood speak. I would like to hear what she has to say.”

His steward turned his goat face in Donna’s direction and gestured with one long-fingered hand. “Speak up, girl.”

Rachel pursed her lips and looked away, and Miranda shrugged. Simon huffed.

Donna cleared her throat, suddenly nervous. She didn’t want to make another mistake—she knew what those could cost the alchemists. What it could cost many other people. “It’s nothing.”

She looked away from all of the stares, wishing that the floor would swallow her up. She was confused. Wasn’t her original “sentence,” handed down at the tribunal in Ironbridge, to go to London as Miranda’s apprentice for one year—to help in the creation of a new Philosopher’s Stone? There hadn’t been much evidence of that so far, of course, but then again, she’d only been here a few weeks. She’d figured that her newly awakened power to open doors between realms was something the alchemists might draw upon, when working to replace the elixir she’d lost in her first skirmish with the Wood Queen.

Simon’s face was set in rigid lines, his shoulders tense as he leaned back in his chair and glared at Demian. “We will never help you regain your strength, not when we were the ones to lock you away in the first place. You ask too much of us. You ask the impossible.”

Demian raised his eyebrows. “I am not asking.”

Simon muttered something, but he seemed surprisingly powerless. He glanced at Rachel who looked away, trying to hide her anger.

Demian swept his black gaze across the table. “This debate is pointless when the matter is so simple. You will deliver a new Philosopher’s Stone to me, in the Ironwood, at a time of my choosing.”

“Or what?” Simon asked, his voice filled with hate.

“Or I will raze both your cities to the ground.” Demian smiled. “You may choose the first location to be destroyed: London or Ironbridge.”

Donna tried to imagine a world without London, or without Ironbridge. What would happen? Would the world powers believe it was some sort of nuclear attack? What other option would there be? The governments of the U.K. and the U.S. surely weren’t aware of the existence of other realms, of demons and faeries and elves, of alchemists who were supposed to be the keepers of a magical Stone that could bestow all kinds of power and riches on ordinary humans.

Miranda closed her eyes briefly. “What does that achieve, apart from mindless destruction and the death of innocents?”

“On the contrary,” the demon replied, “it is very far from mindless. If I reduce both cities to rubble, we can be sure that you will take me seriously when I tell you that I
will
have the Stone. I am willing to destroy your world one city at a time until you agree to create a new one for me.”

Donna’s heart beat so fast she imagined her ribs actually hurt. “How can we do that, Majesty, if we’re all dead?”

“I will of course transport the alchemists I need to this realm, first. I need to protect my assets.” He leaned forward and pinned her with his gaze. “Perhaps I will even bring you to the Otherworld. You may find it more comfortable there with me.”

Donna swallowed, wondering if it might be better to keep her mouth shut. Miranda answered for her.

“A human being cannot enter the Otherworld without dying,” she said. “You’ll need Donna alive to create a new Philosopher’s Stone.”

“Yes,” Demian said. “Because she alone holds a shard of the
prima materia
in her soul.”

The first matter. One of the building blocks of reality—and something that Donna was finally beginning to understand. It seemed that her ability to open doors between worlds was just one of the things she could do when drawing on the power of the first matter.

The Demon King smiled. “You will bring me the Stone before dawn on the festival of Imbolc.”

Rachel’s face had gone paler than Donna had ever seen it. “Imbolc is less than two days from now.”

Simon banged his fist down on the table. “Two days? That’s ridiculous. We can’t possibly gather all the ingredients in time. Do you realize how long it took to make the previous one?”

“And you are well motivated to keep any such new Stone to yourself, are you not, Magus?” Taran, the dark knight, put in.

Simon glared at him. “You know nothing about me.”

Taran shook his head. “You are mistaken. I see the Hand of Time upon your shoulder. You have lived beyond your nature and are now suffering the consequences.”

Aliette, who had been surprisingly quiet, turned her inhuman gaze Simon’s way. “Immortality has a price, does it not, Magus?”

Donna didn’t understand everything that was being said, but she knew enough to fill in some gaps. Simon Gaunt had been drinking the elixir of life to prolong his normal human lifespan. She had no idea how old he actually was—he had the appearance of a middle-aged man—but who knew how long he’d looked that way. When Donna was bargaining with the Wood Queen for Navin’s life, she’d had to resort to throwing away the final drops of the elixir, rather than hand it over to the dark elves.

And to make a new elixir, you needed the Philosopher’s Stone.

Donna frowned at the Demon King. “Why would you want the Philosopher’s Stone, anyway? You’re already immortal.”

Demian’s steward hissed at her. “His Majesty does not answer to a child.”

His Majesty
raised a hand, stilling his attendant. “No, I will answer.” He turned to Donna as if she were the only person in the room. “The wood elves are not the only race suffering the ravages of time and confinement. My people are weak as well. We are fewer in number than ever before, our ranks made up mostly of shadows. Pure-blood demons have sickened over the past two centuries of our captivity. I need the Stone to restore health to my people, and also to create new demons.”