The Stone Demon (24 page)

“I want you.” It wasn’t a statement. It was a declaration of intent.

A demand.

Is this what he’d meant when he’d appeared to her that night on a quiet London street? The Demon King’s eyes were glittering, just like they had then.

“I am well accustomed to getting what I want,” he added.

“Too bad,” Donna said, trying to catch her breath in the vice of his arms.

“I will have you,” he said. His expression was impossibly arrogant.

“You don’t want
me
,” Donna said, as panic fluttered in her stomach. “You only want my power.”

“Semantics,” he said. “You hold the power, therefore I want you.”

“Want?
You
want? What about what
I
want?”

Everything felt too intense, too
real
.

But if it felt real to her, hopefully that meant it felt just as real to Demian. She wouldn’t let him take what he wanted without a fight. She was way better than that.

The Demon King loosened his hold on her. Just a little. “Perhaps I am not only talking about your power. Perhaps I speak of something … more.”

“Like what?
Love
?” The temptation to laugh was rising dangerously. Donna swallowed it down and tasted bile in the back of her throat.

“If that is a word that means something to you,” Demian said.

She met his inhuman eyes. “You wouldn’t know the first thing about love.”

“And you, child, don’t know the first thing about me.”

“‘Child’? Right. A child. So … you want to
be
with this ‘child,’ do you? Sounds kind of twisted to me.”

His eyes narrowed and his hand tightened on the back of her neck. “It is just a word. You are much younger than I, therefore you seem childlike to one such as me.”

“Exactly. So why not go find someone your own age?”

His lips twisted. “What you don’t realize, Donna Underwood, is that the very thing that gives you your power—that sliver of first matter that resides in your soul—is older even than I am.”

That little revelation hit Donna like a slap in the face. What did it mean? Was it true?

Demian moved one of his hands so that he could touch her face. “I see ages-old wisdom in your eyes. Not
your
wisdom, of course, but the ghost of something ancient that lives in this human shell. With you by my side, I would be truly immortal.”

“See? It’s not about me at all. And, for the record, I will never stand by your side.”

His lips curved. “Never?”

Donna ignored the hunger in his eyes. “Never.”

“Never is a very long time,” he replied, his voice suddenly deadly serious.

“So you might as well give up now.”

“I am a patient man,” he said. “I waited for my freedom for two centuries.”

Donna shivered. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’ll be long gone by then.”

“Perhaps.”

“Let me give you a tip, Your Majesty. If you want to get the girl, you might try not grabbing her and forcing her to do your bidding.”

“I grow tired of your arguments.”

“And I’m sick and tired of everybody in my life treating me as some kind of weapon. Now I can’t even
die
in peace—I have the King of Hell trying to use me.”

Demian’s eyes narrowed to onyx slits. “Don’t pretend you wanted to die. You knew that the blade would not truly kill you. You were like Inanna, beating at the very gates of Hell and demanding we grant you entrance.”

Donna didn’t know who this Inanna was, but she liked the sound of her. “I didn’t know, not for sure. I had a feeling.”

“And what do you think gave you that … feeling?”

She met his gaze, trying not to shake under its heat. “My female intuition?”

“The
prima materia
guides you, and even now you try to deny it. You make jokes rather than face the reality of your power.”

Donna slipped her right arm out of his embrace, hauled back, and punched him as hard as she could. In the face.

Even with all the iron covering her human flesh and bone, she felt as though her whole fist had just shattered. And the result of her punch was sort of comical: Demian took a single step back while she fell to her knees, tears of pain filling her eyes.

“Shit,” she whispered, glancing down to check that her hand was still intact.

The king of the demons touched his jaw, gazing at her with something that looked suspiciously like wonder. Donna’s mind flashed back to the joke Robert made about how Demian would probably like it if she hit him.

She swallowed, still clutching her injured hand, resolutely pushing those thoughts away.

“I should punish you for that,” the demon said. But it sounded like he was only really saying it out of habit.

“Punish me? Like this isn’t already punishment enough. What the hell is your jaw made of, anyway?” Donna stumbled to her feet and shook out her hand. “Don’t answer that.” She glared at him. “Listen, all I want is to find the grove, get the fruit, and see if there’s any way out of this nightmare.”

“You stabbed yourself with the Ouroboros Blade. Your life is forfeit! Only
I
have the power to release you from death.”

“Well, good for you. You got me. I’m in your power. I bet that really gets you off, doesn’t it?”

Demian advanced on her. “You are treading on very thin ground, girl … ”

“Oh, really? And what are you going to do to me? Kill me?” Donna laughed in his face, knowing that she sounded slightly deranged but not even caring. She wasn’t a pawn. She would not be a weapon—least of all for a petulant demon who didn’t know the first thing about common decency.

Demian looked down, his perfectly unmarked jaw clenched. Unchecked emotion passed over his face like a storm. It was the most expressive Donna had even seen him.

She swallowed, terrified. Waiting.

She was still expecting some kind of attack, so the fact that the Demon King wasn’t doing anything at all shocked her more than whatever he might have done.

He turned away. “I will take you to the Grove of Thorns. You will need all your remaining strength for that. The Philosopher’s Stone is more important to me than your lack of respect.”

Raising her eyebrows, Donna wondered if she could call this round hers.

Demian transported them instantly to the city below, and they walked side by side through what looked like a low-budget movie set for a western. Donna half expected Clint Eastwood to appear at the other end of the dusty street. She wished Navin—the real Navin—was here to make a silly comment about tumbleweed and awkward silences. These were the slums of the Otherworld. The closer they got to the Gallows Tree, the less activity there seemed to be.

Apart from telling her where they were, Demian was quiet, contemplative. She wondered what he was thinking about. Was he angry with her after her outburst? He didn’t seem to be. What did a demon king have to occupy his thoughts? Revenge? Perhaps. Did he think about Simon and the alchemists? Maybe he was planning his attack, figuring out how he would redecorate the world once he was in charge.

Donna was distracted from her own thoughts by a sudden movement she saw out the corner of her eye, but each time she turned her head, whatever might have been there had already disappeared. After this had happened several times, she grew increasingly frustrated and stopped walking.

Demian stopped beside her. “What is wrong?”

“Are we being followed?”

“No.”

“Watched?”

The corners of his thin mouth curved. Very slightly. “Possibly.”

She searched the dark windows of the nearest wooden structure. “From inside?”

He nodded. “Many call the Otherworld their home.”

Home
. What a strange word to call … Hell. Donna shivered.

“Who is watching us?”

“Here?” Demian clasped his hands loosely behind his back. “Scavengers, mostly.”

“But what about—?”

“You ask too many questions. It will soon be night here, and you need to enter the grove before darkness falls.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Fine. Let’s go.”

The Grove of Thorns was exactly what Donna had expected—only twice the size and ten times more unwelcoming. She shielded her eyes against the disorienting half-light and swirling dust, looking across a wide expanse to her final destination. Everything was so desolate here. The grove was entirely surrounded by rose bushes, but even they didn’t help improve how bleak everything was. They were black roses, after all. At least now she knew where Demian got his seemingly endless supply of the stupid flowers.

Somewhere in the middle of all that twisted vegetation was the Gallows Tree. But before she could even think about going into the grove and finding it, there was a slight problem to be dealt with. She swung around and faced Demian.

“You didn’t say anything about a river.”

He shrugged. “Should I have?”

“Some kind of a warning might have been nice,” she muttered.

The river was wide and black as coal, glittering and swirling in a way that made her stomach twist in response. It looked cold.

“Warnings are unimportant,” Demian said. “You must cross the river one way or the other. Knowing about it in advance does not change that fact.”

Donna crossed her arms. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who has to get wet.” She glanced at him hopefully. “Unless there’s a bridge? Newton said something about a Wailing Bridge … ”

Thinking of Newton made her think of Nav, and fresh panic bloomed in her stomach. She still had to find him, make sure he was safe. And she still had to, somehow, get her hands on the tear of a demon.
One thing at a time, Underwood
, she told herself. One thing at a damn time.

A muscle flickered in Demian’s jaw. “Newton talks too much. The River of Memory and Forgetting does have a bridge, but it is not that which he named. That one is in the main part of the city.”

“Figures. So I have to swim.” Donna’s shoulders slumped. “I’m not a very good swimmer.”

“No,” Demian said. “There
is
a choice. You can enter the water and relive a forgotten memory, or you can walk across the Bridge of Lies.”

Donna searched the river bank, gazing longingly at the grove beyond it. “There’s no bridge. What are you talking about?”

“Look again.” He pointed, and as she followed the line of his pale hand she saw a crumbling bridge rising out of the water like a black spider.

She shivered. “What happens on the Bridge of Lies?”

“I cannot tell you. It is different for each person who crosses.”

“Will it hurt me?”

The corner of Demian’s mouth lifted. “Not many survive it.”

“But I’m dead anyway,” she said, trying to control her fear. “So I suppose it doesn’t really matter, does it?”

His smile widened, almost imperceptibly, but he didn’t reply.

“What about the river? How safe is that?”

“If you don’t swallow any water, you might yet live.”

“Fine.” Donna sat down and began unlacing her sneakers. “I was just thinking that it looks like a nice day for a swim.”

Twenty-two

H
er feet were the first part of her to hit the shifting black waters of the River of Memory and Forgetting. She didn’t even look back at the Demon King—she just acted. Now was the time to rely on instinct. Time might operate differently down here, but she didn’t want to waste any of it. What if she did manage to get out? Who knew what time—what
day
, even—it would be back in her own world? All along, Donna had been determined to make amends for past mistakes. This was her chance, and there was no going back now.

As the waves crashed over her head and she became fully submerged, she held her breath and kept her eyes as tightly shut as physically possible … until everything faded away. The blackness of the water seemed to fill her, and Donna found herself able to open her eyes and look around. Not that there was much to see.

She was suspended in a vast space, cold and wet and tired—she was vaguely aware of those sensations, on some level of consciousness—and yet it also felt like this might be the closest thing to death she had yet experienced. She felt faint and dizzy, especially when she realized that she’d begun to breathe again without even meaning to. Despite being underwater, breathing was the most natural thing in the world. Keeping her mouth tightly shut, she tried to force her eyes to see something in those dark depths. A direction to swim in. A sign. A spark of light …
something
.

Her consciousness began to fade, but then a voice from her past forced her back to full awareness. Her father’s words echoed in her mind, strong and true:

“Run, Donna! Don’t look back! Whatever you hear, promise me you won’t look back.”

The last thing Donna remembered was the water tugging at her, the river taking her into its cold embrace and dragging her down, down into its shadowed depths, deep into the heart of the Otherworld.

Into the heart of Memory and Forgetting.

She watched the little girl with her father, surrounded by swaying trees and blowing leaves with the huge dark sky overhead. The memory caught in her chest, like her heart had snagged on something sharp and was slowly unraveling.