The Stone Demon (6 page)

The phone rang and she snatched it up, her heart pounding.

“Hey, Donna,” Xan said.

“Xan,” she replied, holding the phone more tightly and savoring the sound of his voice. “How are you?”

Four

A
lexander Grayson sat in his beaten up old car on the
edge of the freeway, where he’d pulled over so he could call Donna. He had trouble hearing her to begin with, what with all the traffic zooming past and the low-flying airplane that chose that precise moment to pass overhead.

“What did you say?” He wished the window on the passenger side could actually be closed fully.

“I said,” she repeated, “how are you?”

“Fine. I’m fine. It’s you I was worried about. I miss you.”

“What was that?”

“Wait a sec,” he said, climbing into the back of the car, in hopes of cutting out the traffic noise by moving farther away from the busted window.

“
Where
are you?” Donna asked.

“Just running an errand for my dad.” The lie tripped easily off his tongue, and he tried to tell himself it was for the best. That he just didn’t want to worry the girl he’d so quickly fallen for.

It was true what he’d just said—he did miss her. All the time. Every day. But he found it hard to say that kind of thing—especially right now, when he was sneaking around behind her back, doing stuff she wouldn’t exactly approve of. Xan liked to think of himself as the kind of guy who took action first and worried about the consequences later. He wasn’t much for planning. Or at least, he wasn’t into
sharing
his plans, because that just gave people the opportunity to talk him out of whatever he was going to do next.

Donna’s voice was faint on the other end of the phone, making her sound far away. Which, he supposed, she was. “Xan? Are you still there?”

Her voice yanked him out of his thoughts. “Yeah, sorry. Hearing your voice again … it’s been too long.”

“And whose fault is that, Mr. Grayson?” Donna’s tone was playful, but he could detect the edge beneath the surface.

Sighing, Xan tucked his cell phone into a more comfortable position and leaned back. “I know, I know. I really am sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she replied. “I’m happy to hear from you. Things have been crazy here.”

“I heard about the British Museum on the news. That’s why I called—I needed to make sure you were okay.”

“We’re all fine,” Donna said. Her voice lowered and he could hear the emotion in it. “I can’t say the same for the people who died in the explosion.”

“And it was definitely him? Demian?”

“What do
you
think?”

He shrugged, even though she couldn’t see the gesture. “I just wanted to make sure. You know, just in case there was a chance it was … something else.”

“He wanted to get our attention.” She laughed bitterly. “And then he invited us all to a stupid
ball
.”

“I heard a little about that, too,” he admitted, wondering if he was already saying too much. “I saw Maker earlier and he let something slip.”

“Maker does like to talk.”

“Yeah, I was surprised he told me anything at all, but I guess it was hard to hide that something major had happened. I mean, that Demian had actually made his first move.”

If she was surprised he’d spent time with Maker, Donna hid it well. “What did he tell you?”

“About the masquerade, and that there’s going to be a big meeting there of alchemists, demons, and wood elves.”

There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment, but she quickly recovered herself. “Sounds like he told you more than ‘a little.’ It actually sounds like you know more than
me
.”

Shit. He knew he’d said too much. “Which part didn’t you know?”

“I thought it was just the alchemists meeting with De-mian,” she said. “How did he know about the wood elves?”

“I don’t know. He just said it was like peace negotiations, and that all the major factions would be involved. They’re trying to avoid a war, but I’m not sure how much hope everyone is really holding out for that.”

“Did he specify
which
elves would be there?”

Xan rubbed his eyes. He was getting a headache. “No …
he definitely didn’t mention the Wood Queen to me—not by name—but I guess I assumed that’s who he meant when he said ‘wood elves.’”

“Oh.” Donna went quiet after that.

“You’re not mad because Maker told me something you didn’t know, are you?”

“Well, it’s not exactly your fault.” There was a smile in her voice, which filled him with relief.

“Donna,” he said, a sudden rush of anxiety hitting him full in the chest. “You’re not going to it, right? The ball, I mean.”

“I don’t want to, but it’s not looking like I have much of a choice.”

“You have the choice to walk away. From all of it.”

Donna sighed. “I’m sort of stuck here, Xan. This was the result of the tribunal—you know that. I’m serving under Miranda now.”

He hit the back of the passenger seat with his free hand. “That doesn’t mean you have to do what they tell you
all
the time. Take back some control!”

“I’m only seventeen. I’m a member of a secret order of alchemists. I have cold iron running through my arms and a piece of the first matter inside me. My life is so far away from being under my control that, most days, I feel like screaming.” Donna’s voice was rising in pitch. “Don’t start lecturing me, okay? Please. I … I don’t think I can take it.”

He pressed his lips together for a moment, pushing down on his rising temper. “Sorry.”

There was silence between them for a moment.

Donna said, “Let’s not talk about that anymore. How are things with you? Seriously, I’ve hardly heard from you, and when I do … I don’t know, Xan. I know there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“Everything’s fine,” he replied. It was an automatic response. A response he’d learned in childhood.

“I wish you’d tell me about how things are going with Maker.”

“There’s not much to tell.”

“Xan … ”

He shoved his hair back from his face and looked out the window at the busy freeway. “The only reason I don’t say much is because I know how you feel about it. About what I want Maker to do for me.”

“You mean, helping you to get your wings back? If he can.”

“Exactly.
If
he can. That’s the point. There aren’t any guarantees at all.”

She paused. Then, “It’s not that I don’t want you to get his help. You know that, right?”

“I know.”

“I just don’t want the Order to use you,” she continued. “The way they wanted to use me.”

“I get it,” he said. And he did. He understood that her concern was totally for him—that she was afraid that if he took Maker’s help, it would only come with a huge price. Debts to be paid. All of that. “You don’t trust Maker.”

“I don’t trust anyone,” Donna said. “God, I sound totally paranoid.”

“It’s not like I can blame you.”

“I guess.”

He cleared his throat, curious. “Why don’t you trust Maker? He seems the most okay out of all of them to me.”

“
He’s
the one who bound my powers.” Donna sounded annoyed that he’d even asked. But before he could say something, apologize or whatever, she was speaking again. “Maybe he was telling the truth when he told me how dangerous my powers would have been while I was so young. I was only seven when my abilities began to manifest—that’s what it said in Mom’s journal. But that doesn’t mean I can trust him again. Not just like that.”

“I know.”

“And they’re still all trying to hide the truth about me. About what I might be able to do with this power inside me.”

“They’re afraid,” he said. “That’s all.”

“It hurts, Xan,” she admitted quietly, and he had to struggle to hear. “Sometimes, it felt like Maker was the only one in the Order of the Dragon who was truly on my side.”

“What about Quentin?”

“I don’t know.” She sighed, and he could almost swear he felt it vibrate through the cell phone pressed against his ear. “Sometimes. Maybe. I
love
Quentin, sort of like a grandfather, there’s no doubt about that. But he’s with Simon.”

“The guy clearly has excellent taste,” Xan said, totally deadpan.

She laughed. “Right.”

Xan thought about Simon Gaunt and felt his whole body tense with dislike. The guy was a fucking snake. A man who summoned and trapped
demons
, then blamed Donna for the current threat posed by her mistake in opening the door to Hell. How many of the alchemists knew that the Magus had the essence of a minor demon trapped inside a bronze statue in his laboratory?

He leaned forward and checked the time on the dashboard. “Hey, I have to go.”

“It’s okay. This is probably costing you a fortune.”

“Rich dad, remember? He still helps me out.”

“I didn’t think you guys talked much.”

He thought about that for a moment. His adoptive father was a distant man—which was putting it kindly. Sometimes he wondered why his human parents had even adopted him, what with his mother being back in England since the divorce. They really
didn’t
talk much. None of them did.

“We don’t,” he said. “But he must feel guilty on some level, because he’s pretty generous with his money.”

Money was the answer to most of Charles Grayson’s problems. Xan just wished that his father didn’t see him as simply another problem to be solved in his busy life. Not that it should matter now, anyway—now that Xan was old enough to do what he wanted. If he even knew what that was.

Filling the aching hole inside him would be a pretty good start. All he wanted was the chance to recover what he’d lost: the life he never had the chance to know. It was all gone, now, and the only thing he had left were the scars on his back.

He said goodbye to Donna, knowing she was still unhappy with him for how secretive he was being. Xan couldn’t blame her for that.

He just hoped that she’d forgive him.

That night, Donna had another of the unsettling lucid dreams that were becoming a regular feature in her life. Ever since her powers had been unbound last fall, her dreams were becoming something she was witnessing rather than experiencing. And yet, at the same time, she knew it was herself in the dreams. She was a participant even as she watched herself, a shadow Donna, gliding through her mind like a ghost …

She walks through hallways and more hallways. There is no end, just straight lines going on and on into the dark. No windows. No doors.

No way out.

She finally reaches a corner. She feels excited that something has finally changed in her surroundings—she knows that what she is about to see must be very important, something that might help her to solve the riddle of demons in this world.

Demian whispers to her, a shadowy presence with impossible stony wings half-unfurled against his shoulders. They move and shimmer with a life of their own.

“Look,” he says. “All the ghosts are dancing in the ballroom.”

And she looks at where he’s pointing and sees that he’s right—there are indeed ghosts gliding across the polished obsidian floor. Strange shadows flicker around the edges of the room. Her father is there among the dancers, but he doesn’t see her, even when she calls out to him. Donna draws closer, trying to move around the revelers, but each time she takes a step somebody gets in her way. The sound of music and laughter fills her ears. She tries to get her father’s attention by screaming, waving her arms, anything to pull his gaze around. But he dances on by with a serene expression on his face. The woman in his arms is not her mother.

The woman in his arms is not even human.

Patrick Underwood hasn’t changed at all—he looks just the same as he did when she last saw him ten years ago. He wraps his arms more tightly around the monster he dances with, resting his head on her bony shoulder.

The woman stares directly at Donna and smiles with a mouth full of blood-stained teeth. Her eyes are strange … in-human. The pupils are shaped like hourglasses, and sand is slipping through them like tears.

“We all die,” the woman says. “That’s the secret of life.”

“Wait,” Donna whispers, because her voice isn’t working right after all that screaming. “What do you mean?”

But the monstrous woman just dances away, spinning Patrick around and around until Donna feels dizzy from watching.

She tries to wake herself up, because she knows that she is dreaming.

“We all die. That’s the secret of life.” The words seem to echo inside her head for a very long time and the sands keep falling, but even then she can’t wake up.

She wonders if she ever will.

Five

D
onna sat up in bed, feeling her heart race and listening to the clatter of an early morning trash collection in the street. “Dustbin men,” as they called them over here. She tried to focus on the sound of ordinary life outside, tried to let it seep into her consciousness and bring her back from the bright terror of the nightmare. Words of death lingered on the edge of her memory. A warning.