The Demon's Librarian

CHAPTER 10

He called the number on the scrap of paper she'd left in her bed, but nobody answered. He recognized the number, of course; it was the cheap room Paul had gotten for them, the rendezvous. It simply rang endlessly. The sound of water running in the shower—and her occasional breaking into tuneless singing—mocked him.

You're a human being. We're partners, remember? And she'd said it so lightly, as if it didn't matter at all.

Sunlight came weak and weary through the windows, clouds massing in the north. He could smell more cold rain on the way, and her entire apartment had started to smell like him, too. Like a lair, his scent mixed with hers, a powerful calming weight in the air. He'd just told her the worst thing most Malik women could think of—a Drakul's possessive instincts tied to her, him shadowing her footsteps and tainting the air—and she acted like it was no big deal.

And she was a skin, for all her potential. Just a skin. And yet she'd trained herself, going out to hunt a skornac and dealing with his presence and the Inkani attack with far more presence of mind than he'd seen in plenty of Malik trainees. And now, she treated him just like anyone else.

Just like one of her skin friends, maybe. But that's good enough for me. Better than I deserve.

She would need food, and he still had things to tell her before they set out. It was already past noon, they might be out past dark if Paul was out chasing tail instead of staying in his bolthole and waiting for Ryan to find him.

But I've already wasted time following her around. Only I can't really call it a waste of time, I was here to protect her and that's what matters. Paul will be impossible, but once he understands he'll do his best. He might even try to charm her.

He had to breathe deeply through the red flare of rage that called up. If he was even thinking of attacking his Malik, it was further along than he'd thought.

Why had Paul not answered the phone any other time he'd called in? Why hadn't Paul been at the rendezvous? Was it just coincidence, them missing each other, or had the Malik been holed up somewhere else, waiting, unable to go back to the rendezvous?

By the time she was out of the shower and halfway through breakfast, pouring herself more coffee and humming to herself as she checked her demon-hunting bag, he was in a fine stew of controlled impatience. She had several powders and different items sealed in Ziploc bags, an idea so practical and simple it approached genius. Her Fang lay set-aside on the table as she buttered more toast and poured some apple juice, cheerful and unconcerned. Her hair, drawn back in a sleek braid, was even darker with water, and he smelled her shampoo. She'd changed into a long-sleeved gray T-shirt and another pair of well-worn jeans. He wondered when she wore the slacks and conservative skirts he saw in her closet.

Christ, I've gone poking through her closet like some weirdo. But her clothes smell like her. I smell like her, now. The thought sent a bolt of something hot and gold through him, the demon turning over uneasily at the bottom of his mind. Night was coming, and with it, his full strength. All he had to do was wait.

She muttered to herself as she pulled a small plastic tub out of the bag and shook it. “Salt,” she said. “Blessed salt. Very useful. You have no idea how many little jars I have of this stuff, some with wormwood, some with angelica, some with charcoal—"

"With charcoal?” He raised an eyebrow, folding his hands around his coffee cup. The warmth sank into his hands and added to the funny light sensation in his chest. He could imagine sitting here across this table with her, as night pressed against the windows; could imagine her cooking dinner and singing along with the music while he watched. He could imagine watching television with her, watching the light play over her face as she laughed.

I'm turning into a fucking Leave It To Beaver rerun. Control yourself, Ryan. For God's sake control yourself.

"For consecrating a fire,” she replied, in her don't you know that? tone. “Repels mnyar and skornac, but those tentacled fuckers like to stay underground in damp places, the books say. Hard to light a fire down there."

"A Drakul could,” he heard himself say. “There's a simple spell; flame's easy for a part-demon. Wonder if it'd work."

Her eyes grew round. He saw that the gold flecks were becoming more pronounced, giving her gaze an eerie bright quality. “You think? Where can we test that?” She sounded, actually, excited at the prospect. He even heard her pulse speed up, could smell the lightening of her scent. And damned if he didn't feel a blurring pleasant glow at the thought of making her happy.

Easy, Ryan. Steady down. Don't get her all upset. “Not anyplace around here. Maybe later. Right now we've got other problems."

"Right.” The excitement left her face, and he cursed himself for reminding her. “All right. What's this golden thingie you keep talking about?"

Dammit, where do I start? “They're special.” He looked down at his coffee cup, wishing there was an answer in the thick black brew. She seemed to like his coffee, at least. “We call them the Golden because that's what they are, gold. The stonekin call them vakr, which is their word for sunlight. In the old days, before Christianity, they were usually sacred to the sun gods because of the way they worked their sorcery: they deal with light and they're pretty damn inimical to the Inkani. I've heard that it makes sense, the demons would naturally call out a counterbalancing response in the human race, like any prey taking on aspects to defend itself from a predator. Anyway, the Golden, they're Phoenicis.” He took a deep breath, smelling her. She kept fiddling with her bag between bites of toast. “Certain people are born with a… potential to become Phoenicis, a kind of avatar, I guess. The potentials are triggered by self-defense during a demon attack, by being around other Golden, or by working sorcery. You're powerful, and when you reach your full potential there will probably be a fair number of demons you can get rid of just by taking on your mantle. But before then, you're vulnerable, and you need training. I'll teach you what I can, and the Order will send a full division if necessary—"

He knew it was going too smoothly, but her interruption still surprised him. “Wait a second. I don't want anything to do with your Order. I told you that.” She pushed the Fang into the bag and closed the flap. It was a relief. Even the thing's presence made him uneasy, the demon in him recognizing something hostile to it. “They'll try to take my books."

He heard the possessiveness in her tone and winced slightly. Phoenicis did get territorial over their Nests, and she probably unconsciously felt the library—built by another Golden and used as a home of knowledge ever since—to be hers. He didn't blame her. “They'll just guard your library, and probably help you with funding and things like that. You don't understand, with a Phoenicis to wake up other Golden, we can begin fighting back instead of just defending the cities we've taken. We can begin to push back the Inkani, we can—"

"No.” Her chin jutted out stubbornly. “I don't care, I don't want anything to do with this Order. I have to deal with enough supercilious assholes at work.” Her eyes swung up, met his as her fork paused in midair. “But… they'll try to hurt you if I don't play along with them, right?"

Christ, she's too quick. Dammit. “I'm a danger to them,” he said slowly. “If they let me go without punishing me, it will set a bad example for the other Drakulein."

Her eyes glittered. “That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard.” She jabbed at her eggs with her fork. “Those bastards."

"They're not all bad. They're fighting the Inkani. It's serious business, Chess.” Holy Christ, I'm sticking up for the Malik. Damn. Who ever would have thought? “All things considered, they're the lesser of two evils."

"So was Hitler, in the beginning,” she mumbled. He pretended not to hear. Her profile was beautiful, severe and classic like an old statue; her eyelashes swept down, veiling that disquieting gold-flecked gaze. “So you think I'm one of these Goldie thingies."

"The stonekin told me you were. Last night, in the Shelaugh."

"The sheloff.. oh, yeah. The bar.” She nodded sagely, took another bite of toast. “Any chance he could be wrong?"

Not bloody fucking likely, since he took you underground. They don't take humans underground; even the Malik are there only sometimes as allies on sufferance. “No chance, sweetheart."

She didn't protest the nickname, for once, staring at her plate. That managed to disturb him. She was taking the news a little too calmly, after all. He didn't trust this sudden docility, just like he didn't trust an Inkani treaty.

"I think he was wrong,” she said, and pushed herself up from the table. “We'd better get going. It's already afternoon."

"He wasn't wrong,” Ryan said to her bent head as she scooped up her plate and silverware. She was, at heart, a neat little soul. He watched her wrist, bent at just the right angle to display maximum vulnerability. If the Inkani got their claws on her… “I can smell it on you. I could when I met you, but I didn't know what it was. You're a Golden, Chess. And I'm going to protect you."

"Would you still ‘protect’ me if I wasn't useful to this Order of yours? Or if your own ass wasn't on the line?” Her dark head shook once, sharply, side to side. “No, of course not. We're business partners, Ryan. And as soon as we pick up this guy of yours, I guess we'll see which side your bread's buttered on."

Wait a second. What the hell? “Chess—"

"No.” She turned away, stalking into her kitchen. “Give me a couple of minutes, and I'll be ready to go."

What the hell? What did I do now?

He didn't have the faintest clue.

He couldn't drive, and she didn't have a car, so it was an agonizingly slow bus ride and then down to the subways, managing to make him uncomfortable. If he'd been on his own he could have used rooftops and alleyways, the secret back routes of the city, but she was in no condition—or mood—to be clambering up the sides of buildings and leaping from roof to roof, even if she could have kept up with him. He could have carried her, but what would be the point, other than enjoying the feel of her?

No, they took the subway. And she was monosyllabic, staring out the window and biting gently at her lower lip, evidently deep in thought. She wore another sweatshirt jacket, this one a deep maroon and zippered up the front, its hood resting gently on her slim shoulders. The train bulleted around a bend and her center of gravity shifted; she actually leaned into him. Though there were empty seats, they both stood—Ryan preferring to be on his feet in case of attack and her… she probably didn't want him looming over her. He didn't blame her.

I don't blame her for any of this. Even though she found the books, woke up her potential, killed a fucking skornac and got me into trouble. No, the books probably called her, if what I was told of potentials is true. She probably doesn't even know why she found them, probably felt compelled. And now she's frightened, I haven't given her any goddamn reason to trust me other than dragging her to a tavern the Inkani just happen to decide to attack while she's there. He glanced up at the map and looked down at her sleek bent head. “Next stop,” he murmured, and her shoulders hunched. She'd heard him.

Why had she suddenly withdrawn into herself? Was it something he'd said? Probably. He had no gift for handling females, like Paul did. Hell, Ryan barely had any idea of how to talk to a woman, she seemed mercurial at best and stubborn at worst, when she wasn't so bloody foolhardy and brave it threatened to drive him right out of his head.

They emerged onto Harkness Street, and even though it was during the day she shivered. The sun was sinking, it had taken them much longer than he'd thought. “Not far now,” he said, wondering why she didn't have a car. It didn't seem like the right time to ask.

"Maybe you should go up alone,” she said suddenly. “If you're this guy's partner, he might not be too happy to see me. Especially if you're not supposed to be around a… female."

"You're coming with me. Once Paul understands, you'll have two protectors instead of one. I'm no coward, but the more Malik around, the safer you are. Even if you don't want to talk to them.” They'll wait. Hell, for a Golden they'll fall on their knees and beg. And she trusts me, I have to be careful. Not do anything stupid.

Harkness Street was in the Vietnamese district, and the crowds here didn't make eye contact as Ryan towered above them, occasionally touching Chess's shoulder to direct her. The smells of pho and baking cream puffs, strange spices and laundry steam, permeated the air. Vegetables spilled out of sidewalk booths, and a little girl in a red jacket, her black hair cut straight across her forehead and falling in an unbroken sheet down her back, pointed at Chess and asked her mother a question. Chess had turned pale, and her steps slowed. Frustration and annoyance boiled under Ryan's ribs. He'd been gentle, he'd been careful, he'd been as kind as he could.

Maybe she was having second thoughts about hanging around a Drakulein.

He guided her to a door tucked between an apothecary's shop and another grocery, this one with colorful paper pennants for sale under the awning. The clouds were beginning to show up in earnest, and the temperature was dropping even through the sunlight. The door was glass, marred with spiderweb cracks as if someone's head had been rammed into it, and Ryan began to feel uneasy. That hadn't been there before.

The door opened, and he crowded Chess in. The noise of the street fell away. A narrow tiled hall, indifferently-carpeted stairs at the back, they'd rented this room from a hard-eyed Vietnamese woman and paid in cash, weeks ago. Ryan sniffed cautiously, and didn't like what he smelled.

Paul's scent, of course, familiar as his own breath. And over that, the red roil of bloodlust, of fear, of dark purpose, and a fading tang of demon. Not Drakulein, but another type of demon entirely. Maybe a brilnac, it smelled wet and disgusting, like fur left to rot with potatoes in a dark corner.

"Upstairs. Second floor.” He had to move forward, herding her. She went reluctantly. The smell of her fear and adrenaline began to come in waves, and he tried not to breathe deeply. Little shallow sips of air, the scent spiking across his hindbrain and hiking his pulse to match hers.

She climbed the stairs in front of him, trying to move quietly. When they reached the narrow sloping aperture that gave way to the second-floor hallway, he slid around her and took the lead, going slowly and glancing back when she paused. “Stay with me.” He didn't like the way her eyes were now ringed with white. Dammit, woman, what's wrong with you? Why are you afraid if you're with me?

Still, her fear was only normal. Maybe she could sense the presence of demons, too, if she was far along the path to becoming a full Phoenicis. If she could…?

As soon as he drew near the door he could smell something else, too. Blood, violence, and a copper scent he recognized.

Death. Fuck. Oh, holy fuck.

He turned back, sliding a knife out of its sheath. “Stay here,” he whispered, and pointed to a spot right up against the wall, where she wasn't visible from the stairs or at risk from flying wreckage if any of the doors burst open. “Right here."

"I thought I was supposed to stay with you,” she whispered back, fiercely.

"Don't fucking argue with me. Stand right there and don't move.” His tone brooked no disobedience.

Her eyes glittered, but she moved. She stood where he'd pointed, and her chin lifted a little, mulishly defiant. Spots of high color stood out in her pale cheeks, she set her jaw and glared at him. Even that glare made her look adorable.

We're going to have a talk about your attitude, sweetheart, just as soon as I see what's behind Door Number One. He eased up on it, moving soft and deadly. No pulse behind it, but there could be a masking-spell; sometimes the Inkani got a little tricky like that.

Paul, I hope you got out of here in time.

If he hadn't been with Chess he would have come in through the window on the fifth floor and come down. Her perfume was beginning to fill up the hall, her heartbeat accelerating even more as he reached down and tested the doorknob, barely realizing he'd made the habitual ward-movement to blur his fingerprints.

It was unlocked.

Oh, dammit. Dammit.

The door swung wide, and he studied the room, the bed in the corner Paul had slept on, the chair in the opposite corner Ryan had stood guard in for at least a week while they canvassed the city for signs of the skornac's killer. The tiny sink and counter for a hotplate, the narrow bathroom off to one side. The smell boiled out and he heard Chess moving. There were no demons here.

Not anymore.

A man's body slumped across the bed. Blood had splashed in a high arc up the peeling wallpaper. The little room was close and full of the stench of death and spoiled Malik sorcery; no window because this was a bolt-hole, a rendezvous point. His throat had been slashed, a quick and messy job. He wore a brown leather jacket and unbuttoned jeans, a dark green T-shirt. His head lolled obscenely over to one side, his face pointed toward the door. Below his chin the wide grimace of his cut throat opened, grinning huge and horrible.

There was another body on the floor, a human woman in a tight skirt and high boots, the perfume and hairspray she'd worn while living turning into a cloying reek. Her neck had been broken and her shirt was off, her torso glowing pale in the dim light from the overhead lamp.

Goddammit, Paul. You couldn't go a night without a female, could you. You stupid, stupid… Wait a minute. Just wait one goddamn minute.

Relief welled inside his chest. That's not Paul.

"What is it?” Chess, at his shoulder.

I thought I told her to stay back! He reached out to push her away, to shield her from this unlovely sight, but she looked past him and gasped. Her hand flew up to her mouth.

"Get back.” He pushed her away from the door. She resisted, but was no match for a Drakul's strength, he dragged her back to the safe spot against the hallway wall and propped her there. “Stay here, goddammit. Don't make me repeat myself.” There might be a trap in the room. Just waiting for a Drakul to come back and poke around.

Besides, you don't need to see this. I don't want you to see this. Even if it isn't my Malik.

She was even paler, if that were possible, and she stared at him as if he were speaking a foreign language. Her pupils dilated.

God, help me. “Stay here,” he repeated. “Here's the safest place for you."

Her lips moved, but even with his demon-acute hearing he couldn't tell what she was trying to say. He tore himself away and stepped back into the doorway, the knife laid flat against his right forearm, the plain wooden hilt protruding just a little from his fist. He picked his way into the room carefully, one step at a time, sparing himself nothing.

The female smelled ripe, with the bathroom odor of death-loosened sphincters. No taint of demon on her; but the recent smoky smell of sex hung in the air, fading fast. Whoever this man was, he wasn't Paul. His wallet lay open on at the end of the bed, the green edge of cash poking out—two twenties lay in a congealed pool of blood. Last night, then, the blood smells fresh but not that fresh. If I'd have dragged her out of bed and ran over here, it still would have been too late.

The small table by the chair was empty, Paul's coat was gone too. Ryan checked the corpse's pockets, feeling his gorge rise briefly. Pointlessly. There was nothing he could do, nothing he could have done, even if his stomach hadn't twisted into a knot over the woman who had disobeyed him once again and stood in the doorway, her fingers pressed against her mouth, her eyes huge and darkly dilated, the two violent spots of color in her cheeks standing out against pale skin.

I don't want you to see this, Chessie. The thought was tinted with sadness—and rage. Paul had broken cover to leave a message with the librarian's coworker; a demon had come up here and killed a man and a hooker who were, in all reality, unconscious of the danger they were in. Where was his Malik?

Goddammit, Paul, I hope you're all right. I'm glad it's not you in here.

But the sick chewing of worry wouldn't go away. And that was something else to worry about; his worry wasn't for Paul or even for the two hapless victims. No, the only person he was worried about right now was her.

Ryan retreated to the door, pushed Chess aside. She didn't resist, but she did make a small, hurt noise. “Quiet,” he warned her. If she started screaming now, she wasn't likely to stop. He swept the door closed, shut his eyes briefly. Go to God, whoever you are.

His next problem looked up at him with eyes that threatened to break his heart. “What is… Who did… Why…” She couldn't even formulate a question, and that disturbed him too. She wasn't taking this well.

What, she can handle demons but a dead body gives her trouble? He shook his head. It was an uncharitable thought. “Demon.” He grabbed her arm and pushed her toward the stairs. “We've got to get out of here, we've already left more traces than we should have. Come on."

"But… police… the… the…” She struggled, but he used his strength ruthlessly, pushing her through onto the stairs.

"No police. Not now. I'll call in from your apartment and a cleanup crew will come out. They'll—"

"But—” She took a deep, gulping breath, and he didn't like the way her paleness was turning slightly green.

"Dammit, Chess, move. A demon was here. God alone knows what it left incubating in that corpse. We have got to get out of here.” His fingers sank into her arm and she swallowed another soft sound, this one of pain. He knew he shouldn't hurt her but he had no choice. “Move."

She stumbled on the thin, cheap, carpet, and he held her up. I won't let them take you, Chess. I won't.

Outside, the sun was sinking below the horizon, a soon, short winter sunset. And now, he didn't have any time. Because as soon as dark hit the Inkani would be spreading through the city, and it didn't take much imagination to think that perhaps they'd show up here. Just as he thought that, he heard a low, chilling growl, and his eyes focused on the end of the hall.

Oh, great. Not an Inkani, but one of their spiders, already in the process of shedding its humanity. Its eyes glowed with sparks of red, its fingers crackling as they lengthened. It wouldn't be able to go out into full sunlight, but the room was windowless and the hall only lit by the dimmest of bulbs. And outside, it was cloudy… and the light was already fading.

"Stay still, Chess,” he said, quietly. “This will only take a moment."