Working for the Devil

CHAPTER 37

A voice, reaching into the darkness.

I stood on the bridge, irresolute, my feet bare against cold stone. I felt the familiar chill creeping up my fingers, up my arms.

My emerald flashed as the souls fluttered past me, streaming over the bridge. The cocoon of light holding me safely on the bridge dimmed.

Why was I here? I wasn't pulling a soul back. Was I? I could not remember.

I looked at the other side of the bridge, the other side of the great Hall. The blue crystal walls rang softly, whispering a song I almost understood. I could feel it pressing in upon me, that great comprehension of Death's secret, the mother language from which all Necromance chants derived. The current of souls pushed at me, the emerald's light weakening, my cocoon of safety shrinking.

Yet that voice cajoled, pressed, demanded. I saw the god, His form shimmering between a slender Egyptian dog and some other form, a shape of darkness that seemed to run like ink on wet paper even as I looked at it.

My lips shaped the god's name, but the syllables sounded alien. The crystal walls shuddered, and for a moment I saw stone, a great grim drafty stone hall, with a dour-faced King upon a throne at the far end. The throne was crusted with gems, glittering madly, and at the King's side sat a Queen with a face like springtime. I felt my mouth shaping alien words, desperation beating in my throat. I wanted so badly to understand the secret language, to feel the clasp of the god's arms around me as I laid my head on His chest and let the weight of living slip from me—

BOOM.

The sound startled me. It seemed to take forever for me to turn around. Before I could, the sound came again, as if a gong was being beaten, a brazen sound, pulling me back.

BOOM.

I struggled as if through syrup. I wanted to stay.

I wanted to stay dead.

BOOM.

One of the souls streaming past me halted, held up a pale hand. Formless as all souls were, a crystal drapery of unique energy, still it seemed I knew it, could put a face on it.

BOOM.

"Go back," it said. "Go back."

BOOM.

I opened my mouth to protest. Shimmering, the soul brushed my cheek.

BOOMBOOM.

"Go back," Doreen said. "Save my daughter. Go back."

BOOMBOOM. BOOMBOOM.

Then I understood it was not a gong or a brass bell. It was my heart, and I was called back to the world.

Dizziness. Cold seeping up my arms. Voices.

"Call her back!" Eddie, yelling, the bass in his voice rattling my bones.

My heartbeat thudded in my ears. To be forced back into a body was excruciating, even worse than being shot.

"Dante!" Japhrimel, howling.

"Danny! Danny!" Jace screaming at the same time. Cacophony. "Let me go—"

Scorching pressed against the side of my face. A hand.

Gabe's chant stopped, the last throbbing syllable shattering inside my head. I gasped a breath like knives. My chest hurt.

A great scalding wave of Power lashed me. I cried out, weakly, convulsing.

"Do not leave me," Japhrimel husked. "Do not leave me, Dante."

"Goddamn you, Eddie," Jace hissed, "let me go or I will kill you."

Light struck my eyes like a newborn's. I reacted the same way, screaming, raw from the lash of Japhrimel's Power and Gabe's Necromance. Japhrimel closed his arms around me and rested his chin on my head. I gasped, screamed again, muffled against his chest. The scream degenerated into sobbing. I cried because I had been wrong, and because I'd been right. I cried because the comfort of death was denied me. I cried because I had been dragged back into my weary body and shackled again.

And I cried in relief, clinging to Japhrimel the demon. He was solid and warm and real, and I did not want to let go.