Tempt the Stars

Chapter Fourteen

Hell, it turned out, looked a lot like Vegas.

Not the neon, glitz-and-twinkly-kind. More the arid-sand-littered-with-desperate-people kind, but still. There was a vague sort of familiarity to it. I wondered why a certain green-eyed demon had never mentioned it.

Of course, he hadn’t mentioned much, I thought angrily, just as the guy at my side went sprawling.

There was nothing to have caused it that I could see, except for his own dusty pair of Pradas, but he hit hard nonetheless. I stopped abruptly and went into a crouch, afraid we’d just tripped some ward or other his senses had missed. But I guess not. Because a second later, he flipped over, sand clinging to one side of an elegant profile, and stared at the pale blue sphere I’d decided to call the sky. And cursed inventively.

I took a swig from the too-warm water in my canteen and waited it out. “Do you want to ride the camel thing?” I asked when the tirade finally tapered off.

The only answer was another spate of cursing.

“Guess not,” I said, and passed the canteen to the third member of our trio, who finished it off in one hearty swallow.

“Did you just drink all the water?” Casanova demanded, struggling to sit up. Only to have the beast’s ratty tail smack him in the face.

I’d have had some smart-aleck response to that. Something about Casanova being a vampire and not really needing water. Or about the likelihood of his spilling it, considering his current lack of grace. Or about the fact that we’d gone to a lot of trouble to find someone willing to sell us one of the camel things just so he could ride instead of staggering through the dust like a drunken frat boy.

But Caleb just looked down at him impassively. He did impassive well, along with big, black, bald, and intimidating. In fact, I hadn’t seen anything Caleb didn’t do well, except for putting up with Casanova’s histrionics. I guess war mages were made of sterner stuff. At least, war mages willing to go into hell to rescue a buddy were. But even Caleb’s patience was starting to wear thin.

As a dusty boot to Casanova’s couture-clad posterior made plain. “Get up.”

Brown eyes that were currently neither rich, nor mellow, nor enticing glared up at him from under a fall of silky dark hair. “If you’d release this infernal spell, I wouldn’t be on the ground to begin with!”

“A hobble spell doesn’t keep you from walking,” Caleb said, crossing his arms.

“No, it keeps me from walking properly. Or running, which I might damned well need to do!”

“It wouldn’t have been necessary if you’d volunteered.”

“Oh, of course!” Casanova said, fighting with the voluminous robes that we’d bought off a fellow traveler to cover up his Armani. “Of course this is my fault! Of course it is. I can’t imagine why I wouldn’t volunteer to walk into hell!”

Caleb just continued to look at him. As one of Pritkin’s oldest friends in the Corps, and the only other person besides Casanova who knew who he really was, he’d been a natural addition to the rescue posse. Casanova had been less so—a lot less—but we needed him. Or, more precisely, we needed the camouflage his body provided to our guide.

Said guide was looking at him in mild reproach at the moment. “I’ve told you—you aren’t in any danger, Carlos,” Rian said, using his birth name. I’d gotten the impression that she found his pretensions a bit trying. “A host is not responsible for the actions of his demon. If we are caught, I will tell them I forced you—”

“I was forced,” he said viciously. “No one in his right mind would be here otherwise!”

Rian didn’t comment. She did that a lot. It was probably why she and Casanova had managed to maintain their relationship for so long. Of course, the fact that she chose to manifest as a beautiful black-haired, vaguely Persian-looking woman, with huge dark eyes, honey-colored skin, and ruby red lips probably hadn’t hurt.

And unlike her host, Rian had volunteered to help out. She’d known Pritkin a long time, from his days as a young man at his father’s court, and she’d always been sympathetic to his situation. Which was lucky, since getting into said court was turning out to be more complicated than I’d thought.

Casanova, on the other hand, clearly felt that he was better suited for lounging around someone’s boudoir than for slogging through hell. Not that he was slogging particularly well.

But he did finally drag his six feet of outraged litheness off the sand.

“How much farther?” he demanded.

Rian glanced at the sky. “Don’t worry, I’ve timed it perfectly. We’ll reach the city by nightfall. I’ll need to merge with you at least an hour before that, or risk being detected.”

“Yes, and we wouldn’t want that,” Casanova muttered.

“No, you wouldn’t,” she said seriously. “You’re in no danger, Carlos. But if I am discovered, the master may well revoke my rights to any more time on earth. He feels it has been unfairly extended as it is.”

“I don’t see why,” I said, grabbing the reins of the camel thing. It seemed to like Casanova. Or his hair, anyway. It kept trying to eat it.

“To avoid overfarming earth, the demon lords made an agreement,” she reminded me. “Only a set number of each of our races is allowed on earth at one time. We have to take turns.”

“But you’re still on yours. Aren’t you allowed three hosts?”

“Yes.” She shot a sideways look at Casanova, who was reacting typically to the camel-slobber cowlick he’d just been graced with. “But I do not think anyone expected me to find an immortal for my last host. I should have been forced to return centuries ago.”

“But, technically, you aren’t breaking any rules.”

“I am now,” she said quietly as we merged back into the ragged line of similar groups all heading in the same direction.

I was actually grateful for them, since the “road” was invisible as far as I could see, just endless miles of reddish clay baked into giant cracked plates by the parching sun. Only an occasional dried-up twig of a tree poking out of one of the cracks broke the monotony, along with the scattered line of travelers, all going in more or less the same direction. Mother had neglected to mention that the main court of the incubi was a damned long way from the portal we’d passed through to get here.

Of course, that wouldn’t normally have been a problem. Rian could shift into and out of the demon world the same way I could shift across the human. But the demon lords were paranoid of one another and closely guarded their main courts, and Rosier had just increased the security on his from tight to maniacal. So no shifting. She’d had to go through the incubus version of the TSA in order to get home, just like every other demon.

Luckily, our group didn’t include any other demons. And as far as the guards at the gate had been concerned, that meant we basically counted as the in-flight meal. Of course, that begged the question of how, exactly, we were going to get out when our group did include another demon, and one on the top of the “no fly” list.

Damn, I hoped Mom had been right.

“Who are all these people?” Caleb asked, watching the passersby.

They weren’t as interesting as I’d expected, at least what I could see. A lot of them were muffled up as much as we were, against the overhead glare and the intermittent gusts of wind that whipped fine sand into every available orifice. But they looked vaguely human, at least most of them, a bunch of tattered, hungry-looking types in dusty rags.

Or rather, those on foot like us were. But every once in a while, a clatter of hooves and a miniature dust cloud announced the passage of more prosperous-looking individuals, in fine, loose robes to protect them from the sun. I couldn’t see much of them, either, since both men and women had veils hanging from turbans or other head coverings, probably to try to cut down on the amount of rose-colored dust they breathed in. But there were glimpses of bright-colored silks underneath their outer robes, and they rode in comfortable-looking carts.

Rian glanced around disinterestedly. “Servants, or those who would be so. Traders—the few who can be trusted. The people of this world returning home after journeys elsewhere . . ”

“People of this world?” Caleb looked confused.

“There are many hells,” she told him. “It is merely a term for worlds in this dimension. Kazallu is one; earth is another.”

“Bullshit. We do not live in hell!”

“Speak for yourself,” Casanova said, limping from what turned out to be a rock in his shoe.

“A hell,” Rian said, unperturbed. “When we found this one, eons ago, the people on it were . . . primitive, few in number, dying of disease, famine, war. We took control and helped them.”

“Fed on them, you mean,” Caleb interjected.

“To an extent. But they are not very . . . nutritious? They provide a subsistence, nothing more. That is why our time on earth is so prized. In a few years there, we amass power that would take centuries here.”

“So we’re cattle to you,” Caleb said, as if she’d just confirmed something long suspected.

Rian shot him a flirtatious glance. “Prized cattle, surely.”

“Oh, stop it,” Casanova said irritably. “She’s just teasing you,” he added to Caleb, making me blink.

I looked at Rian, but her violet-dusted lids were lowered, the long lashes shading her high cheekbones. And then back at Casanova. And then I wondered how a predator didn’t notice when he met a greater one.

But I didn’t say anything, and neither did she, being busy pulling a veil across the bottom of her face and turning away slightly, as another vehicle approached ours.

This one was different, a sporty two-wheeler, almost like a chariot, and driven like one, too. I didn’t have to ask who it belonged to; Rian’s reaction was enough. The incubus-possessed driver hadn’t bothered with an outer cloak like everyone else. Instead, he wore a fine, thin red silk robe embroidered with gold that flashed in the light as he all but ran us down, scattering us lesser beings to either side as he thundered past.

“Son of a—why couldn’t we get one of those?” Casanova demanded.

“They’re restricted to the Danim, those hosting an incubus,” Rian told him. “It would attract too much at

tention.”

“And my bloody feet won’t?”

“If it could cost you so much, why are you helping us?” Caleb asked her, eyes narrowed.

“Shouldn’t you have asked that before we got here?” Casanova demanded.

“I’m asking now.”

“The feud between John and his father is tearing the family apart,” Rian told him. “Among other things, it is making the master look weak. Some have begun to say, if he cannot control his own son, perhaps he should not be the one to control the family—and that is dangerous.”

“Who else would do it?”

“As at any court, ours has factions, senior demons and their followers, who constantly vie with each other for advantage. Rosier himself is usually above such squabbles, but John is his weak point and everyone knows it. And as with all who hold power, he has enemies.”

“Imagine that,” Casanova said poisonously. “And such a pleasant creature.”

“He is better than those who would replace him,” Rian said, more sharply.

“When you said this was tearing the family apart, does that mean some are taking Pritkin’s side?” I asked hopefully. Because we could use more friends.

But of course not.

“No. No one understands his reluctance to feed. It is seen as proof of his humanness, his alienness. No incubus could go so long. . . ” She shuddered. “It is against our very nature, against everything we are.”

“Then it sounds like everybody agrees with Rosier,” I said sourly.

But she shook her head. “Almost no one does. Few understood his obsession with obtaining a half-human child, and even fewer can comprehend why he refuses to let that child live as he chooses. Yes, John could be an asset to the family if he would use his powers on our behalf. But if he will not . . ”

“Oh yes. The horror,” Casanova said bitterly. “His father wants him to live in the lap of luxury, surrounded by beautiful women, and be treated like a prince. And all he has to do in return is sex up a few probably gorgeous demons. But what does he choose instead?”

“To live his own life,” I said. “To not be prostituted out by his father to gain power for Rosier’s ambitions. Which he doesn’t have control over and which could be any damned—”

“Oh, please. We’re all cogs in someone else’s ambitions, whether we like it or not. That’s life. If you’re smart, instead of bucking the system, you get what you can out of it.”

“Yeah, if you’re a selfish son of a—”

“Don’t even try that, little girl,” Casanova snapped. “I’m selfish? What about your precious mage? We’re at war, in case you didn’t notice.”

“That’s the reason he’s here,” I said impatiently. “He saved me—”

“Yes, one person. And what about the rest of us?”

“What about you? What was Pritkin supposed to do—”

“He was supposed to realize that, if he would get his head out of his ass, bow that stubborn neck to his father, and ask nicely, maybe he could get us some allies worth a damn!”

“What are you talking about?”

“The demon lords,” Casanova said severely. “The demon council. Do you have any idea how much power they have?”

“Carlos . . ” Rian said quietly.

“You want somebody to win this war for you, to do it fast?” Casanova demanded, ignoring her. “That’s where you want to turn for help. But instead, what are we doing?” He flung out a hand. “We’re doing our best to piss

them off!”

“Carlos—” Rian said, a bit more urgently.

But Casanova was on a roll. “Let’s look at the facts, shall we? The damned mage gets his back up, decides he doesn’t want to be a demon. So he comes to earth, forgetting that you don’t merely get to wave something like that away. You are what you are. Denying it is just a head game you play with yourself. But his head game resulted in a girl getting dead—”

“That’s not fair!” I said, glaring at him.

“Of course it’s fair. He may not have planned to kill her, but he drained her, didn’t he? Yes, Rian told me,” he said, at my outraged expression. “If I’m going to risk my neck getting him back, I deserved to know.”

“Yes, but, Carlos—” she said.

“I’m not finished yet. So now he has a dead wife, courtesy of abilities he’d never bothered to learn anything about. So what does he do? Decide that perhaps his father had a point? Of course not. He goes insane and tries to kill him—”

“Rosier knew what she was planning to do,” I said, furious.

The girl in question had been Pritkin’s wife, and a low-level demon herself. But unlike him, she hadn’t hated the demon world. She’d loved it, coveted it, wanted to be part of it more than anything. But she was barred from it because of her almost nonexistent power.

So she’d decided to augment that power—with some of Pritkin’s. I don’t know if that’s why she’d gotten with him in the first place or if there had been genuine affection there, as well. But if there was affection, it hadn’t been enough to stop her from initiating a power exchange on their wedding night, hoping to increase her own abilities and thereby her status in the demon world.

Unfortunately, it had backfired horrifically, and Pritkin hadn’t been able to stop it. He’d never had sex with another demon before and didn’t know the ritual she was using. And Rosier hadn’t warned him, despite knowing her intentions ahead of time.

“We don’t know what Rosier knew or didn’t know,” Casanova argued when I pointed that out. “She went to visit him before the wedding; who knows why? Perhaps she was attempting to get the two of them to reconcile. Perhaps she just wanted to meet her famous father-inlaw. Perhaps a million other things. We don’t know—and neither did he!”

“I think Pritkin knows his father a bit better than you do!”

“All right, say I give you that. Say Rosier knew ahead of time, or guessed, what the idiot girl was planning. Does that somehow obligate him to tell his estranged son—the son who said he wanted to know nothing of their world, the son who swore he wanted to live as a human—a damned thing?”

“Yes! If he wasn’t a complete bastard—”

Casanova looked at me like I might be crazy. “Demon lord?”

“It was still a shitty thing to do.”

“And striding into hell to kill him wasn’t? How was that supposed to end well? And how is this?”

“Because this isn’t about Rosier,” I told him impatiently. “This is about the demon council. They’re the ones who sentenced Pritkin to enslavement by his father for the attempted assassination. They’re the ones who can reverse it.”

“And why should they help you?” Casanova demanded nastily.

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my temper. Because he was an ass, but he was an ass with a point. If he was coming, he did deserve to know. And because we needed him.

Without Rian, we would never find Pritkin before Rosier’s forces found us, and without Casanova, she would be spotted and identified before she could help us. She was supposed to be on earth, not here. And it wouldn’t take anyone who had known her long to figure out why she’d suddenly decided to return home after avoiding it for a couple of hundred years now.

“You said it yourself,” I reminded him. “We’re at war. The council doesn’t want the gods back any more than the rest of us—”

“And giving you one man is going to prevent that?”

“It’s done a pretty good job so far!”

Casanova sneered. “It’s done a pretty good job against exactly one god, who was already seriously weakened when he got here thanks to what he’d had to do to get through your mother’s spell. And who underestimated you because”—he gestured up and down at me, and made a face—“he was overconfident and it got him dead. But I don’t think the next ones will be!”

“All the more reason to give me what I want,” I said, refusing to let him get to me. “It’s a small enough request; it cost them nothing; it asks them to risk nothing. But the rewards could be substantial.”

“Then why not ask them before we trooped in here?” he demanded.

“Because they can’t go into another demon’s realm! None of the council has the right to violate another lord’s sovereignty. And none of them are going to try it and risk setting a precedent that might be used against them someday. But if we can get him out—”

“If being the operative word.”

“—then they can tell Rosier it’s for the common good.” Or whatever they wanted to tell him; I didn’t care. But Mother knew demons better than I did, and she thought they’d go for it—if we could get him out.

And we were going to. Somehow. But the city that shimmered into existence on the horizon, dim and distant and faintly blue, had me wishing we’d brought an extra canteen. Because my mouth had suddenly gone dry.

“We shouldn’t fight among ourselves,” Rian said, a little sharper than her usual tones. Maybe because she was looking at the city, too. “If this goes according to plan, it should be a simple enough procedure.”

“And when does it ever?” Casanova groused.

Yeah. That’s what I was afraid of.