Devil's Punch (25 page)

I couldn't respond. If I could have, he'd have died in a fountain of blood. I'd never wanted anything that much in my life, but I had no way to make it happen.

Not yet,
Ninlil purred.

“You will serve us, Binder.” He gave the title a mocking inflection, probably because I was the one bound here. Then the Saremon spoke the words that nearly stopped my heart. “Just like your father.”

The demon mage was lying. He had to be.
My dad left us.
Albie Solomon was probably selling used cars in Des Moines. The man who sang off-key in the shower, loved Panama hats and bowling shirts had no place in this world. None.

His blood runs in your veins,
Ninlil whispered.
That is his value. He too carries the Binder's power
.

“I imagine you have many questions,” the mage went on.

In fact, I did. Too bad my captor was a sadist and unlikely to sate my curiosity. I tried to melt his face with my mind, but it didn't work. He circled in front of me then.

He smiled. “I shall not tell you my name, Binder, as that would give you too much influence over me.”

Yeah, the minute I learn your true name, asshole, I own you
.

“But you can call me Oz.”

As in the great and powerful?
I wondered if he knew that the real Oz turned out to be a weakling who hid behind a curtain. I'd thought my dad was that kind of guy, someone who couldn't deal with his responsibilities, so he'd bailed. My mind touched on and skittered away from the idea that he was here somewhere, held hostage by the Saremon. Gods and goddesses, he had been gone
since I was a kid—twenty years. Was it possible someone could survive that long in demon hands?

All my life, I'd blamed him for deserting us. I'd told myself it didn't matter. My mother seldom talked about him after he left, but sometimes I'd found her staring out the front door with a wistful air, as if she expected him to come walking down the lane, years later. She'd loved him deeply; that much I knew.

Twila, a vodun priestess who ran most of the supernatural business in Texas, had told me,
By the way, you've carried the weight of a lie your whole life. Your father didn't leave. He was taken.
At the time, I didn't believe her. I hadn't seen enough of the wider paranormal world then. I'd done my best to stay away from it. I didn't want to learn or explore; I wanted to be normal.

Given my heritage and history, I understood now how impossible that was.

As if he saw my inner turmoil, Oz laughed. “Soon I'll take you to the arena.”

Arena?
My eyes must have asked the question, because he answered it. “You'll choose which of your companions fights to the death for you. According to our records, Ninlil was fond of such spectacles.”

The Imaron,
the dark queen counseled immediately.
He has centuries of stolen skill to call upon and his drain will immobilize almost anything
.

“Which one?” The mage mused. “Either way, it will erode loyalty, as your designated champion cannot help but realize you deemed him expendable.”

“But I'm not your queen,” I protested.

The mage whispered a spell in demontongue and energy sparked against my skin. “No. You're not. I don't even sense her. Has she not awakened, then? Did the Dohan get it wrong?”

“Duh. They're not geniuses.”

“Alas, no. The Drinkers are not known for their mental acuity.”

Neither are you,
I thought.

Oz cut the conversation then, as he held all the power. He murmured to his minions, and then one hauled me
away like a statue. I doubted any effigy ever boiled with hate quite like this, though. As the goon dragged me, the pressure on my skin waned. I wriggled the tips of my fingers, but I couldn't move my hands, and even if I could have, they were bound at the wrists.

Did you hide from Oz?
I asked her silently.

Surprise offers our only advantage. He must believe I'm dormant, sleeping. Now focus on regaining your voice,
Ninlil urged.
I don't need to move. Only speak
.

The paralysis was easing on my throat, but I still couldn't feel my tongue, which meant any words would come out wrong. But there were no magick words, just the will behind them. I was unsure how that translated in the demon realm, however. Maybe Ninlil needed her voice to shape the spells.

I do,
she told me.

The minion dumped me in a holding cell. Chance and Greydusk fell on either side of me. I guessed this was where they caged the gladiators. And I couldn't turn my head to see if they were injured. I lay there, helpless, as the Saremon thug loomed over me. He showed a mouthful of sharp teeth.

“Boss said to put this on you.” The demon bent and snapped a cuff around my wrist. Afterward, the Saremon left and closed the door. It was made of heavy wood with bars across the small window at the top, too close together to permit escape that way.

A dampener,
Ninlil whispered, seeming cowed for the first time since she'd awakened in my head.

What is it?
It couldn't be good; I knew that much.

It restricts my magick. As long as I'm wearing it, I cannot cast
.

Shit.
I wished I could scream, but I only managed a gurgle. Beside me, Chance made a sound in response, but it wasn't a word, just a moan, seething with anger and fear. In increments, the feeling returned to my body. Eventually, I squirmed upright, then I concentrated on working my lips free of the disgusting resin they'd used to seal them. It was like glue, only more acrid.

“Chance?”

“Yeah?” His speech still sounded muffled, as if he hadn't quite unstuck his lips completely.

“Did he put a manacle on your wrist?”

“No.”

“Greydusk?”

“Yes, I have one.” The demon sounded remarkably composed. “I can't touch any of my extra skills.”

So that was the catch. If I chose Greydusk, he would be au naturel. Since I didn't know who or what he'd be fighting, it might be the same as a death sentence. Knowing I'd as good as executed my only ally would certainly work on my state of mind, making it easier to break me down the line. I understood the Saremon mage's thought process all too well.

“Let me fight,” Chance said.

“You don't even know what you'll be up against.”

“It doesn't matter.”

“You're that confident in your skills?” I asked.

“I'll fight for you as well,” Greydust put in, before Chance could answer me.

Great.
So they were both willing to die on my orders. And that made up my mind. I sat bound, in silence, until the minion returned a long while later. Outside the door, I heard Oz's voice, murmuring instructions in demontongue, but I couldn't understand the words.

I could translate,
the demon queen offered.

Go for it
.

It was like she slipped the soundtrack into my head because the conversation cut in right away, midstream. “…and under no circumstances permit any of them to leave the compound alive.”

“Yes, sir.”

“After her companions die, take her to the labs and bind her beside her father.”

It took all my self-control not to react. I cut a look at Greydusk, and he inclined his head, indicating he understood. Both he and Chance were doomed unless we came up with an alternate plan.

Then the door swung inward, revealing Oz and his chief lackey. The mage grinned in delight, as if I were a
clever monkey for maneuvering into a sitting position with my arms bound behind my back. Truth be told, it hadn't been the easiest thing I ever did.

Oz rubbed his hands together in anticipation of the great show to come. “Tell me, then, have you decided?”

“I have.”

“Who will stand as your champion?”

Chance leaned into me, demanding my favor. Greydusk sat still and quiet.
Ready,
I thought.

I smiled. “I'll fight for my own honor.”

“Corine!”

Ignoring Chance, I waited to see how the mage would respond. “This is…highly irregular. Do you not wish to enjoy the entertainment I've provided before we get down to grimmer business?”

By which I had no doubt he meant drilling my brain or making me drink more weird potions. “I'll pass.”

“You are a most unusual queen.”

I
like
this,
Ninlil said.

“Remove the cuff.”

Oz shook his head. “No, I won't be doing that until you're safely in the arena, where protective wards prevent you from smiting any of the spectators.”

“I had to try.”

“Understood.”

“You won't touch my people,” I said with deceptive calm. “If you do, you'll regret it. Not for a minute or for an hour, but you'll pay for an eternity.”

“As your father has,” Oz returned in a conversational tone.

I didn't let the implication rattle me. “Then you know precisely what I mean and I needn't spell it out for you.”

The mage cocked his head, considering my sincerity, and I let a fraction of Ninlil's malice slip. He took a reflexive step back before replying, “I do, yes.” He turned to his lackey. “Confine the males here. The door is to be secured and none are to tamper with them in the Binder's absence.”

“Corine, no.” Chance gazed at me, eyes imploring.

I smiled at him and let the guard haul me to my feet.
I love you,
I mouthed. And it was true. He had claimed my heart first and now he had it in his keeping again.

As they led me away, he thrashed against his bonds and screamed for me in such raw, agonized tones that it nearly broke my resolve. Greydusk tried to calm him, but we were too far away for me to make out the words. I heard the turmoil until the mincing steps of my chained feet carried me out of earshot.

That's not normal,
I thought.

It's a combination of love and compulsion,
Ninlil told me.

Compulsion?

I didn't do it on purpose. It's part of the royal aura
.

So he's…bound to you?

Us,
she corrected.
He is our consort. Part of that bond means he'd die to keep us from harm. As first male, he is imprinted with the imperative to protect
.

Greydusk had tried to explain, but I hadn't understood the depth and breadth of it. Before I could process what the hell this meant in normal relationship terms—if I was ever to have such a thing again—Oz stopped outside a set of double doors. They were crafted of a dark, scarred metal that looked like it would be impervious to fire, acid, and frost. The outward dents said unspeakable things had attacked from the other side and never broken them.

“This is where we part company. My aide, Craven, will escort you from here.” Oz touched two fingers to his brow just beneath the vestigial horns, in a mocking salute. “I will be cheering for you, Binder. I'd prefer a live specimen to a postmortem dissection, but these little wagers make life interesting, don't you agree?”

“Indisputably,” I purred.

The queen surged forth as the mage hurried away. I laughed lightly, mockingly, and then turned to Craven, arching an aristocratic brow. It was odd thinking of my face in those terms, watching as if I were a little bird on her shoulder.

Craven grabbed my arm again, and the queen shook him off. “I
will
flay you alive if you touch me again without permission.”

The goon swallowed, his throat working visibly, and then he said quietly, “This way, Your Majesty. Please pardon my disrespect.”

Damn. I could get used to this
.

He unlocked the double doors, waited for me to step inside, and then added, “With your permission, I'll remove the dampener cuff and your bonds.”

“Go ahead.”

With tentative hands, he did so, and then shut the door between us, as if I would slam a lethal spell into his skull the first chance I got. And Ninlil was thinking about it, but she decided to save her energy for the coming battle. I rubbed my wrists, bent and massaged my ankles to get full circulation back. You never knew when coordination would come in handy.

Thus warmed up, I strode down the narrow, sloping corridor. It was dark and quiet as I went toward the light ahead, where the space widened into the arena. Once I emerged, I saw that
arena
was, perhaps, an overstatement. This was more of a pit with stone stadium seating above and around it. The sunken fighting area spanned twenty by twenty meters, not too much space in which to run.

We won't need to,
Ninlil told me.

As I spun in a slow circle to take stock of my surroundings, people—or I should say demons—filed into the chamber above. They spoke in low whispers, and they were all Saremon. Good to know the other castes weren't involved in this.

I will destroy them,
the queen said.
They will not profit. They will not
survive
this day's work
.

It was easy to sling vengeful promises when we couldn't do a damn thing but what we were told. She settled then, her anger chilling to an icy resolve that fortified my own. With her help, I opened to my witch sight to assess the wards Oz had sworn would prevent me from striking the audience. They wove in dark, beautiful patterns along the walls.

For a moment, Ninlil admired their artistry and then her sigh filled my head.
We must fight—and win. Then
strike as they come to release us. If we lie in wait outside the doors, we can take a whole squadron
.

Will you have enough in reserve after the match?
I wondered.

Certainty filled my head and lent me confidence. I squared my shoulders and waited for the enemy.

On the other side of the pit, another set of doors opened. The ground trembled beneath the weight of whatever was chugging down the tunnel toward me. My opponent stormed into sight, and while I assessed it, Ninlil whispered in demontongue, sparking a handful of darklight as if it were a snowball. This thing was easily twice the height of a Hazo and half again as wide. It had scaly black hide, thick enough to excite admiration in a rhino, and its teeth jutted through its thin lower lip. Extra-long arms gave it an apelike appearance, but its fingers ended in razor-sharp talons.