Chapter Seven
“No magic,” Sid said, spelling it out. “No type, no amount. Not unless you want to get yourself killed!”
“I thought that was the idea,” John slurred, causing the demon to shoot him a look, as if suspicious that he was pretending to worse injuries than he had.
If only.
“No, wouldn’t be much use then, would you?” he finally said.
“Use?”
“It was supposed to be your father,” Sid complained, bending over to tug at John’s boots. “We specifically waited until it was his turn. But I should have known Rosier would find someone else to do his dirty work. He was always like that, even as a child.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” John muttered, trying to work the ropes over his chest loose while Sid was busy examining his footwear.
But while Sid obviously didn’t know much about tying someone up—he’d left John’s wrists free—he’d made up for it in sheer enthusiasm. John was cocooned in rope from nipples to ribs, and it wasn’t the kind with much in the way of give. Every movement just made the damn chords eat deeper into his flesh, threatening to cut off what little air supply he had. Without some way to cut the bonds, his arms weren’t going anywhere.
Which left his legs.
Despite common perceptions to the contrary, it was perfectly possible to be deadly without using the upper body at all. John could almost see the maneuver he needed—a sweep outward to dump Sid on his ass, then a quick scissoring movement to trap his neck between John’s feet and ankles. And then it was merely a matter of an abrupt twist and listening to the bones crunch. It wasn’t the easiest of maneuvers, but it was doable, and it would also be pretty damn satisfying right about now.
Unfortunately, it would also be pretty damned useless.
Killing a demon as old as Sid was never as simple as snapping a neck. But that was especially true when they happened to be one of the two-natured—demons who could take both spectral or physical form. In Sid’s case, he was an Uttuku, a type the Sumerians had once mistaken for ghosts due to their ability to leave their bodies behind. So even if John managed to kill Sid’s body, he’d be left tied up and weaponless, facing a very unhappy ancient spirit with who knew what kind of abilities.
Frankly, he’d had better odds.
Of course, he’d had worse ones, too, but he shoved those thoughts away. Things weren’t that bad. Yet.
“And you needed Rosier for what?” he asked, while trying to come up with another option. He didn’t really expect an answer, since Sid had no reason to tell him anything.
Except for what John belatedly recognized as the intensity of a zealot.
The little demon looked up from ripping apart John’s boots, and his whole face lit up with it. “It’s what we were talking about before. You saw the potential—you even had the right idea. Merely the wrong target.”
“The wrong target?”
“It’s not Ealdris and the ancients who are the problem. It’s the bloody council.”
John felt his blood pressure increase a little more, if that was possible. Because as corrupt, self-seeking and generally appalling as the demon High Council often was, it did serve one vital purpose—it was the one thing keeping the species from running amuck. And it was based here, in the Shadowland.
He thought he might finally understand what Ealdris wanted with the place.
“Even Ealdris can’t take on the council,” he said, fear making his voice harsh. “They’re too powerful—”
“We’ll see.”
“They’re the ones who imprisoned her in the first place!”
“Through trickery!”
“It was that or a blood bath in which thousands would have died! What would you have had—”
“I would have had them face her!” Sid screamed, suddenly in John’s own face. And while the features hadn’t changed, it was amazing how much he currently looked like a demon. “Properly, honorably--on the field of battle! There would have been no tricks then, no deception. If there is such now, they have only themselves to blame!” He hurled John’s boots at the still-glowing wall.
John met his glare squarely, not flinching. Of course, the ropes helped with that. But it seemed to be the right move. Because after a moment, Sid calmed slightly.
“No honorable death this time, then?” John asked.
“She’s learned,” Sid said shortly. “I told her, times have changed. To survive, we have to change with them.”
“I didn’t think the old ones were good at that.”
Sid sat back on his heels, the genial mask slipping perfectly back into place even though he didn’t need it anymore. John supposed it got to be habit when you wore it for something like six thousand years. “She always did adapt well. You have to in battle, you know. But she still didn’t believe me, when I told her that an incubus could be our salvation. In our day, you were considered rather…hopeless.”
“And we’re not now?”
“Oh, no,” Sid said, an edge creeping into his tone. “Rosier has a finger in every pie, these days, an ear in every court. Your kind have made a profession out of weakness, gaining power through soft words and pretty speeches, lies and deception, while being too innocuous for anyone to worry about. Ironic that it’s your only strength that will bring you down!”
John didn’t have to think it over, as there weren’t a lot of options. Unlike most families, the incubi hadn’t been blessed with an arsenal of weapons. “We can…feed from anyone?” he guessed.
“It makes you unique among the races.”
John licked his lips, wishing his head didn’t hurt quite so much. Because he was fairly certain that he was missing something important. “And how does that help you?”
“Me?” Sid shrugged. “Not at all. There’s only so much energy I can absorb at one time. Any surplus is wasted, I’m afraid. But Ealdris now…” He suddenly scowled. “They sent her to an awful place, John; you should have seen it. There was almost nothing to eat. It was supposed to keep her too weak to find a way back, but she almost went mad with hunger--”
“She didn’t stay that way for long. She killed dozens before I trapped her!”
“Dozens, yes,” Sid nodded. “But what she needed was thousands. Tens of thousands. There’s no limit on her ability to absorb power. That’s what made her so formidable once--and will again.”
“Unless history repeats itself.”
Sid suddenly laughed. “I don’t think so.”
“And what’s to stop it?”
His head tilted, as if surprised that John didn’t understand. “You are, of course. We tried it with a few other incubi, but they weren’t strong enough. The effect lasted seconds only, and we’re going to want more than that. That’s when I realized, we needed someone of the royal line.”
He waited, but John still didn’t get it. Until suddenly he did. Sid saw when his eyes widened, when the beauty and horror of it hit him, all at once.
“Perfect symmetry, isn’t it?” Sid asked. “She can absorb an unlimited amount of power, but only of certain types. You can absorb any type, but only in limited amounts. But put the two of you together…”
“You’re mad!” John said, struggling uselessly against the damned ropes.
“And you are what you eat—isn’t that what the humans say?” Sid asked mildly. “In the past, we hunted only the strong, we hunted each other, and so we were strong, too. But then we find a perfect feeding ground, with plentiful, prolific, stupid prey, and what happens? The feeble are elevated beyond their station; the greatest among us are hounded almost to extinction. The easy hunting has ruined us, made us soft, made us weak!”
“You’re going to blow it up,” John rasped. “You’re going to use the brimstone to destroy the city.”
“And the council along with it. And thanks to that royal blood of yours, when all those souls are released, Ealdris will have the ability to absorb every one. It will wipe out her enemies and return her to her former glory, all at the sam
e time.”
“But the council is the only thing keeping the races in line! Without it—”
“Everyone will be free--free to feed, free to gorge. And once the humans are gone, we will go back to preying on each other.” Sid grinned, baring a lot of teeth, none of which looked like they belonged in the mouth of a shopkeeper. “Until only the strong survive.”
And all right, John decided. Maybe things were that bad.
And then he dumped the demon on his ass.