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“The summoning is usually a forgivable offense. It’s soul binding that rather annoys them. Lyle should have been content with me, but humans are never satisfied, are they? Too arrogant to contemplate the possibility of failure, he neglected to pass along the true secret of his success: me. ”
“Your magic powers this place. And they don’t even realize it?”
“Lyle guarded his secrets to the grave and beyond, though taking them into the afterlife was not his intention. I’m sure he meant to tell them about me…had he not died before he got around to it. Even a necromancer as powerful as you would have difficulty contacting a spirit in a hell dimension, so now I am bound here, my power enhancing the magics cast in this place. The others—this Edison Group—think it’s built on the junction of ley lines or some such foolishness. ”
“So if I freed you…?”
“The building would collapse into a pile of smoldering rubble, the evil souls within sucked into Hell, to be tormented by demons for eternity. ” She laughed. “A pleasant thought, but no, my departure would merely hamper their efforts. Significantly hamper, though—putting an end to their most ambitious projects. ”
Release the demon under promise that I’d be repaid handsomely, my enemies destroyed? Hmm, where had I seen this before? Oh, right. Every demon horror movie ever made. And the horror part started right after the releasing part.
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“Ah, yes. Set me free and
I shall take my revenge on the world. Start wars and famines, hurl thunderbolts, raise the very dead from their graves…Perhaps you could help with that?”
The voice slid to my ear again. “You are still such a child, aren’t you? Believing in bogeymen. Of all the wars and massacres in the last century, demons are responsible for perhaps a tenth; and that, some would say, gives us too much credit. Unlike humans, we are wise enough to know that destroying the world that sustains us is hardly in our best interests. Free me and, yes, I will have my fun, but I’m no more dangerous out there than I am in here. ”
I considered it…and imagined the audience screaming. “You stupid twit! It’s a demon!”
“I don’t think so. ”
Her sigh ruffled my shirt. “There is no sight sadder than a desperate demi-demon. After decades alone in this place, beating the bars of my cage, howling to deaf ears, I’m reduced to begging favors from a child. Ask me your questions, and I shall play schoolteacher, answering them at no cost. I was a schoolteacher once, you know, when a foolish witch summoned me and invited possession, which is never wise, even if you’re trying to destroy the dreadful little Puritan village that accused you of—”
“I don’t have any questions. ”
“None?”
“None. ”
Her voice snaked around me. “Speaking of witches, I could tell you a secret about the dark-haired one you visited. Her mother—too ambitious by far—heard of another witch bearing a sorcerer’s child, so she had to do the same. Now she’s paying the price. A mixed-blood spellcaster is always dangerous. ”
“Tori’s dad is a sorcerer?” I said in spite of myself.
“The man she calls Daddy? No. Her real father? Yes. ”
“So that is why—” I stopped. “No, I don’t want to know. ”
“Of course you do. How about the wolf boy? I heard them talking to you about him. I remember the pups. They lived here, you know. ”
“They?”
“Four pups, cute as could be. Perfect little predators, flashing fangs and claws even before they could change forms—all but the biggest of the litter. The lone wolf. The smart wolf. When his Pack brothers flashed those fangs and claws one time too many, those who’d opposed the inclusion of the beasties got their way. ”
“What happened?”
“What happens to pups that bite their owner’s hand? They were killed, of course. All but the clever one who didn’t play their wolfie games. He got to go away and be a real boy. ” Her voice tickled my ear again. “What else can I tell you…?”
“Nothing. I want you to leave. ”
She laughed. “Which is why you’re lapping up my every word like sweet mead. ”
Fighting my curiosity, I found my iPod, stuck in my ear-buds, and cranked up the volume.
Seven
LATER THAT AFTERNOON, DR. Davidoff knocked at my door again. Time for a history lesson, apparently. He led me to his office and entered the code to a closet-sized vault lined with bookshelves.
“We have more reference books than this, naturally. The rest are in the library, which you’ll visit soon. However, this”—he waved at the closet—“is what a public library would call its special collection, containing the rarest and most prized volumes. ”
He slid a red leather-bound one from the shelf. Silver letters spelled out Nekromantia.
“The early history of the necromancer race. This is an eighteenth-century reproduction. There are only three known copies, including this one. ”
He lowered it into my hands with all the ceremony of passing over the crown jewels. I didn’t want to be impressed, but when I felt the worn leather, smelled the mustiness of time, a thrill rippled through me. I was every great fantasy hero raised in ignominy, then handed the magic book and told “this is who you really are. ” I couldn’t help falling for it—the story was hardwired in my brain.
Dr. Davidoff opened a second door. Inside was a surprisingly cozy sitting room with leather chairs, a jungle of plants, and a skylight.
“My secret hiding spot,” he said. “You can read your book in here while I work in my office. ”
After he left, I checked out the narrow skylight, but even if I could manage to climb twenty feet to get to it, I’d never fit through. So I settled into the chair with the book.
I’d just opened it when he returned.
“Chloe? I need to leave. Is that all right?”
Leave me alone in his office? I tried not to nod too enthusiastically.
“If you need anything, dial nine for front reception,” he said. “This door will be locked. ”
Of course…
I waited until I heard the outer door close. I was sure he’d locked my door, as promised, but I had to check.
It was a rich girl lock, Rae would say—the kind that keep out only kids who’ve never had to share a bathroom and, occasionally, break in to grab a hairbrush while their sister hogs the shower.
A side table held a stack of paperbacks. I found one with a cover sturdy enough to do the job, then copied Rae by wriggling it in the door crack until the lock clicked.
Voilà, my first break-in. Or breakout.
I stepped into Dr. Davidoff’s office. What I needed was a file cabinet, stuffed with records on the study, but all I could see was a desktop computer.
At least it was a Mac—I was more familiar with those than PCs. I jiggled the mouse and the computer popped out of sleep mode. The user login screen appeared. There was only one user account—Davidoff, with an eight ball as the graphic. I clicked it and got the password box. Ignoring it, I clicked on “Forgot password. ” The hint appeared: usual. In other words, his usual password, I supposed. That really helped.
