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It occurred to me that if we went to the safe room in the basement of the Wayfarer, the daemon wouldn’t be able to (a) teleport out with me, (b) shoot magic at me, or (c) bathe me in fire. He could still break me in half, but if he’d wanted to do that, he already would have.
I pointed toward the floor. “Menolly, we need to use the room downstairs.”
She frowned, then her eyes lit up. “Oh, that room. All right. Come, follow me. Don’t hurt anybody and don’t destroy anything, either of you. Daemon, I hold you on pain of death that you won’t hurt my sister.”
“As Trytian would say, big fucking whoop.” The daemon grunted. Then, with a suspicious look, he followed Menolly, shaking the floor with each meaty step. I swung in behind. Smoky, Trillian, and Shade followed, leaving Delilah and the staff to take care of the dead elf and the frightened patrons.
Just what they were going to tell them, I wasn’t sure, but I couldn’t wait to hear the story they concocted. As it was, we were already in for a lot of damage control just from the daemon’s appearance in the bar. Word would leak out, no matter what we did, and we didn’t have cool blue flashy-flashy things like the Men in Black did. We were lacking somewhat in the mind-control department, and our glamour wouldn’t work on a daemon.
Downstairs, we came to the safe room. No magic could enter here, nor any creature teleport in or out. All natural abilities were muted within the room. If a nuclear blast hit this bar, the safe room would stand.
I gazed at the door, swallowing my fear. The thought of being shut up alone with the daemon was daunting. Not so much fun. Not so safe. But because the alternative was worse, I gathered my courage and motioned for him to enter the room and, with a scowl, he ducked his head so that his horns cleared the archway. As I followed behind him, Menolly touched me on the arm.
“One peep and we’re coming in. Don’t get near him. He can’t work his magic, but he could tear you apart.”
“I know. Believe me, I know.” And, reluctantly, I shut the door and turned to face the daemon, crossing my arms. The best defense was to show no fear. “Trytian has a message for me? Deliver it and then scram, hell spawn.” I didn’t bother asking for his name—chances were he wouldn’t give it to me.
The daemon looked around. “A no-magic zone? Not stupid—not so stupid as some.” A dark grimace crossed his face. “I would relish a fight with you, girl. And your friends. But this is not my battle to wage.”
I decided to let that one pass. No need to press my luck. Letting out a long sigh, I asked, “What do you want? Why did you kill the elf upstairs?”
“He got in the way. He had to be eliminated.” He said it nonchalantly. Dare to interfere with the daemon? Poof—you die.
“Again, I ask: What do you want?”
“I bear a warning from Trytian.”
I rolled my eyes. “Why would he warn us about anything? He tried to kill us, for the sake of the gods.” Not only that, but Trytian was rude. Very rude.
“I bring only the warning. I have no other answers for you.”
Hmm . . . I played out the reasoning in my mind. The only reason Trytian would offer us a warning was if he anticipated needing our help in the future, which meant we would have a bargaining chip. Unless he’d suddenly sprouted wings and become a cute little cherub. I sincerely doubted the latter.
“Okay, I’m listening. What’s so important that Trytian sent you over here to stir the pot? And why you—why not someone who can pass out on the streets?”
I leaned against the small bistro table that was pushed against one wall. The room showed signs of occupation—Erin, the daughter Menolly had sired into the vampiric life, was staying down here during the day, sleeping in safety until her room at the new Vampires Anonymous Shelter was ready. The bed was piled high with comfy blankets; there were cards and books on the table, and an empty bottle that had held blood.
“I was the only one available to send at the moment. Trust me, I do not enjoy playing messenger boy. But Trytian is my leader and I obey. Here.” He handed me a letter. “You will understand why I did not want to be in the same room with your husband when you read it.”
Oh hell. Something to do with Smoky. I couldn’t imagine the daemon being that afraid of Trillian, and Morio was at home.
Gingerly, I took the paper and opened it. The writing was tight, neat, and precisely printed in red ink—at least I hoped it was ink, considering the color. As I began to read, I started to sink toward the floor, but one grunt from the daemon and I straightened back up again. No dropping my guard, not when we were alone together. No use asking for trouble.
I glanced up at the creature. “Wait here, please.” Before he could say a word, I slipped out of the room and slammed the door, locking it behind me. He could hammer all he wanted on it, he was locked in there till doomsday if we wanted.
“What’s going on? Are you all right?” Smoky leaned over me, looking for signs that the daemon had laid hands on me.
“I’m fine . . . at least physically. He gave me a letter from Trytian. If it’s true, then you and I are fucked. Just plain and simple.”
“Read it.” Shade was staring at me, concern creasing his face.
I cleared my throat and held up the paper.
Rumors are running rife through the grapevine, but I assure you, this is no wives’ tale. A white dragon was recently seen in the halls of the Demon Underground, hanging out with a snow monkey. He is not welcome here, but no one dares tell a dragon to leave.
Camille: Scuttlebutt is that he’ll be marching in your direction soon. He’s made it known that you and your husband are on his hit list. And frankly, though you and I disagree on the method, all allies against Shadow Wing are valuable at this point, and I may need to call on your aid at some point. So be cautious and don’t get yourself killed.
Trytian
