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He grabbed me by the arm and we muscled our way to the stairs, since the elevators weren’t working. At the bottom we paused by a stained-glass window where a little weak light from outside was leaking in. It didn’t help visibility much; I was mostly looking at a long black tunnel where I should have been able to see bright medieval banners overhead, a line of armor going down either side and the room-service kitchens off to the left.
I’d started toward the kitchen door anyway when, out of the dar
kness, there was a low, slow hiss, like scales sliding against the floor. I froze. I didn’t know what it was, but that sort of sound is never good. It coiled along my nerves, making the hairs stand up on my arms.
“I’ve seen this movie,” Casanova said tightly. “Everyone dies in the end.”
“Shut up!”
“You don’t understand—I know that slither!”
A black mist began sending dark fingers running across the stone of the floor. And everywhere they touched, what little light there was went out. “What is it?”
I could hear him swallow. “The darkness isn’t caused by the absence of light, but by the presence of something else. Something that, believe me, you don’t want to see.”
Yeah, except that dying in the dark didn’t sound all that appealing, either. I grabbed him before he could get away, crushing that expensive sleeve ruthlessly. “What. Is. It?”
“I told you—”
“Casanova! There is a very good chance there are children down here. What the hell is out there?”
He didn’t answer, just shone the flashlight at the ceiling. The walls in this section were dark wood, but the ceiling was painted white, picked out along the edges in gold scrollwork. The thing was hard to see, as it was also bloodless white. It was clinging to the ceiling upside down, head cocked to one side, watching. It was like a parody of a child, small and half formed, glistening wetly across all its surfaces. It looked blind, with no glimmer of eyes under the skin stretched tight across its sockets, but its head turned toward me unerringly.
“Cassie.” It spoke in Pritkin’s voice. It sounded sympathetic. “If you don’t run, I’ll kill you quickly, and I’ll leave the kids alone.”
I swallowed the noise that wanted to crawl out of my throat and made a quick weapons assessment. Mine consisted wholly of a couple of misbehaving knives, since I’d lost my purse somewhere along the line. Not good. But there was a whole line of weapons in the hands of the suits of armor lining the corridor. They looked as lifeless and empty as museum pieces, but were actually part of the security system.
“Casanova,” I said very carefully. “Order the guards to attack it.”
“I can’t.” He shook his head frantically, looking more panicked than I’d ever seen him.
“What do you mean, you can’t? If you let me die, Mircea will kill you.”
“And if you aid her, I will,” the thing on the ceiling said, as if it was part of the conversation. “It is difficult, serving two masters, isn’t it? I warned you it would become awkward one day.”
“Two?” I finally got it. “That’s Rosier, isn’t it?” Casanova nodded dumbly. “You’re not supposed to be back yet,” I told the demon accusingly. Hadn’t Pritkin said it would take at least a couple of days for him to recover? It hadn’t been that long, had it? With all the time-hopping, I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t think so.
The thing tilted its head the other way—why, I don’t know. It didn’t have any eyes so it couldn’t have been to see any better. “Well, I’m not at my best,” it finally said.
I looked over at the twitching Casanova, who was going to collapse at any moment. “Go,” I told him. “Help Pritkin. Do not let Nick get out of here and do not let him talk to anyone. I’ll deal with this.”
“You’ll deal with this?” Casanova stared at me with no expression, like he just couldn’t find one that fit.
“Yeah.” I looked up again. It was gruesome, but it was small. I decided I could take it. “I already killed you once.”
“Ah, yes, so you did. But then, that would be why I brought friends,” it said mildly. Casanova fled.
“Friends?”
“Servants of a colleague who owes me a favor. My boys are good for many things, but killing is not really their forte. Now, usually I would make this relatively quick,” it continued. “But after the other day, I am afraid I will have to break my habit. A little matter of prestige. You know how it is.”
“Sure.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something small and glowy emerge from the stairs.
“Now hold still, because this is going to hurt like a bitch.”
“Right back at you,” the pixie said, and threw her tiny sword like an arrow. It hit the thing square in the not-eyes, provoking a shriek of mingled pain and rage.
I twisted my neck around and saw Françoise running down the stairs toward me, looking more than a little frazzled. Her dress was torn in three different places, one of which was oozing a widening stain, and her eyes were huge. Radella, darting around in the air in front of me, looked okay, however. Human weapons might not be able to hurt a demon, but it looked like the Fey had more luck.
