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“I don’t see why,” I said, grabbing the reins of the camel thing. It seemed to like Casanova. Or his hair, anyway. It kept trying to eat it.
“To avoid overfarming earth, the demon lords made an agreement,” she reminded me. “Only a set number of each of our races is allowed on earth at one time. We have to take turns.”
“But you’re still on yours. Aren’t you allowed three hosts?”
“Yes.” She shot a sideways look at Casanova, who was reacting typically to the camel-slobber cowlick he’d just been graced with. “But I do not think anyone expected me to find an immortal for my last host. I should have been forced to return centuries ago.”
“But, technically, you aren’t breaking any rules.”
“I am now,” she said quietly as we merged back into the ragged line of similar groups all heading in the same direction.
I was actually grateful for them, since the “road” was invisible as far as I could see, just endless miles of reddish clay baked into giant cracked plates by the parching sun. Only an occasional dried-up twig of a tree poking out of one of the cracks broke the monotony, along with the scattered line of travelers, all going in more or less the same direction. Mother had neglected to mention that the main court of the incubi was a damned long way from the portal we’d passed through to get here.
Of course, that wouldn’t normally have been a problem. Rian could shift into and out of the demon world the same way I could shift across the human. But the demon lords were paranoid of one another and closely guarded their main courts, and Rosier had just increased the security on his from tight to maniacal. So no shifting. She’d had to go through the incubus version of the TSA in order to get home, just like every other demon.
Luckily, our group didn’t include any other demons. And as far as the guards at the gate had been concerned, that meant we basically counted as the in-flight meal. Of course, that begged the question
of how, exactly, we were going to get out when our group did include another demon, and one on the top of the “no fly” list.
Damn, I hoped Mom had been right.
“Who are all these people?” Caleb asked, watching the passersby.
They weren’t as interesting as I’d expected, at least what I could see. A lot of them were muffled up as much as we were, against the overhead glare and the intermittent gusts of wind that whipped fine sand into every available orifice. But they looked vaguely human, at least most of them, a bunch of tattered, hungry-looking types in dusty rags.
Or rather, those on foot like us were. But every once in a while, a clatter of hooves and a miniature dust cloud announced the passage of more prosperous-looking individuals, in fine, loose robes to protect them from the sun. I couldn’t see much of them, either, since both men and women had veils hanging from turbans or other head coverings, probably to try to cut down on the amount of rose-colored dust they breathed in. But there were glimpses of bright-colored silks underneath their outer robes, and they rode in comfortable-looking carts.
Rian glanced around disinterestedly. “Servants, or those who would be so. Traders—the few who can be trusted. The people of this world returning home after journeys elsewhere . . .”
“People of this world?” Caleb looked confused.
“There are many hells,” she told him. “It is merely a term for worlds in this dimension. Kazallu is one; earth is another.”
“Bullshit. We do not live in hell!”
“Speak for yourself,” Casanova said, limping from what turned out to be a rock in his shoe.
“A hell,” Rian said, unperturbed. “When we found this one, eons ago, the people on it were . . . primitive, few in number, dying of disease, famine, war. We took control and helped them.”
“Fed on them, you mean,” Caleb interjected.
“To an extent. But they are not very . . . nutritious? They provide a subsistence, nothing more. That is why our time on earth is so prized. In a few years there, we amass power that would take centuries here.”
“So we’re cattle to you,” Caleb said, as if she’d just confirmed something long suspected.
Rian shot him a flirtatious glance. “Prized cattle, surely.”
“Oh, stop it,” Casanova said irritably. “She’s just teasing you,” he added to Caleb, making me blink.
I looked at Rian, but her violet-dusted lids were lowered, the long lashes shading her high cheekbones. And then back at Casanova. And then I wondered how a predator didn’t notice when he met a greater one.
But I didn’t say anything, and neither did she, being busy pulling a veil across the bottom of her face and turning away slightly, as another vehicle approached ours.
This one was different, a sporty two-wheeler, almost like a chariot, and driven like one, too. I didn’t have to ask who it belonged to; Rian’s reaction was enough. The incubus-possessed driver hadn’t bothered with an outer cloak like everyone else. Instead, he wore a fine, thin red silk robe embroidered with gold that flashed in the light as he all but ran us down, scattering us lesser beings to either side as he thundered past.
“Son of a—why couldn’t we get one of those?” Casanova demanded.
“They’re restricted to the Danim, those hosting an incubus,” Rian told him. “It would attract too much attention.”
