The Crossing (Immortals) (21 page)

The seductive stroke of red-nailed fingers on a deck of
cards snared Mac's attention.

"A hand of Twenty-one, sir? Or would you prefer a
more... private game?"

A wide-eyed demon in pouty feminine form stood behind
a blackjack table. Breasts the size of small watermelons
peeked from behind a fall of lustrous dark hair. The entity's
only article of clothing-if one could call it that-was a red
bow tied around her slender neck. A perfect match to the
bloodred paint on her lips and nipples.

She looked him up and down, undressing him with her
eyes. Mac shied away. The demon hadn't even touched
him, but already he felt used. The dealer was eyeing him
as if he were her next meal. Which actually, he could be.
Mac's soul had to be the most potent source of life essence
to ever cross into this cursed realm.

A cherry tongue swiped the demon's lower lip. The
gleam in her eyes intensified. The creature blew him a
kiss; Mac felt like throwing up.

And yet he couldn't tear his eyes from her. His cock,
damn the thing, had gone hard.

He clenched a fist- His hand was shaking. Demon sex
had never been his idea of a good time-no pure lifemagic creature would willingly touch a demon. Or enter a death realm. A year ago, a place like this would have made
him violently ill. Now, despite his revulsion, he couldn't
deny an undercurrent of energy and excitement.

The change was due to the death magic in his soul. It
provided protection from the evil assaulting him from all
sides, while at the same time drawing him toward it. How
long could he last in this place? Long enough, he hoped,
to find Artemis and drag her out of here.

And if he encountered a fight from the demons eying
him? Well, he wasn't entirely sure what he'd do then. His
life-magic spells wouldn't be worth much in a demon
realm. Could he cast death magic? The thought was distasteful, but he was prepared to do whatever he had to.

A buzz of adrenaline kicked in. The prospect of dealing
in death brought a kind of perverse exhilaration.

"Well, hon?" pouted the blackjack demon. "Whaddaya
say? Should I deal you in? It's Shadowhaven's best game."

"Sorry. Not interested."

"Can't win if ya don't play, big boy."

"Can't lose, either."

He scanned the room behind the blackjack table. Gold,
crystal, mirrors, and smoke, vanishing into infinity. How
the bloody hell was he going to locate Artemis amid this
murky mess?

The demon leaned over the blackjack table, her nipples
brushing the green felt. Mac found himself looking. With
a knowing smirk, she fluttered her long, false eyelashes.

"Come on now, hon. Just one tiny bet? What's the harm
in that? Your life essence is high enough to afford a bad hit
or two."

"Sorry."

Her red lips pursed. "Whatchya come here for, if ya
don't wanta play?" Her red eyes narrowed. "Ah, I know.
You're part Sidhe. Elven. I know what your kind likes...."

The demon dissolved into a shapeless, oily mist. A moment later, the dirty cloud coalesced into a new figure.
Mac blinked at the demon's new guise: a short, squat,
bearded dwarf, in full battle armor.

The dwarf-demon hopped up on a stool. "Like me
now?" he asked gruffly. "Turn you on, do I?"

"Are you whacked?" Mac demanded.

"Oh, come now, my tall, blond Sidhe-male. Don't play
shy. I know what kind of fellowship you crave. Saw it in a
human movie a little while back. Some cracked story
about a halfling and a ring..

"Bloody hell! That movie? Don't believe everything you
see on pay-per-view, mate. Besides, I'm looking for a female right now. A human woman."

The demon snorted. "Troublesome creatures, human
women. Don't see why you'd go after one." Yellow teeth
flashed. "Not when you could have me."

"Maybe you've seen her," Mac said through clenched
teeth. "Not too tall, curly brown hair and dark eyes, olive
skin. Might have come through here about a half hour
ago. Unusual magic. Her death - and life-magic talents are
equally strong."

"Oh," the demon huffed. "That one."

"You've seen her?"

The demon responded with another smear of oily smoke.
This time he reappeared as a broad-shouldered American
cowboy. "Damn straight, I saw the little woman. Reckon
everyone in these parts did. Could hardly miss a hot little
filly like that, now, could l?" He smirked. "Too late for y'all
to catch her, though. She skedaddled into the back."

"The back?"

"Malachi's private suite. Y'all know about Malachi,
don'tcha?"

"Is he the master of this realm?"

The demon slapped his knee with his ten-gallon hat.
"Give the Sidhe-boy a gold star! Yep, Malachi's lord here.
More's the pity."

Mac scuttled his annoyance. "Where's this back room,
then?"

The demon centered his hat on his head. "Let me give
you some advice, partner. Give it up. Y'all would never get
through the door." He looked Mac up and down. "Life
spells are worthless on this side. Death magic's what a man
needs, and, son, you ain't got much. Y'all are about as dangerous as a pup."

"Don't be so sure about that."

The demon rounded the blackjack table, grinning.
"Why, shucks, boy. I bet y'all can't even stop the likes of
me from bending y'all over this here table and-gack!"

Cowboy choked on his taunt as Mac slammed his fist
into his face. The entity reverted to smoke, sending Mac
staggering forward, punching through nothing. Red fireworks exploded in his vision; pain stabbed his skull like a
dozen sharpened spikes. Before he quite knew what was
happening, a drop of his life essence had escaped his soul.
The white spark zigged and zagged above his head like a
drunken horsefly.

Cursing, Mac made a grab for it, and missed. The
demon-back in its naked-woman guise-laughed. Parting
her lips, she flicked her tongue, froglike, and caught the
bright light on the tip. Catching Mac's gaze, she licked her
lips and smiled.

An electric jolt of revulsion/anger/lust shot straight to
Man's groin. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to slap
the demon's smug face. He wanted to throw her down on
the floor and...

He was on the verge of launching himself across the
blackjack table when sanity kicked in. The sodding little
bugger was goading him, and he was falling for it. The
wanker would like nothing better than Mac's assaultviolence would allow it to get an even bigger drop of his
soul. With a low curse, Mac gripped the edge of the table.
The polished wood cracked.

The demon threw back her head and cackled. "Not bad,
Sidhe-boy, but you'll need a lot more willpower than that
to stop Malachi from stripping your soul bare. He's one
mean bastard. What with the shakeup that went down last
year, the master's one of the top dogs in the demon realms
now. Your tender life-magic ass won't last a heartbeat."

She cupped both her breasts, squeezing and lifting, her
bloodred nipples pointed at his mouth. "Now, I have a
better idea. Give up your human whore and stay with me.
You'll have a lot more fun. I promise."

Mac grabbed her bow tie and twisted. "Listen. I'm out
of patience. No more games. Where's your master?"

The demon made a -show of choking and gasping, but
her eyes gleamed red, her expression oddly triumphant.
Hot hands swept over Mac's shoulders and down his arms.
"Ooh, you're more dominant than I gave you credit for.
Sure you don't want to play? I'll let you tie me up and
whip me-"

Mac dropped her as if scalded. He was wasting his time;
she wasn't going to tell him a damn thing. Turning without a word, he started walking.

"The other way, hon."

He stopped and looked back. "What?"

"I said, the other way. To Malachi."

"And just why should I believe that?"

The demon shifted forms suddenly, returning to cowboy form. "Suit yourself, partner. It's your own funeral,
after all. I just thought that if you've got a death wish, I
might as well be the one to get the credit for delivering
you to the master. Malachi's suite is behind the faro tables.
Through a black door. Do me a favor and tell him Travis
sent you, would you? I'd surely appreciate it."

Mac hesitated. He wasn't at all sure the demon was telling
him the truth, but since he didn't have a clue where Malachi
was, one direction was as good as another. He changed
course, heading toward the blinking neon faro sign, slap ping away grabbing hands-demon and human-on all
sides. Everyone in this gods-forsaken place wanted a piece
of him, and the effort to repel them was taking its toll. Another spark of his life essence floated free. A horde of lesser
demons fell on it in a feeding frenzy.

Damn. Demigods were not meant to travel through
death realms. If only Mac understood the death magic in
his soul more fully, he might be able to put it to use.
Fighting the death bastards with their own weapon might
prove infinitely satisfying. As it was, the cowboy demon
was right. Mac's defenses were pitiful.

How the hell was he supposed to rescue Artemis when he
could barely protect himself? He couldn't even dim his life
essence. It shone though the murky air, attracting demons
like flies. If he were smart, he'd get out of this wretched
place and leave Artemis to her freely chosen fate.

And let his child die here? Not bloody likely.

He halted at the base of the three steps leading to the
faro platform. There was indeed a black door behind the
tables. A demon in the guise of a thick-necked human
bouncer stood guard. Was Artemis behind that door?
Submitting to Malachi's lust? Every instinct Mac possessed screamed for him to vault over the faro tables and
bash down the black door.

Luckily, prudence prevailed. He gave the guard a second look. Malachi's goon wasn't an Old One, but he wasn't
a neophyte, either. And there were any number of lesser
demons between Mac and the bouncer. As much as Mac
was itching for a fight, he knew he couldn't take on them
all. His usual rules didn't apply here.

Gripping the brass railing with one hand, he directed
his focus inward. He'd spent the last year denying the
death in his soul. Now, for the first time, he sought out its
putrid stain.

He probed it gingerly, as a human might do with a rotted
tooth. Its ugliness repulsed, but if he meant to snatch Artemis out of an Old One's clutches, he had no choice but
to make use of the only weapon he had. Death magic. He'd
never cast a death spell in his life-hadn't thought he had
the knowledge for such a feat. But somehow, as he poked
and prodded the small, rotten abscess in his soul, he knew.

Words-repulsive, ugly-sprang to his lips. It hurt to
utter the syllables. First, fourth, and seventh notes on an
octave, the chord slashed at his ears like broken glass. His
stomach lurched; he almost retched. He renewed his grip
on the railing, and when the nausea passed, somehow he
was still standing upright.

He didn't feel so good. But when he took a step, no
hands grabbed at him. No red eyes darted in his direction.
It was as if he'd faded from view.

Damn, he'd done it. He'd cast a death glamour. All in
all, it hadn't been so different from casting a life-magic
glamour. Sort of like putting on a shirt backward and inside out. It didn't feel good, or look good, but it got the
job done.

No, he didn't feel good at all. But he felt better than
he had a moment ago. Definitely better.

With a deliberate tread, he threaded his way between the
faro tables, eyes fixed on the black door and its massive
guard. With new insight, Mac assessed the bouncer, identifying weaknesses in the demon's magic that hadn't been apparent to him before he'd dipped into his darker side. He
cracked his knuckles. He could take the blighter, he thought.
And once Malachi's goon was out of the way...

The bouncer turned; the black door behind him swung
open. Mac's scheming evaporated when a woman emerged
from a pall of yellow smoke.

Artemis.

His knees all but buckled under a tsunami wave of relief.
Artemis had lost her army jacket, but otherwise was fully
clothed and, as far as he could tell, unharmed. Mac was
about to slide into her view when a demon appeared in the doorway behind her, dark energy crackling about his head
and shoulders. An Old One. It could only be Malachi.

The demon radiated the absolute, seductive power of
death. He guided Artemis to his left, a proprietary hand
curled about her nape. The sight of that controlling touch
set Mac's blood boiling. Clearly, Malachi considered
Artemis his property. Had she whored for him? Moaned
with pleasure as the demon poured death into her body?
Mac heard a cracking sound and realized it came from the
hinges of his own clenched jaw.

Malachi and Artemis advanced. The lesser demons and
demonwhores parted in waves before them, some bowing
low, others falling prostrate. One even attempted to kiss
the toes of Malachi's polished shoes. A vicious kick was the
demon's reward for his obeisance.