Authors: Maria Violante
She looked around the room.
De la Roca watched as her gaze pause on the artifacts of her earthbound existence—the liquor bottles, the polished glasses, the many stools stacked upside-down on tables.
"When I was first ordered here, I railed against it.
My infraction had been so minor, yet the punishment so severe!"
She sighed.
"Yet after much time passed, I realized that I had grown fond of this place, of the weary travelers and the simple pace, of the smiling faces of humanity."
Her wave was airy, almost dismissive.
"As for my God, my angels?
I have not heard from them for many years now."
"Perhaps," said De la Roca, her fingers trailing over the rim of a glass, "They have no use for you now."
It made sense to her, but she had not expected the Mademoiselle's face to crumple.
"If that were true, I would very likely be dead."
Her voice was steady, but De la Roca could hear a dark current of pain underneath, an undertow to a lake that appeared placid.
De la Roca sat in silence for a moment, unsure of how to proceed.
Finally, she just decided to change the subject.
"What did you do with him?"
The Mademoiselle smiled, cat-like.
"He is on another plane, one gifted to me a long time ago by another demon.
I have saved it carefully for such a time as this.
It won't hold him long, of course.
He has very powerful friends, and an Eye of Muninn besides."
The Mademoiselle cast her eyes to the floor, and De la Roca became aware of a weight in the room, a current that had flowed unnoticed.
It was tangible, thick and hungry, and now that it had been exposed, it would not be ignored.
She could feel her brows coming together, her jaws tensing.
"What is it?"
The Mademoiselle met De la Roca's stare.
The mercenary was shocked to see that the expression had bled completely out of her pretty face, leaving behind a visage that was white and deathly.
"The gun.
Can I hold it?"
Her voice rustled like leaves.
De la Roca's hand moved toward the holster, but in the end, she could not bring herself to hand the Mademoiselle her revolver.
"No."
She shook her head.
"I am sorry."
The Mademoiselle nodded and changed the subject, seemingly without effort.
The rush of tension that had overtaken the room suddenly lifted, leaving De la Roca to wonder if she had just imagined it.
"Muninn should have killed you.
His self-immolation frightens me, as does his mention of his brother.
To be honest, I doubt you'll come back from this alive."
She pursed her lips thoughtfully.
"If you do, you will most likely not be the way you were when you left."
"What do you mean?" asked De la Roca, an eyebrow raised.
"I don't know.
Nobody has visited him in a millennium, and the tales from that time are garbled at best.
I remember reading once about an adventurer that thought visiting Thyrsus would be the key to great power.
When the man returned forty years later, he had forgotten how to speak."
"He was human, then?"
She made no attempt to hide her scorn, her lip curled into a mild sneer.
The Mademoiselle cocked her head.
"Yes."
She squinted, and De la Roca got the feeling that the woman was seeing past her.
"You need to understand this.
For all that you think of them as weaklings, for their mortality and their vulnerability, you still have a lot to learn about the human race.
They have the unique quality of being able to turn select weaknesses into strengths, and they have levels and depths to them that we are not instilled with."
De la Roca was not convinced.
The Mademoiselle considered the matter for some time before continuing, her hands clenching and unclenching as she processed her thoughts.
"It's as if we are lakes, and they are wells.
From overhead, we are impressive, turbulent, fantastic—even beautiful.
But dive into us, and all too soon, you are limited by the dark mud of the bottom.
A demon like Thyrsus, or perhaps even Laufeyson—they become focused on one quest, one motive, and it grows to consume and destroy their world."
She smiled wryly, and like a blooming flower, new beauty overtook her haggard features.
"But a human?
A human cannot live like that.
For them, it is madness.
Instead, their currents, while small, run deeper, through rock, through sand, through mud and clay."
She illustrated each stratum with her hands.
"Each layer has its own quality, its own uniqueness, but ultimately, they are united into a single tunnel in which they drop their bucket.
In the end, if they are lucky, they reach the life-spring of their purpose, and bring it through all of the layers to the surface.
Do you understand?"
De la Roca nodded, unwilling to admit her confusion.
"You might be different though, as I am.
We are—" She paused again, searching for the word.
"We are in-betweens."
The question was not vocalized, a mere tilt of the head and a squaring of the eyes, but the Mademoiselle saw it and answered it easily.
"Yes, I, too, was human once."
She sighed, heavy lines suddenly appearing at the corners of her eyes and mouth.
The demon's eyebrows knit together, an expression of remembered pain.
De la Roca had more questions, but she doubted they would be answered.
"It is time," said the Mademoiselle.
"I am ready to bridge the gate.
Go get Alsvior."
* * *
The process had been explained to her twice, but something did not add up to De la Roca, and she asked her questions again.
"So you are going to put me in another plane?
And Thyrsus will be there?"
The Mademoiselle sighed and rubbed a temple with her fingertips.
The gesture struck De la Roca as familiar.
Knowing now of the Mademoiselle's human past, she was surprised she had not realized it before. "Again, no.
I will have to bait him."
"How will you do that?"
"I'd rather not explain."
"Fine."
De la Roca's tone that belied the word.
"If you know where he is, why not just send me to him?"
"That would be an excellent way for you to die, following him into a world of his own making.
It was a mistake the first time, and I doubt your survival was a result of your own skill."
Her voice was growing louder, and De la Roca could not remember when she had seen the Mademoiselle so agitated.
"We will not be so foolhardy.
In his own plane, he is the strongest he could
ever
be.
Worse, he may have rewritten certain rules.
What if
Bluot
will not fire, or if gravity does not exist?
How will you fight him then?
In a third plane, you will at least have the advantage of knowing the playing field and working with familiar tools."
"But what—"
"There is no more time for questions!
Either I send you now, or you find your own way!"
"Fine," said De la Roca, her voice a blade of ice.
"I will do it as you wish."
"It is
not
as I
wish
.
It is the
only
way to do it."
Immediately, the Mademoiselle sat.
Clouds started to gather over her head, swirling around with a velocity that spoke of their master's urgency.
De la Roca watched them form.
Strange, how something that was once so extraordinary is now commonplace.
She waited until the rain fell.
The cold drops stung, and she wondered if the change in temperature had more to do with the destination or the rainmaker's state of mind.
The door opened, a circle of light that leapt from the floor and spun with wild magic.
"Go on, I will not be able to hold it long!"
De la Roca mounted Alsvior, and together they stepped through.
* * *
The Mademoiselle sighed.
She knew from the hurt expression on De la Roca's face that the sudden outburst had hurt her, but it was a necessary evil.
Her trust was precarious it best, and the spell-caster needed to act before the mercenary had time to fully reason through the situation.
So strange, the sides of her we see.
With humans, De la Roca was a terror, a God.
But among demons?
A lost child, perhaps?
At the very least, Laufeyson had made it easier.
His treachery, and De la Roca's preoccupation with the man, made the Mademoiselle look trustworthy by comparison.
She didn't know
what
the son of Laufey wanted with the mercenary, though, and that was a bit troubling.
Still, it's a long-shot.
A lot was riding on Thyrsus.
While it was true that the demon had been missing from these realms for centuries, his exile had been self-imposed.
Every demon (or angel) old enough to remember could recall the time before the madness had taken him.
He was called Huginn then.
Which name suits him better, really?
They had all been present when he had torn the rift, leaping away from Earth and fabricating a world of his own design.
Finding him would not be a problem.
The rain had slackened slightly during her brief reverie, but it intensified again as she prepared to open the second door.
Should I be sorry for my lies today?
A hint of grief threatened to overtake her and steer her away from her mission, but then she remembered the risk.
Better a liar than a dead woman.
Quickly, she created the circle and walked through.
Seventeen
T
he world was cold and dark, with a curious crackle of electricity that seemed to stir through the air with her every movement.
At first, the Mademoiselle felt nothing else out of the ordinary, and she wondered if she had chosen incorrectly.
What creaturessss does this animal creatures what does this be?
She sensed the words rather then heard them, their strange timbre stoking real terror in her heart for the first time in nearly a thousand years.
Remember why you are here.
She braced herself.
Remember your freedom.
After all—you set this ball in motion, and you can't go back now.