Page 31 of Tomb of Ancients
His voice was muffled but easy enough to hear.
Henry put his mouth close to the puppy’s ear, murmuring, “Is he lying? Is there deceit in his heart?”
The dog, small as it was, gave a low growl and then snapped.Henry patted it on the head fondly and then tucked it under his arm, sighing.
“I know you do not want to serve me or anyone, Focalor, but make this easy on yourself. Tell us the whole truth. Tell me what you found at Tuz Gölü.Tell me.”
His patience was running thin. It was rare for his temper to emerge, as most things in life, even its tribulations, were a lark to him. I had seen him laugh off the deepest insults, the most cutting criticisms, failures, mistakes, and on and on. But a red flush crept across his cheeks now, pinpricks of silver standing out in his eyes, his anger such that the charm he used to conceal his true nature wavered, his feet contorted and backward facing. I reached for the pup, taking it from him, afraid that he would squeeze the poor thing to death in his rage.
“You wouldn’t want to make me beg,” Henry added in a soft, almost sad whisper. “I know you wouldn’t want that.”
He gestured to Ara, who turned and presented her heavy embroidered bag to him, the one containing the Black Elbion. The demon’s wings began to tremble, but it otherwise managed nothing coherent, muttering over and over again about the dangers of the salt.
“White sands in my wounds, white sands in my wounds, white sands...”
“Perhaps if we gave him more time,” I suggested, watching Henry remove the black book and run a tender hand over thesymbol on the cover. “Or perhaps we should heed his warning. I like my fingers quite where they are.”
“I hate to agree with the Upworlder,” Ara whispered, “but here we are. I told you not to go poking around the books. Look what it did to this pitiful wretch.”
“Your opinions are noted and discarded,” Henry replied, brow furrowed. He cradled the book in one arm and opened it. To me, it appeared as if the choice of page was random, but I knew him better than that. His fingers drifted over rows of text, words that I could not and could never decipher. It was not a language meant for me. I held the dog close to my chest, trying to soothe its fussing and whimpering.
“I compel you,” Henry stated, holding out his other hand to the demon. His fingers were steady, his arm locked, his eyes suddenly completely black. “Wayward one, reluctant servant, I compel you now: you will give me your truth, and you will serve as my guide.”
The tawny wings enfolding the demon shook and shook, his babbling breaking off as Henry’s voice boomed through the hollow cave. The flames of the candles danced on their wicks, threatening to extinguish. Ara closed her eyes and pressed her thin lips together, hard. A faint whisper began from the demon, but Henry ignored it, repeating his demands, each repetition growing louder and more furious.
Then, as quickly as a rope snapping under tension, the wingsflew wide and the demon emerged, only he changed, rapidly, in front of our eyes. The cracks in his skin widened, no longer glowing gold but billowing black smoke. He became a thing of shadows and red eyes, still winged, but expanding until his newly horned head brushed the ceiling. The puppy shivered and shrieked, flailing until I shielded it. Henry did not waver, but the demon of smoke and eyes rolled toward us, the smell of brimstone unmistakable.
“You will give me your truth and you will serve as my guide!” Henry thundered. But the demon had broken; it had become pure defiance.
“Ai akkani, ?alaqu. Napa?u-akka.”
“Henry. Henry. Maskim xul...” I had never heard Aralu Ilusha afraid before, but the tremor in her voice was clear as she warned Henry, and I slowly backed away. The creature could not be less interested in me. It had eyes only for Henry.
“You will serve as my guide,” Henry shouted again, ignoring us. His outstretched hand was just about to touch the smoke, and I held on to a single breath, watching as the soot-black cloud neared...
“Arratu-akka! Mâzu, mâzu, MÂZU.”
It was a voice straight from hell, as fell and dark as the creature itself. I felt as if I were going to vomit and dropped to my knees, closing my eyes and lapsing into prayer. I rocked back and forth with the dog in my arms, hot tears dripping down mycheeks and into his fur. He curled into me, the only small spot of comfort as the nightmare voice bled into my lungs like poisoned air, thick with ash. The whole of the cave and the hovel above quaked, and I braced for the collapse.
“Fall then, demon. I name you all that is low, all that isman.”
A cold whisper chased through the room, and I opened my eyes, watching as the hand touching the Black Elbion began to resonate with glowing-red power. The power surged through Henry’s arm just as his fingers disappeared into the smoke of the demon’s body.
Focalor’s cry of anguish died, swallowed as he diminished like steam that had burst from a cauldron being sucked instantly back inside. When the haze cleared and the echo of their dark speech had faded, all that remained was a pale and tremulous man, curled onto his side like a newborn, an oversize loincloth draped over his waist. He shook with tears, and at once I turned away. I was suffocating. I thought neither Ara nor Henry had noticed me shuffling away toward the stairs, but a moment later I heard Henry snap the book shut, and then he was at my side.
“That was cruel,” I whispered, realizing my tears hadn’t slowed. “You went too far.”
Henry shrugged, unmoved. “He’s a demon, Spicer. It’s none of your affair. He will do as I ask.”
When I looked at him again, something was different. Hewas his same handsome self, carefree and smirking, cocky in his apparent victory, but a dark glimmer in his eye disturbed me deeply. There was an absence of light and pity there, just empty blackness.
“That isn’t the point at all, Henry. How could that ever be the point?”
There would be no afternoon tea or refreshing cucumber sandwiches at Coldthistle House. My old place of employment, the house I had known as the Devil’s and then briefly as my own, was smoking, in chaos, and under siege.
We stopped the carriages not far from the short drive that led up to the mansion itself. We got out and stood along the edge of the grass, which even after so much rain curled inward, yellowish and dead at the ends. The shrubberies lining the path had not been pruned in weeks. One of the pointed towers on the west side of the house had recently been on fire; the burnt wood still smoldered.
“Take Niles to Derridon,” Dalton said after a stretched spell of silence. “This is no place for humans just now.”
