Demon Thief (The Demonata 2)

“My, my. What now?” he purrs. He’s hanging just a few feet overhead. Dervish and Shark are still battling the demons. It’s down to us three — me, Lord Loss and the hell-child.

“I keep seeing him everywhere!” I scream, shaking the demon at its master.

“Really?” Lord Loss says, acting surprised. “Then maybe he is the thief. Or he might be a red herring, placed by me to throw you off the scent of the real culprit. Or perhaps it’s just coincidence and he has nothing to do with anything.”

I stare from Lord Loss to the hell-child to Lord Loss again. “Please,” I croak. “Help me. Don’t make me...”

“What?” Lord Loss asks, not unkindly. “Don’t make you choose? But I am not. The choice — whether you make it or not — is entirely yours. There is no time limit. Use your final chance now, if you believe you have caught the one you seek. Otherwise retreat and try again later. Perhaps you can train the marbles to unmask the thief. Or maybe I’ll drop clues for you over the centuries. Or Beranabus might find a way to rescue you.”

“All I want is my brother back!” I wail. “Why are you tormenting me like this? What did I ever

do to you?”

Lord Loss only smiles in answer, then strokes the hell-child’s head, calming him. “You hold one of my favorite familiars against his will and mine. It is time to call him a thief or set him free. Gamble or wait. But do it now, before I lose my temper and deny you any real choice.” He grins viciously. “Remember how I gave Cadaver a mouth with which to speak? I could just as easily remove yours, robbing you of your chance to name the thief.”

I’m crying helplessly. I want to let the hell-child go, delay the moment of naming, give myself time to think. But I know I can’t wait. I know. Delay it...run... and the chance will never come again. The hell-child will go into hiding, skip ahead of me through the zones of the board, stay out of my reach no matter how hard I search.

But what if he’s not the thief? If he’s a decoy, like Lord Loss said, or completely unconnected?

I study the demon through my tears, desperately hoping for some sort of a clue. But there’s nothing I haven’t seen before, no evidence that he had anything to do with the theft of Art. One last scan, to be on the safe side. His tiny feet, bony legs, skinny body, oversized head. Green skin. The small mouths in his palms, snapping open and closed. The few remaining lice on his head. The orange flames in his otherwise empty sockets.

Nothing about him helps. Guess I’ll just have to name him as the thief and hope for...

No. Wait. His eyes.

I stare at the flames. Something about the way they flicker... the color... but what is it? They remind me of something. Someone. I’ve seen eyes like this before. Not exactly the same, but similar. And only once. But where?

“Come on, Cornelius,” Lord Loss encourages me. “Say it quick, before I —”

“Wait!” I roar, clutching the hell-child tighter, shielding him from the demon master. “I’m trying to remember! The eyes! I’ve seen —”

The hell-child yelps — I must have hurt him when I tightened my grip. With a snarl, he opens his mouth, latches onto my left arm and bites, grey teeth breaking my flesh with ease. I scream and try jerking my arm free, but he has too firm a grip. I reach over with my right hand to pry his jaw loose...

... then stop as though struck by a bolt of red energy.

The biting... the eyes...I remember... the strange hair...the marbles...the large head...orange...I remember... playing with the marbles, holding them up to the light... orange light... finding the hell-child here when we stepped through, when I was searching for my brother . . . Dad tucking Art and me down beneath the blanket...I remember!

And, weak with disbelief, not sure how it can be true, but sickeningly certain that it is, I mutter over the rotten head of the hell-child, “I know who the demon thief is — it’s me!”

THE THEFT

SOFT pink light swallows me, engulfs the world of guts, blocks everything out. A few seconds of coolness and pinkness, all alone, confusion, uncertainty. Then the light fades and I’m back in Lord Loss’s throne room, on my hands and knees in front of the spider-shaped throne, gasping and shivering.

“Kernel!” a woman shouts — Sharmila. She hurries towards me, but Beranabus reaches out and holds her back. The magician’s smiling, but a faint frown wrinkles the dirty flesh of his forehead. Shark and Dervish are on their knees close by, sniffing the air and their hands. The stink is gone. That puzzles me, until I remember that only our souls entered the Board. The bodies we inhabited there were fakes. Our real bodies remained in the castle.

Lord Loss is on his throne, the hell-child on his lap, Vein sitting to attention at the base of the throne. No other demons are in the room.

“Say it again, Cornelius,” Lord Loss murmurs. “So there can be no doubt.”

“I’m the thief,” I mutter, still not sure how that can be true. “I stole...I don’t know how, but...it was when I was lonely, a year ago. I came here... when I stepped through the window of lights in my bedroom...”

Lord Loss chuckles and bounces the hell-child up and down. “This is Artery,” he says, “brother of Vein. They are two of my current favorites. Loyal servants, and most amusing when I set them loose on a human. Some time ago, an intruder opened a window into my kingdom. When I peered through it, I found you, Cornelius. I was inclined to take you, to punish you for your impudence. But there was something about the way you faced me, and a crackle of unusual magic in the air. I thought it better to wait and observe.

“You came through the window after me. It was outside the castle. Artery was playing nearby, torturing a lesser demon. You grabbed and subdued him, magically transformed him, supplied him with human features, took him to your universe, created a new identity for him, and shortened his name to...”

“Art!” I croak, more of the memories clicking into place, understanding coming slowly but certainly.

The air around the hell-child shimmers. When it clears, my brother is sitting on the demon master’s lap. He gurgles at me, but with Artery’s screechy voice. Dim flashes of orange light in his eyes. His messy hair. Head that’s slightly too large for his body. His sharp teeth.