“Zora…” I murmured.
Back on her side of the circle, the magician looked like she’d unpacked a New Age shop. Where had she been keeping all those boxes, bags, cords, candlesticks, candles, figurines, and chunks of crystal? She was going to throw everything at the demon.
“I’m trying,” she murmured. She revealed a few more items: crosses, rosaries, the implements of someone preparing to perform an exorcism. Finally, with a decisive nod, she raised her hands and called out, “By the name and power of the Primeumaton, the Tetragrammaton, I curse you! I deprive you of your power, and bind you in the depth of the bottomless pit! Two times I curse you, deprive you of your power, and bind you in the depth of the bottomless pit! Thrice I curse you, deprive you of your power, and bind you in the depth of the bottomless pit!”
The demon tilted her head, listening. Were the chants and curses affecting her? How could you tell if a wizard was doing her spells right? Zora picked up a cross in each hand, and her voice rose to a shout.
“Munde dues virtuti tuae, in the name of the spirit of the world, in the name of God and all His angels, I do abjure thee, I do abjure thee, I do abjure thee! In the name of Cassiel, Sachiel, Samael, Michael, Anael…”
Pulling out the big guns now, was she? She approached the demon, repeating the curses, as if she really could battle her back with words.
And the demon laughed, which probably wasn’t a good sign. Worse, though, she was still here. Zora might have been doing everything right—and the spell just didn’t work.
Now what?
I smelled blood—whose, and where did it come from? Enkidu—a slash on his thigh, skin flapped open, dripping in streaks down his leg. What had made it, the wood weapon or the silver? I glared until I caught his gaze and shrugged a question. He waved me off. Since he was still upright, maybe he was okay. Next I checked on the magician, trying to figure out how to tell her her exorcism wasn’t working. But she already knew. She sat on the cave floor, her soot-streaked white robes spread around her, one hand on her frizzed blond hair, as if she had a headache.
The demon tsked, shaking her head.
We were at a standoff—the others couldn’t advance because of her weapons, and as long as we didn’t make noise, she couldn’t find us.
Run. Wolf had been tumbling inside me for hours, ready to go as soon as I let her off her leash. I wasn’t ready to do that. But she had the right idea about running. I had a plan. It wasn’t a very good one, but it was the one I had. Trouble was, I couldn’t communicate it to the others with the demon listening. Her hearing was too good. Which left the question: could I somehow pantomime what I was thinking to Enkidu and Sakhmet? Well, I could try.
“Hey!” I shouted. “Hey, you!” I stuck my hands on my hips and tried to act angry, and also coolheaded. Angry wasn’t hard. Avoiding panic, that was tough. I asked, “Do you even have a name?”
She cocked her head, blind, listening.
“Yeah, that’s right, I’m telling you where I am,” I continued. “Go ahead, track me down. But hear me out first, just for a minute.”
While I talked, I caught Sakhmet’s gaze and gestured out the chamber and back up the tunnel. When she furrowed her brow and looked at me questioning, I gestured harder, a quick shooing motion—as softly as I could, while talking to the demon, holding her attention.
Finally, Sakhmet understood. While I was making all the noise, they could get out. They had to understand we weren’t going to kill the demon, or destroy her, or whatever. We weren’t going to win this hunt. But they could run. The were-lion grabbed Enkidu’s arm and pulled him back. Enkidu was limping. I kept talking.
“I’ve got your goggles,” I said, dangling them on a finger. “You want ’em back? I want some information. Where’s Dux Bellorum?”
She hesitated, considering. I kept calling her a demon because she seemed so huge, taller even than Enkidu, with the strength of an army. She seemed to fill the chamber. But she was so human, appearing to be a white woman with a graceful jawline, her thin lips turned up now in a smile.
“He’s safe,” she said.
Evasive, devoid of in
formation. Except that they were connected, somehow. “Is he, now. Because you were sent to defend him?”
“I was sent to destroy you.”
“By whom?” I had to keep asking the question.
“I’m not going to tell you.”
“Then you don’t get your goggles back.”
She chuckled. “You weren’t going to give them back anyway.”
I actually hadn’t decided that. She was equally effective with or without the goggles; it didn’t make a difference. I was waving frantically at Zora, and some clarity seemed to settle on her gaze—she actually saw me, and nodded. She crept around the circle, carefully, without a sound, and took the hand that I stretched out to her.
“I don’t want to fight,” I said, scattering meaningless words, spending them to buy time. My own ceremonial incantation. “Our ritual failed, we’re all very aware of that. Just let us go.”
“You’ll try again unless I stop you.”