Vision Quest (The Demon's Apprentice Book 3) (9 page)

The cobbled walkway wound through more shops and eventually came out close to the wall, where the cobblestones ended and Missouri limestone took over again as it led to a wide tunnel in the rock. Inside the darker confines of the tunnel, a series of chambers had been hollowed out, most by nature but some by the denizens of the Underground. Most of them offered some sort of food, some of it already dead and cooked, the rest … not so much of either. A thousand smells hit my nose, from savory to the sickly sweet smell of decay as we walked through the tunnel. On our right, a trio of grunged-up fairies had hollowed out a smaller chamber just at eye level on most humanoids and were offering fae wines and cakes. Between their tattered wings and patched clothes, plus selling fae goods for sale, I figured them for outcast. Actually selling fae food was below most fairies. Junkyard held his nose high as we went, his head weaving left and right. Even Shade’s nostrils were flaring, and I wondered what Gage and I were missing.

Both Shade and Junkyard sneezed as we cleared the opening to the next chamber. “I know, right?” she said to him as they both shook their heads. He made a warbling noise that bordered on a whine, and she laughed.

“Am I going to have to worry about you two talking behind my back?” I asked her.

“I’m not that kind of bitch, baby,” she said before she kissed me. It was my turn to laugh.

Up ahead, Bjerning’s was easy to see. It towered over the other buildings, even though it was set into the wall to give it a flat front. Four thick columns ran across the front, and a pair of huge brass-colored doors stood open. Each column was in the shape of a Dwarven statue holding the upper level on its massive fists. We walked up the five broad steps to the doorway, passing dozens of people going about their business. A pair of bearded Dwarves stood at the doorway in heavy black tunics with broad black belts on their waists. On the left side, one had a heavy bladed ax with a short handle, while the other carried a thick-bladed short sword. But on the right side, both carried a massive revolver. In the broad, three-fingered hands of a Dwarf, it might look normal, but I doubted any mortal would be able to hold one steady, much less stay on their feet if they pulled the trigger. Judging by the length of their beards, I would have put them both at under a hundred, though the honor beads woven into their facial hair spoke of more than a couple of fights. And in spite of the hustle of beings going in and out of the building, I was pretty damn certain that they noticed everyone.

Inside, the place was a marvel of Dwarven bureaucracy. There were benches for customers, but I had never seen a Dwarf sit while he or she was working, so the desks were all a little taller than average, with a raised area in front of them for chairs. No one was sitting on the benches, and almost as soon as we stepped into the waiting area, a red-headed Dwarf in a dark green tunic waved us over to his desk. Dwarven bureaucracy was, like most things they did, actually efficient.

We stepped up onto the platform and I stopped to let Shade choose a seat first. She sank gracefully into the seat on the right, so I took the one in the middle, leaving Gage to the leftmost chair. Junkyard sank to his haunches on my right. The desk was neat, with a pair of metal pens in a holder on either side of a brass plate that read “M. Firebeard, Account Manager” in black, etched letters. His craggy features barely moved as his eyes flicked down to a card placed on his desk.

“Good afternoon,” he said woodenly. “How may I help you?” I didn’t stop my smile at his forced politeness. When I’d dealt with Dwarves before, our conversations usually started with “What do you want?” It wasn’t that they were rude, they just didn’t believe in wasting time on what they called useless social fripperies.

“I’d like to open an account,” I said as I lifted the satchel and set it on the desk. His gaze lingered on the satchel for a moment, then went back to the card on his desk.

“We’d be happy to assist you with an account,” he recited. “What is your name, sir?”

“Chance Fortunato,” I said. I waited for the usual reactions, but all I got was a tilt of the head.

“Heard of you,” he said after a beat. “Good work beating the Count.” I did a double take at that. A single compliment from a Dwarf would have been gushing fanboy squee from anyone else.

“Uh … Thank you,” I said after a few seconds. On my left, Gage squirmed, obviously wanting to say something. Firebeard was looking through the satchel and, after a moment, stood and left the desk.

“What’s he …?” Gage started to ask, but I held a hand up. Dwarves didn’t do anything without a good reason. A few seconds later, Firebeard came back with a human in a blue double-breasted suit with gold buttons. Without a word, the Dwarf took his seat again and pulled a form from one of his desk drawers.

“Good morning,” the man said as he came around the desk and offered his hand to Gage. “I’m Andrew Salvatore. I understand you wanted to open an account with us today.” Everything had been addressed to Gage, and Shade and I might as well not have been there. Gage sputtered for a moment while I stood up.

“I want to open an account,” I said. “Is there a problem?”

“No, of course not,” Salvatore said smoothly as he offered his hand to me. “Having a human liaison is just standard procedure for any account with a balance higher than two thousand ounces. Dwarves tend to lack the social skills our more affluent clients desire, if you take my meaning.” His smile had only faltered for a split second, but something about him just grated on my nerves. Maybe it was the casual dismissal of the people he worked for, or maybe it was how I’d been invisible to him until he found out that I was his potential client.

“Actually, Mr. Firebeard’s social skills are just fine,” I said. “I think I prefer to work with him.” Salvatore’s smile faltered, while Firebeard kept his head down and his pen moving.

“Well, if you insist,” the man said, his tone a bit cooler. “Is everything in order for Mr. …” he stopped as he read the name. “Fortunato?” Firebeard nodded and kept writing. Salvatore reached down and picked up the receipt Biladon had written out for me. “If you’ll excuse me. Just a few formalities involved with an account this size. I’ll return shortly.” I watched him scuttle off with an uneasy feeling rising in my gut. Beside me, Junkyard tilted his head as he looked at me, like I was missing something.

“Sign here,” Firebeard said as he slid a form across his desk. I gave him a skeptical look and read over the form. Working for a demon had made me cautious about putting my name to anything I hadn’t read or didn’t understand. I’d wormed my way out of a few tight spots by getting other people to agree to things too quickly, too. But this was a standard agreement to hold my assets. I reached the end and signed it. Firebeard stamped it and slid it into a drawer, then excused himself stiffly and headed to the back.

“Where’s he going?” Shade muttered.

“Most likely to get a key for the sub-vault Fortunato is being issued,” Gage said. “Makes it so he can get access to funds at any of the Bjerning offices.”

A couple of minutes later, Salvatore hustled back up to the desk with another man in a dark green robe behind him. Gage leaned back in his chair with something that looked like a suppressed smile bending his mouth slightly. The green-robed man was older, with wisps of gray hair and a tuft of white clinging for dear life to his narrow chin, trying desperately to be a goatee.

“Elllsworth Chaffee,” the older man said, his thin beard wiggling with each clipped syllable. “Mr. Salvatore tells me that you have attempted to circumvent mandatory reporting procedures regarding your account.” Gage leaned forward, any amusement gone from his face.

“What reporting?” I asked. “No one said anything about reporting anything.”

“Any account over two thousand ounces must be reported to the main office,” Chaffee said. “Mr. Salvatore says you have refused to allow him to perform his duties as liaison, which includes filing that report. Therefore, we cannot allow you to conduct business with us, Mr. Fortunato. I’ll have security see you to the—” He stopped as Firebeard laid a heavy brass key on the desk.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his deep voice rumbling like thunder.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Firebeard, but we won’t be doing business with Mr. Fortunato,” Salvatore said with a wave of his hand. Chaffee reached for the satchel, only to find his wrist caught in Firebeard’s massive hand.

“Yes, we will,” he said.

“He refused a human liaison,” Chaffee repeated. “There are notifications to be made …”

“I did them,” Firebeard said.

“But the liaison—”

“Isn’t necessary,” Firebeard said. “Go away, before I decide
you
aren’t necessary.” The two humans exchanged a glance, then beat a quick retreat. Firebeard shook his head and handed me the key and a sheet of parchment. “Your account is open. The key will only work for you. The directions for use are there. Read them. And … I’m sorry for the trouble.” He offered me his hand, and I took it.

Shaking hands with a Dwarf was like shaking hands with a mountain. His grip was firm without being crushing, but I knew I wouldn’t get my hand back until he was ready to let go. With most humans, I got nothing; with mildly talented people like Lucas, I would usually feel a tingle of magick. With Firebeard, it was more of an insistent heat, like lava under his skin.

“It was no trouble at all,” I said, hoping I wasn’t stepping on toes I didn’t want to. “I hope I didn’t cause you any problems.” Every time I had tried to apologize to a Dwarf about something, they had made like whatever had happened wasn’t an issue. I hoped it would work now. He nodded and the barest hint of a smile escaped from under his moustache as he leaned forward.

“Some call you the demon’s apprentice,” he said softly. “We raise our glass to the boy who escaped.” With that, he let go of my hand and straightened. I tilted my head to him and stepped back off the platform. Junkyard and Shade came with me on my left, and Gage followed a little more slowly.

“So, where are we going now?” Shade asked as we emerged from Bjerning’s.

“Back to more familiar ground,” I said as I started back the way we came.

“The Hive?” she asked. I nodded.

“Arianh-Rod is the only wandwright I trust.”

“Is that absolutely … necessary?” Gage asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Ari is more likely to have something that works for me than anyone here.” I detoured a little to my right and came out on Wandwright Way after the tunnel.

“But there are plenty of reputable wand makers right here,” he said, some of the condescension creeping back into his voice. “Names you could say with pride, like Luccio or Portiferro. True masters of their craft.”

“They all have the same five woods,” I said, pointing to a display in one window. “Elm, oak, holly, cedar, and ash. And there, dare I say it? Apple and cherry listed as ‘exotic’!”

“This one has birch wood,” Shade said. “It’s an exclusive offering.”

“All very solid choices,” Gage said.

“All very boring choices,” I countered. “I’ve tried them, I got nothing from any of them. Ari usually keeps a better selection of woods on hand. And she’s better.”

“These are some of the leading names in the business!” Gage protested as I turned left and slipped between two shops.

“Shut up and keep up,” I said as we headed for the platform. Junkyard let out a short bark as we broke into a jog.

“You don’t understand,” Gage said as he caught up to us at the platform. “I’m a Gage. I can’t be seen in a place like the Hive. It would ruin my reputation. My family would disown me if I embarrassed them like that.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ve got your identity covered.”

Chapter 4

~ Magic is easy. People? People are hard. Why do you THINK wizards prefer remote towers? ~ Killian Moon, monster hunter

“When you said you had my identity covered,” Gage said as he donned the ornate mask, “I didn’t think you meant it so literally.” With the thin cloth cloak draped over his shoulders and the golden mask covering most of his face, no one would know who he really was unless he introduced himself. Knowing Gage, that was still a possibility.

“Are you sure you don’t want your own disguises?” Synreah asked in her most sultry tone. Gage took a deep breath as her voice caressed his libido. Today she wore a cream-colored cloak that somehow managed to part at the clasp and reveal the silver lamé corset that was straining to hold her plentiful charms. As it was, she still showed an acre of red-tinted skin above the bustline. One silver-gloved hand was resting at the top of her cleavage, while the other tucked the silver-filled bag I’d given her into a pouch at her side. Her translucent silver skirt rode low on her hips, stopping a few inches short of the silver boots that clung to her legs from mid-thigh to toes. My fashion sense was as stunted as my knowledge of pop culture, so if she was breaking any rules with her outfit, I wouldn’t have known. However, I’m as male as anyone, so even if I did know, I wouldn’t have cared.

“I’m already known in the Hive,” I said with a smile. “And it’s time Shade was, too.”

“I’m disappointed you haven’t already introduced us,” Synreah purred at me. “She looks delicious.”

Shade’s gaze went to the half-succubus and tried to narrow into a glare. Her harsh look turned into a double take when Synreah winked at her and gave her a seductive smile.

“Down, girl,” I said. “I couldn’t afford your rates and we don’t have the time.” I leaned in close before I continued. “And I’m not sure even you could handle an alpha werewolf.”

“I can be a real bitch,” Shade said with an open-lipped smile.

“In all the best ways,” Synreah countered. “Never fear, alpha bitch. Your honor is never in any danger from me.” Somehow, she made the word bitch sound like a compliment, but Shade still wasn’t convinced.

“Is it my honor I have to worry about?” she asked with a little too much sugar in her tone. Synreah threw her head back and laughed at that.

“Yes,” she said with a grim smile. “Even though he’s as welcome in my bed as anyone, you and I both know that even all of this,” she caressed herself with her fingertips from breasts to hips, “isn’t enough to lure him into it. So, relax and enjoy the ride, sweetie. If I ever offer anything to your mage, it will be something worth far more than the pleasures of my body.”

Beside me, Gage moved uncomfortably, his eyes shifting as if he couldn’t keep himself from staring when she knelt and greeted Junkyard like an old friend, running her hands down his flanks and letting him lick her cheeks.

“So,” Gage asked while Junkyard barked and turned around in place in front of Synreah, “we should get going.”

“Yes, we should,” Synreah said. “I’m happy to be your guide again.”

“Usual rates?” I asked.

“Oh, no, honey, this trip is on me.”

“You wish,” Shade said.

“Feverishly,” Synreah sighed.

“Won’t your … Master be mad at you?”

Her grin turned feral and she leaned close to me. “Not unless the dead rise. My late, much lamented Master perished in an unfortunate fire a month or so ago. I’ll miss the guidance of his firm and merciful hand.”

“I’m certain you will. My condolences.” We gave each other a knowing look and I smiled. “We’re heading to Arianh-Rod’s shop for a wand blank.”

She nodded and led the way into the Hive. The crowd swirled around us as we went, and Shade took my hand. Junkyard trotted along beside me, while Gage did his best to follow us without looking like he was actually with us. Shade’s eyes were everywhere, trying to take in every stall, shop and cart amid the crumbling ruins of older buildings. And there was a lot to see. Gems, spices, herbs, and clothes vied with scrolls, potions, and talismans for the attention of the potential buyer. The stench of too many people in too small a place was barely masked by the smell of smoke, cooking meats, and pungent oils. Merchants called out for customers, offering their wares at the top of their voices to compete with the murmur of the crowd. We wound our way among as many different species of magickal beings as I’d ever seen in one place, both walking on two legs and flying.

“Is there a single species of scum not represented here?” Gage asked with a grimace.

“No demons, and no High Fae,” I said.

“No demons? I’m surprised at that.”

“No one likes demons,” I said. “Humans are the only race stupid enough to make deals with them.”

“What about her?” Shade asked, pointing at Synreah sashaying ahead of us.

“She’s a cambion,” I said. “She’s not full demon.”

“Why does that matter?” Shade asked.

“It means she has a soul.” Behind me, I heard Gage scoff at the idea, but Shade’s face clouded. Ahead of us, the wedge-shaped building that held Arianh-Rod’s shop towered above the rest of the Hive, all three stories intact. There were taller buildings around it, but nothing with more than two stories above ground that were completely enclosed. Even in higher levels, people could be seen, mostly squats of those who didn’t want to live in either the mundane world or under the control of the powers behind the Veil. If it hadn’t been for my mom, one of those places might have been mine.

The sweet scent of worked wood greeted us as we came through the door to Ari’s, and the noise of the crowd died behind us when it clicked shut. The semi-circular display at the back of the room looked only half-full, and only the wall on the right held staves. The left-hand wall was now home to a series of display cases and racks that held smaller rods. Footsteps sounded on the wood floor, and Ari herself emerged from behind the thick blue curtain that separated the workshop from the display room.

Where before, she’d had an inch or so on me, I was now the one standing taller. Her pale blonde hair was streaked with blue through her bangs, and her violet eyes were bloodshot and tired-looking. Her eyes fell on Gage first, and she frowned slightly. Then they swept across the rest of us, and a smile spread across her narrow face.

“Chance, me lad,” she said in her soft brogue. “I’m nae sure whether I want to bless ya or curse ya.”

“Thank you, and I’m sorry?” I offered to cover all my bases. “What did I do?”

“E’er since ye kilt that rogue vampire, it’s ever’ other day that I get someone in a mask through tha’ door askin’ after a blastin’ rod like yours. Or a wand or a stave. I swear, my trade’s doubled since the Equinox, an’ more than half are droppin’ yer name, lad.”

“My name?” I asked, incredulous.

“Why him?” Gage demanded.

“Think where ya are, boy,” she said. “D’ye think Master Draeden’s name carries half the clout here as the demon's apprentice?” She laughed and leaned on the display case. “Damn fools, all of ‘em. They think it has to be somethin’ about the wand.”

“It isn’t?” Gage said.

“Nae, lad, most likely not,” Ari said. I turned to look at Gage, then pulled the wand and set it down on the case in front of her.

“There’s one way to find out for sure,” I said. “Check my work.”

She looked at me, then picked the wand up to look it over. “Good, tight wrap,” she said, and then held it up and gazed at it with a slightly unfocused expression. “Decent sigil work … nice, smooth fill with the
chrism
. A few minor deviations here and there. Nae bad, overall.”

“If one of your apprentices handed you this, would it be good enough?”

“Nae, lad,” Ari laughed. “Not one of
my
apprentices. But if I was a mage, an’ my apprentice handed me this, I’d say it was acceptable work. Especially if it was his first rod.” I turned to Gage and gave him a smug look. He pursed his lips a little and made a little sound of discontent. “So, what brings ya back through my door today?” Ari asked.

“I need a wand blank.”

Her grin was quick, and more than a little feral. “I’m goin’ to be able to retire b’fore the year’s done,” she said as she headed for the back.

Half an hour later, I’d run my hands over nearly every piece of wood she had in the shop, including a piece of African ironwood.

“Does this ever happen to anyone else?” I asked.

“Nae, lad,” Ari said as her brow knotted up. “Well, if ya were a cowan, aye. But we both know ye’re nae one a’them. Mayhap we should try bringing the mage to the wand, instead of t’other way ‘round.”

I shrugged and reached into my pocket for my amethyst pendulum. It was worth a shot. Once I had it set and swinging, I closed my eyes and focused on what I wanted. The right piece of wood for my own wand. I felt the chain start to swing back and forth slowly, so I opened my eyes to watch it. There was nothing behind me, so I assumed whatever it was swinging toward was further back in the shop. I stepped around the counter and followed the pendulum’s swing back behind the curtain. The rear of the shop seemed disappointingly normal to me, filled with woodworking tools, sawdust, and not much more. Wooden cabinets with small drawers sat on each workbench, and a barrel of scrap wood was set at the far end of the room. The pendulum swung faster, leading me toward the far end of the room, and I followed it with a sinking feeling in my gut with every step I took toward the discard barrel.

As I got to the end of the bench, though, the amethyst started to drift right, and I held still until it settled into a stable swing again, this time pointing to a bundle of wood in a metal pail that sat next to the barrel. Without a second thought, I tucked the pendulum in my pocket and grabbed the pail, then upended it on the work bench. I tossed the pail aside and ran my hands over the scattered pieces of wood until I felt my palm get warm. For a moment, I held my hand in place and tried to zero in on where the heat was coming from. Then I lowered my hand until I felt a piece of wood under my palm. The gentle heat seemed to radiate from the piece under my fingertips, so I plucked it out of the pile and held it up.

“Sweet gods,” Ari said with a barely contained smile. “That’s all junk wood, stuff nae anyone wants. I let my apprentices use that for practice work.”

“What it is?” I asked her.

“Hawthorn,” Ari said with a twist of her mouth. “Ya picked a feckin’ wood of death and the fae.”

“It figures,” Gage said with a shake of his head.

“Does it have
any
redeeming qualities?” I asked.

“Oh, aye,” Ari said. “If ye’re lookin’ ta hide yer magick, hawthorn is excellent fer that. It’s also well-suited to fending off the darker magicks. It tends to glow around other spells and dweomers.”

“It’s an evil wood,” Gage said. “Choose another piece.”

“Bugger off, ya git,” Ari said. “Wood isn’t good or bad, it’s just wood. It may be an ill-omened piece of wood, but it rings true to him, certain as all Nine Hells. You dunnae get to tell him what ta choose. Nae in
my
shop.”

“My apologies, Mistress Arianh-rod,” Gage said with the faintest semblance of respect.

“Ye’ll be needin’ ta have that cored and roughed ere it’s a decent blank,” Ari said as she took the piece of hawthorn from me. “Plus whatever gems you want for the pommel and the tip, and whatever else ye’ll be wanting to add to it. And junk wood or nae, dunnae get it in yer head that I’ll be lettin’ it go fer cheap, boy.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said with a slow smile. She shooed us back out into the shop and told us to come back in an hour. Shade grabbed my hand as we hit the street and we all huddled together.

“Where to next?” Synreah asked. “Maybe a bauble for your girl? Or a tattoo?”

“No!” Shade said. “No tats.”

Synreah cocked her head to one side and gave Shade a long look, the feral grin on her face slowly fading to something I hadn’t seen before. “Show me,” she said after a moment. I felt the tremor run through Shade before she shook her head, her denial and involuntary reaction both catching me by surprise.

“What’s wrong, Shade?” I asked. She closed her eyes and turned away from me, mouthing a single “No” as she shook her head.

“Oh, child,” Synreah said with a catch in her voice. “Oh, sweet child.” She reached out and put one hand on Shade’s cheek. Their eyes locked for a moment, then Shade bared her teeth, her eyes flashing to gold as a growl rumbled deep in her chest.

“What’s going on?” I asked as I held Shade.

“Your girl’s been marked,” Synreah said. “Branded as someone’s property.”

“Shade, is that true?” I asked. She looked at me, then away, eyes suddenly gray, suddenly human.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have told you, but …”

Wh—” I started to ask, then stopped myself. There were still a thousand things I hadn’t told anyone about being Dulka’s slave. I
knew
why. “It’s okay, Shade,” I said instead. “I get it.”

“You two need help,” Synreah said.

“Big time,” I said. “But who would believe us? Who could even handle our kind of fucked up?”

“I can,” she answered. In my arms, Shade turned to look at her while I gaped a little myself.