Archon(108)

Pain returned to Stephanie along with her consciousness. Overwhelming, shattering pain. She merely brushed the skin near her left elbow and it screamed back at her, all the agony erupting through her own mouth.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

She was in pain and darkness, but it didn’t take much longer to remember she was also in Hell. Her vision began to return, though blurry, and around her the pentagrams reappeared pulsing and red. She lay in some strange tunnel, its floor smooth stone, its upper ceiling carved with a demonic script that pulsed along with the pentagrams. Theban writing, the same harsh symbols as the tattoo that had matched her mother’s.

Barely illuminated by the light, eyes and arms, bodies and legs, jutted outward from the rock, their owners melded seamlessly into the walls. They could have been statues, but Stephanie sensed otherwise, and she shut her eyes instinctively when she imagined hundreds more staring back into hers.

“Stephanie. It’s me.”

She moaned, her eyelids fluttering back open.

Naamah’s copper face hovered over her, the demon’s mouth set in a tight line. For a second she stood, half disappearing in the darkness, and then she lifted Stephanie into her arms. Together, they moved farther through the tunnel, Stephanie’s legs dangling, her head pressed against a wound that had been stitched near Naamah’s neck. Israfel must have injured her, though not enough to kill. If it weren’t for Stephanie’s quick thinking . . .

That was the most unfortunate thing of all.

She couldn’t even remember what she’d thought at the time or why.

“Mother . . .” Stephanie tried to lift herself against Naamah’s chest.

Her efforts were rewarded by her body sliding lower, terrifyingly weak.

“Stop trying to move,” Naamah said. Her voice sounded as fuzzy as the world appeared, though characteristically emotionless. If Stephanie’s condition bothered her, she wasn’t showing it very well.

But, oh God, the pain. “What happened? Mother . . .”

She gasped, almost seeing stars, screaming until Naamah clamped a hand over her mouth.

“Be quiet,” she hissed in Stephanie’s ear. “For the Prince’s sake, or we’ll both be done for.”

Stephanie let the tears roll down her face, trying to focus on her breathing. Anything to keep her sanity. Night in this place felt like an eternal night, and for her, it might continue on and on in the long sleep called death.

Naamah’s words came gentler now, her voice soft as her footsteps. “You’ve lost a lot of blood, but I’m going to make sure you’re all right.”

“How?”

“Just keep silent.”

Stephanie obeyed, hiccupping in her agony.

“Just keep silent,” Naamah whispered, “and everything will be fine.”

If only she’d sounded more certain. Naamah usually held her worries inside, rarely revealing her true feelings unless they’d finally overwhelmed her. Perhaps this would be one of those times. Her frame shivered, and she paused before what resembled a great gate set in the rock. Stephanie held her own breath, aware that they stood on the threshold of a momentous and alien place.

Soft scrabbling erupted from the tunnel ceiling. A few pebbles clattered to the ground.

Stephanie gazed ahead, terrified by what flickered at the corners of her vision.

Two of the bodies set in the walls were moving.

Naamah tightened her grip, a silent warning.

Stephanie shut her eyes for the second time, allowing ice-cold fingers to poke at her body, two invisible faces to sniff at her hair and her injured arm, and hungry breaths to blow on her neck. The inspection felt like it would last forever, but finally, whatever these guardians had observed must have satisfied them. Silent as before, they settled back into their flanking positions at the gate, two slim bodies slipping back into grooves carved in the stone. They were angels of some kind, their hair tangled and their wings little more than bone and skin.

It was growing more and more difficult to see.

Stephanie’s vision was worse than before, and a fine mist fogged the air, smelling faintly of vinegar.

This was the smell she often associated with Naamah. Acidic.

Clank.

A noise of metal on metal rang down the tunnel. The gate was opening, and Naamah stepped through it swiftly, barely reacting as the iron bars slammed shut behind them and they reached a point of no return. Inside, the pentagrams repeated themselves in circular patterns, illuminating the shape of a rounded cave set in the rock. Farther in, an enormous pentagram appeared in the room’s center floor, revolving beneath the tall and slender body suspended above it. A figure hung manacled amid a spiderweb of chains, the incredibly shiny metal extending from arms, legs, and neck. Dank odors also emerged through the mist, smelling of sickliness and musk.