Kicking It(90)

The other two men shouldered past him and into the elevator. I maneuvered Arkan out by gesturing for him to turn around so I could put the sword to his back. Then I poked him in the spine and pushed past the bewildered Ed and into the hallway. One of the men inside the elevator cursed loudly when he saw the charred control pad.

When we reached the bank of guest elevators in the center of the hallway I gave Arkan a nudge.

“Where’s Sammy staying?” I whispered.

Arkan did not answer.

“You know, I can just kill you now and find Sammy on my own,” I said. “It will take longer, but I’ll still get what I want.”

“Getting a little dark, aren’t we?” Beezle murmured.

I would do anything possible to protect the innocent, and despite my tough talk I would rather not kill anyone. But if it was necessary, I didn’t mind ridding the world of another selfish, useless faerie who was perfectly willing to participate in the torture of a human being just because his queen said so.

I waited. Finally, Arkan said, “The penthouse.”

I pressed the button for the up elevator and waited. When the car opened there was no one inside. That was good. It lessened the likelihood that Arkan might decide to take a human hostage to get away from me.

This simple mission was already a lot more complicated than I’d bargained for. It wasn’t just about Amarantha going up against Lucifer because her pride was hurt. It wasn’t even just about saving some innocent soul from a horrible death in the Red Shoes. If Amarantha succeeded in cursing Lucifer, then the contents of the curse itself wouldn’t even matter. She would be, for all intents and purposes, declaring war on the kingdom of the fallen.

The courts of the various races were carefully held apart by a series of accords and agreements and laws. This was to keep some very powerful and ancient creatures from tearing the planet apart while they squabbled over territory. If a court of faerie made aggressive overtures toward the highest court of the fallen, you could guarantee that a whole lot of people were going to get caught in the cross fire. That wasn’t acceptable to me, so I would do whatever I needed to do to stop this curse from happening in the first place. If I managed to snag the Red Shoes, as Lucifer had requested, then so much the better.

Of course, Lucifer probably had nefarious plans for the shoes himself. But I couldn’t worry about that right now. I needed to deal with the crisis at hand and then worry about the next crisis when it occurred.

A key was needed to access the penthouse via the elevator, and Arkan produced it after much grumbling on his part and threatening on mine. Beezle fell asleep again in my pocket, snoring away like a baby piglet. Pretty much all he does is eat, sleep, make smart comments about my poor decisions, and watch bad television.

The elevator doors opened on the penthouse. It was curiously quiet. I’d expected an entourage, maybe a bunch of witches hanging around preparing a spell. But there was nothing except a room empty of people but full of expensive furniture. A row of windows faced Michigan Avenue. I pushed the sword into Arkan’s back. “Move.”

We stepped into the room, my anxiety growing with each passing moment. This wasn’t right. At the very least Sammy Blue should have been waiting for Arkan to return. That is, unless . . .

“You’re Sammy Blue,” I said.

He turned to face me, those crazy violet eyes agleam with triumph.

Ah. There’s the trap, then.

I had only half a second to turn before the blow fell. I had an impression of something large and scary bringing its fist down on my head. My sword clattered to the ground, and everything went black.

I woke to the sound of murmuring chatter, people moving around the room like bees in a hive. The back of my head ached, and so did my ribs and stomach. I suspected that Sammy Blue had either stepped on me or kicked me a few times while I was out cold. I also felt vaguely like a blanket had been thrown over me, even though there wasn’t one.

I opened my eyes just to slits so I could peek around without drawing attention. Unfortunately, I was lying on my side on the carpet, my hands and ankles bound, and so all I could really see were shoes in motion. From the sound of the conversation I deduced that the witches had arrived. My trapped and tied state led me to further deduce that I was the sacrifice for which they’d been waiting.

If I’d thought it through all the way I would have realized they’d need me for the spell. They wanted to curse Lucifer, and nothing carries a curse better than blood. The blood of the victim, if you can get it, is ideal. I couldn’t imagine anyone with sense in his head trying to stick Lucifer and carry away a sample, though. The next best thing was someone from his bloodline. Wasn’t it convenient that his great-granddaughter was at hand?