The Stone Demon Page 7

  When she glanced down at his feet, she couldn’t help smiling. He was wearing his regular black boots beneath the sharply tailored pants, which should have spoiled the effect but actually made him look even hotter.

  Xan raised an eyebrow. “What are you smiling at?”

  “Oh, nothing.” She bit her lip in an effort to stop grinning. A lot of the past month had been spent wondering how things stood between them, and yet all it took was for Alexander Grayson to get on a plane and turn up at a party looking dashing to sweep all that from her mind.

  Well, maybe not entirely, but it was a start.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” she finally asked.

  He smiled. “Honestly, I didn’t know if I could make it in time. Not with how packed the flights were.”

  “But you found a way,” she said, gazing at him wonderingly. How had he managed to gain entry? Surely Demian would have a problem with gate-crashers.

  “There’s always a way,” he said, and then crooked his arm, indicating that she should take it. “Shall we, mademoiselle?”

  “Why thank you, kind sir.” Donna hooked her arm through his and let him help her down an awkwardly placed marble step. She was glad of the support, considering the stupid heels she was wearing.

  “Where did all these people come from?” Xan whispered, bending so that his mouth was by her ear. His breath tickled the sensitive flesh there, making her shiver.

  “I have no idea. I haven’t seen anyone from the Order of the Crow at all. Miranda should be here by now.”

  “Maybe we’re just early.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Because I was so keen to hang out with a bunch of demons.”

  His lips twitched. “Well, I was keen to hang out with you, Miss Underwood. I waited outside for half an hour.”

  “Xan! It’s freezing.” She shook her head. “Why were you waiting out there?”

  He gave her what he probably thought was a very mysterious look. “Well, I’d better not say. You’d tell me off for destroying my lungs.”

  Donna rolled her eyes but said nothing. She’d already smelled the tobacco on him. It wasn’t her job to tell him what to do, no matter how much she might worry. She wasn’t his mother.

  “I still can’t believe you came all this way … ”

  “Really? I thought you knew how I felt about you.” Xan’s eyes were filled with warmth.

  More people entered the hall, and the noise levels rose. Grand orchestral music filtered through hidden speakers, and a band appeared to be completing their equipment checks up on a huge stage in the center of the room. Donna was sure she’d just seen the Prime Minister of England remove his ivory Punch mask and wipe sweat from his brow. She did a double take, and there was his stylish wife beside him, hidden behind a demonic-looking Judy.

  It was surreal. How had Demian gotten all these humans to come? Was he using his magic to influence them? His natural charisma, the result of Otherworldly pheromones, was powerful enough to turn her to mush each time he even looked at her, so who knew what he could achieve by talking to humans in positions of power in the world? The possibilities were horrifying.

  Perhaps she should start hoping that Demian really was only interested in revenge on the alchemists. Whatever else he might have planned for the world, she couldn’t begin to imagine.

  Xan said something that she didn’t catch. She tucked strands of hair behind her ear and adjusted her mask, leaning toward him, trying to hear over the music. But before he could repeat what he’d said, the crowds parted and a lone figure appeared on the main stage. And “appeared” was the right word. Demian was obviously intent on making a dramatic entrance; he materialized out of the already magic-stained air.

  Donna squeezed her hands into fists, prepared for anything.

  Xan glanced at her, concern creasing his brow. “What’s the matter?”

  “You didn’t see that?”

  He grinned. “Oh, him. Sorry, I was too busy looking over there.”

  She followed the direction of his gaze and shook her head. Three immaculately groomed women had taken to the floor, each wearing a low-cut, backless gown. They looked gorgeous—almost unreal visions of female perfection. Each wore a jeweled bird mask, which made them look predatory and ever-so-slightly scary.

  She elbowed him. “Be serious. We don’t know what De-

  mian’s up to.”

  “Seems like the dude’s just having a party, to me.”

  “You don’t believe that for a minute. Stop trying to put me at ease.”

  He shrugged. “It was worth a try. I know how much you’ve been missing Navin. I guess I should try to take on his role for you, right?”

  Donna continued watching Demian through narrowed eyes. “Maybe you should leave the humor to him. And honestly, I’m glad he’s not here. I don’t want Nav anywhere near Demian.”

  Xan squeezed her shoulder gently. “But it’s okay for me to be in the same room as a demon king?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “If you mean that you think I can handle myself, I’ll take that as a compliment. We all know that Sharma would probably run screaming.”

  Donna glared at him, finally taking her eyes off the stage. “That’s not true! Nav is one of the bravest people I know.”

  “Hey, relax. I’m just messing with you. I know you’ve got a soft spot for him. For some reason … ”

  He was grinning again, so Donna chose to ignore his teasing. When she looked back at the stage, Demian had already gone. She couldn’t see him anymore, but the band looked ready to play their first number.

  Xan nudged her. “So, shall we dance?”

  Donna was suddenly self-conscious. She didn’t know the first thing about ballroom dancing. “Sure.”

  It had been weeks since she’d last been in Xan’s arms, and her heart automatically began to speed up in anticipation. Maybe he was acting a little strange, but he could still make her melt with that smile.

  His left hand circled her waist and he took her right hand in his. He pulled her gently against him and they began to move to the music, entering the flow of dancers swishing around the floor. A minute had barely passed before the music changed to something slow and seductive. Xan’s hand was warm against the small of her back as he pulled her more firmly against him.

  The lights flickered and dimmed. Donna frowned and tried to look over her shoulder, but Xan spun her and she had to concentrate on her footwork to keep up. She might not know what she was doing but he seemed surprisingly adept, leading her around the floor as though he’d had lessons.

  As they swayed with the music, Donna began to feel hot—unnaturally hot. Her tattoos were quiet beneath her long gloves, otherwise she might have thought something weird was going on with them. Her powers had seemed to settle down over the last couple weeks, which was a huge relief, but even so … she was always prepared for that to change.

  “Xan, I think I need to stop for a moment,” she said, beginning to step back.

  “Let’s keep going!” he replied, spinning her again, faster and faster.

  Too fast.

  Impossibly fast.

  Donna looked into his eyes and watched as they flickered from green to black and then back again.

  “Xan? Where’s your mask gone?” And then she realized something she should have noticed immediately—he hadn’t been wearing one. No mask. She narrowed her eyes. “Answer me.”

  He shook his head, as though trying to clear it, but there was no hiding the fact that his golden skin was much paler than normal. His eyes flashed ebony again. Donna tried to pull herself free, but his arms held her with unfamiliar cruelty. She couldn’t get away, even with her own strength, and it was pissing her off.

  And then Alexander Grayson’s face began to fade.

  His flesh rippled and glowed. In fact,
his entire body was momentarily surrounded by an aura of crimson light, making him look as though someone had doused him in blood. It now seemed he had been wearing a “mask” all along—Xan’s features were sliding down his face, leaving behind the Demon King’s harsh beauty.

  “Ah,” Demian said, “and we were having such a lovely time.” He smiled, and his lips looked perfect and kissable.

  Donna swallowed hard, dragging her gaze away from his mouth. “Let go of me. Now. I’ll scream, and I’m sure you don’t want to make a fuss in front of all your important guests.”

  “Important?” The king of the demons laughed. “They are nothing to me.”

  He kept his left arm around her waist, and with the other he swept an arc across the entire dance floor.

  Everyone disappeared.

  Seven

  Donna stumbled, only staying upright thanks to Demian’s grip. She was about to try freeing herself again when she realized what he’d done.

  “You moved us, didn’t you? Everyone else is still at the ball.”

  “Yes.” He released her, taking her by surprise, and placed both palms gently on either side of her face. “You look like a queen tonight, Donna Underwood.”

  Donna shook her head and stepped back, ducking away from his surprisingly gentle hands. He smelled of cold stone. “Stop it,” she said. “Take us back.”

  The demon folded his hands behind his back, and Donna watched a slow smile spread across his face. Demian appeared to enjoy her gaze on him, lifting his chin and basking in it as though it was his right. She had never denied that he was gorgeous—even otherworldly in his beauty—but that didn’t mean she could be swept off her feet by him.

  It’s all illusion, Donna reminded herself, yet again. None of it’s real. He probably had horns and a freaking tail when he was just hanging out in Hell. Thinking about that helped her to hold the pieces of herself together, tightly. Fiercely. She looked around, taking in their surroundings for the first time since Demian had transported them … here.

  Wherever “here” was.

  They were in what could only be described as a very high-class waiting room—like something that you’d find in the most expensive kind of lawyer’s office. Minimalist décor, lots of white, geometrically designed furniture that definitely hadn’t come from IKEA, potted plants, and glass tables polished to within an inch of their lives. If they had lives, of course.

  Donna swallowed her fear. She tried to find the whisper of first matter deep inside her, but there was something about their surroundings that made her feel dizzy. Disoriented. She was also fighting the crushing disappointment that Demian had played her for a fool. Of course, Xan wasn’t here at all. He never had been, and that realization was like a sharp knife to the gut.

  That part made her more angry than afraid, so she grabbed hold of the feeling to anchor herself.

  “Nice waiting room. Do we have an appointment with someone?” she asked, putting her hands on her hips to hide how much they were shaking.

  The demon smiled indulgently. “This is Halfway. You’re seeing whatever your human mind conjures up. It’s different for everybody.”

  “Halfway? We’re … between realms?”

  He shrugged, and Donna couldn’t help noticing that even his clothes had changed. “Xan’s” tailored gray suit had been replaced by a black velvet jacket and slim-fitting black pants. Demian’s smart black shoes shone brightly enough to reflect the spotlights embedded in the ivory ceiling. But he’d been wearing white when she’d first seen him up on that dais in the ballroom.

  His silver hair rested on his jacket collar, and his cheekbones were so defined she imagined she might cut herself if she dared to touch his face.

  Which she had no intention of doing. Donna bit the inside of her cheek, trying to focus. The only reason she felt like this at all was because of his power. It was sick and twisted; something that he could use to manipulate humans to do things against their will. Remember that, she told herself fiercely.

  “So this is like Limbo?”

  “If that is what you prefer to call it. It is just a name, a label. As I said, we call it Halfway.”

  “Nice trick with the fake-Demian on stage, by the way. While I was dancing with fake-Xan, I mean.”

  “Thank you.” He bowed, echoing the sarcasm he could surely hear in her voice. He unbuttoned his jacket and Donna held her breath, her eyes fixed on how his black shirt clung to his slender frame.

  “Stop it,” she said.

  “I am not doing anything.”

  “I mean it. I’m not going to talk to you if you keep messing with my head.”

  Demian’s eyes flashed coal-bright. “And I tell you again, this is simply who I am. I cannot change it.”

  He gestured to the crimson chair behind her. The chair that hadn’t been there moments before. “Sit, Donna Underwood. Hear me out.”

  Donna set her shoulders, knowing that her stubbornness could be the death of her, but, in that moment, not caring. “And you really couldn’t have done this at the ball? Or somewhere else? I thought we were supposed to be having a meeting. With all the alchemists. But, oh no, you had to prove how manly you are and whisk me away to an in-between world that I probably can’t escape from.”

  Demian raised both eyebrows in a disturbingly human gesture. “Why would you want to leave? This is where the negotiations will take place.”

  “Well then, where’s everyone else?” Donna’s heart lifted at the thought of seeing her mother.

  “Through there.” He gestured at a solid-looking door that definitely hadn’t been there a moment ago. “Or, they will be soon. I had to bring you here so that we could join them.”

  He was up to something, she just didn’t know what it was. Yet. Or maybe he was simply playing games—he was a demon, after all. That’s what they did.

  “Fine,” was all she said. “Let’s go.”

  Donna gazed around the meeting chamber and hoped her jaw wasn’t dragging on the floor. She couldn’t help it; the paintings that covered three of the walls were so vivid—so visceral—that it hurt to look at them too long. The one that kept pulling her attention back, despite her best efforts to turn away, was of a young man, painted in an almost-photographic style to look as if he were inside a giant aquarium, staring into the chamber. He was pressed up against the glass of the tank, fully submerged so that his long black hair waved around his head like tentacles, and his eyes were wide with terror. Those panic-filled eyes seemed to move back and forth, watching her. She tried to convince herself that it was just one of those freaky illusions, that there wasn’t really a man trapped in a painting, drowning for all eternity.

  She sat down at a long table, and the Demon King took his place at the head of it. The guy in charge of the seating arrangements was the goat-faced man she’d seen speaking with Demian during the ball. His mask was one of the more realistic ones Donna had seen, and it seemed to move with his face as he talked. Watching him suspiciously, she wondered just how much of a “mask” it truly was.

  Perhaps most surprising of all were the demon shadows, drifting back and forth around the peripheries of the room as though keeping watch over their master. They were completely silent, and Donna shivered every time she felt one of them move behind her. She suddenly hoped that Robert wouldn’t come, after all—she didn’t know what he’d do if faced with a group of these things again.

  Then Demian’s steward, the goat-faced man, began announcing each person in turn as they walked through a doorway that had simply materialized in the center of the only wall empty of demonic “art.”

  “Representing the human alchemists, Simon Gaunt, Magus from the Order of the Dragon, he whom we call Demon Slayer.”

  As he walked through the door, Simon removed his Venetian Plague Doctor’s mask and smiled, showing the edge of his teeth. Donna shivered. How could she ever have found thi
s man someone to be laughed at? Spending the past month with an ocean between them had been a luxury; but now she could see, more clearly than ever, how truly dangerous he was.

  “Also here on behalf of the alchemists, Miranda Backhouse from the Order of the Crow, and her apprentice, Donna Underwood.”

  So it was just Miranda and Simon here at the meeting, apart from herself. What about the other invitations that had been sent? Where was her mother? She’d been hoping to see her so much, and the knowledge that Rachel wasn’t there after all made Donna feel incredibly lonely. And what of Quentin? As Archmaster of the Order of the Dragon, he was spokesman for the Council—surely he needed to be here, to speak for all the alchemists. And then there was what Xan had told her. The real Xan. When they’d talked on the phone yesterday, he’d said that Maker believed the wood elves would be represented. Yet another thing that didn’t make sense.

  Demian’s eyes rested on her, making her feel hot and cold all at once. She straightened her spine and refused to look in his direction. This was all getting to be far too much; she was overwhelmed by the importance of the event. She didn’t know anything about diplomatic negotiations—if that’s what this meeting was even about.

  Well, Donna thought. I need to get some answers, so I might as well start now.

  She glared at Simon. “Where’s Quentin?” She knew it would do no good to ask about her mother, but he should at least answer for the Archmaster’s absence. “Why isn’t he here?”

  The Magus sneered at her. “He is … unwell.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Donna said. “I think you made him stay at the Estate so that you could take over.”

  “Donna!” Miranda’s eyes were wide. “You mustn’t speak to the Magus that way.”

  Donna swung around to face her mentor. “Why not? You haven’t had to live with him sticking his nose into your life for the past ten years. He’s got some kind of plan, and I want to know what it is.”