![Demon Games [4]](https://fs.dianahicksbooks.com/616872/thumbs/152x264/demon-games-4.jpg)
other choice than to give it a go.’ He pulled the last item out of the canvas sack: a whip with a long, heavy-looking handle. He nodded in the direction that they should walk, gesturing with the whip for Trey to lead the way. ‘Let’s go, prisoner,’ he said in a cheerful voice.
Trey glared at the demon.
The Fire Imp cleared his throat. ‘Please?’
Trey nodded, and they set off.
9
Caliban let the demon’s lifeless body slip out of his grasp and fall to the floor.
He looked down into the sarcophagus at the figure that still lay there. He had not anticipated the revival of Helde to be as arduous as this; he had already dispatched five demons, allowing their blood to be absorbed by the thing in the coffin. And yet the creature showed no signs of reanimation. Yes, there had been glimpses that the process was working: that initial long sigh when he had sacrificed the Pit-Shedim, and since then he’d witnessed one of the arms lift slightly, a finger extending before collapsing back down into the gloomy depths of the coffin. But beyond these, there was no sign that his sorceress was any closer to being resurrected.
He would dearly love to give this task to one of his minions, to wash his hands of this whole sordid business until it was completed and the thing was done. He had no problem with the killing of demons, but he preferred other prey: prey whose blood was crimson and sweet, and not the black and fetid filth of these nether-creature sacrifices.
He looked down at the lifeless form again. But it couldn’t really be described as lifeless: the countless thousands of insects that made up the body were in constant motion – a giant colony of black shiny bodies bound together to create a whole. A cruel smile crossed the vampire’s lips. He loved the grotesquery of this form. He loved it because he knew how much Helde would hate it. She had been the Netherworld’s most powerful sorceress, and legend had it that she had been a creature of great beauty. And when Caliban had been turned into the undead being he now was, and had discovered the Netherworld, he had been besotted with the idea of her: with her power and her beauty. But he had never met her. She had long ago been killed by a demon lord fearful of her power, a victim of the ancient Demon Wars.
He hissed in impatience, turning from the raised dais that held the sarcophagus, and was about to leave when he heard a small noise from inside the stone coffin. The vampire kept quite still, straining to see if his hearing had simply fooled him, when he heard it again. He hurried back to peer inside, breathing in sharply when he saw movement on Helde’s lips.
She was trying to say something. She was trying to communicate with him!
He bent further forward, pressing his ear to her mouth to catch any utterance that she might make.
‘What is it?’ he said. ‘What is it you want?’
He waited a second.
‘More,’ the figure in the coffin managed.
‘More?’
‘Blood. I need more . . . blood.’
The vampire swallowed, the sound loud in his ears. ‘And if I get you more, will you come back? Will you come back with all the powers you once possessed?’
‘Yes.’
Caliban narrowed his eyes and studied the thing before him.
‘And will you use those powers to help me bring the humans to their knees? To help me become master of both the Netherworld and the human realm?’
There was a pause, the creature in the coffin struggling to articulate the words.
‘Yes,’ she managed.
‘Then I shall get you the blood that you need.’ The vampire stood up. ‘I shall get it, and together we shall wreak havoc.’
10
Hag called out for Lucien to enter even before the vampire had a chance to knock at the door to her dwelling. He smiled at this; it had been a long time since he’d seen the old sorceress, and he’d forgotten how alert she was, despite her apparent frailty. He glanced behind him to see if Moriel was still there, but the battle-angel had gone,
Trey glared at the demon.
The Fire Imp cleared his throat. ‘Please?’
Trey nodded, and they set off.
9
Caliban let the demon’s lifeless body slip out of his grasp and fall to the floor.
He looked down into the sarcophagus at the figure that still lay there. He had not anticipated the revival of Helde to be as arduous as this; he had already dispatched five demons, allowing their blood to be absorbed by the thing in the coffin. And yet the creature showed no signs of reanimation. Yes, there had been glimpses that the process was working: that initial long sigh when he had sacrificed the Pit-Shedim, and since then he’d witnessed one of the arms lift slightly, a finger extending before collapsing back down into the gloomy depths of the coffin. But beyond these, there was no sign that his sorceress was any closer to being resurrected.
He would dearly love to give this task to one of his minions, to wash his hands of this whole sordid business until it was completed and the thing was done. He had no problem with the killing of demons, but he preferred other prey: prey whose blood was crimson and sweet, and not the black and fetid filth of these nether-creature sacrifices.
He looked down at the lifeless form again. But it couldn’t really be described as lifeless: the countless thousands of insects that made up the body were in constant motion – a giant colony of black shiny bodies bound together to create a whole. A cruel smile crossed the vampire’s lips. He loved the grotesquery of this form. He loved it because he knew how much Helde would hate it. She had been the Netherworld’s most powerful sorceress, and legend had it that she had been a creature of great beauty. And when Caliban had been turned into the undead being he now was, and had discovered the Netherworld, he had been besotted with the idea of her: with her power and her beauty. But he had never met her. She had long ago been killed by a demon lord fearful of her power, a victim of the ancient Demon Wars.
He hissed in impatience, turning from the raised dais that held the sarcophagus, and was about to leave when he heard a small noise from inside the stone coffin. The vampire kept quite still, straining to see if his hearing had simply fooled him, when he heard it again. He hurried back to peer inside, breathing in sharply when he saw movement on Helde’s lips.
She was trying to say something. She was trying to communicate with him!
He bent further forward, pressing his ear to her mouth to catch any utterance that she might make.
‘What is it?’ he said. ‘What is it you want?’
He waited a second.
‘More,’ the figure in the coffin managed.
‘More?’
‘Blood. I need more . . . blood.’
The vampire swallowed, the sound loud in his ears. ‘And if I get you more, will you come back? Will you come back with all the powers you once possessed?’
‘Yes.’
Caliban narrowed his eyes and studied the thing before him.
‘And will you use those powers to help me bring the humans to their knees? To help me become master of both the Netherworld and the human realm?’
There was a pause, the creature in the coffin struggling to articulate the words.
‘Yes,’ she managed.
‘Then I shall get you the blood that you need.’ The vampire stood up. ‘I shall get it, and together we shall wreak havoc.’
10
Hag called out for Lucien to enter even before the vampire had a chance to knock at the door to her dwelling. He smiled at this; it had been a long time since he’d seen the old sorceress, and he’d forgotten how alert she was, despite her apparent frailty. He glanced behind him to see if Moriel was still there, but the battle-angel had gone,
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