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Authors: R. Lee Smith
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of voice. The demon’s voice.
He came in from
the darkness of the passageway, gliding through it like ripples over tar. His
legs were invisible until he was nearly on top of her, but his upper half
seemed almost to glow. The yellow light from the blisters on the wall, Mara
saw, did not touch him.
The robed woman
bowed in a cringing, angry fashion. She left by backing out around the demon
and into the hall, her head down and eyes shut the whole way.
Alone with him,
Mara stood naked and waited.
The demon came
no nearer. His hands rested comfortably on his shoulders. They were black to
the wrists, like badly-painted gloves. One of his fingers twitched off and on,
as though keeping time to music only he could hear. He looked at her, all of
her, but began and ended with her eyes.
“Are you here to
make trouble?” he asked finally, smiling. He spoke English very well, only
slightly accented, and not in any way she recognized. His voice had a hissing
quality, even without any sibilants.
“I’ve never
taken this off,” Mara said. “Never since it was given to me. I won’t start now.”
He raised a hand
and brought it around to her face, brushing back her hair to slide the very tip
of his finger along her earlobe. His touch was too smooth, too cool. He had no
fingernails, no claws, nothing but smoothness. “You think you alone come here
with treasure? Do you think no other woman ever hesitated to part with her
trinkets? A wedding ring? A child’s birthstone? A bible or…” His eyes drifted
to the cabbie’s gift, shining in the top of Mara’s trunk. “…blessed cross?”
“I won’t take it
off,” Mara said again.
“Such is the
price of admission.”
“Then I’ll
leave.”
“That door is
closed.”
“Then kill me,”
Mara snapped. “But I’m not taking it off!”
The lights of
his eyes swam, clustering together for a heartbeat before spinning apart. He
lowered his hand from her cheek.
She reached up
fast and closed a protective fist around Connie’s locket, glaring at him defiantly.
His smile
broadened, but only on one side. “Many things I am, young one, or have been in
my time, but never a thief. Open to me.”
“But maybe a
liar,” Mara said, tight-lipped. “No.”
“I will see this
thing that engenders such unwise devotion.” The demon’s hand closed gently
around her wrist. His thumb pressed on her and suddenly it was as if he had
punched a spike through the back of her hand and detonated it somehow. The pain
was like nothing she’d known in her life. Entirely focused in her hand, it
nevertheless took the bones right out of her knees. Mara dropped, hoarsely
howling, slapping at his restraining grip, but did not release the locket.
“Stubborn child,”
the demon said, almost fondly. “You tempt me to indulge you, and I should never
hear the end of that.”
The pain did not
increase exactly, but it did spread, eating out her arm from the inside until
she screamed on her knees, screamed over and over without the mind or even the
ability to make words. Her throat cracked and she kept screaming. If it
ruptured and bled, if it burst and killed her, she still couldn’t stop. In that
moment, she would have cut her own arm off to get out of that terrible pain,
but she did not let go of the locket.
Without
conscious thought—there could be none in the thick of that agony—Mara retreated
from her body, curling in on herself in the haven of the Panic Room, where
sensation could not follow. She looked at the monitor that showed her the body
and stared in disbelief at her entirely uninjured arm. The speakers fed her the
sounds of her screams. The lights blinked a warning yellow as pain receptors
fired and fired without end, but there was nothing wrong here, nothing at all.
Mara made
herself shut up then. She stood the body up and stared at him from the Panic
Room’s peace. The body still breathed raggedly and too fast, but she managed to
slow it down some. It dangled limply from his
He came in from
the darkness of the passageway, gliding through it like ripples over tar. His
legs were invisible until he was nearly on top of her, but his upper half
seemed almost to glow. The yellow light from the blisters on the wall, Mara
saw, did not touch him.
The robed woman
bowed in a cringing, angry fashion. She left by backing out around the demon
and into the hall, her head down and eyes shut the whole way.
Alone with him,
Mara stood naked and waited.
The demon came
no nearer. His hands rested comfortably on his shoulders. They were black to
the wrists, like badly-painted gloves. One of his fingers twitched off and on,
as though keeping time to music only he could hear. He looked at her, all of
her, but began and ended with her eyes.
“Are you here to
make trouble?” he asked finally, smiling. He spoke English very well, only
slightly accented, and not in any way she recognized. His voice had a hissing
quality, even without any sibilants.
“I’ve never
taken this off,” Mara said. “Never since it was given to me. I won’t start now.”
He raised a hand
and brought it around to her face, brushing back her hair to slide the very tip
of his finger along her earlobe. His touch was too smooth, too cool. He had no
fingernails, no claws, nothing but smoothness. “You think you alone come here
with treasure? Do you think no other woman ever hesitated to part with her
trinkets? A wedding ring? A child’s birthstone? A bible or…” His eyes drifted
to the cabbie’s gift, shining in the top of Mara’s trunk. “…blessed cross?”
“I won’t take it
off,” Mara said again.
“Such is the
price of admission.”
“Then I’ll
leave.”
“That door is
closed.”
“Then kill me,”
Mara snapped. “But I’m not taking it off!”
The lights of
his eyes swam, clustering together for a heartbeat before spinning apart. He
lowered his hand from her cheek.
She reached up
fast and closed a protective fist around Connie’s locket, glaring at him defiantly.
His smile
broadened, but only on one side. “Many things I am, young one, or have been in
my time, but never a thief. Open to me.”
“But maybe a
liar,” Mara said, tight-lipped. “No.”
“I will see this
thing that engenders such unwise devotion.” The demon’s hand closed gently
around her wrist. His thumb pressed on her and suddenly it was as if he had
punched a spike through the back of her hand and detonated it somehow. The pain
was like nothing she’d known in her life. Entirely focused in her hand, it
nevertheless took the bones right out of her knees. Mara dropped, hoarsely
howling, slapping at his restraining grip, but did not release the locket.
“Stubborn child,”
the demon said, almost fondly. “You tempt me to indulge you, and I should never
hear the end of that.”
The pain did not
increase exactly, but it did spread, eating out her arm from the inside until
she screamed on her knees, screamed over and over without the mind or even the
ability to make words. Her throat cracked and she kept screaming. If it
ruptured and bled, if it burst and killed her, she still couldn’t stop. In that
moment, she would have cut her own arm off to get out of that terrible pain,
but she did not let go of the locket.
Without
conscious thought—there could be none in the thick of that agony—Mara retreated
from her body, curling in on herself in the haven of the Panic Room, where
sensation could not follow. She looked at the monitor that showed her the body
and stared in disbelief at her entirely uninjured arm. The speakers fed her the
sounds of her screams. The lights blinked a warning yellow as pain receptors
fired and fired without end, but there was nothing wrong here, nothing at all.
Mara made
herself shut up then. She stood the body up and stared at him from the Panic
Room’s peace. The body still breathed raggedly and too fast, but she managed to
slow it down some. It dangled limply from his
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