Chapter 9 - Reap and Sow

When the Blades spilled into the apartment, Eda was all too happy to let the demon—Kit—face them alone. She cowered behind his expensive lounger as they filled the parlor. He’d gotten fifty years out of her, after all. He could bloody well earn it.

There were at least five of them. A man with salt-and-pepper hair palmed the hilt of his sword. He scanned Kit, the room, her. Eda shrank back.

“This is about the library books, isn’t it?” Kit said. His eyes were an unassuming brown. “I swear I was going to bring them back.”

“We are here by the will of the Faith. We have cause to believe that this woman”—the leader jabbed his finger at Eda—“is a suspected criminal. By harboring her and failing to cooperate with our demands of entry, you are obliged to come with us for questioning. If you are innocent, you have nothing to fear.”

They don’t know he’s a demon. Eda eyed the vial of colloidal silver hanging around each Blade’s neck. The Alchemists’ Cloister imbued it with certain reactive properties. She’d heard that when a demon used their powers in close quarters, the silver would bubble and froth in its casing.

The lead Blade reached up and gripped his own, eyes narrowed. “Unless you have cause to resist?”

Eda held her breath. If Kit used his powers, they would know what he was. If he didn’t, he’d have to fight them with old-fashioned brawn. She hadn’t been able to check the Pact she’d signed, but surely there was a clause outlining her protection. He couldn’t just let them take her. Could he?

The Blades shifted uneasily on their feet, chainmail and swords rubbing together like nails on a chalkboard. Ready to pounce.

Kit sighed. He plucked up a wine bottle and tipped back the last of it. A red trail made its way down his chin. He wiped it away and extended the bottle toward the leader, as though challenging him to a duel. “You can suck me off.”

The Blades tensed. Kit pointed to the next. “And you can suck me off. And you. And”—he squinted—“not you, you’re ugly as shit—and him as well.”

The leader drew his sword. “One more word, and I shall cut you down.”

“Stop flirting.” Kit glanced sideways at Eda. His eyes bled from brown to glowing orange, and a tremor of shock ran through the Blades. “You owe me a new apartment, darling.”

The next thing she knew, the wine bottle was sailing through the air. It shattered against the leader’s face. He fell back and clawed at his eyes. “Demon!” he cried. “Demon!”

The Blades sprang into action. They encircled Kit, covering each corner of the room like a well-oiled machine. Despite his compromised vision, the leader did not falter as he reached for his vial. He hurled it straight as Kit, who darted aside. It shattered against the wall. Two Blades were already surging forward to meet him. They were fast and precise, their swords cutting through the air with trained precision.

Kit was faster.

A sword arced toward him in a streak of quicksilver. Kit ducked beneath the swing and popped up again inside the circle of the Blade’s arms. His hands closed over the man’s head and twisted. With a terrible crack, he fell limp. The demon hauled the body around to block an incoming attack like a shield: The Blade’s sword went straight through his comrade’s back. Kit grinned over the skewered soldier pinned between them and shoved them both away with so much force they flew halfway across the room. Another vial flashed through the air. He ducked. It shattered against the marble statue and Kit hissed—some of it caught him across the arm. His skin sizzled audibly beneath his shirt.

“Now!” the leader roared.

Eda spun to look. One of them pulled back a lever on a crossbow she hadn’t even noticed. A pale, shimmering ball exploded from its funnel, whipping outward into a writhing net big enough to ensnare three men.

Kit snarled as it wrapped over him. He seemed to disappear altogether beneath it. Eda’s heart stopped.

The two remaining Blades moved to stand over the net, swords ready. “He’s gone, Captain!”

“No. He’s still here.”

Eda was just debating whether she could make a run for it when she spied a tiny shadow on the floor. It scurried toward her and disappeared beneath the lounger she used as cover.

A glossy jet-black mouse.

Clever bastard.

With no warning, the mouse exploded in a ball of black smog. The entire lounger flew off the ground and hurtled straight into the Blades. They were thrown against the wall with sickening force—a window shattered. One of the men gurgled incoherently, skewered between the glass like meat on a fork. The other lay crumpled beneath the lounger, twisted and motionless.

When Eda dared to look up, she fell on her rear in fright.

Kit unfurled like some dark, venomous serpent. Black-tipped claws. Ears as sharp as knives, poking through dark hair. Even his skin had taken on an otherworldly gray cast—the color of hearthfire ash. And on his head, sprouting from his hairline…

Horns. The right one arched back over his head like a crashing wave, ending on a sharp point turned toward the ceiling. It was sooty in color and rough, like the horn of a ram. Only when he rolled his neck did Eda spot the left one; half of it was missing.

“Lordfather preserve us.” The captain pressed his pointer finger to his forehead in prayer.

Kit sneered, flashing sharp canines. “Your god isn’t here.”

The Blade retreated a step at the guttural taunt. Glanced about the room. Eda saw the scene as he did—the blood of his men on the floor, the walls, the furniture. Speckles of it on the demon’s face and throat.

The reality of her situation crashed over her like an icy rockfall. If there truly was such a thing as a soul, Eda had sold hers. Sold it to a monster.

Kit advanced. To the captain’s credit, he did not cower or try to run. He two-handed his sword and spread his feet into a fighting stance. “There are more of my soldiers surrounding this building even now, demon. You cannot evade us all. The Lordfather is with us.”

“Did you not hear me, you miserable half-wit? Your god doesn’t give a damn if you live or die.” He prowled slowly, as if taunting him. “You know his true name, I assume. Your ancestors did. They called him Dominor.”

Dominor. The Lordfather’s pagan name, considered sacrilegious by the Faithhood.

“Do not speak your evil to me.”

Kit laughed. The sound sent shivers down her spine. “You mean the truth? You say Dominor was the liberator of humankind. That he cast the rest of the pantheon into my world, to bring you enlightenment under his solitary rule.”

The Blade’s lip curled. “And thus you and your scum kin were born, ever-hungry to crawl back into the realm He banished you from.”

“Dominor did not create demons. He was one, you fool. The first to ever find a way into the mortal world. He brought others, and your ancestors worshipped them as deities. Your Lordfather is the very thing you fear.”

Eda’s breath stuttered. Her mind turned sluggish with shock.

“Silence!” The captain’s face bloomed red. “Enough of your blasphemous bile. You will never sway the righteous. Every Blade will gladly die to keep this city safe from your ilk. As will I.”

“Then die.”

Kit lunged. The Blade’s sword came down in a deadly flash.

It wasn’t enough.

The demon buried his claws in the man’s neck. With a tug, he ripped out his windpipe. The captain dropped his sword, gurgled as his front ran hot with blood. He swiped at the gaping wound. The coppery scent of it was overwhelming; Eda gripped her own neck as though it might hold his together.

The captain fell face-first onto the rug.

She must have made some sort of sound, because Kit turned toward her. Eda gasped and scrambled back, but he walked right past her toward the window. Something moved behind his knees—it was a tail, ashen and spade-tipped, lashing with agitation.

I’m going to pass out.

“He was right about us being surrounded, at least.” Flaming eyes slid sideways. “Time to go.”

“W-wait…” Eda didn’t know why she protested. The demon was right. She could not stay here. But as he stooped down, bloodied claws reaching for her, she kicked at him on instinct. “Don’t touch me!”

He paused. “I won’t harm you. We have an agreement.”

An agreement. She actually laughed. “Yes. Yes, we do.” Eda pressed her hands to her face, if only to stop them trembling. This was not like the deal with Mr. Night. For a dealie bartering their own years, there were only two ways of retrieving what was lost. Either Kit’rath failed to uphold his end of the bargain or…

Or I kill him myself.

As if she stood a chance. As if such a loophole even mattered. She needed his help; he was no good to her dead. It occurred to Eda suddenly that if Kit died by another’s hand too soon, her years would be lost before she ever got her brothers back. Hysterical laughter threatened to bubble over again—until she was abruptly lifted into the air.

She shrieked. Every part of her recoiled at the sensation of his body beneath hers. He smelled like blood and wine and brewing rain. “What are you—!”

With Eda hauled over one arm, he knocked out a window with the other. He leaped deftly onto the sill.

A second too late, she realized what he meant to do.

He stepped into open air.

Eda screamed.

The fall was short but utterly terrifying. Wind whipped about her hair, roared in her ears. The landing was just as rough. Kit’s shoulder knocked the air clean out of her, but he was already setting her upon her feet. She swayed. Down the street, a rush of red and silver flooded toward them. People screamed in alarm.

“Get on.”

Eda’s vision barely cleared before he transformed again. Black tendrils twisted and writhed into a new shape, much, much larger than before. The breath caught in her throat.

A towering black stallion bent down on one knee. She stared at the intimidating majesty of him: corded muscle; rippling haunches; a proud, arching neck. He huffed through velveteen nostrils. A fiery eye blazed at her, wretched and beautiful.

Get the fuck on, he seemed to be saying. Only the sound of drawn swords was enough to make her listen. Eda sent a fearful glance toward the Blades and grabbed fistfuls of his long mane, hauling herself up. It was soft as silk. Kit’s great body rocked as he stood, and she scrambled to seat herself properly. If she was hurting him with her fierce grip, he didn’t acknowledge it.

A vial smashed on the ground by Kit’s hooves. He whinnied in alarm, skittering away. Another sailed by and narrowly missed his nose. Blades were surrounding them, at least ten, maybe more.

Eda hadn’t ridden since she was a girl. It was all she could do to clamp her legs around his wide back and keep a death grip on his mane. You couldn’t have turned into a bloody pony, could you? she thought heatedly, eyeing the vast distance to the ground.

Blades rushed them. Kit’s huge head snapped sideways, and that’s when she saw it: not the blunt square teeth of any normal horse, but a row of carnivorous fangs. Eda gasped despite herself as those long incisors closed over a Blade’s shoulder. The stallion’s neck twisted, and the man was thrown into the path of another, arm torn asunder.

Cries of terror. Blood on the cobbles. And a ghastly, shrill cry from the stallion as he reared.

Eda clung to his neck in terror. She braced herself to fall, but a weighted sensation snapped over her hips and legs, as though they were suddenly glued to his sides. She could not dismount if she tried. Magic. His magic.

Kit’s bloody wolflike mouth and blazing eyes rose above the crowd. Black hooves struck the air. The image was so unnatural, so frightening, that for a moment even the Blades were stupefied with horror.

Saints, what have I done?

Kit charged. The Blades had the good sense to scatter or else be knocked flying. She cast a backward glance over her shoulder and cried out in alarm. The demon seemed to understand the warning, for he banked sharply just as another silver-sown net hurtled toward them—the edge thwacked Eda’s leg and caught the hem of her cloak, ripping it free.

She hardly felt it. Hardly felt the oozing cut on her palm, nor the cold wind as they galloped down the cobbled road. People cried out and leaped aside. Kit did not slow. His warm muscles bunched and released rapidly beneath her as he charged, so breathtakingly fast that Blackbridge seemed to become one great river of watercolors around them, gray and brown and black.

They raced westward along the river. Eda dared not look back again. She couldn’t. Her old life had been a strange, secret, sheltered thing, but it had been hers. Now it was done. She had given up what remained of it, delivering herself into the hands of a monster wearing a man’s face. Her ears rang with the sound of claws rending flesh. The scent of blood in her nose like miasma.

When the tears came, Eda could not say if they were born of grief or the sting of the wind.

She’d never felt so alone.