The Stone Demon

Twenty-seven





The war was over.

Donna crawled toward the remains of the clearing, smoke in her eyes and clogging up her throat. It was like one of those thick fogs in a bad horror movie, or like too much dry ice pumped onto the stage during a play. She was still holding the Philosopher’s Stone in her bare hand, but her tattoos had finally stopped moving. The place inside her chest—deep in her heart, where the first matter usually resided—was quiet at last.

Once she reached the edge of the clearing, she stopped and sat against the trunk of a tree. The circle that had once held a demon king was empty, and inside there was just a scorched patch of earth. Maker’s wheelchair, lying forlornly on its side, was a reminder of that terrible loss, and she fought down the urge to assume the fetal position for the next few hours. Was Demian really back in his realm, locked away again? She hoped so. Another couple of centuries without him around wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

She looked up at the sky, watching the dragon sweep the last of the demon shadows away. The sight was both terrifying and awe-inspiring. Her eyes blurred, no matter how much she rubbed them with her grubby hands.

Tears continued to pour down her cheeks as she looked around, and Donna realized that they were real tears—tears of grief and pain rather than simply the result of too much smoke. People had died here today. Navin was gone, presumably still trapped in the Otherworld. There was no way Demian would let him return, not after what she’d done to him. She hugged herself as she sat on the hard earth and sobbed, finally letting it all out.

Only a few trees remained. She tried to block out the last sounds of fighting—a few scavengers from the Otherworld had managed to stay behind when the gates were closed for the last time—but it was impossible to ignore the things that were still happening. Demons screamed, and the dragon roared in the distance.

She listened to the echo of her father’s voice in her head—the voice she’d heard while dreaming in a river that had no beginning and no end—and he told her to stay strong. It’s what he would have said if he were alive today. She knew that. But that didn’t make it easy to do. She was tired of staying strong. Heroes in books and movies … it always seemed like everything came too easy to them. There was a bit of struggle, sure, but you knew they were going to win in the end.

How can I win, now? she thought. There was no winning when people she loved were injured—or worse. Her throat ached and she stayed in her position for what seemed like a thousand years, her forehead resting on her knees. She had nothing left in the tank. She was empty. Alone, in those moments, it felt like one of the worst trials she had ever faced.

“Hey,” said a voice. “Did you miss me?”

She looked up so quickly that she almost gave herself whiplash, and found herself staring into Navin Sharma’s shining eyes. He was undeniably dirty, and his jacket was badly ripped, but otherwise he seemed unharmed.

Donna leapt to her feet, finding the energy from somewhere, and threw herself into Navin’s arms, bursting into a fresh round of tears. She hugged him so tightly she was probably hurting him. To his credit, he didn’t complain.

“Navin,” she whispered, over and over again. “Nav, you’re here.” Her voice was hoarse, unrecognizable, scrubbed raw by emotion. She pulled away and stared at him, honestly wondering if this time she really had died and he was a ghost. Or she was back in Demian’s realm. Or—

“It’s really me,” he said. “I know what you’re thinking, Underwood.”

“But … how did you get out?” She wiped at the tears on her face.

“Newton.” Nav shrugged, as though it were obvious.

“You mean you saw him as an actual demon?” Despite everything that had happened, and despite the proverbial shit hitting the fan right now, Donna couldn’t help feeling a stab of curiosity.

“Yeah,” Navin replied. “He looks … pretty f*cking weird.”

Donna gasped out a laugh. “Like, how?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Can’t? Um … well, what’s his real name? It’s obviously not Newton.”

“I can’t tell you that either.”

“Sharma, what’s going on?”

“Seriously, I promised. Apparently it’s a binding deal.”

“You made a deal with a demon? Have you completely lost what remains of your sanity?”

“Clearly,” he said. “I’m friends with you, aren’t I?”

Donna hit him gently on the shoulder. “Yeah, well. Whatever.”

“Seriously, if I tell you I’ll have to kill you.”

“You mean Newton will have to kill you.”

“Something like that.” He grinned, but the expression fell just as quickly. “Demian came into the Underworld—appeared out of nowhere, totally covered in flames—and he couldn’t get out again. Things looked pretty bad for a minute. I owe Newton for sure.”

Donna nodded. She didn’t like it, but Nav was here and that was all that mattered. He was safe. “As long as you’re okay.”

“Honestly, owing Newton a favor is a small price to pay for getting out of there.”

She hugged him again. “I believe you.”



Ironwood Forest was gone, the last remnants just debris on a battlefield. The surviving alchemists may have woven wards around the area to hide the truth from human eyes, but something would have to be done to explain the destruction in the future. Still, right now, there were more important concerns.

The casualties were heavy on all sides. Isolde lost her first knight, Taran, who had been slain while defending his queen against a horde of Strix. The faerie queen herself had been injured; a scar stood out against her ivory complexion. Donna was surprised to see her beauty marked in such a way. Was it possible that demon injuries were permanent, even for a being such as Isolde? It was as though the wound—what must have been a nasty gash in her cheek—had already healed and scarred in the space of minutes. But the scar itself was showing no sign of fading.

Isolde did not seem to care. She was mourning Taran’s death; it turned out that Taran had also been her consort. Donna swallowed her own sadness. Immortality didn’t matter if you could be killed by demons. The fey weren’t strictly immortal, anyway. They could live for a very long time without aging or illness, but they could still be killed. It was complicated, but there had to be checks and balances in life and death, even for the most powerful races.

Donna was glad to see Cathal. The tall knight carried wounds of his own, already healing, but he too would be scarred. Something had tightened in her throat when the smoke first cleared and she’d caught sight of Cathal with his arm around Xan. Father and son had been reunited under the worst circumstances imaginable. Probably, had their meeting taken place under any other conditions, Xan would not have been so quick to accept the birth father he’d never known.

As it was, Xan leaned into his father, helping him to sit down so that his leg could be tended to. Amazingly, Xan’s only injury was to his left arm. He’d broken it when a Strix had knocked him to the ground. Fey healers were already setting the bone and tying a sling made of an iridescent gossamer material around his neck.

Donna approached him. “Can’t they just fix it with magic?”

Xan smiled. He looked tired. Older. “They wanted to, but I’d rather they saved their mojo for the people who really need it.”

“I have to tell you something,” she said. There were so many things to say, but this was the one that could hurt him the most. “It’s about Maker.”

How was she going to tell him? How could she say that his dream of wings was gone now that Maker had died? Well, Maker’s body hadn’t been found in the wreckage, and some of the alchemists were trying to tell Donna that it had probably burned up in the dragon’s fire. This time, however, she wasn’t buying it. All the other bodies had been recovered, so why not his? What exactly was it that Maker had said to her before she woke the dragon? Something about how he was looking forward to going home …

And the dragon itself—the dragon who had already melted back beneath the ground, back into its ley line—had known who Maker was, which made no sense at all.

She swallowed as Xan touched her face, surprising her. He wiped away some of the dried tears and ash smeared on her cheeks. “I know about Maker. It’s okay. This isn’t about me anymore. Maker’s gone and … maybe that’s the way it was meant to be.”

“But what about your wings?” Tears shimmered in Donna’s eyes, blurring her vision.

His smile was gentle. “What about them? It would have taken dozens of operations. It was never going to happen overnight, you know? And Donna … ” His smile widened. “I’ve been up there, now. The prototype worked and I flew.”

Donna swallowed past the huge lump in her throat. “You were magnificent.”

He returned her smile, joy radiating from him like the slowly rising sun. “I was, wasn’t I?”

They held each other for a long time, then Nav wandered over and told them to get a room. Donna blushed and hugged him, too. And then the two guys shook hands and Xan introduced Navin to his father.

It was a strange thing to witness, but it was also pretty awesome.



Later, she stood shoulder-to-shoulder with her mother, surveying the wreckage. Donna remembered how she’d thought that some parts of the Otherworld landscape looked bleak, but that was before seeing the after-effects of a battle.

Rachel was clearly drained, her face was almost black with smoke and ash, but she was all in one piece. That was the main thing. Donna took one look at her mother’s expression and knew what was coming.

She asked the question anyway, because she had to. “Where’s Aunt Paige?”

Rachel reached out to Donna, trying to draw her into an embrace.

Donna held up her hands, warding her off. “No. Not her as well.”

“I’m sorry, darling. So sorry.” Her mother’s face crumbled, and Donna felt strangely shocked to see her cry for her sister-in-law. The woman who had betrayed her more than once. Patrick’s sister—and Simon’s puppet.

And that was it, wasn’t it? Donna thought. They’d all been puppets. Aunt Paige with Simon. Quentin with Simon, too. The wood elves with the faeries. Even Isolde, dancing to Demian’s tune. Everybody had had a master. She took a shuddering breath and finally allowed her mother to hold her. Rachel stroked her hair away from her face, kissed her forehead.

Donna looked up into her mom’s eyes—soft gray eyes so like her own. “How did it happen?”

Rachel shook her head. “Does it matter right now?”

“I need to know.”

“She was running from demon shadows. There were so many of them. Quentin was the closest. He tried to help, but there were just too many … ” Her voice trailed off.

Donna swallowed. What a terrible end. Nobody deserved that. Nobody. She had loved Paige very much at one time, even though it had all gone so wrong toward the end. Now there would be no opportunity to mend bridges with her aunt. No second chances.

No goodbyes.

Her mother drew back, holding Donna at arm’s length and examining her for a long moment. “How does it feel?”

Donna frowned. “About Aunt Paige?”

“No, of course not.” Rachel shook her head. “I meant … how does it feel not having the first matter inside you anymore? Do you feel different?”

“Not really.” Donna checked on that place in her chest, the place she focused on when trying to access her powers. It was empty. But not in a bad way. It felt okay.

“I feel fine,” she said. And she did, at least physically. “How’s Quentin holding up?”

Her mother smiled. “Very well, all things considered. He’s incredible.”

“Oh!” Donna’s eyes widened. Everything had been so overwhelming that she’d almost forgotten about Quentin’s unpleasant other half. “What happened to Simon? I haven’t seen him. Did … did something happen to him, too?”

It wasn’t that she cared. She just needed to know where she stood, now that things had settled down enough to actually think. Now that her “pet dragon”—as Navin seemed fond of calling it—was back where it belonged, safely sleeping until someone else with the first matter in their soul died and came back to life, created the Philosopher’s Stone, and then called it up to fight a war. (“That’ll be next week, then,” Nav had said with a grin.)

“Mom?” Donna prodded. “What about Simon?”

Rachel sighed, an unreadable expression on her face. “He died saving Quentin’s life.”

Ding-dong, the Magus is dead. She felt surprisingly calm. “At least he did something good. At the end, I mean.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” her mother agreed.

Donna realized that the expression on Rachel’s face was relief. She was relieved that Simon Gaunt was dead.

But Donna didn’t feel anything about it, not really. It registered, vaguely, somewhere at the very back of her mind, that at least her bargain with Queen Isolde had been fulfilled. Indirectly. Apart from that, she could only think of Maker and Aunt Paige. The Magus didn’t deserve her sympathy, though perhaps she should spare a thought for Quentin’s loss …

Nope. Donna shook her head. She couldn’t even do that. She honestly tried, but there was nothing left in her to give. No compassion for anything concerning Simon Gaunt’s life or death. He had lived long past his allotted time on this planet, anyway, and at what cost to so many others?

“The thing is,” Rachel continued, her face twisting into something resembling guilt, “I’m glad he’s gone.”

Donna nodded. This wasn’t exactly news. “I know that, Mom. Me too.”

“But it’s not that simple. Simon and Quentin … they were linked by Simon’s magic. Without him, I honestly don’t know how much longer our Archmaster can survive. So, although I’m glad that Simon Gaunt can no longer influence the Order of the Dragon, I just wonder if that freedom comes with too high a price.”

Oh, Quentin, Donna thought, immediately fighting a rush of guilt about her feelings. She remembered Demian’s conversation with Simon at the masquerade ball. So it was true—the Magus really had been keeping Quentin alive. Or, at the very least, keeping illness at bay. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay calm.

“Does that mean that Quentin will die?” Yet another death, she thought. Another part of her childhood drifting away.

“We all die, sweetheart,” her mother replied.

Donna looked up sharply, remembering her dream. “That’s the secret of life, right?”

Rachel gave her an odd look. “Well, yes. But I don’t think we need to worry immediately. Quentin is strong. Stronger than Simon gave him credit for, I think.”

Her mother drifted away, and the alchemists and the fey worked together to clear the bodies from the charred remains of the Ironwood. If the sight weren’t so grim, it might have been incredible to think of the joint effort between two races historically at war with one another. Aliette was commanding her small band of wood elves, and they ran around like ants lugging debris. Once, her eyes met Donna’s through the smoke, and she nodded. Her face was expressionless.

Donna turned away and watched the sun rise higher on the horizon. She had questioned, more than once in the past few days, whether she would ever see that beautiful sight again. Now she knew the answer. She felt sure she would find out more answers in the coming days, but right now she was just happy to know that she was alive—and that the world would survive.

At least for a little longer.

Navin came to stand beside her. “What are you doing, Underwood? Watching the sunrise and dreaming of Xan?”

She’d been so engrossed in her own thoughts that she hadn’t heard him approach. “Hey, you,” she said.

“That’s what you’re thinking about? ‘Hey, you’? That’s a new one.”

Donna smiled softly. “I was just thinking about how it’s all turned out.”

“Yeah,” Navin said. He looked at the blackened earth and the blasted trees. Fire and death still lingered in the air. “It turned out pretty crazy.”

Donna nodded, glad he wasn’t celebrating victory. What was there to celebrate? Demian’s forces had been destroyed, or at least dramatically reduced. But the Demon King himself had survived.

We shut him away again, Donna reminded herself. He’s not getting out any time soon. She shivered as an inky shadow passed across the sky. Just a crow. Not a demon.

Navin put his arm around her. “You gonna be okay, Don?”

“I don’t know.” She leaned against him and watched the sky. “But I’m looking forward to finding out.”