The Stone Demon

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 this 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.”

Demian narrowed his eyes as he watched them. “Donna Underwood speaks truly—Quentin Frost should be present. Perhaps he is afraid to face me. After all, it was his magic that contributed to the sealing of my realm two centuries ago.”

Simon’s hands were clenched on the table, his knuckles so white it looked almost as though the bones had burst through his skin. “He paid the price for it, demon. As you well know.”

Donna was torn between standing up and demanding to know—there and then—what the hell they were talking about, and letting the argument take its course so she could learn more. She opted to keep her mouth shut.

The Demon King shrugged one shoulder. “He brought it on himself. No alchemist should have been able to wield such power. It is incredible that he even survived.” Demian tilted his head, gazing intently at the Magus. “Though perhaps he has you to thank for that, hmm?”

Simon’s lips tightened, but he said nothing. Donna could see a muscle flickering in his scrawny cheek.

“Perhaps,” Demian continued, “your own ill-gained immortality is feeding both of you. Only I am given to understand that you are somewhat … mortal once again. What a pity. I wonder how that affects your beloved Archmaster?”

Donna’s eyes, by this stage in the verbal sparring, were almost bulging out of her head. She was suddenly glad to have been dragged into these so-called negotiations—especially if it meant she would find out more of Simon Gaunt’s secrets. Was he “mortal” once again because of her? Because she’d destroyed the remains of the elixir of life? Should she feel guilty about that?

No way. She didn’t feel guilty about doing anything to break Simon’s power, but she did worry about the possible effects on Quentin.

Demian’s steward continued the introductions, dragging her attention away from her fears for the elderly Archmaster. “From the Elflands, we welcome Aliette Winterthorn, Wood Queen and friend of the Otherworld.”

Aliette entered the room, her unglamoured face splitting into a nasty grin as her narrow gaze met Donna’s. She stood tall and straight, almost as though carved out of one of the tallest trees in the Ironwood. Her brown skin looked like the bark of an old tree, and her eyes were black slits of malice. She wore a cloak weaved of leaves and ivy, and she leaned on a tall staff made of sturdy-looking wood.

The Wood Queen was attended by two of her dark elves, hovering behind her as though they’d been left out of a particularly tricky round of musical chairs. The elves were much smaller than their queen, although they looked as much creatures of earth as she did with their tree-bark skin and mossy hair. One of them hissed at Donna when it caught her watching, and she quickly looked away.

“And from Faerie, it is our pleasure to welcome Queen Isolde’s official representative, Taran, chief knight and advisor.” The goat-faced steward sketched a mocking bow as the first of two tall men strode into the meeting room.

All heads turned toward them, and Donna caught her breath. She hadn’t expected anyone from Faerie to be here. High-born faery knights—which both of these men clearly were—brought all kinds of thoughts crashing down on her. When had the Queen of Faerie opened their door? Why had she done so? Was it because Demian had demanded it? Perhaps the fey thought their realm would be next on Demian’s destructive agenda … when the Demon King said “jump,” everyone asked “how high?” for fear of being wiped out in a fit of demon rage.

But experience told Donna that it was unlikely to be something that simple. The fey had been free of Hell’s reign for two centuries, not having to pay their tithe of human sacrifice to the demons while Demian was locked up. They could have just stayed safely in their own realm—the door to Faerie could only be opened from the inside, after all. Donna had found that out the hard way, when Aliette had manipulated her into opening the door to Hell instead.

Taran, the queen’s advisor, had a long pale face, huge almond-shaped blue eyes, and black hair that reached the middle of his back. His hair was woven into an intricate braid threaded with green twine, and he was dressed in what looked like silver chainmail. But it wasn’t anything like the armor that Donna was familiar with from history books—it might almost have been spun from spider’s silk. It shone with its own inner light, glittering and sliding across the knight’s body when he moved. There was a silver circlet resting on his brow, and he held himself with a stiff sort of arrogance.

His companion stood slightly behind him, but he was just as tall and dressed in similar armor. This faery’s skin was more golden-hued and his eyes flashed green as he kept a careful watch on everyone in the room. His blond hair swung loosely at his shoulders. Both men wore swords sheathed in beautifully embellished scabbards.

Both men also had slightly pointed ears, and Donna tried hard not to stare.

Displeasure flashed across Demian’s face. “Queen Isolde does not see fit to attend these negotiations herself, Taran?”

The dark-haired faery nodded, tilting his head just far enough to indicate respect. “Queen Isolde is also … unwell, your Majesty.”

Taran’s companion shifted his stance, resting his right hand on the pommel of the silver sword that hung at his waist.

The steward stopped reading from the scroll. “Who is this other person with you, Knight of Faerie?”

“I bring Cathal, a favored knight from the Court of Air who volunteered for this duty.”

The blond knight bowed, but his eyes were ever watchful. Donna noticed his gaze flicker in the Wood Queen’s direction several times—and then in hers.

Volunteered? That was interesting. She filed the information away for later.

Aliette shook her head, spilling leaves onto the table. “Interesting that my cousin sends warriors to a peace negotiation.”

Donna hated to agree with the Wood Queen on anything, but she couldn’t really argue with her on that. It did seem strange that the monarch of Faerie would shun this gathering and send knights armed with grand swords in her place.

Taran raised an eyebrow. “Just as the outcast Court of Earth sees fit to send guards with their representative.”

“My companions are unarmed,” Aliette replied. “You are looking for trouble where none exists, Taran.”

Everybody took their seats at the table and refreshments were brought by women dressed similarly to those whom Donna had met on her way into the crypt. She watched them, curious about what they looked like beneath their masks.

“My Lord, His Amaranthine Majesty Demian, King of Terror and of the Otherworld, returned from his exile of two centuries, bids you all welcome,” the steward announced, gesturing to the head of the table. “Who would speak first?”

Miranda leaned forward. Her face was pale but composed. “I want to know what we’re all here for. Why go through this charade when you could just kill us all with barely a thought?”

Demian’s lips twisted into something resembling a smile. “You overestimate my power, alchemist.”

“I don’t think so,” Miranda said. “You demonstrated your power when you destroyed the British Museum.”

The Demon King waved his hand, dismissing the complete destruction of a British institution as though he’d kicked over a child’s sandcastle. “That was nothing. I merely needed to get your attention.”

Simon glared at the demon from behind his glasses. They magnified his eyes and made him look like a balding white bug. “You have our attention, demon.”

Donna didn’t want to be sitting at a table with Simon Gaunt. She didn’t want to be on his “side.” Truth be told, she didn’t want to pick sides—not if it meant more innocent people were going to suffer. Or die.

She noticed Taran’s companion, Cathal, watching her, and flushed when he didn’t look away. He nodded, very slightly, as though acknowledging her in some way. She frowned at him. What did a faery knight want with her?

Demian stood up. Demon shadows stirred against the wall, their heads turning eerily in his direction.

“Let me make this simple,” he said. “I want two things and I will get them. If I do not get them, I will grind the human world beneath my heel and turn every human that remains into a shadow, to serve me in my Court of Fire.”

Simon was squeezing his hand so tightly around his goblet that Donna thought he would smash it, as if he were the one who had the iron tattoos and super-strength. “You cannot threaten us here,” Simon declared. “This realm is neutral territory, and the only reason we agreed to come without a fight was because of your promises. You—”

“Do not presume to tell me what I can and cannot do, Magus,” Demian spat. “You are fortunate, indeed, that we are Halfway. I would enjoy removing your head from your shoulders and keeping you alive, as you have done with my people.”

Donna stifled a gasp, her mind flashing to Newton. Trapping demons in the human realm … was this something that other alchemists had done, too? She clenched her hands in her lap and stayed silent, thinking about the creepy head carved out of bronze that served as a half-alive security system in Simon Gaunt’s laboratory. She’d first encountered Newton with Xan, when all the statue had done was scream to alert the Magus to their unauthorized entry into the lab. But then, during her trial, Donna and Navin had actually spoken with the statue, and discovered that a demon’s essence was trapped inside—summoned and then snared by Simon, who used the demon to serve him and provide him with knowledge of the Otherworld.

Demian’s steward slipped quietly away, and returned moments later.

“It seems we have a late arrival,” he declared, sounding excited, bored, and put out all at the same time. Which was no mean feat, Donna thought.

Demian sighed. “Fine. Admit him.”

“Her, My Lord.”

The wall shimmered and the door appeared, allowing the newest member of the gathering to walk serenely into the room.

Rachel Underwood lowered the hood of her emerald cloak and shook out her unbound red hair. The strange lighting above her head made it look as though fire cascaded down her back.

“Mom!” Donna didn’t give a damn about ceremony. Just let Miranda—or Simon—try to stop her.

She ran to her mother and the two women embraced. Rachel pressed a kiss to Donna’s forehead and then another on her cheek, before they finally pulled apart and regarded one another. It had only been a month, but to Donna it seemed so much longer.

Her mother smiled, ignoring the irritated expression on Simon’s face. “You look beautiful.”

Donna shook her head. “No way, you’re the one who looks beautiful. I see you got your dress back.”

Rachel shrugged, still smiling. She’d unclasped her long cloak to reveal the forest-green dress that Donna had found in the chest in Aunt Paige’s study.

“This is all very touching,” the steward finally said, sounding anything but touched, “but can we proceed? You are late.”

Rachel raised her eyebrows, full of a haughty grandeur that surprised Donna. “Please accept my apologies—I had some difficulties with my transportation.” Donna couldn’t miss the look in her mother’s eyes when she glanced at Simon.

Simon, for his part, looked as though he were about to explode. His forehead had gone shiny and his cheeks were almost purple.

Miranda leaned toward him. “Is there a problem, Magus?”

Her tone was deferential, but Donna was pretty sure she caught a hint of amusement.

The Magus seemed to have gotten himself back under control. “Rachel, what a pleasant surprise.”

“Surely not a surprise, Simon,” she replied, making no attempt to disguise her disdain. “I was scheduled to accompany you in Quentin’s place, after all.”

“I was unaware of that,” Simon replied smoothly. “How fortunate that you were able to make alternative travel arrangements.”

“Yes,” Rachel said, glancing at Demian, who must surely have provided her “alternative travel.” “Very fortunate.”

Donna looked around the table, taking in the strange gathering and trying to keep calm. There was her mother, sitting with Simon and Miranda; Aliette and her wood elves watching her back; the two hot fey guys sent on behalf of the Queen of Faerie, casting furtive glances around them; and Demian sitting majestically at the head of the table, his demon shadows drifting close by like guttering candles in the nonexistent breeze. His steward stood calmly behind his chair.

It was Demian who broke the silence.

“I want the Philosopher’s Stone,” the Demon King an-

nounced. “Give it to me, and humanity will not suffer any further at my hands.”