The Stone Demon

Eight





Everything clicked into place. Fear tightened Donna’s chest, making it momentarily hard to breathe. A demon king in possession of the Philosopher’s Stone? She couldn’t bear to imagine that—not considering the power the Stone supposedly possessed. Apart from the obvious things—riches beyond imagining, immortality, its crucial role in creating the elixir of life—there was also the not-insignificant legend that whomever held the Philosopher’s Stone could reshape reality. Manipulate matter … maybe even change history itself. Of course, these were stories that she had read in books, but that didn’t mean there might not be some truth in them.

From the look on the Demon King’s face, maybe a lot of truth.

Miranda had visibly paled, but her voice was steady. “I expected threats from you, especially after the destruction you caused in London.”

Demian tilted his head to one side. “Human beings are quite capable of inflicting all kinds of creative forms of suffering on one another. They do not need the help of demons. However, we are perfectly … willing to provide that help, should I not get what I desire.”

Rachel and Miranda exchanged a look, but it was Simon who spoke for the alchemists. “That’s what all this is about? The Stone has been missing for centuries, presumably destroyed long ago by our ancestors. And even if we did have it, we would never give it to you.”

Demian narrowed his abyss-black eyes. “Then make another.”

Simon nodded sardonically. “Oh yes, because it is so very easy to do … ”

Rachel leaned forward, resting her hands on the table. “We can’t do what you’re asking, Your Majesty. The alchemists no longer possess all of the ingredients needed to create the Stone.”

Donna’s head jerked up at this proclamation. She turned to Miranda and whispered, “I thought part of the reason for my being here was to help the Order of the Crow create a new Philosopher’s Stone.”

Miranda shook her head. “We’ll discuss this later, Donna,” she said in a low voice. “Now is not the time.”

Demian steepled his white hands in front of him, clearly able to hear every word. “No,” he said, “let Donna Underwood speak. I would like to hear what she has to say.”

His steward turned his goat face in Donna’s direction and gestured with one long-fingered hand. “Speak up, girl.”

Rachel pursed her lips and looked away, and Miranda shrugged. Simon huffed.

Donna cleared her throat, suddenly nervous. She didn’t want to make another mistake—she knew what those could cost the alchemists. What it could cost many other people. “It’s nothing.”

She looked away from all of the stares, wishing that the floor would swallow her up. She was confused. Wasn’t her original “sentence,” handed down at the tribunal in Ironbridge, to go to London as Miranda’s apprentice for one year—to help in the creation of a new Philosopher’s Stone? There hadn’t been much evidence of that so far, of course, but then again, she’d only been here a few weeks. She’d figured that her newly awakened power to open doors between realms was something the alchemists might draw upon, when working to replace the elixir she’d lost in her first skirmish with the Wood Queen.

Simon’s face was set in rigid lines, his shoulders tense as he leaned back in his chair and glared at Demian. “We will never help you regain your strength, not when we were the ones to lock you away in the first place. You ask too much of us. You ask the impossible.”

Demian raised his eyebrows. “I am not asking.”

Simon muttered something, but he seemed surprisingly powerless. He glanced at Rachel who looked away, trying to hide her anger.

Demian swept his black gaze across the table. “This debate is pointless when the matter is so simple. You will deliver a new Philosopher’s Stone to me, in the Ironwood, at a time of my choosing.”

“Or what?” Simon asked, his voice filled with hate.

“Or I will raze both your cities to the ground.” Demian smiled. “You may choose the first location to be destroyed: London or Ironbridge.”

Donna tried to imagine a world without London, or without Ironbridge. What would happen? Would the world powers believe it was some sort of nuclear attack? What other option would there be? The governments of the U.K. and the U.S. surely weren’t aware of the existence of other realms, of demons and faeries and elves, of alchemists who were supposed to be the keepers of a magical Stone that could bestow all kinds of power and riches on ordinary humans.

Miranda closed her eyes briefly. “What does that achieve, apart from mindless destruction and the death of innocents?”

“On the contrary,” the demon replied, “it is very far from mindless. If I reduce both cities to rubble, we can be sure that you will take me seriously when I tell you that I will have the Stone. I am willing to destroy your world one city at a time until you agree to create a new one for me.”

Donna’s heart beat so fast she imagined her ribs actually hurt. “How can we do that, Majesty, if we’re all dead?”

“I will of course transport the alchemists I need to this realm, first. I need to protect my assets.” He leaned forward and pinned her with his gaze. “Perhaps I will even bring you to the Otherworld. You may find it more comfortable there with me.”

Donna swallowed, wondering if it might be better to keep her mouth shut. Miranda answered for her.

“A human being cannot enter the Otherworld without dying,” she said. “You’ll need Donna alive to create a new Philosopher’s Stone.”

“Yes,” Demian said. “Because she alone holds a shard of the prima materia in her soul.”

The first matter. One of the building blocks of reality—and something that Donna was finally beginning to understand. It seemed that her ability to open doors between worlds was just one of the things she could do when drawing on the power of the first matter.

The Demon King smiled. “You will bring me the Stone before dawn on the festival of Imbolc.”

Rachel’s face had gone paler than Donna had ever seen it. “Imbolc is less than two days from now.”

Simon banged his fist down on the table. “Two days? That’s ridiculous. We can’t possibly gather all the ingredients in time. Do you realize how long it took to make the previous one?”

“And you are well motivated to keep any such new Stone to yourself, are you not, Magus?” Taran, the dark knight, put in.

Simon glared at him. “You know nothing about me.”

Taran shook his head. “You are mistaken. I see the Hand of Time upon your shoulder. You have lived beyond your nature and are now suffering the consequences.”

Aliette, who had been surprisingly quiet, turned her inhuman gaze Simon’s way. “Immortality has a price, does it not, Magus?”

Donna didn’t understand everything that was being said, but she knew enough to fill in some gaps. Simon Gaunt had been drinking the elixir of life to prolong his normal human lifespan. She had no idea how old he actually was—he had the appearance of a middle-aged man—but who knew how long he’d looked that way. When Donna was bargaining with the Wood Queen for Navin’s life, she’d had to resort to throwing away the final drops of the elixir, rather than hand it over to the dark elves.

And to make a new elixir, you needed the Philosopher’s Stone.

Donna frowned at the Demon King. “Why would you want the Philosopher’s Stone, anyway? You’re already immortal.”

Demian’s steward hissed at her. “His Majesty does not answer to a child.”

His Majesty raised a hand, stilling his attendant. “No, I will answer.” He turned to Donna as if she were the only person in the room. “The wood elves are not the only race suffering the ravages of time and confinement. My people are weak as well. We are fewer in number than ever before, our ranks made up mostly of shadows. Pure-blood demons have sickened over the past two centuries of our captivity. I need the Stone to restore health to my people, and also to create new demons.”

Donna swallowed. “You can do that? With the Philosopher’s Stone? Create demons?

Rachel touched her arm. “The Stone can be used to make life. Alchemists of the past could make homunculi.”

Donna remembered the book in Miranda’s library. “But … what are the demon shadows? Are they sick demons?”

It was Taran who answered this question, taking Donna by surprise. “No. The shadows are all that remain of the humans we sacrificed in each tithe.”

“The Tithe to Hell,” Donna whispered, her mind racing.

Cathal nodded, taking up the story. “The tithe is how the demons swell their own ranks. Demons cannot procreate.”

“Which is why they want the Stone,” Donna said.

“But,” continued Cathal, “what I want to know is this: why is Aliette Winterthorn here? What does the dying Court of Earth have to gain by being part of these negotiations?”

Aliette sat up straighter in her chair. “I was invited by the king of the demons. That is all you need to know, cousin.”

The way she said the word “cousin” left Donna in no doubt that the Wood Queen wasn’t speaking fondly to a family member.

Demian waved a hand in the air, as though dismissing their argument as nothing more than a petty annoyance. “The wood elves are here—as are you, representatives of Faerie—to resume payment of the tithe you owe me and mine.”

The Wood Queen drummed her woody fingers on the table so hard that Donna thought they might splinter. She didn’t look happy to have Demian telling everybody her business.

Taran gazed at Aliette, his blue eyes bright with curiosity and disdain. “Why would you be willing to pay the tithe again? Trying to ingratiate yourself with the demons so that you can return to Faerie?”

The Wood Queen turned away from the dark-haired knight, fixing her attention on one of the blood-stained paintings hanging from the wall.

Demian answered for her with questions of his own. “And why are you here, Taran? Why would Queen Isolde agree to send two of her knights to my gathering? Perhaps you should think on that. Perhaps you should think about what you all owe me.”

The two men of Faerie exchanged a glance filled with foreboding, but before Donna could find out more, her mother put her cup down with a clatter.

“Enough of these riddles,” she said. “We have not resolved the issue of the Stone. You have demanded something of the alchemists that is simply not possible.”

Demian turned to face her. “You are telling me that the alchemists cannot make the Philosopher’s Stone—and you expect me to believe that?”

Rachel shook her head. “You’re turning the most complicated thing in the world into something simple.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What good are you, if you cannot make the thing you were born to make?

“It’s the timing that makes your demand truly impossible,” Rachel sighed. “Nobody can make the Stone in a matter of days. It can’t even be done in weeks. You need to give us more time, at the very least.”

Demian’s expression didn’t change. “You have received all the time I am willing to give: no more and no less. I believe Donna Underwood is capable of greater things than your limited human minds can comprehend.”

Donna shifted in her seat and stared at him, trying to match his steady gaze. “While I am … interested to learn that you have such faith in me, Your Majesty, I don’t know how to create the Philosopher’s Stone. Let alone how to do it in forty-eight hours.”

“Ah, you have so little belief in yourself. In your power. I can see it from here, shining inside you. Do you understand what you’re capable of? You could—”

Simon cut him off. “This girl is untrained. Untested. She’s a danger to us all!”

Demian made a slashing motion with his hand, and although Simon’s lips continued to move, no sound came out. The demon smiled. “Much better.”

Miranda half-rose from her seat. “This is a neutral space. You cannot harm us here.”

Demian seemed genuinely puzzled. “I didn’t harm him. I merely rendered him less … bothersome.”

Donna swallowed a trickle of slightly crazed laughter. She shouldn’t find anything the Demon King did funny, but it was hard not to enjoy the fact that someone had the ability to shut Simon up so effectively. And she was so filled with a numbing sense of terror, it helped to grab hold of any passing emotions just to ground herself.

Simon, meanwhile, realized what Demian had done and had stopped even attempting to speak. His face was stark white with impotent rage. Donna smirked.

Her mother caught the expression and frowned at her.

Miranda had taken her seat again. The two faery knights appeared bemused by the disturbance. Aliette simply looked bored.

Demian leaned back in his chair, entirely in control and at ease. “Now,” he said. “As I was saying, there is a precedent for creating the Philosopher’s Stone very quickly. I believe there is even a known method for it.”

Miranda spoke, her voice calm. “Yes, but that’s assuming we can get all the ingredients that are needed. Is that why you have invited representatives from the fey courts here? So that we—”

“This is irrelevant,” Demian snapped. “I asked about the method, not the ingredients. We will get to that.”

Rachel clenched her hands before her on the table. “I know the method you’re talking about, Your Majesty, but the Blackening is very dangerous, even for the most experienced alchemist. Donna is seventeen years old—an Initiate who has only just begun her training. If she creates the Philosopher’s Stone outright and enters the Blackening, I can’t even begin to imagine what would happen—”

“But I can,” the demon replied. “I can imagine it very well. Perhaps that is your problem, alchemist. A lack of imagination.”

Rachel’s cheeks flushed, but she didn’t back down. “It’s impossible,” she said, her voice final.

Donna sat quietly for a moment, letting them argue about her. She felt one step removed, as though she were inside one of her dreams and couldn’t quite participate in what was going on around her. The Blackening? That was an alchemical term she knew very little about. It had something to do with the power wielded by one who could create the Philosopher’s Stone—once the Stone was in their possession—but at this stage in her education, she didn’t know what that actually meant. As with most things, she still had a lot to learn.

Demian was still speaking, equally as determined as her mother. “It is possible. Especially for someone who already possesses the most crucial element. Most alchemists would need to produce the first matter before they could even begin, which is the most difficult part of the procedure—but Donna already has the first matter inside her.”

Rachel shook her head. “But—”

Miranda rested a hand on her arm. “I don’t think he’s going to change his mind.”

Rachel took a deep breath, continuing in more level tones. “I will not allow my daughter to risk her life.”

Demian laughed. “And how exactly do you plan to stop me?”

Donna pushed back her chair and stood. “Okay, have you all finished arguing about me while I’m right here? If it’s possible that I can help create a new Stone—and if that will save the lives of millions of people—shouldn’t I try?”

Millions of people. Just saying it made Donna feel dizzy, and she regretted doing the dramatic-standing-up thing quite so quickly. She grabbed the edge of the table to stop herself from swaying. But she was sick of being pushed around like one of Quentin’s alchemical chess pieces. This wasn’t an entertaining little diversion, no matter how much beings such as Demian enjoyed playing their screwed-up little games. Human beings weren’t chess pieces.

“Sit down, Donna,” Rachel said.

“Mom … ” Donna stayed on her feet, trying to make her mother see that things had changed now. She had changed during the decade of Rachel’s illness.

Miranda spoke up. “If you won’t listen to your mother, perhaps you’ll listen to me. I am your mentor. You are my apprentice, Donna. Please sit down again and let’s try to come to some kind of agreement. We cannot give that kind of power to the demons—would you have them re-grow their ranks so soon? You cannot trust anything the Demon King says, surely you know this.”

Donna pursed her lips but did as Miranda asked. She took her seat, but perched on the very edge. Just in case. She pressed on regardless. “Aren’t we talking about saving a lot of lives if we can give Demian what he wants?”

Miranda placed a cool hand on Donna’s shoulder. “And who is to say whether he’ll keep his word and stay away from our world if we do make a new Stone? Even if it were possible.”

Taran spoke up. “This is all fascinating, I’m sure, but what does the creation of the Philosopher’s Stone have to do with Faerie? We have no interest in such things. What care we for the fate of humans—or for the alchemists?”

Demian’s black eyes narrowed. “It was your queen I wanted here, but as you have been sent in her place I suppose I have no choice but to speak with you. I dislike not having choices.” The threat in his beautiful voice was clear.

Taran’s face paled. “My queen is—”

“Unwell,” finished Demian. “So you said. As is the Archmaster of the Order of the Dragon. Perhaps there is a mysterious illness in existence that can affect both faeries and alchemists. Most interesting.”

Cathal pushed his goblet away from him and sat up straighter in his seat. “I too would like to know what both Faerie and the Elflands have to do with a disagreement between demons and alchemists. The Philosopher’s Stone is of no interest to us.”

Aliette turned her head toward Demian, looking truly engaged in the proceedings for the first time.

Demian smiled. “Isn’t it obvious? You all possess one of the crucial ingredients needed to create the Philosopher’s Stone. You each hold one of the sacred objects. I want you to give them to Donna Underwood so that she can complete her task.”

Taran scowled. “And of course you need our cooperation in this matter.”

Donna stared at him. “What do you mean?”

It was Cathal, the golden-skinned knight, who replied. “Each of the four races was given one artifact—one ingredient—

to take care of, ensuring that the balance of power between races was maintained. Even the Demon King cannot take them from us. There are protected by a combination of demonic, fey, and alchemical magic.”

“Who arranged for that?” Donna asked.

“A very wise man,” her mother muttered.

Donna turned to look at her enquiringly.

Rachel smiled, clearly having already forgiven Donna for arguing with her earlier.

Donna frowned. “You’re not talking about him.” She nodded in Simon’s direction, grateful that he’d been forced into silence for so long.

Her mother shook her head. “No, of course not. Maker split the artifacts between the races and came up with the plan.”

“Oh.” Donna thought about that for a moment. “But …

that must have been a long time ago.”

“Yes,” Rachel replied. “A very long time ago.”

Just how many “immortal” men were hiding out in the Order of the Dragon? Donna wondered. And she considered it interesting that they are all men. As usual, when it came to alchemy, women were second-class citizens. At least in her experience.

Leaning back in his chair at the head of the table, Demian crossed his legs in a human gesture that was both ordinary and unsettling. “Now that you have the history settled to your approval, am I to understand that you will all deliver the artifacts to Donna?”

Aliette tilted her head, her leafy hair rustling. “You know that each object must be freely given.”

Taran nodded his agreement. “Or fairly bargained for.”

Donna frowned. “Whatever these ingredients are, why would you even consider giving them to us?”

“Or bargaining for them,” Cathal reminded her.

She waved her hand. “Okay, yeah. As I see it, the king of the demons is free again, threatening humanity. If he doesn’t get the Stone he’ll start destroying us, city by city, country by country … most likely until he does get what he wants. Right?”

Miranda, sitting beside her pale but composed, nodded.

Donna took a deep breath and continued. “The faeries have something we need to prevent that from happening. As do the wood elves.” Here her gaze met Aliette’s. “And Demian is just expecting them to help us?”

Demian smiled. It was a slow smile that spread across his face like the threat of knives. Or something worse.

Donna glared at him, anger winning over fear. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“Like what?” the demon asked, still smiling that awful smile.

“Like you’re crazy. Or like you’ve already won. Or both.”

Aliette Winterthorn pushed back her chair and stood up. “I suspect, Iron Witch, that the king of the demons is celebrating the fact that your humiliation is complete. I will take my leave of you all.” Her elves chattered with each other as they gathered close. “Good luck with your quest to create the Stone.”

Donna wanted to hit her, if only because she looked so smug.

Taran, too, rose to join Aliette, flipping his plait over his shoulder as though it was totally fine for everyone to just leave. “You’ll never get the blade from my queen, Donna Underwood. I can’t imagine what you could possibly have that would be worth the bargaining.”

Cathal stood at the more senior knight’s side, watching her, but he said nothing.

Blade? Donna needed to find out what these so-called objects—artifacts—ingredients were.

The steward stepped forward from behind his master’s chair. “Majesty, what would you have me do?”

The Demon King’s face was thoughtful. “Let them leave. They have served their purpose—for now.”

The goat-faced creature bowed low, then turned to the blank wall and sketched a door with one hand. The door opened and he indicated that Aliette, her wood elves, and the two faerie knights should leave through the magically created exit.

“You will find your way to your homes through this gate.” He gave the Wood Queen a look of warning. “You can only enter your own world from this door.”

In other words, Donna realized, there would be no sneaking into Faerie for Aliette and her people.

Taran sniffed pompously. “It matters not. That one cannot walk in our realm without the permission of our queen.”

Cathal nodded in agreement. “Queen Isolde may have chosen to unlock the door to Faerie for this meeting, but it is still well guarded.” He met Aliette’s black gaze. “Very well guarded.”

The golden-haired knight was the last to leave, and Donna could have sworn he glanced at her before stepping through the door. The moment passed so quickly, though, that she wondered if she’d imagined it.

She felt hope sliding away like condensation on glass. “We can’t just let them go!” she cried. “We need those ingredients.”

Demian laughed.

She swung around to face him. “Don’t laugh at me.”

Her mother reached out to touch her arm. “Don’t let him antagonize you.”

“But I don’t understand how he expects us to do this at all, let alone in two days,” Donna said. “It’s obvious that we’re unlikely to get these ingredients—whatever they are—from either Faerie or the Elflands.”

Demian nodded. He was no longer smiling. “Not to mention the ingredient you need to collect from my realm.”

“What?!” Donna slammed her hand down on the table so hard it actually shook.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Rachel told her, with an expression on her face that communicated more than she seemed ready to say. “Okay?”

Trying to control her breathing, Donna nodded. “Okay.” But she didn’t stop thinking and planning. She couldn’t stop wondering crazy things like, How am I going to reach the Underworld without dying? What could be down there that Demian can’t just give to us if he wants the Stone so much?

“So, what do the alchemists hold?” Donna asked. “What’s our crucial ingredient?”

Miranda and Rachel exchanged a glance. It was Miranda who spoke. “Each Order’s library contains a copy of the Silent Book.”

Donna nodded. The Mutus Liber was something she was familiar with. It was an instruction manual that contained no words—just a pictorial representation of how to make the Stone. Still, that didn’t make much sense.

“But if we all have that, how is that something individual? I thought each race guards a unique ingredient or object … ”

Demian’s black eyes flashed. “The Mutus Liber is not the ingredient. What your fellow alchemists are trying to keep from you is that the most important element in the process—even more important than the fruit, the blade, and the cup—is the ingredient that binds all the rest. The ingredient that pulls all the others together and lights the match, so to speak.”

“Which is?”

“You, Donna Underwood.”

Her stomach clenched like a fist. “What do you mean, ‘me’?”

“The prima materia, of course. That which lives inside you.”

Donna immediately turned to her mother. “I’m an ingredient? So this is what you’ve all been trying to protect me from?”

Rachel nodded, although she wouldn’t quite meet her daughter’s eyes. “It is.”

“When were you going to talk to me about how, exactly, this might work?”

“Again, I was hoping we wouldn’t need to discuss it until we’d gotten home.”

“Home?” Donna snorted. “Which one? Does the potential end-of-the-world scenario mean I get to go back to Ironbridge?” She was acting casual about it, but her heart had begun to beat faster and she held her breath.

Rachel glanced at Miranda and then nodded firmly. “It does.”

Donna’s heart soared. “Really?” I’ll get to see Navin again, she thought. And Xan! “I can go home?”

Simon, who could unfortunately speak again, glared at all three of them. “Are you forgetting that Initiate Underwood’s place is in London now, with Miranda and the Order of the Crow?”

Her mother returned his hostile expression with a challenge of her own. “And are you forgetting who the Archmaster is? Quentin told me that, if events from this meeting warranted it, Donna could return to Ironbridge with us while we figure out what our next move is.”

The Magus looked away, and Donna wondered if he’d known about that. She liked the idea of Quentin using his authority—the way he should—to put Simon in his place. It didn’t happen often enough, in her opinion, and she tried to wipe the victorious grin off her face.

Rachel raised her eyebrows. “You’ll have to go back to London eventually, Donna. You understand that, don’t you? When things get back to normal, I mean.”

“Sure,” Donna replied, not smiling anymore. She thought her mom was being a little too optimistic that they’d somehow overcome the massive odds against them and all go back to “normal.”

Demian clapped his hands together, making her jump. “It seems we have come to an agreement. Excellent!”

She scowled at him. “How can you say that? Nobody has agreed on anything.”

“You have agreed to my terms, I believe … ”

“Only because we don’t have a choice,” she snapped.

Demian stood up with inhuman speed and grace. “I will see you again shortly, Donna Underwood.”

Donna stood and faced him across the table. She ignored Miranda’s restraining hand on her arm. “Nobody is going to give us their ingredients. You knew that all along, didn’t you?”

He didn’t reply, but that awful smile twitched at the corner of his hard mouth.

She frowned, trying to understand him. “Do you want us to fail—so that you can watch us struggle and try to save ourselves before you destroy us anyway? Is that it?”

Demian’s head tilted to one side and he examined her with an intensity that made her feel angry and uncomfortable, all at the same time. “Why would I want you to fail, young alchemist? I want the Philosopher’s Stone so that I can rebuild my own realm, and you will deliver it to me.”

“But you can’t even get me into the Underworld without killing me!” she shouted, suddenly furious. “You’re expecting us to solve an impossible riddle in forty-eight hours.”

Demian glanced at the expensive-looking watch she hadn’t even noticed he was wearing. “Not even that many,” he said, his voice both silky and threatening. “You’d better get started, hadn’t you?”

She sat down quietly while Demian made arrangements to transport everyone back to their own worlds, and wondered just how much longer they all had left to live. The sand was slipping through the glass, and she didn’t know how to stop it.