So I punched her elbow.
Her arm shuddered, and a wail broke from her lips. “After all I have offered and given, this is how you repay me?”
“Offered?” I croaked. “By sacrificing les Morts? By building an amulet of compulsion for your precious Claire’s brother—”
“An amulet for the Marquis?” She gave a giggle. “Whatever are you talking about?”
“His cane. I know what it is.”
Now her giggle became a howl of laughter. “How quaint! You think his cane is an amulet. But it is not; it is a far more powerful artifact than any amulet. I told you I found it in India, did I not? I have no need for silly compulsion spells. My venom compels anyone I want. Why, a drop of venom in your wine, a drop of venom on your dress— Mademoiselle, you were my puppet.” She stepped in close, and her claws poked into my skin. I held my breath—if I moved, if I breathed too heavily . . . those razors would slice me. “Perhaps you are not as clever as I once thought. As I told your friend, the Marquis had no idea what I was up to—no idea what I really am.”
Her claws dug deeper. She wanted to poison me. Wanted to overwhelm me with her visions . . .
“Then why did you need sacrifices?” It took all my strength to stay still. To fight the shudders racking inside me. “If you can compel and you had wealth, why sacrifice all those people?”
“Those were not for me. Though the blood was nice.” She ran her tongue over her lips. “My master was the one to sacrifice. There is someone who requires compelling, and a single spell will not suffice.”
Over her shoulder, I saw Oliver hauling Daniel to his feet. Satisfaction—triumph, even—washed over me. At least Oliver and the Spirit-Hunters could get out alive. Now, I was the only one who had to walk the fine line between life and death. . . .
And with that thought I recalled Madame Marineaux’s comment: Nor can they see the fine line you walk between life and death. The Hell Hounds await you.
The Hell Hounds. If there was one thing a demon—even one as powerful as a Rakshasi—could not face, it was the guardians of the spirit realm. And thanks to Marcus’s spell, I knew just how to call them here.
I creased my face into a sneer—a victorious smile I could not contain. “Why would your master,”
I crowed, “want compulsion spells? I thought, Madame Marineaux, that he could simply make you—
make his slave—cast a compulsion spell for him.”
She gritted her teeth, her nostrils fluttering. “He wants a spell that lasts days. Weeks, even. Mine only maintain for hours at a time.”
“Because your magic isn’t good enough? Is that it? He does not think your magic is strong—”
“Stop!” she screeched. “I see what you try to do, Mademoiselle. You wish to rile me, and that, I fear, will not do. If I cannot have you, then no one shall, and so it is time for you to die.”
“Oh?” I lifted my eyebrows as if this piece of information were utterly uninteresting. “Perhaps you ought to wait a moment, Madame. I have something you might like to see.”
Her lips pursed into a smug smile. She waited.
“Oliver, remove my hand. Take it back.”
“Oliver?” Her eyes thinned. “To whom do you speak?”
With my own wicked grin, I screamed in her face, “Sum veritas!”
Instantly she released me, rearing back. “Another demon?” She twirled around, her nostrils sniffing the air wildly.
Then she spotted the Spirit-Hunters, standing on the opposite side of the cavern with the crystal clamp and pulse pistols trained on her. I saw no sign of Oliver.
A scream ripped from Madame Marineaux’s mouth, inhuman and ear shattering. “Veni! Veni!”
She bolted for the Spirit-Hunters, her skirts and feet barely skimming the ground.
Daniel fired his reloaded pistols. Madame Marineaux slowed but didn’t stop. Two more shots cracked out, and this time Madame Marineaux did halt.
But it was not because she was hurt. It was because, crawling out of the dark tunnel behind the
Spirit-Hunters, was an army of corpses. The skeletons from before.
“Behind you,” I shrieked just as Daniel twisted around, his next pistols firing.
I dove forward, desperate to help, but all at once pain sliced up my arm. Phantom pain. I glanced down. My hand was gone. It was just a stump once more. Instantly, Marcus’s spell took effect.
First came the wind—so fierce and so cold. It blasted through the cavern, winking out half the torches. Then the stench of grave dirt assaulted me.
Madame Marineaux whirled toward me, disbelief—and betrayal—in her eyes. She knew what was coming. Knew there was no escape from the Hell Hounds.
Crack! Electricity lashed through the air as Joseph blasted skeletons away. He and Daniel were holding off the Dead, but only barely.