“I know you aren’t sure about this . . . but trust me. It will work out.” And with that, he vanished into the kitchen.
At five, we were standing at Wilbur’s door again: Trillian, Shade, Vanzir, the vampires—who were named Ron, Jacob, Sandra, Tico, and Jorge (who were twins)—and me. The faint hints of dawn were creeping over the horizon, and in half an hour, the sun would rise from its journey across the other side of the world. Of course, it was the Earth that had done the traveling, I thought, not the sun, but either way . . . morning would arrive.
I knocked on the door. Martin answered and led us to the basement, where Wilbur always did his work. After his house had been torched and he had lost his leg to the arsonists, he had the staircase revamped so it was much easier to descend. He’d added in one of those motorized chairs that would carry you up and down the stairs, and he used it on days when he just wasn’t feeling up to snuff.
We descended to the newly renovated basement. It was finished now, spotless in a way that I never would associate with Wilbur, and well lit. As we stopped in front of one of the three doors leading off the small central chamber, Martin clumsily raised one hand and tapped at the door. A moment later, it opened.
Wilbur stood there in a brightly colored robe that looked straight out of the South American jungles. None of us were sure if the runes emblazoned on both his robe and headband were Aztec or Mayan, or maybe something more obscure, but they were obviously from that region. The headband was woven, blue and yellow, with runes beaded on it. The central point over his forehead—his third eye—contained a brilliant sapphire, the size of a half dollar. A necklace of bone—snake vertebrae—embraced his neck, with polished spikes from what must have been a massive smoky quartz geode.
As he silently led us into the room, I was taken aback. The chamber was massive, not a particularly high ceiling, but it must have taken up half the space of the first floor. Tables and chests lined the room, and a chair and sofa were next to a bookcase that was overflowing with books. The pervasive smell of musty roots and herbs filled the air, even though the walls and all surfaces were a bright, shiny white. But what caught my eye more than anything was the brilliant flaming archway in the center of the room. The flames gave off no heat, and they flickered but did not spark or hiss. Magical fire—a fire that did not burn. The Demon Gate.
Runes floated in the air, inscribed within the transparent flickering flames. I shivered, and beside me, Vanzir let out an appreciative whistle.
“Nice, very nice. I can feel the power emanating off it, and it’s extremely clear. Wilbur, you do good work.” Vanzir shook his head. “I never thought I’d be going back. I swore I would never again cross worlds to that place, but I guess once you say ‘Never’ the gods say, ‘Game on!’ They like to fuck with us, don’t they?”
“That they do.” I glanced over at Trillian. “How about you? Are you ready to head back into the Sub-Realms?”
“No, but I’ve been there many times and always managed to keep myself out of trouble. We’re a resilient lot. If we have to face down the demons, I’d rather put my lot with you than anybody else. So, are we ready to head out?” He was wearing black jeans, a black turtleneck, and a motorcycle jacket. He had brought his sword with him. Vanzir had armed himself with a set of nasty-looking daggers.
I, on the other hand, was wielding the battle-ax I’d taken off a cave troll when we rescued a dragon-shifter named Shimmer. I had opted for a pair of black leather pants, a gray turtleneck, and a crimson leather jacket. The crimson was a nod to my status as vampire princess. Even as the words crossed my thoughts, I let out a snort.
“What’s so funny, Dead Girl?” Wilbur had picked up the nickname for me from Ivana—the Maiden of Karask. She was a deadly and freaky Elder Fae, and we had made all too many deals with her. I had the feeling the pair had been spending far too much time in each other’s company.
“I’m a princess. I’m a princess and I’m off to rescue my . . . other princess. Just call me Princess Charming.”
“I think you’d make a better Leia than Cinderella. Leia had guts and could shoot like a son of a bitch.” Wilbur snorted. “Unless you want a pink palace, and then we can call you Snow White when you fall asleep each morning.”
“Please, no. I like dwarves but I’ve never slept with one, and I’m not cut out to be anybody’s housekeeper.” I stared at the Demon Gate, realizing that my laughter was covering up one hell of a deep-seated fear. Walking into the Sub-Realms was an insane thing to do. What I’d told my sisters about if we didn’t come back . . . that wasn’t just hyperbole. No, there was a very real chance this was a head-on suicide mission and I knew it. But I couldn’t leave Nerissa there, and we couldn’t give Shadow Wing the spirit seals. So, there was nothing else to do.