Japhrimel said nothing as we hit the street outside. Rainy sunlight still fell down, but darker clouds were rolling and massing; I smelled wet heaviness riding the air. That was worth a nose-wrinkle, and I wondered if another storm was moving in. I walked with my head down and my left hand holding my sword, my eyes fixed on the pavement and only occasionally lifting to check the crowd and the sky above.

Urban dwellers learn quickly to be peripherally aware of hover and slic traffic. Practically all Freetowns have realtime AI traffic controllers just like Hegemony and Putchkin cities. Freetown New Prague was no exception. The distinct swirls of hover traffic with slicboards buzzing in between were almost complex enough to use for divination.The thought of hovertraffic divination made me smile. I glanced up again, my eyes tracking the patterns, my nape tingling.

Why was I so uneasy?

This is too easy. If there's a demon in New Prague who knows I'm here, why hasn't he thrown everything but the kitchen sink at me? Just a lone imp and one attack in a ruined building doesn't qualify as a real battle. Either he's more frightened of me than is possible . . . or he's laying plans.

Another, more interesting thought occurred to me. Why would Lucifer bargain to have me as his official Right Hand and not Japhrimel? What purpose did that serve?

Maybe the sparring was what I needed to shake my thoughts loose. I cast around for a likely place and saw a noodle shop, its door half-open.

Lunch and some heavy thinking. I ducked out into the street, dodging a swarm of pedicabs. There was some streetside hover traffic too, but the hovers were in a crush of pedicabs and people and had to move at a creep, anti-grav rattling and whining, buffeting people out of the way.

Making it across the street in one piece, I slid into the noodle shop. The smell of cooking meat and hot broth rose around me; I had made it almost to the counter when Japhrimel's hand closed around my upper arm.

"This is unwise," he said. I hadn't quite forgotten he was with me, but I was so deep in thought I hadn't even spoken to him. Taking it for granted he would follow me, understanding my need for serious contemplation of this problem.

I set my jaw. "I'm hungry, and I need to think." My tone was sharp enough to cut glass. "Something about this smells."

Amazingly, he smiled. "Now this is revealed to you?"

I swear, he could sound caustic as carbolic when he wanted to. I scanned the interior of the noodle shop-plascovered booths, the counter with three Asiano normals behind it, two staring at me and another one chopping little bits of something that smelled like imitation crabmeat. Holostills of Asiano holovid stars hung on the walls. The ubiquitous altar to ancestors sat near the front door with a small plashing antigrav fountain floating above it, coins shimmering underwater in its plasilica bulb just like miniature cloned koi.

"You're getting testy." I tried not to smile. The jitter of adrenaline bloodlust was gone, I felt like a new woman.

He gave a liquid shrug. I hate a demon's shrug; it usually means he won't answer your questions anyway. "I will not deny a certain frustration."

You're not the only one. I indicated a booth with a flick of my swordhilt. "Fine. Sit, eat, talk, relax. Just like old times, right?"

He shrugged. Again. "We should go back to the hotel."

"Not only do I hate the goddamn elevator, but all someone has to do is drive a hover through the windows and there goes our entire team," I said acidly. "We should go to ground. Somewhere safer, and somewhere without a goddamn elevator."

At least he didn't immediately disagree. A curious expression crossed his face, half thoughtful, half admiring. "Where?"

I slid into the booth. "The red-light district. Enough static and interference to hide most of our team-except for you and me. And that's where a demon's going to do his recruiting if he's fresh out of Hell and needs human hands. Ergo, it's where we're going to hear the most whispers and gossip."

Japhrimel slid into the seat across from me. His back was to the door, mine to the back of the restaurant-as usual. We had fallen into that habit during the hunt for Santino, him courteously allowing me to put my back to the wall. My eyes flicked over his shoulder and checked the front window. People passing by, the soft roar of a crowd of normals, the staticky heartbeat of the city. New Prague smelled like pedicab sweat and paprikash, a spicy unique smell tainted with stone and the effluvia of centuries of human living. With a dash of burning cinnamon over the top of it.

The smell of burning cinnamon was demon. Two demons and a hedaira in a city, and the whole place started to smell. Something about that bothered me, but I couldn't quite wrap my mental lips around what.

It'll probably come back to bite me in the ass pretty soon. I should have told Lucifer to go fuck himself again. Should have told him that and taken my chances the first time.

It was empty bravado. I'd needed revenge on Santino, I couldn't have walked away from the deal even if I could by some miracle have fought off Japhrimel, Lucifer, and the rest of Hell and made my way back to my own world.

"Anyway," I continued, "Lucas is one of our biggest assets, and he's best on the shadow side-has a lot of connections. I've also got a nasty thought, Japh. Why isn't this demon throwing everything but the kitchen sink at me? And why did Lucifer ask for me to be his Right Hand instead of you? You're the one he can count on here."

One of the Asianos came to the table. She bobbed her dark head, smiling at Japhrimel and casting a little sidelong glance at me.

He ordered in a clicking tongue that sounded like Old Manchu. I frowned at the shiny plasilica tabletop, tapping my right-hand fingernails with little insectile ticking sounds. The problem boiled and bubbled away under the conscious surface of my mind, sooner or later I'd hit the answer. Half of any problem, especially for a psion, is simply trusting intuition to do its work.

Of course, sometimes intuition only kicks in too god-damn late and you figure everything out as you're neck-deep in quicksand. I winced inwardly at the thought.

The Asiano bowed slightly and hurried away, her slippers hushing over the slick linoleum. Japhrimel's glowing eyes met mine. "The Prince can trust you, Dante. You are honorable. I, however, have bargained with him in the past. I am known to be somewhat . . .

unruly."

Lucifer can trust me? I thought my eyebrows couldn't get any higher. "You? Unruly?"

"I won my freedom, did I not? And I am Fallen. That means I am dangerous."

"Why? What's the big deal? You won't tell me anything about the Fallen, and you complain when I try to research it on my own.

Why are you suddenly so dangerous to Lucifer?" Just one little shred of information, Japh. It won't kill you.

"Why do you think he destroyed the original Fallen? They were a direct threat to his supremacy on earth. It was only a matter of time before a Fallen and his hedaira conceived an Androgyne. Then . . . who knows?"

Oh. I swallowed dryly. Lucifer controlled reproduction in Hell, and the Androgynes were the only demons capable of reproducing.

Santino's creation of Eve had been a blow to Lucifer's power, one he couldn't cover up or simply ignore. Hence Lucifer's throwing me into the snakepit the first time.

The waitress came back with heavy real-china teacups, poured us both fragrant jasmine tea with shaking hands. She set the pot down and retreated in a hurry, her bowl-cut black hair shining under the fluorescent lights.

"Why didn't Lucifer kill us both when you . . . Fell?" I didn't expect him to answer.

He surprised me once again. "I suspect he thought he might have further use for us. In any case, I know better than to try to breed."

Japhrimel's eyes dropped to the tabletop.

The steam rising from my teacup took on angular, twisting shapes. I cleared my throat. There had only been one time in my life that I'd even contemplated having children, and that time was long past. Still. . . . "What if I wanted to breed?"

I felt his eyes on me, but I looked at my teacup. Silence stretched between us."Never mind," I said hurriedly. "Look, let's just focus on one problem at a time. We should get everyone out of that damn hotel and into a safer place. Then we can start figuring out which demon's here in New Prague and what he's likely to be planning."

"Do you want children, Dante?"

He could turn on a red credit's thin edge. No more sarcasm. Instead, his tone was quiet and level. Of all the varied shades of his voice, I liked this one best. I stared at my teacup, willing the lump in my throat to go away.

"No," I said finally. "I have enough trouble trying to deal with you."

That made him laugh, a sound that chattered the teacups against the table. I stole a quick glance at him; looked back down at the table. I knew every line and curve of his face, almost every inch of his skin. It wasn't enough-I wanted to know what was going on behind those glowing green eyes, under that perfect poreless golden skin, behind that face that wasn't as gorgeous as Lucifer's but somehow enough for me, beautiful the way a katana's deadly curve was beautiful.

I wanted inside. I wanted to crawl inside his head and know for sure that he wouldn't abandon me.

"Japhrimel." My voice cut through his laughter. "What gave you the brilliant idea to bargain for a demon's Power again?"

He sighed, shaking his head. His hair was almost longer than mine now, falling over his eyes in a soft shelf. "I wanted it for one simple reason. To protect you, Dante. A hedaira is only as safe as her A'nankhimel can make her." It had the quality of a proverb, recited more than once.

Way to seize the moment, Japh. "I thought you said there weren't many demons who could threaten you, even Fallen."

"After we are done killing for the Prince, he may find us expendable." Japhrimel's tone had turned chill. "If that happens, I want every iota of Power I can possibly gather. I will not give you up. Not to Lucifer, not to your own folly-and not to your precious Death either. Therefore, I saw a chance and took it. It was not premeditated."

I stole another glance at his face. He looked over my shoulder, his eyes moving in a smooth arc. His right hand, resting on the table, had curled into a fist.

"Oh." I certainly couldn't argue with my own continued survival. "Well. That was a good idea, then, I guess."

He said nothing, but his eyes met mine. It was just a flash, but I could have sworn he looked grateful.

The woman arrived with the food-beef and noodles for me, a plate of something that looked like egg rolls for Japhrimel, who thanked her courteously. I scooped up a pair of plasilica chopsticks and set to with a will.

He didn't touch his food.

I looked over his shoulder, through the windows at the street. Marked traffic. Uneasiness returned like a precognition, swirling around me. I finished a mouthful of noodles, took a sip of tea. "So what do you think is going on? You have any ideas about these demons? Anything that might be useful?"

He moved finally, spreading his hands against the tabletop. "Enough to begin hunting, and enough to understand there is another game being played here."

I caught a bit of beef with my chopsticks. It was a relief to be able to eat with my right hand again. And it was nice to be in a Freetown, where you could be reasonably sure the meat wasn't protein substitute. Substitute is a good thing, but it leaves me still hungry, as if I haven't eaten real food. "What kind of game? Lucifer seemed to blame me for not knowing he was asking for me, too. What was that all about?"

"You were vulnerable. He could have broken you, Dante." Japhrimel paused. "He still might." It was time for a subject change; not only was he not answering the question I asked, but he was telling me something I already knew. I lifted up my left hand, the wristcuff glittering in a stray reflection of light from the street outside as I took another slurping mouthful of noodles. "Mind telling me what this is?"

He shrugged, his eyes dropping back down to his plate. I didn't think he was going to eat any of the eggrolls-after all, he didn't need human food-but I was wrong. He picked one up, bit into it. "A demon artifact," he said after he finished chewing. If I hadn't thought him incapable of nervousness, I would have thought he was actually stalling.

I waited, but that seemed all he would say. "Meaning what? What does it do?"

His tone was quiet. "I don't know what it will do for you."

Or to you. The unspoken codicil hung in the air.

I looked down at my soup. It was the damnedest thing. I'd have sworn I was hungry. Ravenous. But all of a sudden I'd lost my appetite. A chill prickled down my back. "Do you have a datpilot code for any of the others?" My eyes flicked over the front window, tracking a stray dart of light; it was a reflection off an airbike's polished surface. I looked back at Japhrimel, uneasiness turning my stomach over.

He didn't look surprised. "You wish to contact them?"

"I want to tell them to get out of there now. I don't like this. My neck's prickling."

Japhrimel reached under the table, for all the world as if digging in a pocket. If I didn't know what his coat was made of, I would have believed the pretense. He extracted a sleek black datphone from under the table, pressed a button, and lifted it to his ear.

I looked back over his shoulder. The unease crystallized as I heard him murmur in what sounded like Franje. A true linguistic wonder, my Fallen.

I slid out of the booth, gaining my feet in one smooth movement. My thumb clicked the sword free of the sheath's embrace. I heard a gasp from a normal behind the counter, ignored it.

Japhrimel looked up, his hair falling over his eyes. "Dante?"

"Are they getting out?"

"Of course. I respect your instincts. I suppose this means we won't finish lunch?" Damn him, he was back to sounding amused.

"I'll pay." I meant it, too; but he rose from the booth like a dark wave, tossing a few New Credit notes down. Of course, money means less than nothing to a demon, he never seemed to need it but it appeared whenever there was any question.

"My pleasure. What do you sense?"

"I'm not sure. Not yet." But I will be soon. The precognition rose through dark water, aiming for me . . . and passed by, circling. If I could just relax, the vision would come to me. Precog isn't my strongest talent; it's only spotty at best. But when it comes it's something to be reckoned with, for all that it usually comes too late.

The first dark, rain-heavy clouds slid over the sun. Shadow crawled over the street, hoverwhine rising and settling in my back teeth, the vision of something about to happen jittering under my skin. I didn't need to look down at the wristcuff to know it was glowing green. Me and the fashionable accessories. My skin crawled at the thought that Lucifer had given this to me and I had blindly put it on.

I met Japhrimel's eyes for a long moment. It was a relief that I still could, despite their radioactive green. "Out on the street, Japh.

Move low and silent." I thought about it for a second. "And kill anyone who moves on us," I added judiciously.

"Of course." He sounded calm enough, but the mark on my shoulder flared again, velvet smoothing down my skin as another wave of demon-fed Power pulsed through the air between us.

I really wish I could decide if I like that.

A few desultory spatters of rain pawed at the crowd as we made our way slowly down the sidewalk, heading on a winding course back to the hotel through the Stare Mesto's narrow, ancient streets. I wanted to give the others plenty of time to get the hell out of there, I didn't want any of them catching blowback from a strike aimed at me.

That was mostly why I work alone. I don't want anyone else paying for my fuckups. Hell, I don't even want to pay for my fuckups.

Too bad that's part of living.

I would have liked a long, leisurely brooding lunch over some beef soup, but that wasn't meant to be. We were halfway back to the hotel when I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, the hair raising on the back of my naked neck, something wrong I couldn't quite figure out until I glanced up instinctively, checking the hovertraffic.

And the big, oddly silent silver hover bearing down on us.

Well, isn't that creative. Smash us with a hover.

Then I thought of something else-the imp, screaming as it turned into a bubbling streak on the greasy slide of reactive paint. What would the thick glowing layer of reactive on the bottom of a hover do to Japh?

My heart thudded into my throat, lodged there. I glanced back at Japhrimel, who was looking up with an amused expression on his face, opening his mouth to speak just as I gathered myself and leapt, my boots connecting solidly to kick him back, sending him flying as a plascannon bolt smashed into the hover and the soundless white flare of reaction fire exploded against my eyelids.

The burning tore through my entire body. I hoped I'd thrown Japhrimel clear enough that the reactive wouldn't affect him.

25.

Gray. Everything gray. Shot through with veins of white flame.

The burning. Everywhere, burning. Creeping fire. Every inch of skin, inside my eyelids, the sensitive canals of my ears burning, burning, my mouth burning. Teeth turned to molten chips. Burning.

Screaming. A raw agonized voice I barely recognized, breaking on a high note of suffering.

My own.

Cheek on fire. Emerald. My emerald. But no blue fire, no hovering of Death.