"The usual." His mouth twitched. "Or I'll think of somethin' else."

Oh, gods. Gods above. My skin seemed to chill. But here was an opportunity, and he was definitely the lesser of two evils. I was slightly nauseated at the thought of what I was about to agree to.

Slightly? More than slightly. But when it comes to a choice between nausea and dying in some hideous way, I'll take a little bit of indigestion.

"Done." My voice husked through the word, like sodden silk dipped in honey. "One thing." I paused, my hand still clasped around his. The knife creaked in the tabletop, a muttering tide of whispers rising through the pivnice. The town would soon be buzzing with the news that Villalobos had found a new client. "What are you doing in New Prague?"

He rasped out a laugh. I wasn't sure I liked being the butt of Lucas Villalobos's humor. "Abracadabra." He pulled a wad of rumpled New Credits from his pocket and tossed a few on the table. "I was in Saint City way; she told me to go to New Prague and you'd find me. Bad news always turns up. I owed her a favor."

The Spider of Saint City wasn't quite a friend, but she wasn't an enemy either. We'd done each other some good turns in the past-and she had warned me about Santino and given me the direction to track him. So she'd used a favor to send Lucas to me, which meant I owed her now.

Oddly enough, I found myself not minding. And unsurprised that Abra knew I'd turn up in New Prague. I wasn't quite sure what she was, but she wasn't human either, and she always seemed to know far more than she should even with her thriving trade in information.

But there might be more to this. "What were you doing visiting Abra?" I loosened my fingers, and he worked the knife free of the tabletop and made it vanish back into his clothing. I watched, but he didn't so much as twitch toward another weapon.

"I drop in every twenty years or so. Nice to have a client that doesn't age." He stood up, and I slid out of the booth as well. Now I could see he was only about three inches taller than me (instead of the five-inch edge he used to have), and bandoliers still crisscrossed his narrow chest. He wore a blousy cotton shirt, yellow with age, and old broken-in jeans. The heels of his boots were worn down. "Let's go, Valentine. From now until the fourth demon's dead, I'm your new best friend."

I let out a sound that wasn't quite a sigh. Lucas was a viper, deadly and unpredictable-but if he said he was my man, it was a bargain. Villalobos didn't back down from his word. He still scared the hell out of me, but if you're facing down a clutch of demons you could do worse than have the Deathless on your side.

15.

When you spend decades doing assassinations, it pays to have a bolthole in a major city or two. I was just glad Villalobos had one here.

I followed his shuffling feet and slumped shoulders through twisting narrow streets in the Old Town, marking each turn in a Magi- trained memory that has seen many cities; it's amazing how much they start to look alike after a while.

We ducked down an alley and into the sewers through the basement of a crumbling building that now housed a colony of slicboard couriers, Neoneopunk music pounding through the air and the sharp smell of Czechi cooking filling my nose, sparking hunger. I already had a good basic grasp of the shadow side of the city after my six-bar odyssey. Now Lucas took me underneath.

Here under the Stare Mesto, water dripped in chilly rivulets down stone, twisting its dark way from the rounded ceilings of the old sewers. Lucas pressed the scanlock on the round door, after making sure we weren't followed by doubling back a few times.

Claustrophobia filled my throat with acid and made my heart pound. I didn't say a word. The door creaked open. I lose a lot of my sense of direction underground, but I was fairly sure I could make it to the surface and give anyone chasing me a good run. If I didn't expire of hyperventilation when the walls started to close in on me. I do not do well with closed spaces; most psions don't. I have memories that don't help either, memories of the Faraday cage in the sensory-deprivation vault under Rigger Hall, where the darkness was like worms eating the foundations of my mind and the air itself turned to solid glass, choking and slick.

Better claustrophobic than dead. I can live with an awful lot when demons are trying to kill me.

Beyond the door, mellow full-spectrum light played over wood and tile. I stepped through the round hole and let out a soft breath of wonder.

Lucas's lair in New Prague was in a long, vaulted chamber, well insulated from psychic or physical attack. If I knew Lucas, there would be a few little surprises hidden in the room, as well as quick ways to get out that didn't involve the front door. But for a moment, I simply stopped to admire as he closed the door behind us.

I saw two beautifully restrained maplewood tables with the distinctive den Jonten curve to their legs. A restrained red Old Perasiano rug, a Silbery lamp. A near-priceless Mobian print-a naked man sitting on a wooden table, his legs pulled up and head resting on his knees, a tattoo of a scorpion on his bicep straining against the skin-hung on the wall over two low, graceful Havarack chairs.

I remembered a different Mobian print, the one hanging in Polyamour's house in Saint City. A sudden, intense longing to see the noodle shop on Pole Street, or Gabe's house on Trivisidiro, or even Abra's pawnshop, stole the breath from my lungs. I'd lived in Saint City nearly all my life.

My human life, that was. Now that I had no chance of getting there, I found myself longing to go back.

Lucas paused behind me.

"It's beautiful," I said. "I like Mobian."

"Valuable," he returned dismissively. "Sit down. You hungry?"

I was starving. I was lucky to be able to fuel myself with human food instead of sex or blood, but I hadn't had the chance to eat as much as I'd've liked. "Yeah." I don't think I've ever seen you eat, Lucas.

"There's a kitchen through there. Help yourself. I'm going to go bounce through town and see if anyone's looking for you, pick up a few things." I heard him moving behind me, my back prickled. Lucas Villalobos is behind me. I can't see what he's doing.

I nodded, turning slowly to face him, telling the ridiculous jolt of panic to go away. He wasn't going to stab me in the back, or at least, I didn't think he would. Instead, he was planning on doing what I would have done if our situations were reversed, checking to see if there was any static on the new client. "Is there another exit?" I asked. "In case the front door's compromised?"

He studied me for a long few moments, his almost-yellow eyes empty of all expression. I suppressed a shiver. I was crazy, contracting Lucas to help me; still, a man who couldn't be killed was far from the worst ally when it came to dealing with demons. I had no choice.

Dammit, Dante, quit being such a whiner. Until Japh finds you, you're on your own.

He nodded. "Come over here."

Behind a painted Cho-nyo screen he showed me a small depression in the tiles, just big enough for a hand. It triggered a slice of the wall to swing inward, and if you were quick, you could drop down into another tunnel that would take you to the surface. Push the door closed from the other side, and nobody would be the wiser. "But be careful, it's slippery." It hurt to hear him talk. He sounded like he had a lung infection, wheezing out the words.

"Good enough. Thank you, Lucas."

He gave another whistling, snorting laugh. "Don't thank me, Valentine. I'm only taking this because I'm fuckin' curious."

"About what?" I followed him out from behind the screen and almost to the door. Our footsteps echoed, and I was suddenly cold, thinking of when he shut that door and I was alone. Underground. In a windowless room. Oh, gods.

"Maybe the Devil can kill me," Lucas Villalobos said, triggering the scanlock on the door. "The gods know I've waited long enough."

16.

The kitchen was where he said it was, and down a short hall was a bathroom and-oh, Anubis-a tiny womblike bedroom. I looked longingly at the plain missionary-style bed, exhaustion weighing me down. It was the first time in my life I'd faced Lucas Villalobos without feeling almost too terrified to talk.

I suppose that possibly losing your ex-demon-soon-to-be-real-demon-again boyfriend and fighting off a three-balled imp behind a hovertrain-not to mention getting your house shattered and blown up-would make anyone a little too worn out to feel the proper fear when facing the man Death had denied. Besides, I was different now. Tougher than a human, capable of taking more damage.

For how much longer, though? If Japhrimel was a citizen of Hell again, was I going back to being a human? I wouldn't have thought a genetic remodel like mine could be undone, but demons have been tinkering with genetics for so long I wouldn't put much past them. Some people even say demons might have been responsible for humanity's evolution, but nobody likes to think about that particular theory. It leaves a bad taste in the mouth.

Japh had changed me in the first place, after all. Reversing the change might not be so big a deal to him. It might even happen just- because.

I sighed, rubbing at my temple with my right hand. This was getting ridiculous.

Ridiculous or not, you need to rest so you can think. So just settle down, sunshine. Relax. Wait for Lucas to come back. My hunger was sharp, but Lucas's taste ran to heatsealed meals. They taste like cardboard and sit in the stomach like bowling balls, not providing enough in the way of nutrition-especially for my metabolism. So I did the next best thing, dragged two blankets from the bed behind the Cho-nyo screen and propped myself up against the wall, my right hand loose around my swordhilt. I closed my eyes, listening to the quiet. I rarely if ever heard complete silence, being a child of the urban age. Being underground meant the psychic noise of so many people was shut out. The only thing left was Power itself, filtering in through the ground like water, and the peculiar directionless static that meant "you're underground."

Maybe I'll have to go to ground like an animal for the next seven years. The prospect was alternately comforting and horrifying, depending on whether my eyes were open or closed.

I dozed in Lucas Villalobos's lair, feeling a little safer now. Time slid away as I tipped my head against the wall, the back of my neck curiously naked. I hadn't had my hair this short since Rigger Hall. I shivered, thinking of that place again. Afterward, in the Academy, I'd started growing my hair out almost immediately. It was messy to dye to fit in with Necromance professional codes- codes dating back to the Parapsychic Act, to present a united front to the world and make us instantly recognizable-but when Japhrimel had changed me, my hair had turned the same inky black as his.

I was back to Japhrimel again.

Stay inside. Don't open the door. Do not doubt me, no matter what.

I'd walked into that church and faced Lucifer with him. My mind kept pawing lightly at the memory-the speaking in their demonic language, the maneuvering me into the position of having to agree . . . and here I was, almost everything I owned in the world gone in a reaction fire and demons chasing me down. I was damn lucky that I'd only tangled with one imp so far-an imp Japhrimel hadn't attacked and exhausted first, like he'd done with Santino. I was damn lucky to be alive on both counts.

Some demon somewhere knew what Lucifer had bargained me into doing and was looking to get the first shot in. It was predictable-after all, I was the weakest link in the chain leading to the Devil, especially if Japh was a full-fledged demon again. If they killed me messily enough, like a Mob turf hit, it might be a statement to other demons looking to rebel. If Lucifer couldn't even keep one lousy human alive, his reputation would take a hit, and Hell might get even harder to control.

I felt cold at the thought of demons slipping out of Hell and causing havoc in my world. Like it or not, Lucifer was relatively well- disposed toward humanity, and I suspected it might be hard to contact demons mostly because he wanted it that way. The thought of a change in that status quo was enough to give anyone nightmares.

I thought of the temple and Lucifer's eyes on me, his mischievous expression and the cold razor-mouthed beauty of his voice sending another shiver up my spine. I felt goosebumps trying to break through my sleek golden skin but not succeeding, a sensation like a phantom limb's pain. He had neatly outmaneuvered me, as a matter of fact. I hadn't even managed to stick up for Eve's freedom.

Eve. A little girl, her pale hair a shining sleek cap, her indigo eyes too wide and too calm with awful, chilling maturity. Doreen's daughter, birthed from Lucifer's genetic material and the marrow and blood Santino had murdered Doreen for. One of my biggest failures, one of a long string.

Why do I keep going from one subject I don't like to another? I shifted uncomfortably, rubbed my head against the chill tile wall. Since I was so much warmer than human now, it was nice to feel the coolness seeping into my skin.

Sometimes.

Of course Japhrimel will turn you back into a human, a little voice of self-loathing spoke up inside my head. I shifted restlessly again, tried to shut it up. You're too cold, too hard, too damaged. You've locked yourself up with your books-he's said so himself-and you used Jace to taunt him, didn't you? No wonder he went back to Hell, it was probably more fucking fun than hanging around with you.

The thought that perhaps Lucifer could be behind the blowing-up of my house or the imp attack wasn't comfortable either. But Japhrimel had made such a big deal of asking for my protection, and he'd told me not to doubt him. No matter what. Stop it, Danny. Stop it. If you can't trust Japhrimel you're dead in the water. Don't start doubting him now. He's never let you down before; he'll come through. Whatever happens, he'll do all he can to help you.

After a few hours of fruitless brooding, I opened my eyes and sighed again. I was just about to shift so I could lie down on the floor when my demon-sharp ears heard the sound of stealthy movement out in the tunnel leading to Lucas's door. I hadn't even realized I was listening so intently, straining my ears for any whisper of motion.

I froze, my left hand palm-up, clasping my sword. My eyes dropped to the almost-forgotten wristcuff. Its etched lines were moving again, and even under the full-spectrum lights they glinted eerie bright green.

I didn't need a demon-language dictionary to know that meant nothing good for me.

I let out a long soft breath through my open mouth, pushed up to my feet, and started hunting on the wall for the small depression.

17.

Night had fallen when I reached the end of the long slick tunnel, the wristcuff held up to provide me with a little light. Demon-acute sight is a blessing in the dark, but even demon eyes need a few photons to work with; they're not like Nichtvren with their uncanny ability to see in absolute blackness. It was a long, slippery, stumbling walk. Even my preternaturally quick reflexes and sense of balance had difficulty. Imagining Lucas struggling up for the surface through this dark, slimy, slanting passage wasn't comfortable either. I heard squeaks, and once or twice saw beady little animal eyes.

I suppose it was silly to be worried about rats-or any other urban critter-when I was possibly being chased by homicidal demons, but I was getting sillier by the moment.

The wristcuff's glow was steady and green. I was beginning to wonder about this bracelet. Twice now it had warned me of danger.

The shifting green lines came together, flowing like water over the smooth surface. I still couldn't feel anything when I probed it for magick; it was oddly invisible.

Was it a gift from Japhrimel? I'd assumed so. He'd told me to accept nothing from Lucifer, especially not food or drink but most importantly, to accept nothing from the Devil. Had I done something stupid by putting it on? But it had warned me. A backhanded gift from the Devil wouldn't stir itself to keep me alive, would it?

The thought that if I was hit it would mean trouble for Lucifer's prestige was comforting. Unless, of course, Hell wouldn't care about a human Necromance.

Then why would they look to kill me?

I wasn't all human either, was I? Not anymore. Hedaira. For how much longer?

Dammit, Danny, will you quit it? You're even starting to annoy yourself.

I found myself coming out under another heavily patched concrete and plasteel bridge, with a thin trickle of water sliding from the bottom of the pipe I had been bent almost double traversing. The pipe mouth widened until I could almost stand upright. I heard thunder rumble far away over New Prague, smelled incipient rain heavy and wet and chemical-laden against my palate. A staircase led up to the street, and I picked my way up the crumbling narrow stone steps cautiously, scanning the street above. It was deserted.

This part of New Prague looked bombed-out and deserted, but several ruined buildings had thin columns of cooking smoke rising into the night air. I scanned in a circle with eyes and other senses, my attention moving over the buildings. Nothing dangerous, no shimmer of bloodthirsty intent.

Now that I was aboveground I started to feel a little vulnerable. Who could find Lucas's lair? He was a professional, he wouldn't have led anybody back down to me. Would he? Certainly not willingly, unless he was a double agent. But that seemed paranoid.

Maybe a demon could follow Lucas without his knowing?

Either way, the bracelet had warned me of the imp on the hovertrain, I wasn't foolish enough to disregard it now.

What if Lucas was really working for someone who wanted me dead?

Dammit, if that was it he would have leapt on me when my back was turned. I'm starting to get paranoid. Starting? No, I'm a full-blown flower of paranoia. A fucking garden full.

I heard the tooth-grating whine of hovercells, and my nape tingled.

Instinct took over. I ducked back down the stairs, my body moving with preternatural speed, and slid under the cover of the bridge just as a sleek black hover swept into sight from around the shattered hulk of what looked like an apartment building. Light stabbed down from its underside. I caught the bristle of relays on the bottom, like spines on a poisonous fish.

A search hover? I bit my lip as I watched, drawing back in the shadows and hoping they didn't have infrared. I'd show up like a Putchkin Yule Tree with my demon's metabolism radiating heat against the cool night air.

The hover swept the area again in a standard quartering pattern. I was tempted to scan it-but if I tried that, any psion aboard would feel my attention and tell I was close. Despite the interference from the deep well of New Prague's ambient Power and the fact that I was pressing myself into stone and willing it to hide me, they still might be able to tell my general location. It was good to have a share of a demon's Power-but it was not the most circumspect way to get around.

And let's face it, Dante, who knows how long it will last?

I told that voice to shut up and leave me alone. When the hover drifted out of sight I waited, then went slowly up the stairs again, and looked around. Underground. I had to either find a way to get underground again or find a way to contact Lucas.

What the hell am I thinking? I've got a big target painted on my back. If I stay alive long enough, Lucas will find me. Gods know there's only a limited number of places I can hide.

I closed my eyes for a moment, willing myself to think, and opened them to find another faint green glow coming from the wristcuff.

What's the one thing they would never expect? Just like that, the answer came.

You must decide to fight or flee, Jado's voice whispered in my head. When attacked, sometimes your enemy's force could be turned back upon itself, and I was rapidly running out of options. I needed to know exactly how the battlefield was arranged against me.

I planted my feet, my left hand curled around the scabbard, and centered myself. I inhaled, smooth and deep-and threw up a very huge, very loud burst of Power.

I didn't expect it to flame into the visible spectrum. It did, a sparkling crackling bolt of blue-green lanced up from my outflung right hand and arrowed for the clouds above. It would disperse over the city, but not before it was remarked. If Lucas was near, he'd come find out what the fuss was.

With that done, I ran for the abandoned apartment building. No smoke drifted from its broken windows, and it stood in the middle of a tumbled wilderness of concrete blocks next to an impressive crater hosting a few twisted scrub trees that had managed to grow amid the wreck.

In other words, a good defensible position. If I had to retreat from it, I'd have plenty of cover. Of course, anyone sneaking up on the building would have plenty of cover, too, but life couldn't be perfect.