Then more demons moved to attack her, and she turned to fight them back. Her fire traced bright ribbons through the air. Her ferocity was more beautiful than life itself.
“Love isn’t worthless,” he said as the
geminus
pushed itself up to standing. “It is
everything
.”
Swaying as it balanced on its uninjured leg, the creature’s face contorted in rage. Whit would never return to the Devil’s faction, and both he and the
geminus
knew it. One option remained: death.
He and the
geminus
threw themselves against each other. As demons fought and died around them, Whit and his dark self battled. Again and again, his saber and the creature’s axe clashed. He had fought Bram and the other Hellraisers, but all restriction was gone now. He wanted—
needed
—this creature dead. For retribution. For the future.
They moved through the room together, through the growing piles of fallen demons, through the drifts of playing cards and scattered dice. He and the
geminus
lashed out, blocked hits, evaded blows. The creature swung and Whit sidestepped. He missed the worst of the strike, but the blade caught him just above his bicep. Not a deep hit, yet enough to shed blood and send hot pain through him.
A scream sounded right behind Whit. He spun around in time to see a bone demon turn to carbon as Zora’s lash of fire wrapped around its body. The demon had been moments away from attacking him.
He nodded his thanks, vowing that he would thank her properly—later. For now, he had a
geminus
to kill.
Turning back to the creature, energy renewed, he launched into a new attack. The
geminus
found itself on the defensive, frantically trying to block his strikes. It wasn’t enough. This had to end. He had to rid the world of the blight that he had created.
He could not manipulate chance, but he could use intelligence and strategy.
Whit edged back. Seeing an opening, the
geminus
pushed forward. It stepped onto a fallen playing card: the queen of diamonds. The creature slipped on the card, just enough to throw it off balance as it swung at Whit. The axe’s blade slammed into the wall, lodging there.
The
geminus
pulled on the axe’s handle, but the weapon held fast.
Whit stepped forward. He did not hesitate, did not speak. His gaze fixed on the creature’s snarling face, he plunged his sword through the
geminus
’s chest. It screamed.
“Go to hell,” said Whit.
The
geminus
shuddered, its eyes glassy, its fanged mouth slack. The flesh surrounding its bones burst into flame. Whit had the peculiar experience of watching himself burn to death, clothing turning to flakes, muscles and skin roasting. His own face turning to embers. But it wasn’t him, not any longer, and he withdrew his sword when only a charred skeleton remained.
The blackened bones crumbled to the ground. Whit stared at them for a moment as they coated his boots with ash. He gave them a kick and they flew apart into brittle chips. Then he turned away.
He beheld Zora beating back the last of the demons. She was covered in ash and blood, her hair loose about her shoulders, and a whip of fire in her hand.
Dear God, how did I exist before her?
The final demons fell. But, no. There was another.
The hulking bully roared as it charged into the chamber. Directly toward Whit. He readied himself to strike.
Zora’s whip lashed around the giant demon’s neck. She pulled. Fire sliced straight through the bully’s throat. An abbreviated yelp sounded as its head toppled from the rest of its body. The body crashed to the ground to lie in a smoldering heap.
Now there was only Whit, and Zora. Ash fell around them in gray drifts.
Her lash of fire disappeared. They ran to each other. Both of them filthy, exhausted, smelling of smoke.
He needed her in his arms. When she was close enough, he pulled her to him. Never before had he felt such potent, savage joy.
“Hurt?”
She shook her head. “You?”
With her in his embrace, he barely felt any of his wounds. “I love you.” He held her tightly and breathed his words into the crook of her neck.
She burrowed close. It had been only a few hours since he had seen her, held her, and it felt like ten lifetimes.
“Whit,” she murmured, her voice hoarse.“
Camo tute
.”
“And in English, my Gypsy lady.”
“I love you.”
To say those words and have them spoken in return by a woman as magnificent as her. He was humbled. He was a conquering titan. He had truly gone through hell for her, and would do so again and again. She had her own power, as well. Together, they were an indomitable force. He bent to kiss her.
“How perfectly repulsive,” drawled an urbane voice.
Both Whit and Zora turned. In the middle of the destruction, elegant in spotless black satin, stood Mr. Holliday. The Devil himself.
Zora and Whit tensed, their arms dropping so that they stood side by side. After seeing and battling so many horrible creatures, handsome, polished
Wafodu guero
terrified her. He looked exactly as he had so long ago in the chamber beneath the ruin. White hair. Black satin. Pristine and untouchable. Malevolence pouring from him in unseen waves. His diamond white eyes were cunning, cold—the evil within them infinite.
Wafodu guero
surveyed the devastation, frowning as if someone had tracked mud into his clean parlor.
“A most disappointing turn of events.” He glanced at the charred remains of the
geminus
before turning back to Whit. “You held such promise.”
“I am happy to fail you.” Whit’s arm wrapped around Zora’s shoulder when the Devil gazed at her.
“It would have been far better to kill you when first I had the chance.”
“None of your underlings managed the task,” she answered.
Wafodu guero
gave a rueful little smile. “Perspicacious, my dear, as always.” His glance danced back and forth between her and Whit, and she felt scoured by a freezing rain. Yet when he grinned, charming and handsome, it was difficult to believe this being ever meant anyone harm. “The door is still not closed. I can offer you power without limitation. Your hearts’ deepest desires.”
“We have that.” Whit pulled her closer.
“Does he speak for you now?” The Devil directed this to her.
“I always speak for myself,” she said. “But he knows my heart, as I know his. And in this, we’re agreed. There’s nothing you can offer me that I want.”
Wafodu guero
dropped his charm like a soiled kerchief. “As you wish. I am in all ways amenable.” Dark energy gathered around his hands.
Zora had a moment’s terror. Had she and Whit come so far, fought so much, only to be destroyed by the Devil’s greater power?
No.
She must fight back.
Wafodu guero
shot a bolt of blackest energy toward her and Whit. She acted without thought. Flung up a protective wall of fire—the first time she had ever done so.
Yet she did not act alone. Whit’s sword came up to block the hit at the same time.
The dark energy bounced away from the shield they had created. She and Whit had only a moment to realize that together they had actually thwarted the Devil’s attack. The energy slammed into the ceiling, tearing a massive hole through the plaster and wood. Chunks of ceiling tumbled down.
She and Whit jumped back to avoid being struck. Groaning, the ceiling buckled.
“You have a measure of safety now,” the Devil said above the noise, “but it shan’t always be thus.” He glanced up. Cracks in the ceiling spread to the walls, and the entire building shuddered. He smiled.
With that, the Devil vanished. Leaving Whit and Zora in a building on the verge of collapse.
They wasted no time. Hand in hand, they ran.
They fled the gaming room moments before the ceiling caved in. Tables, chairs, cards, dice, demons, the
geminus
—all were buried beneath tons of bricks, timber, and plaster. A thick cloud of dust chased her and Whit as they sped down the corridor. Walls shivered like trees in a storm. Whit pulled up short, flinging an arm out to stop her from going farther just before a section of wall collapsed in their path. They would have been crushed if he had not stopped them.
Wide eyed, she stared at him. “Your power over the odds?”
“Gone. This is simply me, protecting you.”
Through the collapsing building, they sprinted, with Whit maneuvering them to avoid toppling walls and falling ceilings. The floor shook. In a few seconds, the entire structure would collapse. The dust came so heavy that she and Whit both coughed violently.
Just ahead, through the haze of dust, stood the front door. Escape and freedom.
They crossed the threshold. The cool night air felt like salvation against her overheated skin and in her choked lungs. Yet feeling Whit’s hand clasping hers was best of all. They ran out into the square fronting the building and got two dozen yards away when the ground quaked, and a huge roar sounded behind them.
Zora found herself on the cobblestones, shielded by Whit’s larger body. All she could hear were the noises of collapse, a three-story building toppling in on itself. It went on and on, until, at last, came silence.
A few moments later, Whit peeled himself up off of her and helped her to stand. They both stared at the smoking wreckage of the gaming hell, then were joined by numerous people from the nearby buildings. All stared in horrified wonderment at the destruction.
“Never liked that place,” said a heavy man, and he spat upon the ground.
“What happened?” a woman in a night rail asked.
The old man beside her shrugged. “Bad foundation.”
Whit and Zora walked away. They had gone only a few steps down an alley when a man stepped in front of them. The street was poorly lit; she saw only a few details of the man. Tall. Broad shouldered. Long, black coat. It took her a brief moment to piece together his identity, but she did, and her fire magic rose up quickly. The flames around her hand cast harsh light over the sharp lines of the man’s face, and he seemed as much demon as the creatures buried within the gaming hell.
“Control your witch,” said Bram.
“She does as she pleases,” answered Whit, his words hard and taut.
“And if you come any closer,” Zora said, “I’ll turn you into a torch.”
Bram’s gaze flared in anger, then moved past them to stare at the wreckage. He inhaled sharply. “You damned fools.”
“
We
aren’t the ones who are damned.” Yet Whit’s voice wasn’t as cutting as it had been a moment before. “Bram, it isn’t too late. Not for you, nor any of the others.”
His friend’s smile was bleak. “Not all of us have pretty Gypsy girls fighting for our souls. I’ve no one but myself, and that’s worth nothing.” Bram’s expression hardened. “And I won’t let you and this Gypsy threaten the best thing that has ever happened to me.”
When his fingers drifted to the hilt of his sword, the fire around Zora’s hand blazed, and Whit held his own blade in readiness.
Bram’s hand stayed. But the set of his lips remained cruel. “Even with my gift of persuasion, I cannot fight you on my own. Yet when I gather the other Hellraisers, I swear to you”—his eyes were lethal—“no power in this world or any other shall protect you.”
As he spoke, tendrils of light drifted around him. Almost seeking a way in. These were not stray beams of light from a lamp. They had no origin other than the otherworldly. Bram did not notice. He turned and strode away into the night.
The strange wisps of light remained.
Zora let the flames around her hand fade. “I don’t know whether to pity or fear him.”
“He’d never want pity.” Whit stared at the shadows where his friend had stood, then gazed at her with fierce protectiveness. “I will strike down
anyone
who seeks to harm you.”
She did not think it possible to contain so much love, and yet more and more grew within her, endlessly building upon itself. It would go on thus. Forever. What a marvel.
The light grew and gathered. It took the shape of Livia. She appeared exhausted, her shape barely holding.
“The Dark One ... scurries off to ... lick his wounds and sulk. Yet ... he will rally. Use his newest weapons. The one whom ... I could not reach.”
“And the other Hellraisers,” said Zora.