Chapter Twenty-Five
Twenty-Five
“Come in, come in!” Prince Albert said. His smile was so broad I couldn’t help but smile back.
I’d already been stunned into silence by seeing the massive size of the building they’d constructed to house the Exhibition; its windows reflected the sunlight, and the building seemed to blaze as we approached.
The Devil was already halfway inside, his three-headed dog trotting along beside him, while Keres and the being who’d replaced Phenex followed.
Being a dhampir meant that Prince Albert could walk about in the daytime—his powers were significantly less than his wife’s, but he wasn’t as constrained by the vampirism as she.
Marcellus took my arm, and we walked into the Crystal Palace, with me reminding myself not to be a total yokel and gawk.
Or at least keep my mouth closed while looking at everything.
The ceilings were quite high, and combined with the huge number of windows, it felt as though we were in the best and biggest greenhouse in the world.
There were exhibits stretched as far as the eye could see, with beings behind the tables wearing the garb from their respective countries.
My eye caught on a snake shifter wearing a conical hat, then a pair of ogres adjusting the items laid out on their table, and farther ahead, I could see what I guessed was a giant telescope.
It felt magnificently inclusive, and I experienced the warm rush of pride in my work—this moment was why I did what I did and why it was so important to keep the species friendly with one another.
Or, if not friendly, at least not actively fighting.
“My father will be occupied for some time,” Marcellus said in a low voice. “We can wander wherever we want.”
“Tea,” I said.
“You’re thirsty?” he said in surprise.
“No, I mean I want to see if there are any special types of tea here. At the Exhibition. I have to imagine that somebody has brought a new blend that I’ve never seen.”
If I were less comfortable with him, I would have been embarrassed by how enthusiastic I was about a hot beverage, but I wasn’t.
Besides, I wouldn’t see him after today.
He chuckled, then walked me over to one of the other rows. The Devil was already a quarter of the way down the first row, his delighted voice ringing out over the general hum of the crowd, both the workers and the VIPs.
I wanted to stop and stare at each of the tables, I wanted to lean my head back and look at the sky through the windows, and most of all, I wanted today never to end.
“I didn’t realize you were so passionate about tea,” he commented.
“I am serious about tea,” I corrected. “Not passionate.”
“What else are you serious about?” he asked.
You. But I wouldn’t say that. “My friends. My dog. My job. My cane.”
“And me?”
Why did he have to ask that, on our last day?
I didn’t answer, instead choosing to rush over to a table holding a variety of farming tools. “Look, a new way to till earth!” I exclaimed, knowing full well he’d see through my ruse.
But he didn’t call me out on it, just gave me a knowing look and listened patiently as the enthusiastic dwarf behind the table explained what each and every tool did.
He had reached the penultimate tool—thank goodness—when we heard a commotion. “That has to be my father,” Marcellus muttered, grabbing my hand and taking off at a dead run.
I managed to give a quick nod of thanks to the exhibitor and flew after Marcellus, my heart pounding as I heard the noise increase. We weren’t that far away, and we were able to reach them within a few minutes, with me huffing out my breath as we slowed to a halt in front of the group.
The Devil was staggering on his feet, his normal swagger now resembling a newborn giraffe’s gait. His expression was blank, as though he were an empty shell, and he was waving a lethal-looking weapon with the appearance of an oversize meat cleaver.
Was it one of Jirzinar’s tools? And if so, where had the Devil squirreled it away?
“I have to kill them all,” he was saying, and my blood ran cold. That wasn’t his voice. That was, it was, but it certainly wasn’t his intonation.
Marcellus shoved me behind him, then approached his father, his hands up in a placating gesture. “Father, can we talk about this for a moment?”
“That’s not your father,” I whispered. “Can’t you tell?”
“I know,” Marcellus replied quietly, “but whatever is possessing him doesn’t know I know.”
“Ah,” I said, suddenly feeling like an idiot. Of course we had to figure out what the purpose of all this was. There was no possibility of Marcellus physically overpowering his father, so he would have to outwit him. Or outwit whomever was currently in possession of his faculties at the moment.
“Why do you have to kill them all?” Marcellus asked, again in a reasonable tone. “And who are ‘them’?”
The Devil turned to look at his son. “Anyone who is one of us.”
“Supernaturals, you mean?” I said from behind Marcellus.
He nodded, a smile most unlike what I’d ever seen on the Devil’s face curling his lips. “Exactly, miss. You understand. You are a human, are you not?”
“I am,” I replied.
“You can live,” he said graciously.
“Glad we have that settled,” I murmured.
Marcellus shifted to glare at me before turning back to his father. “Before you do all that, however,” he said calmly, as though his father weren’t threatening to end everyone’s lives but mine, “can we get you something to eat? Perhaps some wine?”
The Devil’s eyes lit up. Apparently there was one urge strong enough to resist bodily takeover. “Do you think they have mincemeat pies here?” he asked.
“I am certain they do,” Marcellus said, nodding to me.
I gave a nod in return, then sped to where some delicious aromas were coming from—I knew food wasn’t going to dissuade the Devil from his ultimate goal, but perhaps we could delay him long enough to figure out who had control of him.
I returned shortly thereafter with a hodgepodge of foods I’d snagged in the five minutes I’d been away—very stinky cheese, some intriguing-looking pastries, and a few jugs of Hungarian wine I’d bought from two szépasszonies, their version of witches.
Once I’d laid everything on the table, Marcellus guided his father to sit, both of us exhaling in relief as the Devil began to attack the food with gusto.
“Do you know who might have the power to possess your father? Is it like what you did to me?” We spoke in a whisper, but the Devil was too consumed with the food to pay attention anyway.
Marcellus kept an eye on his father, watchful in case the Devil decided he was full and it was time to continue his killing journey.
“It is similar to what I did, but it requires more power, since my father would never willingly let anyone in. As for who’s doing it?
” His expression was frustrated as he shook his head.
“It could be any greater demon with strong mental energy. My father can be persuaded into things. He doesn’t have very good boundaries”—what with his being the Devil, I had to imagine he didn’t; boundaries weren’t what one would think of in the context of the Devil—“and if the being flattered him while gaining access, it would be child’s play.
” He shook his head. “Not that I think a child is doing that, to be precise.”
“I know what you mean.” I scanned the immediate area, which had about a dozen people, most of whom were looking at the current drama.
Not all of them looked terrified, which to me showed a remarkable lack of self-preservation.
“Whoever it is has to be very confident in their abilities.” Or not at all frightened of what the Devil would do to them once out from under the influence.
That spoke to a much grander plan, one that meant the Devil would be incapacitated in some way before he could pass judgment on his possessor.
“Does the demon who’s controlling him have to be in the area? ”
Marcellus followed my lead and looked around as well. “Usually, yes. Actually, it would be odd to possess someone and then just…leave. They’d have to be communicating somehow, and it doesn’t seem likely they’d abandon their body.”
“Oh, so it’s the same as we did? Should we look for a meat sack somewhere?”
I started to walk away, but Marcellus grabbed my arm. “It’s dangerous to just run off, especially for a human.”
I gave him an annoyed look. “The only person here who isn’t in immediate danger is me, since whoever is inside your father doesn’t want to kill my species. So I’d say I am a very good choice to go looking.”
“Let me come with you.”
I flung my hands up. “Fine. But if you suddenly threaten to stab me or, worse yet, release those humbeetles again, I will hurt you.”
He snorted, and we began our search.
I didn’t feel comfortable leaving the Devil on his own, but I knew that Marcellus alone wouldn’t be able to control him, which just meant we had to find the entity inside his head and disable them so the Devil wouldn’t have time to act on his rants.
I went up and down a few of the rows, while Marcellus took the other side.
Eventually, I spotted a demon I didn’t recognize slumped in a chair a few rows away, another demon keeping watch over them.
At first the demon appeared just to be asleep, but it quickly became clear that the demon was unconscious, just as Marcellus had been unconscious in the carriage during the holy water attack.
I waved my cane in the air to get Marcellus’s attention, and he appeared by my side in a few moments.
We watched from several feet away, with me trying to think what would cause the least amount of fuss and damage, while Marcellus was probably trying to figure out how he could murder the two with the least amount of fuss as well.
I knew, however, that murder would cause far more fuss regardless of who it was, so it was my job to stop that before Marcellus had a chance to act. And that meant coming up with my own clever plan.
“My amulet,” I said in a low voice.
“Hmm?” Marcellus said. He’d taken my cane and was eyeing it closely, no doubt looking for its most destructive side. I didn’t think he’d fall for it if I suggested the pencil, and besides, who knew what a very angry, very powerful demon could do with a pencil anyway?
“My amulet. I can neutralize all the supernaturals within a certain radius, and if they’re neutralized, the one inside your father’s head will go blank as well, correct?”
He frowned in thought. “I suppose, but wai—”
I activated the amulet before he could say another word, unscrewing the top and then waving the liquid in the air. It had an immediate effect; the two culprit demons both fell to the floor, the unconscious one even more boneless than before, while a few passersby dropped where they stood.
Marcellus, too, fell to the ground with a hard thud, and I winced as I knelt down. His eyes fluttered open. “I was going to say to wait until—”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I said in a harsh whisper. “I would have assumed you would be stronger than whatever Mr. Connors created.”
He gave me a narrow glance. “I am stronger—that’s why I’m awake. I just can’t move.”
“Miss,” a voice called from a few feet away, “what have you done?”
The tone was cold and condescending, so I had no difficulty figuring out who it was.
“Your Grace,” I said, standing back up and stepping over Marcellus, “it seems there was a very foolhardy demon who attempted to possess the Devil, and it could have been a disast—”
“You idiot.”
The duke’s words took me aback, and I blinked a few times before speaking. “Pardon?”
“The whole point of the possession was to control these demons.” The duke walked toward me, heedless of the various unconscious supernaturals passed out around him. He kept his dismissive gaze on me the whole time.
I really did not like the duke.
“We need fewer powerful supernatural creatures in London, Miss Hastings, not more. Allowing the boundaries between Hell and England to ease would only mean that there would be more demons here and more humans there. Soon there would be intermingling, resulting in halflings and marriage, and England wouldn’t be England anymore. ”
“You know they can hear you,” I said, gesturing to the felled supernaturals.
His look was disdainful. “And so what if they can? Are they going to go bleating to the Queen? She needs to keep control of the beings already here. She cannot possibly keep control of more demons.”
“But why does she need to keep control of them at all?” I asked. I saw Marcellus stir, but I didn’t want the duke to see that and do something to him, so I blocked him with my body so the duke wouldn’t be able to see him easily.
“That is what a monarch does, of course,” he said in a tone that indicated he thought I might be mentally unfit.
Or just someone who didn’t think other types of beings needed to be controlled.
“I imagine if the boundaries were eased that there would be more tolerance,” I continued. I knew I wouldn’t change his mind, but I could keep him talking while I tried to figure out how to trap him into something he couldn’t duke his way out of, so to speak.
It has always been my experience that men like to hear themselves talk, and if a woman is urging them to do so, more the better.
“Tolerance means differences, Miss Hastings,” he thundered, proving my point. “If there are differences, then we cannot continue to sell the same products to the same people, to maintain the same laws, to enforce the same rules that will keep our society in check.”
Put that way, it almost sounded reasonable—but examining it more closely made it seem altogether more terrible.
Yes, rules and laws were necessary for a functioning society, but a wise ruler or Parliament or someone in charge had to recognize that change was inevitable and vital because of how the world could evolve in an instant.
“This entire Exhibition is a demonstration of differences, Your Grace,” I said, gesturing to the enormous hall. “Do you mean to say you wish Prince Albert had not gathered all of these beings together to show what innovations are possible, once beings are given the freedom to try?”
His expression turned ugly. “I am saying that precisely. We do not need more innovations”—which he said as though it were a slur—“we need more control. We need to know what everyone is capable of, and we need to know their weaknesses. We do not need more powerful beings roaming around London. This visit is entirely unprecedented and should not have happened. But now that it has, there have to be consequences.”
And then some evil idea must have popped up in his aristocratic little brain, because his mouth twisted into a horrible smile.
“You, Miss Hastings, will serve as a consequence.”