Interlude 2
“She saw you,” said Perthrux.
The demon’s outer lair had likely been as elaborate, once upon a time, as the room Chapman was building for himself.
Traces of extravagant details still lingered, but Perthrux had lost interest in interior decorating long before it had made Ligat’s acquaintance.
It had let the skulls in its pillars wear down until an observer could barely make out the features, allowed its feet to etch a groove into the polished basalt floors, and built its throne simply from cold rock.
Twenty-odd years before, the innermost chambers here had looked very different, but Ligat didn’t have any wish to check on their condition.
“She might have, my lord,” he allowed, keeping his eyes on the pillar. He could stand rather than kneel for briefings, a privilege Perthrux didn’t grant to many, but looking too directly at the demon in its home was never safe. “I doubt she knew it, if she did.”
He’d seen the Lewis woman’s reaction for only a moment before he’d vanished back into the trees and the deeper ethereal.
Her fear had been obvious, and her move to protect herself had been swift and decisive, but a shape at the window might have alarmed any former city resident, and even a purely human face would have been a threat.
Ligat had spent a few hours considering just such possibilities before reporting to Perthrux.
He’d left out the thrill that had shot through him in the split second that he’d met the medium’s eyes, as well as the temptation he’d felt to linger and find out just what she had seen and what she intended to do about it.
Clearly his time in the demon’s service had left him craving excitement, even a foolish sort.
Perthrux stayed silent. Ligat judged that silence with some confidence, borne of long practice, but no more certainty than he ever allowed himself.
“And if she knew,” he went on with a shrug and a hastily suppressed wince, “she’d only be frightened, which could serve your purposes perfectly well, you know. ”
“It could,” said Perthrux. It leaned forward, and Ligat could feel its eyes trace the lines of his body, piercing through cloak and skin alike. “You want to stay.”
Ligat didn’t shift his weight, didn’t swallow, almost didn’t let himself blink, but he felt the narrow path beneath his feet all the same.
The demon didn’t grant favors. It made very unfair exchanges, and if it asked one’s preferences, that was always for its own agenda and frequently its amusement.
He touched his wounded shoulder lightly.
“I wouldn’t mind the chance to repay a debt, my lord. ”
The demon’s headless body shook with laughter. “Oh, you did take it hard.” One of its arms unfolded. Taloned fingers stretched out, grasping Ligat’s chin and turning his face toward the couch where Perthrux’s attenuated form lay. “Do you think you can keep your mind clear if you want revenge?”
Quickly, Ligat let his eyes unfocus. “I’m sure of it.
In fact, it’ll keep me keen.” He tried to sound jaunty but not eager, uninvested but not careless.
It never did to seem careless about Perthrux’s errands, not for a second.
He’d only needed to learn that once. “And of all your current servants, my lord, I’m best equipped for the job.
The others can’t interpret what they see nearly as well. ”
Perthrux ran its tongue around its lipless first mouth, a sign of amusement. Its grasp would have been gentle except for the points of its talons. “No?”
“They were never mortal.”