Page 127 of White Hot Kiss
He stood above me a second later, occupying a space that had been empty. There was no soul—nothing around him—and I knew he was an Upper Level demon. His dark hair was buzzed into a Mohawk, the tips colored bloodred. He looked only to be in his mid-twenties and he wore a pin-striped suit, which, besides the fact that it looked ridiculous in the dark woods, was something straight out of old mobster movies. He even had a red satiny tie and matching hankie. A short, hysterical laugh escaped me.
And I realized I’d briefly seen him before. The day I’d waited for Morris to pick me up—he’d been the demon watching me.
“My name is Paimon. I’m the great and powerful King, ruler of two hundred legions,” he said in a distinctively Southern accent. I found myself wondering the weirdest things right then. Did Hell have a north and south? Because this dude was Southern. He bowed at the waist, a parody of elegance. “And you are Layla, child of the Warden Elijah and the demon Lilith. Finally, after all this time, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Paimon—I recognized him from the Lesser Key, the one on the camel/horse. It took no stretch of the imagination to conclude that I was now face-to-face with the demon who sought to raise the Lilin.
“Shit.” I jerked up, desperately trying to untangle my legs.
He raised a hand and I was pinned back, staring up at the cloudless night sky. “Let’s not make this difficult, darlin’.”
I gulped in air, moving my hands over the ground. I grabbed a rock, squeezing until the rough edges bit into my palm.
“I’m feeling a bit gracious, so I’m going to give you an opportunity I’ve never given anyone. You come along with me without being too much of an inconvenience—” he flashed a perfect set of white teeth “—and I won’t make a crown out of the bones of everyone you love. I can promise you riches beyond your imagination, the freedom to be whatever you want to be and a life envied by all.”
The rock felt heavy in my hand and I almost laughed again. “You want to raise the Lilin?”
“Ah, I’m glad I don’t have to explain my desire. Though I did have this whole speech planned.” He winked one crimson eye. “There’s always time later, darlin’.”
Fear knotted my stomach, but I forced as much bravado into my voice as possible. “And after you use me to raise the Lilin, you’re seriously going to let me live?”
“Maybe,” he replied. “Depends on how happy you make me.”
“Yeah, you can go to Hell.”
Paimon turned his head away and then faced me again. His skin melted away, revealing a red skull and eye sockets full of flames. His mouth gaped open, long and distorted. The howling sound that came from him turned my soul cold. I screamed until my voice left me, unable to move more than an inch backward.
Then he was the handsome man again, smiling. “Darlin’, you’re a means to an end—an end that works wonderfully in my favor.” Paimon crouched beside me, tipping his head to the side. “Now, you can make this easy or very, very hard.”
I took a deep breath, but couldn’t seem to get enough air in my lungs. I was worried about Zayne and knew that if I let Paimon capture me, I’d never have a chance to get him help. “Okay. Can—can you get these creepy roots off my legs?”
Another brief smile and Paimon waved his hand. The roots trembled, withered up and became nothing more than ashes within seconds. “I’m so glad you’re going to ma—”
I swung my arm around with all my strength, slamming the rock into his temple. His head snapped in the other direction, but a second later he was looking at me and laughing. Laughing. Flames licked from the wound where blood should have flowed.
Paimon grabbed my arm in a viselike grip. “Now, that wasn’t very nice, darlin’.”
I stared at his burning head. “Jesus.”
“Not quite.” He hauled me to my feet. “Say good-night.”
I opened my mouth, but before I could make a sound, my world went dark.
25
Things pieced themselves back together slowly. Sensation led the way, which was the first indication that something was very wrong. I couldn’t move my arms or legs. They were bound to the cold floor, the rope tight and cutting into my wrists as I strained forward.
Oh, crap.
Smell came next. The moldy scent was familiar, poking around in my head, but I couldn’t wiggle an exact memory free. When I was able to pry my eyes open, I was staring up at exposed metal rafters.
Candles didn’t cast much light, but in the flickering dance of shadows I could make out a basketball hoop without a backboard. My gaze dropped and tracked the visible scuff marks until they disappeared in a white line drawn in chalk—a circle. Straight lines streaked out, meeting the circle. I turned my head, wincing at the dull ache in my temples. More lines on the other side of me.
A pentagram slightly crooked. Oh, this was bad.
I was in the old gymnasium on the lowest level of my school, tied down in the middle of a pentagram and was that chanting? God. Craning my neck, I tried to see beyond the hundreds of white candles following the circumference of the circle.
In the shadows, there were things moving. Their soft chattering and piglike squeals turned my insides cold. Rack demons.