Demon Bound

bargain aside.
    With shaking hands, Alice called her lantern and looked away from the spot where the novice had been standing. She’d heard he couldn’t yet control his Gift—that his fear took him over.
    But he didn’t lack bravery, she thought as her gaze slipped over the demons’ bodies, lingering on the head of the one he’d slain. And his vivid imagination would serve him well. A creative mind was an asset to a warrior—but it was a hindrance so long as he let it run wild. If the novice had taken even a moment to rein it in, he’d have perceived the illusion she’d created.
    Alice touched her lips. Yes. Much too impulsive, but also skilled for his age. Ethan had taught him well—and, even now, was likely teaching him how she’d accomplished the illusion.
    It was one of her best tricks. That did not mean very much, however, when she had so few.
    And to be truthful, there wasn’t much to it. Guardians couldn’t hear thoughts or read minds; their psychic abilities were primarily empathic. But they could receive images if their psychic shields were penetrable and if someone focused hard enough.
    The novice’s shields hadn’t been until Alice shifted into her natural form. His shock had given her an opening, like a small rip in a seam. The suggestion of a spider leg had been the tug to tear it wide, and his overwhelming revulsion concealed Alice’s psychic scent as she shoved the larger, more horrific image past his defenses.
    Simple, yet the illusion wouldn’t have succeeded if the novice hadn’t believed that Alice might ferry spiders about in such a way.
    She wouldn’t, of course. There were few spiders on Earth with which she had more than a passing acquaintance, and no self-respecting woman let a strange spider crawl through her mouth.
    And if Alice couldn’t remember the last time she’d respected herself . . . well, that was hardly the point.
    A novice would expect it of her. She hadn’t listened to the stories they told about her, but she was aware of them.
    Enough to know they’d gotten most of it wrong.
    Her sigh echoed through the chamber, and when it returned it sounded like a breath from the statue. As always, the warrior woman wore her serenity like a mask, but her sculptors revealed a wealth of power and emotion in the tangle of her braids, the riot of her gown, the lift of her sword.
    Alice had seen her before. But this statue, dating from the seventh century BC, was the most recent of the woman’s likenesses. It was also the only one with wings, and by far the largest.
    It was, finally, something new: not the woman herself, but the wings and the kneeling figure. Alice didn’t know what the difference meant, however—if it meant anything at all.
    And she didn’t know why the male companion who’d appeared with the woman in so many of the friezes no longer stood beside her. Had the missing statue been of the same man? Or had another knelt before her?
    In the two weeks since Alice had discovered the temple and this room, she hadn’t found the answers. She’d photographed, measured, and sketched. There was no more to record now; there was only much to wonder about.
    But she did not have time left for that. Her chest was heavy as she turned back to the demons. Two were nude, and there was nothing unique about the third’s robes to indicate her origin. They’d said the demon Teqon had sent them, but Alice had no idea where he’d sent them from . She’d preferred not knowing how to find him.
    How had they located her? Not by following the novice. No demon could teleport.
    Perhaps Teqon had been tracking her movements. She’d been using the Gate near Marrakech to travel between Caelum and Earth, then flying from Morocco to Tunisia. If she’d been identified and the location of the Gate revealed, she needed to warn the other Guardians; otherwise, anyone passing through the portal might be ambushed by demons.
    And Teqon would send more if Alice didn’t inform him that she’d received his message.
    Her gaze drifted to the male’s chest, and a knife appeared in her hand. It would not be the heart Teqon wanted.
    But it would serve as an effective message in return.

CHAPTER 2
    The Pontic Steppe was even less welcoming than the Sahara. Once, it had been home to the Scythians and the Sarmatians, the Goths and the Huns. In her mind, Alice could see the paths those ancient peoples had taken on foot and by horse, their trading routes, and maps blazed with violence and bloodshed.