Devil's Gate (Elder Races #4.6)(19)

The Vampyre said, “If you want to talk to Malphas, go in and call him. He’ll come or not, as it suits him. If you’ve changed your mind, leave. Either way, the hanging is at dawn.”

Seremela clenched her fists and started after the Vampyre, snakes hissing. She ran into a barrier as Duncan’s arm shot out to block her way. “Easy, darling,” he said quietly to her. Telepathically, he said, “Don’t waste your energy on her. She doesn’t matter. We’ve got more important things to focus on.”

She sucked in a breath and struggled to rein in her temper. He was right. This Vampyre didn’t matter in the slightest. She gave him a curt nod, and he dropped his arm and stepped inside. With one last glare at the Vampyre, Seremela followed.

Inside the building was just as bare and unadorned as her first glance had told her it was. Metal walls, metal floor, metal ceiling. No chairs, no carpet, no wall hangings or desks.

After they had both turned in a circle, Duncan shrugged at her and said into the apparent emptiness, “Malphas.”

At first nothing happened, and a raging despair threatened to take Seremela over. He had to come. He had to.

Then black smoke slid into the building through the open door, and the air began to compress. Power built and built. It pressed against them so that Seremela’s breathing felt constricted and she had to swallow hard. This was a very old one, possibly a first generation Djinn. What was a first generation Djinn doing at Devil’s Gate?

The Power coalesced into the form of a tall, golden haired man, with an angelically beautiful face and two supernovas for eyes. Those piercing twin stars fixed on them, and the beautiful man gave them a deadly smile.

Malphas said, “Welcome to Gehenna.”

Chapter Six

Love

“What can I do for you?” the Djinn asked.

Danger breathed along the back of Duncan’s neck. After one glance at him, Malphas turned to Seremela, who regarded him with a calm yet tense expression. Her snakes draped across her arms and shoulders, and all of them watched the Djinn too.

“We were told my niece is going to be executed for murder at dawn,” Seremela said. “It isn’t true. Vetta would not commit murder.”

“Ah,” said Malphas as he gestured with one long white hand. “I’m afraid that the truth has limited efficacy, especially here.”

With that one simple sentence, the danger in the room skyrocketed.

No honorable Djinn that Duncan had ever met or heard of would have said such a thing, because the Djinn prized truth along with all other forms of information.

“Be careful,” Duncan said to Seremela. She gave him a startled glance as he asked, “Which House are you with, Malphas?”

The Djinn considered him for a moment. Then Malphas chuckled. “You believe the answer to this has any relevance?”

“With the Djinn,” Duncan said in a polite tone of voice, “the answer to this is always relevant.”

Malphas inclined his head in acknowledgment. “I hail from the House Shaytan.”

“Currently?” Duncan asked.

Malphas’s smile widened. “No.”

“Duncan, what’s going on?” Seremela’s telepathic voice sounded tense.

He kept his attention fixed on the deadly creature in front of him, the muscles in his body clenching tight. “He’s a pariah, Seremela. A very Powerful one.”

“I don’t know much about Djinn society,” she said. Her expression turned fearful as she picked up on his wariness. “I don’t know what that means.”

“I do,” he told her grimly.

The five Djinn Houses were built on their associations, and their associations were built on their word. A Djinn who broke his word was perceived as having no honor by other Djinn, and he became a pariah, without association with any of the Houses, lawless and rogue.

Seremela had said they had hit the point of no return when they stepped into Wendell’s shop, but here at Gehenna they had stepped into a place that was far worse, and infinitely more dangerous.

Scary dude, Wendell had said about the Djinn. I’m not sure what he cares about.

A stiletto of cold, icy certainty sliced through Duncan.

Whatever Malphas cared about, it wasn’t the truth, or the law. As a first generation Djinn, he would have the Power to know whether or not Vetta was telling the truth if she claimed she was innocent. Since he was still holding her in custody, he didn’t care who had actually killed Thruvial. Hanging Vetta must benefit him in some way, only now Duncan and Seremela had shown up to protest.

Malphas hadn’t come to this empty trailer to talk with them. He had come to figure out whether or not he should kill them too. The only reason why Duncan and Seremela were still alive was because the Djinn had not yet decided what course of action was in his best interest.

“Things were different when the girl was a nobody, weren’t they?” Duncan said. Malphas strolled leisurely around him, and he turned to keep the Djinn in front of him. “Because then nobody cared if she died. What I don’t understand is why hang her in the first place?”

“She’s a stupid child,” Malphas said. His tone was casually dismissive, as if they talked about a disobedient dog. “She’s insolent and rude, and she has behaved as though everybody else owes her something. Before you arrived, there was no one here in Devil’s Gate to miss her and several people who would say good riddance. In the meantime someone of Power—someone who had taken hold of a great deal of power here—has been killed, and there are many other Powerful creatures present who are disturbed by that. They want retribution. They want to know that the same thing cannot happen to them and go unpunished. They hear the word ‘poison,’ they see a medusa—” The Djinn let the sentence trail away as he shrugged. “The clamor to hang her became too loud to ignore. She had to be held somewhere, so I took her.”