Capricorn's Midnight Clock: The Zodiac Book 10, page 19
My only choice was to save everything from Ralrek's pain. One choice. One chance.
With my left hand, I called the Hellfire and opened my Rift to the tower. The image was still materializing, and the Rift wasn't too awkward in the large chamber. Positives. The negative was that Ralrek was building an attack under the influence of the mental trap Michael had laid to protect this room.
"Burn!" my friend was yelling in a voice driven by madness.
With no time to spare, I pulled off a snip of my power while maintaining the Rift. It wobbled, and I thought I might lose it.
"Come on. Come on."
"Can I help?"
I'd totally forgotten Libra was still here.
"Go!"
"But—"
"Go!"
I didn't bother to watch whether he jumped into the Rift or not. I had to save my friend before this Discernment spell wrecked his brain, and I needed to save as many of these documents as possible, if not all.
With the sliver of Hellfire I risked pulling from the Rift, I lassoed Ralrek's arms. It had to work. I couldn't touch him with magic. That was a one-way ticket to eternal irredeemability. But the Hellfire was powerful, the most powerful form of demonic Abilities. As I dropped it over his arms, forcing them down, I pulled on its string, tearing it apart. Hellfire sprayed out like water from a burst balloon, dousing Ralrek's flames. Magic for magic, one superior.
Ralrek stared at his hands as if he didn't know what they were. An accurate assessment, as deranged as he appeared.
Without waiting, I slammed Creed closed, dropped it in the frog, and snagged Ralrek's collar. Before he could fight or even get his balance, I dove into the Rift.
I didn't let go of him until we were standing on solid brimstone in one of my many foyers.
"The evidence…" he croaked.
"It's not gone," Libra said, rushing to put an arm around Ralrek. "I've got the coordinates. We know where the ripple is. We can get back."
"We'll get the records, Ralrek." I patted him on the chest since Libra was occupying his shoulders and back. "This isn't done."
A promise to a friend.
A promise I'd keep.
20
UNDERWORLD, LUCIFER'S TOWER
For as grand as the Grand Library was, claustrophobia was my companion. Too close. Like we were on the verge of sliding into each other's DMs. It'd only been two days since our narrow Overworld escape, but it could have been two hundred. Though the library's windows stretched thirty feet in the air and let in enough of the glory of the open Grand Chamber's Hellfire, the walls were closing in. The soaring shelves, filled with ancient tomes, made me question if I'd ever smell anything even remotely aromatic again. The meeting happening around me was as exhilarating as reading a dental hygienist's schedule.
This followed two days—I'd promised Baphomet—of full-day meetings. Back-to-back-to-back. All talk, no action. Was I really falling into the rut of rule already?
One more drag on the overall health of my attitude. The meetings were a small ticket compared to what I'd done earlier. I followed up the action with the letter. To Ralrek. The message? A disappointing one. The chamber under the St. Louis Arch had been stripped clean. Before we could get back to gather the evidence of the Founders' actions—at least the documented ones—against the Forgotten Ones. Not only had Michael's defenses nearly got us in a bit of a stick, our safety at risk, but the trap had also tipped off those responsible for hiding the information. Every scroll, every crystalline formation, every piece of evidence—gone.
Ralrek took it like a champ. Far better than I would have if I'd been in his shoes. I appreciated that as much as I reveled because he'd fully recovered from the trap's mental assault. Bitter, but coherent. Ralrek's M.O. Not that I didn't understand or empathize. I could only imagine what he was going through and didn't want to belittle his experience. None of us knew the extent of the wealth of information held in that chamber under the St. Louis Arch. Whatever its true extent, it was far more insight than any of us had into the history of the Forgotten Ones and the Underworld's rulers. With it, Ralrek would have been able to provide answers and possibly closure for hundreds of his kind. Now, none of that was possible. My heart went out to him.
Bilba shifted in his chair, his usual calm demeanor replaced by determination. "Sagittarius got word from Cassie's spies. They've narrowed down my mother's location, Zeke. I need to take care of that."
"Of course. Whatever you need, buddy. You know that."
He nodded. "I appreciate that. According to what they found, she was part of the Exodus from the Eighth Circle after Beelzebub's henchmen set fire to an entire neighborhood. They were looking for a supposed informant. The entire place went up in flames. Demons' lives and livelihoods were lost."
Bilba looked grim. My hands clenched. Every Founder except for the one sitting across the table was a problem that needed to be dealt with. Sooner rather than later.
"How soon do you need to go?"
"Yesterday. I don't know for sure. It's all I can think about." He met my eyes. "I can't wait much longer, Zeke. I feel ready. I need support. But I've got to get to her before something happens. No matter what she's done to me." He added that last bit as if it was a troubling afterthought he couldn't shake.
"We'll make this quick then. You're right, Bilba. You can't wait. And I won't be an impediment."
"You're not. You've never been."
I motioned at the table, surrounded by demons with bigger brains than my training ground. "Yet I've got you sitting here, strategizing, instead of finding your mother."
Baphomet cleared his throat. I was just about to let him know I didn't appreciate the interruption while discussing the rescue of Bilba's mother, but the look on Baphomet's weathered face told me that any chastisement wouldn't have landed.
So I said, "What are your thoughts?"
Proving that he hadn't been listening to Bilba's concerns, he said, "The demonic research and strategic development committee has reviewed all available data from the recent… acquisition."
I nodded, appreciating his euphemism for our illegal activity. But then again, I guessed breaking and entering wasn't exactly a crime if you ruled the realm.
Capricorn looked up, scattered papers and mechanical components spread out before him. Somehow, he'd commandeered about a third of my Grand Library even though he wasn't a resident of this side realm of the Underworld. Of course, I opened the doors to the library for him, Bilba, and Sagittarius, so I was more than happy that the offer had actually been taken up. Still, he looked as if he'd made himself quite comfortable.
For two days, he'd been working with an intensity that bordered on obsession. Baphomet provided periodic check-ins and confirmed that Capricorn wasn't sleeping often. He ate almost as much. There was a shame in his eyes that proved his exhaustion without him speaking a word.
"I have a theory." He paused, maybe waiting for a prompt. No one obliged. Looking down at his tools, he continued. "The temporal manipulation device we retrieved, combined with what I've gleaned from the manuals in this wonderful library, helped me develop it. By the way, your predecessor kept extensive records on the fundamental nature of demonic Abilities."
"Agreed," Bilba said, except he looked to Baphomet, who most of us knew was far more responsible for the glory of this library. "It's wonderful."
"And?" I asked, wanting to move this along. The thought of Bilba delaying his need to save his mother pressed.
"I can build a counter-device. Something that would neutralize the clock's temporal distortions. At least within a specific radius. Small at first. But with greater resources and testing, I could extend that." Capricorn's hands moved among his sketches. "But there's a cost."
I held in a groan. "Isn't there always?"
"The device requires constant collaboration. Necessary, but a frustration."
"Why is that?" Bilba asked.
"Temporal magic isn't static. It fluctuates. Adapts. It tries to reassert itself. Someone needs to remain within the field to make continuous adjustments. Essentially sacrificing themselves to the distortion."
'To keep everyone safe?" I asked, thinking I already knew the conclusion.
"Exactly."
"How long?" Bilba asked.
"That's part of the problem," Capricorn said, looking grim. "Part of the testing I never satisfied. Hours, days. Possibly longer. Of course, that person would experience time differently. What would appear as hours for us could be seconds or even weeks for them."
"That could put quite a strain on someone," Baphomet observed.
"It could. They might age years in minutes. They could even become trapped in temporal loops."
I was bothered by how matter-of-fact he was. The type of clinical you expected from an optometrist or lawyer. Still, I'm only immortal and couldn't be bothered by it.
"They would almost certainly not survive the experience intact."
I sat back, exhaling. "I don't like how this sounds."
"My Lord," Baphomet started, "in war, sometimes—"
I rocked back and forth in a chair not designed to be rocked in. "No. We're not discussing who we sacrifice. We're discussing how to make this work without sacrificing anyone."
Capricorn said, "I've run every calculation. The energy involved is volatile. Someone needs to manage that. If I could develop an automated system, I'd be all for that. But this is my life's work, Lucifer. I know what I'm talking about."
"I'm not saying you don't." Lucifer—me—I hated meetings.
"Then you need to listen to me." Another pause. "With all due respect. This requires conscious control. Someone who can adapt in real-time to the Clock's countermeasures."
Bilba leaned forward, studying Capricorn's diagrams. "The unbroken thread. If all magic truly stems from one source, then your temporal manipulation and my Healing magic aren't aberrations. We're accessing what's always been possible."
Immediately, I could see nothing but my night at the Isle, watching the flows of all demonic magic undulate in the evening sky.
"What does that mean?" Baphomet asked.
"Maybe the solution isn't technical." Bilba sat back and crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing. "Maybe it's biological. Magical. If I can accelerate healing to instantaneous levels, perhaps I can also speed up recovery from temporal distortion."
I sat forward. "Could that work?"
Capricorn's expression shifted from skeptical to intrigued. "Theoretically, it could. If someone could heal from temporal damage as quickly as it occurred…"
I could almost see the calculations being completed in his head.
"But we're talking about abilities far beyond what any demon has demonstrated, as far as I know."
I spread my hands. "Well, if any demon can, we've got our guy right here."
"Sethel, too, don't forget," Bilba said, never one to leave someone who deserved credit out of receiving it.
"Then let's figure out how to demonstrate it."
"How do we do that?" Bilba said more than asked.
Baphomet shifted uncomfortably. "My Lord, we're discussing theoretical possibilities when we should focus on practical solutions that'll address the challenges we face. If Capricorn's device works—"
I sliced through the air with my hand. An effective gesture for cutting off conversations, by the way. "It requires someone to die. That's not a solution."
"But if it saves thousands—"
"We'll find another way." My comment was laced with finality, which the group, thankfully, picked up on.
The familiar weight of bureaucratic frustration settled on my shoulders. This was why I hated being in meetings. Hated being in the tower, my new and eternal home. Endless discussions about things that were non-starters. When it was just me, Bilba, and Ralrek, we had equally important decisions. But there were only three of us, and we were best friends. We made decisions, maybe after a little shouting, and got stuff done. At this level, I was only doing the talking and none of the doing. Meanwhile, the Founders were planning my destruction and that of everyone and everything I cared about.
"Your Healing Ability," Capricorn said suddenly, looking up from his work to study Bilba. "It's not just about saving individuals, is it? If demons Heal each other, that could have extensive ramifications."
Bilba's eyebrows twitched. "Every demon who no longer fears permanent injury becomes harder to control."
"And fear is the mechanism of the powerful," Baphomet said.
I caught him glancing my way, as if he was checking to see if he'd offended me. He hadn't. He was correct. The powerful became powerful because they were lucky enough to have been born into it or by having more resources than others. Early on, they learned that the less fortunate wouldn't be satisfied with their lot in life, but the powerful needed that power dynamic. Thus why it's was used. Just as with mortals, the history of immortals served as a how-to guide for controlling others through fear-based mechanisms.
I leaned over the table, focused only on Bilba. "If the unbroken thread theory is correct, Healing might just be the beginning, right? We're talking battlefield medicine here, right?"
He nodded excitedly, seeing that his theory was simple enough that even someone like me could follow it.
"Other supposedly lost Abilities could follow, couldn't they?"
The group fell silent. This was a conversation about the fundamental shift in what it meant to be a demon.
"The other Founders won't like that," Baphomet observed quietly.
"I don't imagine they will." I didn't hide my devilish smile.
Around the table, expressions shifted. This wasn't about countering the Clock anymore. This was about reclaiming Abilities that had been systematically suppressed since the dawn of our time. About empowering demons. About challenging the fundamental power structure of the Underworld.
"How do we do this, though?" I asked into the silence.
Bilba leaned forward over the table. We stared intently at each other, separated by a few feet of oak. "If Healing can be amplified, shared, and taught, I imagine demons who could survive what would otherwise be life-altering events. In the Overworld, where they'd be fatal, we'd be able to save more than ever. Imagine that. Soldiers who could return to the fight minutes after being injured."
I was imagining. Everything. Of the three remaining Founders, each held superior firepower. What we were talking about was an equalizer of epic proportions.
"A standing army that can't be depleted through attrition," Baphomet said.
"More than that. If demons aren't afraid of being hurt, they're not afraid of taking risks." Bilba looked at me as if he were reading my mind. "We'd be smart and careful, of course. But imagine the mental effect. Sure, the pain would still discourage, as it would any rational demon. But if we're fighting for a cause that everyone believes in, our soldiers would be empowered."
"This would level the battlefield."
"More than that," Capricorn added. "Yes, in war it would be our advantage. Demons without fear. Think about that. They also wouldn't fear challenging authority. Of exploring forbidden Abilities."
Waves of possibility and responsibility only grew heavier as we discussed the potential. "What do you need from me?"
"Time and test subjects," Capricorn answered.
"Only those willing to push the boundaries of what Healing Abilities can do," Bilba said.
"Alright."
A single-word answer. One word carrying untold consequences. The thoughts of consequences facilitated the conclusion of the meeting. I caught Bilba's arm before he stepped into his Gateway back to the Isle.
"When you leave to find your mother—"
He gave me a muted smile. "I'll be careful, Zeke. I promise. And I promise to stay in contact through the notebook." He glanced back at the table, where Capricorn remained, attending to his work. Where Baphomet was collecting notes before shuffling off to whatever he did when he wasn't forcing me to attend meetings. "Let's just hope we're not wrong about this."
I thought about Ralrek, having just recovered from Michael's mental trap. About the thousands of Forgotten Ones in the Underworld, and possibly ten times that number in the Overworld. About the Clock ticking away somewhere in Michael's control, prepared to erase every enemy that Founder had from existence.
We're not," I said, squeezing his shoulder. "We'll deal with those problems as they come. Right now, we don't have options. Not with the way your peers can run over us anytime they want or as soon as the opportunity presents itself. If changing that means we take risks, then we take risks. But I'll be blessed if I ask another demon to die without us doing everything we can to avoid it first."
21
UNDERWORLD, NINTH CIRCLE
The scrying chamber felt like a tomb. Not that I know a lot about how tombs feel. I'd never been in one—mostly because I didn't hang out with goths when I was an imp. Whatever tombs felt like, this chamber could rival them. On that, I was firm. The gloom that hung in the stale air convinced me I was right.
I stood alone. Even Baphomet didn't seem interested in bothering me with another agenda or an additional urgent matter that I could add to my list of urgent matters across the demonic realm.
My predecessor hadn't thought to add a table and chairs to the chamber and I hadn't gotten around to it yet, so standing was the order of the day.
This scrying chamber was moderately sized. I'd worked in a restaurant with a freezer that was larger than this place. The lighting was poor unless I focused my Hellfire into the sconces. Not a good use of my energy. Especially not when I had so many friends I wanted to check in on by using the scrying device. As I moved around the room, I changed the image in each mirror to reflect the current status of demons I cared about. It's a little creepy to be watching your friends without their knowledge, let me tell you. But I was bored and lonely. And if they were doing anything inappropriate—or appropriately private—I'd cut off my power to that mirror to save their blushes and mine.
