Naamah's Kiss - Jacqueline Carey [163]
"No," I murmured. "What is it you seek, my lord?"
"Clever child." Focalor smiled at me. It was a smile like a well-honed blade, like the cutting edge of a storm. It was filled with impersonal malice, and there was death and mayhem in it. Tossing seas and staved hulls, an ocean of sinking limbs beneath a raging sky, filled with the sheer joy of destruction. "After so many centuries, need you ask? I seek to take flesh and live in the mortal world."
"I see." I wavered on my feet, the room darkening in my eyes. I gathered my failing energies, thinking it would be a very, very bad thing if Focalor's wishes were to come to pass. I couldn't close the door—but I could cause it to be closed. "Sorry to deny you."
I poured myself into him, emptying every drop I could.
The Grand Duke of the Fallen cried out and thrust away from me, his wings beating in alarm and shedding drops of brightness. I felt my diadh-anam gutter inside me as I sank to my knees. Raphael's arms came around me, golden warmth spilling into me.
"Don't," I whispered. "Stone and sea! For once, listen to me."
For once, he did. Raphael let me go. I slumped onto my side, resting my cheek against the chilled flagstones. The doorway I'd opened began to flicker and fade. In its place, the promise of the stone doorway loomed. On the far side, the Maghuin Dhonn Herself awaited me. In the privacy of my thoughts, I begged forgiveness of those I loved. I apologized for failing them. And then I smiled, at peace with the notion of death.
I'd made so many, many bad decisions. This was not one of them.
"No!" Focalor raged. "No, no, no!"
"Yes," I breathed faintly.
"No." The doorway I'd opened had not yet closed. We were neither here nor there, caught between mortal and spirit worlds. Thunder rattled the vaulted ceiling. "This isn't over yet." The spirit Focalor strode across the floor. With insubstantial hands and the force of his will, he wrenched Claire Fourcay's head upright. Her eyes grew huge and her face paled. "Jealousy and yearning does not true love make," he said brusquely. "I would speak at greater length if there were time. Your motives are tainted."
Through slitted eyes, I watched Focalor cover her lips with his and inhale sharply.
She fell, limp and lifeless.
He strode back across the chamber. Knelt, clasped the back of my neck, and clamped his mouth over mine. Raphael pushed ineffectually at him.
I tried to struggle, tried to die.
I couldn't.
He breathed, Focalor breathed into me. He forced Claire Fourcay's life force into my lungs. It was alien and unwelcome—but it was mortal and vital. I coughed, gagging on it, feeling it unfurl inside me and infuse my limbs.
The stone doorway faded.
The other remained.
Focalor let me go and rose. I knelt, retching, trying to expel the energy he'd forced into me. "Let it be, little bear-witch," he said in his pleasant tone. "You'll live. Long enough, at any rate." He turned to Raphael, clucking his tongue with mock dismay. "You should have cleaved to the gifts of healing, physician. The purity of that love, I might have believed."
Raphael pulled me to my feet and thrust me behind him. "Let Moirin go, my lord," he said in a ragged voice. "She wanted nothing to do with this. She's here for love of her father, nothing more. Her motive is the purest of them all."
"How can you think I mean her harm?" The spirit's eyes widened in a parody of innocence, lightning flickering in their depths. "Why, I saved her life when she tried to spend it. You brought her here, physician. You found her a useful tool. I do but complete the task to which you set her. I'll make you nigh unto a god." He smiled his knife-blade smile. "Although I fear there won't be much of you left to enjoy it."
Thunder rumbled.
Focalor held Raphael effortlessly, putting his mouth over