Sitting in the chair, she leaned forward, resting her arms on her thighs. “Here are your choices. You can tell me everything you know about why I ended up here, and in return, I’ll finish the kill, freeing you from what’s left of a dead body.”

He started swearing.

“Or,” she continued, raising her voice to compete with his, “I can haul your sorry carcass up to the Keep, dump you on the High Lord’s desk, and tell him you not only abducted his niece, you also worked for the bitch who tried to physically harm his daughter and ruin his son’s reputation. You can imagine how well Uncle Saetan is going to respond to that.”

He probably would have paled if he was still capable of doing that.

“Un—Uncle Saetan?”

You really weren’t paying attention to much beyond your fee, were you? “Prince of the Darkness. High Lord of Hell. Patriarch of the SaDiablo family. Since he has over fifty thousand years of experience in ruling the Dark Realm, your being demon-dead isn’t going to get in his way when it comes to hurting you. So who are you going to talk to, sugar? Me or Uncle Saetan?”

I wanted information about the bitch who hired him, not his life story, Surreal thought an hour later. Still, given his choices, she appreciated why the Warlord had wanted to be thorough.

She’d finished the kill as she’d promised, burning out what was left of his power and freeing his spirit to return to the Darkness. And thinking about the pack of Hell Hounds that had obeyed her mother and were now left without a mistress to look after them—assuming those animals actually needed someone to look after them—she wrapped cold spells around the torso and the other pieces, caught the Winds, and rode to the Keep.

Draca, the Keep’s Seneschal, accepted her offering without comment, and offered, in return, a guest room where she could clean up and have a meal. She accepted both, glad of the opportunity to wash thoroughly and change into fresh clothes, and pleased when Draca sent along a selection of books with the meal. Choosing one, she decided to settle in for a few hours. Maybe Uncle Saetan would be back by then and she’d have a chance to talk to him before she headed back to Amdarh.

5

There was no official landing place on the island, since visitors were seldom welcome—and anyone unwelcome usually didn’t survive. But he did sense a residual power he could home in on. Hoping he would land in a safe place, Saetan dropped from the Black Wind, wrapped himself in Black shields, and closed his inner barriers as tightly as possible.

A moment later, he appeared in the center of a small clearing. The trees and bushes around the clearing were veiled with webs, some old and tattered, others looking freshly spun.