Before long, the thrumming torrent of demons ran up against a hard barrier: a massive pavilion of crimson and black silk. Inside, an exclusive fete for only the eldest and most powerful demons was being thrown, and burbling chatter could be heard from within. A beguiling, lolloping melody was being played. Demons in the finest apparel went walking back and forth, and a tantalizing aroma floated out on the breeze.

Needless to say, this exclusive reception blocked off entirely the swath of cemetery closest to the Zubinsk gate. No one could hope to approach the town without first finding their way into the pavilion.

There was no more forward progress to be made without passing into the party, and as the riffraff were turned away, the crowd began to roil with a restless, aggrieved turbulence.

Lilith pulled up short, and, herded inward by the Lileen, Bluma drew close.

“Lady Lilith,” said the doorkeeper, a hulking saber-toothed ogre in a neat red-and-black livery. “Lord Azazel would be honored to welcome you into his pavilion.”

“Yes, he would,” said Lilith. “And I have no intention of giving him that honor.”

“Are you sure, my lady?” said the doorkeeper. “Lord Azazel has taken care to procure every delight for this occasion.”

Swiftly, a gray cat came springing up through the crowd, and without even dropping a step, in the blinking of an eye, she was a squat gray lady.

“The girl is bleeding,” she whispered.

Lilith’s cold, still face twitched, and she looked down at Bluma as if she were a rip in an expensive new dress.

“Quite sure,” said Lilith.

The doorkeeper smiled falsely. “Very well, my lady. If you would, then, do us the courtesy of clearing the entryway?”

Behind Bluma, one of the Lileen spoke softly. “Put your lip in your mouth, girl.”

Bluma complied, and quickly her mouth flooded with warm, iron blood.

—

The crypt was ramshackle and shabby, half collapsed in the snow. Under normal circumstances, even the lowest among demons would’ve passed it by in favor of more comfortable shelter, but tonight, with the swarming in full force, a large pack of shadowy imps had to be chased out before the Lileen could be sure of any privacy.

Bluma stood corralled against the fallen rock to the rear, Lilith and her Sisterhood gathered about her in a tight semicircle.

“She cannot stay,” said one of the Lileen.

“No,” said a second.

“I am inclined,” said Lilith, “to agree. But the question remains: What to do with her?”

“Can we not disguise her?”

Lilith shook her head. “There are many eyes here. And little time.”

“What if,” said a glowering cat, “we simply take what we want of her and leave the husk behind?”

Bluma did not like the way she said husk.

“No,” said Lilith, her eyes gleaming oddly. “No, I think not.”