He thought for a moment. “That is hardly fair. I do not know what situation you are referring to.”

I glanced at Gabriel. The muscles in his neck stood out in cords as he strained to keep the door closed, but he managed a quick nod at my unasked question.

“There is a dragon in Abaddon, a wyvern named Chuan Ren. We want you to help us get her released.”

“A dragon?” I could swear Magoth was sincerely surprised by that news. He spoke softly, as if to himself. “I have not heard that a dragon was sent to Abaddon, and surely I would have done so. Ahhh.” He exhaled as his eyes narrowed. “That is what Bael was up to. He has been secretive of late, very secretive, and hinted once at an unprecedented event. It must be he who possesses the dragon.”

“I don’t know who has her, or what her situation is; I just know that we need her released.”

He eyed us both as we were jounced on the door. The attacks on it were getting stronger, pushing us a few inches out each time. We wouldn’t be able to last much longer. “This is not a fair trade of help. To free me is nothing, but to seize a minion of the premiere prince of Abaddon . . . pfft. That is a huge undertaking.”

“She’s a dragon; she can’t be a minion,” I said, straining to hold the door. Gabriel labored beside me. “She’s got to be held against her will, which should make her willing to cooperate with us.”

“Still,” Magoth said, idly trailing a hand down his chest. “It seems as if you ask more of me than I do of you.”

“Fine; we’ll do this by ourselves,” I spat, turning to Gabriel. “We’ll get that Guardian friend of Aisling to help us. There has to be some way to get Chuan Ren out of Abaddon. I’ll just be sure to tell the mortals not to let Magoth out of this room—”

“You wound me, consort,” Magoth interrupted, getting to his feet quickly. “Very well, I agree to your offer. Now, see to my release before I regret such generosity.”

“Make it binding,” I ground out through teeth clenched with the strain of holding the door.

“Your lack of faith in me is something we really will have to address,” Magoth said with a look of pure scorn, but he casually reached behind him for the wooden chair, easily smashing it to smithereens on the table. He used a partially exposed screw to knick the tip of one finger, pursing his lips in a little pout as a bead of blood welled up on it, then milking it for a few seconds before strolling over to me. He touched the drop of blood to my forehead. “My blood seals the pact between us. Happy now?”