“What the—” I stood up and went around the sofa to get a better view. “What are those?”
“More trophies, one assumes,” Jonas said.
I glanced at him, and then back at Jonathan again. And, suddenly, I understood what he’d meant. Because there were two more lumps, far smaller than Jo’s, on the other side of the dark mage’s torso.
And one of them was moving, too.
It was maybe the size of a baseball, and a livid reddish-purple, like a recent wound. But I didn’t think so. Because there was a face in there, small and scrunched up and half hidden by the mottled color, although not a human one.
“Demon,” Pritkin said, coming around the couch to join me.
“That was my assessment as well,” Jonas said. “Although some of our experts disagree. They don’t think it possible.”
“Don’t think what’s possible?” I asked, still staring at the hideous little thing. It had eyes, tiny black ones, or maybe just bumps that cast shadows at the appropriate places. It was hard to tell.
And then it blinked at me, and I shied back to the point that I hit the coffee table. “He’s possessed?”
“I think it’s more likely that he is the one doing the possessing,” Pritkin said.
“Do I want to know what that means?”
He reached up, and one of those surprisingly long fingered hands—the hands of a scholar instead of a warrior—traced the outline. “I think he trapped it, as the Corps sometimes does to incorporeal demons, in order to make golems. But instead of forming the spirit a body of its own—a true golem—he trapped it in part of his.”
I stared at the hunched little thing half in disgust, half in horror. It wasn’t moving around as much as Jo, who still looked like she was trying to eat her way through Jonathan’s skin. But it was very clearly alive. “Why?”
“Likely to allow him to more easily access its power,” Jonas said.
“What power?”
Pritkin regarded it soberly. “Unless I’m mistaken, that is a rahkschalt demon. A world shifter.”
“Which means?”
“They’re used as messengers and delivery boys in the hells, as they’re considered harmless. They’re one of the few races that can travel freely between worlds.”
Light dawned. “So now Jonathan can, too.”
Jonas nodded. “That would explain how Aeslinn came into contact with the Ancient Horrors. We have been assuming a traitor on the demon council, but there may have been a simpler explanation.”
“It could still be a traitor,” Pritkin said. Because he was under no illusions whatsoever about the council.
“In any case, perhaps with two of us being of the same mind, I can get our so-called experts to listen to me. Although it would help if you have any ideas about what the last . . . modification . . . might be?”
That drew my attention back to the other lump, which was slightly to the left and below the purplish one. It was maybe the size of a golf ball and was a crusty greenish gray. Unlike the others, it looked old—really old. There was no face in there that I could see, and no movement. But I was pretty sure that it contained someone—or something—anyway.
Something horrible.
And, I realized abruptly, I really didn’t want to know what. The men went on talking, throwing out different ideas, but my brain had just reached tilt. And I guess my nervous system had, too, because a bone deep shiver tore through me, a warning to stop looking at nightmares right freaking now.
Pritkin abruptly cut off whatever he’d been saying. “That’s enough,” he told Jonas.
“Unfortunately, it isn’t,” the old man said. “I am sorry if this is distressing, but we have a war to fight, and understanding our opponent is half the battle. But we’ve never seen anything quite like this—”
“Then figure it out,” Pritkin said. “But you don’t need to do that here.”
“You’re quite right. I need to do it here. Please report to the prison wing, section 15—”
“No.”