Chester has heard more than one neophyte say that lately. No honor among demons, apparently. “Trust is hard,” he acknowledges softly. “Tell me about your life in Tamaros.”
“Mm…” Laila hums quietly, closing her eyes. “Free. Fast. Beautiful. We do not exist in these fleshy bodies, you see. We do not even exist in what you humans call, ah, ‘true forms.’ We exist as color and light and sound. Energy. Vibration.”
All things Chester has heard before. He nods. “You’re answering my questions really well so far, Laila.”
“Thank you. How many more?”
“Five or six. If you answer all of them, I can send you back to your cell.” He gestures at the straps. “No more of these.”
“Yes, I like that better,” Laila agrees. “More questions.”
Chester takes a deep breath, steeling himself. “Tell me about your gods. The Fourteen.”
“Ah.” Laila attempts to nod, wincing when the motion jostles the corrosive restraint around her forehead. “Our gods would fit well in your dimension. They are capricious and vindictive. Not to be trusted.”
“So you don’t like them.”
“None of us do.” Laila hesitates. “Well. We love Nostringvadha. But he has been banished for eons.”
Chester fights back a flinch. “I know Nostringvadha is on Earth,” he says carefully, trying to ignore the fact that the god himself is currently just outside this room. “But where do the rest of your gods live?”
Laila’s eyebrows pull together. “It is… not a physical location, as such. We cannot access it. Not as color and light and sound, at least.”
The words pique Chester’s interest. Most neophytes just get confused when he asks this question, but Laila sounds like she might know more. “If you can’t access it as color and light and sound, then howcanyou access it?”
“We were not made for that,” she says, frustration creeping into her voice. “I am sorry. Your questions become more difficult for me.”
“You’re doing well,” Chester assures her. “Can anyone besides the gods go there? Or only them?”
Laila frowns with concentration. “I… believe others may go there. But only through a special kind of rift—one that demons are not powerful enough to create.”
Chester snaps to attention. Hastily, he double-checks that the video camera is still recording.
That’s more information than he’s ever gotten from a neophyte demon—maybe even more than any interrogator has gotten. He hopes the Council is pleased with that. “Do you know how to open this rift? Even if you can’t do it yourself?”
“No.” Laila presses her lips together. “It cannot be opened in Tamaros, I believe. In this dimension, maybe. Nostringvadha might know.”
The words streak through Chester like lightning. “Tell me about Nostringvadha,” he blurts out. Technically, it’s not one of the questions on his list, but?—
Well. Chester would love to hear about other things that Nostringvadha might know.
“He is our favorite god,” Laila says, closing her eyes again. “Our fondest god. Our mostbelovedgod. He is Wanderer and Avenger and Memory-Keeper.”
Nothing that Chester doesn’t already know. “Do you think he could access the gods’ inner realm?”
Laila’s eyes squeeze tighter, like she’s trying to think. “Perhaps? But perhaps not. It is difficult to say. He cannot return to Tamaros—the gods made sure of that—but the inner realm is notinTamaros. And he must know how to create the rift, even if he can’t use it. After all, he was once one of them.”
Chester’s pulse is racing through his veins. He resists the urge to peek through the one-way glass, over to where he’s sure an invisible Obie is listening to every word.
Because that makes sense. That makessomuch sense. Obie isNostringvadha, and Nostringvadha was one of the Fourteen, so Obie has to know how to create that rift. He has to know where the gods’ inner realm is, has to know how to access it.
Obie probably knows the answers to every question Chester has ever asked a demon.
But that’s something he’ll have to explore in more detail later. For now, it’s time to make good on his promise to send Laila back to her cell. “Laila, you’ve done?—”
All at once, the overhead lights brighten to a feverish intensity and blink out with a high-pitchedsnap.Chester jerks to attention as the interrogation room—as the entireprison—goes black, not even the emergency generators picking up the slack. He blindly grabs a knife off the table next to him, stumbling towards the light switch on the wall. “Laila?—?”
“You’ve done so well, sister.”
