Chapter 4…Something Unexpected

"Are we under attack?" I asked, as Ammon Jerro hustled me not towards the entrance but towards the back part of the Den. We slipped quietly through the maze of temporary walls and the sounds I heard from the private rooms—the moans, the cries, the grunts—brought a flush to my cheeks. Actually, I already had a flush to my cheeks. I might have had just a tad too much to drink.

No one spoke to us or hindered us in any way. I wondered if Ammon had used an invocation to make us invisible or if it was merely his grim expression that cleared our path.

"I am not certain," he said. I stopped and blinked at him. That didn't sound like the right answer. Generally one knew when one was being attacked. I decided to try rephrasing the question.

"Are we under attack—yes or no?"

"There is no shadow reaver pounding at the front gate, if that is what you mean," he said, casting me a sarcastic look. "The danger—if any—is more subtle than that."

I didn't like the sound of that. I wasn't good at subtlety at the best of times and I was feeling particularly unsubtle at the moment.

"So you don't know if we are under attack or not."

Ammon frowned down at me. When he frowned, his tattoos got a little brighter. I'd never noticed that before.

"Jess, are you drunk?" I blinked again and tried to calculate the answer. Quite a few fellows had bought me drinks. It would have been rude to send them back. Good manners were important to a knight, I'd been told by Nevalle, repeatedly.

"I am not certain," I said. He shook his head at me, lips pursed in exasperation.

"Come with me and keep silent."

Ammon pulled a corner of one of the partitions to slide it away from the cavern wall and motioned for me to step through the gap. The partition had covered a tunnel that stretched into darkness. Ammon held my arm to keep me from stumbling—he seemed to have no trouble seeing—but after a while, just as I felt I had had quite enough of stubbing my toes in the cool velvety darkness—he told me I could cast a light.

One cave looks much like another, I suppose, but I was pretty sure I knew where we were. This was the underground passage to the keep.

"Why are we going this way?" I asked. The way these tunnels twisted and turned made this a long path back.

"It's more convenient." Convenient for what, I wondered, but I didn't ask.

"Thanks for rescuing me from that Thudgar fellow in the bar, by the way," I said, after we had ghosted along in the dark long enough to be out of earshot of anyone back in the Den.

"I have found that if I eject one drunk early in the evening, there is less trouble later," was his reply. So much for chivalry, not that I expected such from Ammon Jerro.

"I would guess so," I said. It hadn't looked like much fun for Thudgar, as he had shrieked and thrashed about in the skeleton's iron hold and it had certainly made an impression on the rest of the crowd. "I hadn't realized you and Neeshka were watching over the Den."

"You assigned us that task, did you not?" I decided not to tell him that I had forgotten all about it.

"Yes, but I'm not used to people just handling things like that." I looked at Ammon. He raised one shaggy brow. "You know, quietly and efficiently." He snorted. "Usually there are more meetings and discussions and questions." I sighed a little.

"Most of the others seek your attention and your approval."

"And you do not."

He raised a brow again. It wasn't a question and he didn't dignify it with an answer.

There was no sentry posted at the underground entrance to the keep, for it had been decided that guards would make the secret escape route conspicuous, which was not our goal. Instead, Vale and some of his Cloaktower mages had cast complex and deadly wards on the door, wards which Ammon wafted us through as if they did not exist.

"Isn't this something of a security problem?" I asked.

"That I can pass the wards? Only if you think I will betray you." I paused for a moment. Something in his tone carried more than his usual irony. Our eyes met. "Do you think I will?" His strange golden eyes, sign of the otherworldly blood that fueled his power, bored into mine. I knew he was a bad man. He was a very bad man. But I also knew that our paths ran together.

"No," I said. "You won't betray me." Certainly not before the King of Shadows was destroyed, and afterwards—well, there probably wasn't going to be an afterwards. Not for me anyway. When the shard of the silver sword had pierced me as a babe, only a miracle had allowed me to survive. It seemed logical that one day—when the sword was restored and used as intended—the balance would be restored.

The look Ammon gave me made me wonder if he had picked that thought out of my head. His eyes were uncomfortably acute.

"Hmm. You're not a complete idiot, even if you are wearing the tiefling's clothes for some reason."

I pulled the tunic down in the back, feeling horribly self conscious, and then I had to hustle to keep up with Ammon.

"Where are we going?"

"There is something I want to show you in your bedchamber."

That sounded rather ominous—or something. I found I had stopped again and I had to hurry to keep up with his long-legged stride.

We walked past the empty summoning circle and up the stairs from the basement. I finally realized that what was convenient about this way into the keep was that we passed no Greycloaks. Walking quietly, we made it to my bedroom without being seen. Not that we were doing anything wrong, but I had left Neeshka's cloak at the Den and I didn't particularly want to be caught walking around dressed like a tavern dancer with a hole in the back of her pants.

Ammon shut the door behind me and then dropped the bar to lock it. I gave him an enquiring look.

"Do you sense anything?" he asked.

"Like what?" The intensity of his gaze was making me rather nervous. I was alone in my bedchamber with Ammon Jerro and he had just barred the door. Nervousness seemed the appropriate response.

He moved to the side of my bed and beckoned for me to approach.

"Give me your hand," he said. I laid my hand in his. His fingers were very warm or perhaps mine were cold. No, it was him. Ammon was always warm, like there was a fire inside him. He dragged my hand along the back of the headboard. He was taller than me and as he pulled my hand, he stretched me out so that I was leaning far off balance. I brushed against his thighs and chest.

"Close your eyes. Use your arcane senses," he said. "What do you feel?"

I felt the heat of Ammon's body along my back. I felt awkward, embarrassed—and then I felt something else. I snatched my fingers back and jerked away from Ammon.

"What in the Nine Hells is that?" I had felt power under my fingers, a repulsively cold and greasy power. I felt like I had unexpectedly touched a worm or some other slimy creature that belonged in darkness, under the ground. I wiped my fingers on my pants.

"Let's take a look," Ammon said, and then he helped me shove the bed farther away from the wall. The bed was quite heavy but Ammon was very strong and I was no weakling. I called a light and squeezed into the gap between the bed and the wall. There was a symbol scratched into the wood behind my headboard. Ammon pressed in beside me to look at it. I brought my hand closer and the power from the glyph chilled me. It made me feel a little sick to think I'd been sleeping next to this small but potent sink of wrongness.

"What does it do?" I asked. "And how did you know it was here?"

"I sensed it when I searched your room earlier this evening," Ammon said.

Ammon had been searching my room? I was sure that my entire face was a confused question.

If Neeshka had been searching my room, I would have checked to see that my coin purse was safe. If it had been Bishop—or Grobnar—I would have checked to see that my underwear drawer was untouched. Sand would have come looking for one of his books. Casavir would have come looking for me and would have stood in the corridor while calling my name, too polite to enter without permission. I couldn't imagine what Ammon had been doing in my room and I said so.

"I was looking for this," he said, staring at the symbol. "Or something similar." He moved so that I could come out from behind the bed. "It occurred to me that these erotic dreams that have been plaguing you might not have a natural cause. They don't." His bushy eyebrows drew down in a frown. "You asked me to send you an incubus. Someone has sent you a succubus."

"But…I have only dreamed about men."

"A succubus can assume any form that tempts you, male or female."

"Who would do this to me?"

"I don't know."

"But you think this is some form of an attack?"

"Perhaps. I cannot tell how long this glyph has been here. It could have been here for decades, and it is sheer coincidence that you have activated the spell by sleeping in this particular bed. Or it may have been placed here by Black Garius or one of his minions during the time he had control of this keep."

"Why would anyone bind a succubus to a piece of furniture?"

Ammon raised both brows and gave me an incredulous look. Oh. Succubus—bed—got it.

"Forget I asked," I said, feeling like an idiot. "So this could have been someone's idea of, um, personal amusement. Or it could be some kind of arcane booby-trap. Can the succubus injure me? Has it injured me?" I did feel stupider than usual but perhaps that was due to the ale.

"Besides disturbing your sleep, which can affect your health and your judgment," and at that, he gave my clothes a snide look, "She can drain your will and your life force itself. I do not sense this has happened, however. I suspect your innocence has protected you from her attacks."

"I don't understand." He gave me another of his ironic smiles, more of a twitch of the lips than a true smile.

"Once you have experienced passion, it is much easier for a succubus to seduce you. She weaves together your memories and the darkest desires of your heart. When those desires are unformed, unrealized, then she has less to work with."

"Oh."

"The succubus is not bound to your bed but the glyph does serve as a portal of sorts to allow her entry when she chooses."

"So all we need to do is destroy the glyph and everything will be okay." Ammon gave me a considering look.

"I thought you might prefer to trap her and interrogate her first. We may discover who is responsible. Would it not be better to learn if this glyph is here by accident or design?"

"You know how to trap her?"

"Certainly." His look made me feel a bit foolish. He had controlled a whole army of demons so catching one little succubus wasn't likely to tax his capabilities.

"What do I need to do?"

It sounded simple enough. All I had to do was go to sleep. Ammon would conceal himself in my room, and when the succubus arrived, he would spring his trap. Then he would wake me up and we would question her. He seemed to have no doubt that she could be induced to answer our questions. I hoped I would not have to witness anything too nefarious.

I decided to go to bed in Neeshka's clothes, for there was no way I wanted Ammon (or any of my male companions) to see one of the ridiculous nightgowns Delma had chosen for me. Besides I couldn't see interrogating some demon while foaming with ribbons and lace like a fancy Festival doll.

"Will you be able to sleep?" Ammon asked. "If you scribe a sleep spell, I can cast it on you."

"I have a wand somewhere," I said, waving a hand at one of my dressers. In fact I had many wands, crafted under Sand's careful direction. At one time they had been neatly boxed and labeled but I was afraid that the chaos of my life had had its inevitable effect on Sand's careful organization.

"But I think I can sleep without it," I added. Months of standing rotating watches during our travels had trained me to fall asleep and awaken quickly. It is a little like meditation—I let my thoughts go quiet, I let my body go limp and sleep soon follows.

Ammon did his disappearing trick. I wished I could have left a lamp burning. The moon wasn't up yet and the room was very dark. I supposed it didn't really matter but it did feel strange to be alone in the dark with a man I didn't know well, a man bound to me by a sword that he had broken and that I was apparently destined to mend.

I drifted into sleep.

The mattress sagged under someone's weight. I rolled over and looked up into Ammon's face. The light from his tattoos made his eyes seem to glow brightly in the dark room. I blinked and murmured something incoherent. It didn't feel like I had gotten any sleep at all.

"I've never seen your hair loose like this," he said. He buried one hand in a thick mass of dense wavy chaos. I could feel my own curls brush soft and silky along the side of my neck.

"Not practical," I said groggily. Why was Ammon Jerro playing with my hair? Weren't we here for some other purpose?

"Ah," he said. "There is a time for practicality." The mattress dipped again and I found Ammon laying full length beside me in the bed. The covers had been pulled back, leaving me exposed to a cool draft. His hand moved from my hair to my cheek and slowly began to trace a line down my neck to my shoulder. "And then there is a time for more…sensual pursuits."

Sensual pursuits? I had to admit that I liked the sound of that. There hadn't exactly been an over-abundance of sensual pursuits in my life so far. His chilly fingers ran along my collar bone and then began to dip along the low-cut line of Neeshka's tunic. His hands were so cold that a shiver ran through me, half anticipation and half genuine chill.

Ammon's hands were never cold.

I had to swallow twice before I could speak.

"You," I whispered. "You are not Ammon Jerro." His lips nuzzled my neck below my ear. I could feel the tickle of his beard. If this form was an illusion, it felt complete in every detail except that his breath was unnaturally cool against my skin. "You are the succubus."

"I can give you what you want," Ammon said. I felt his lips on my jaw. His hand turned my head so he could kiss my lips. Before he could do so, I put my hand up into his face and shoved. He fell off the edge of the bed.

"I doubt that," I said. I sat up. The real Ammon stepped out of the shadows that cloaked him. He spoke the words of an invocation and I felt his power not just in words against my ears but as a kind of low pitched vibration against my skin. The Ammon sprawled on the floor gave the real Ammon a look of utter hatred. I slid out of the bed and walked carefully around the imposter but he remained frozen in place. I stood beside Ammon, who looked down at his double.

"Well," he said at last, his eyes flicking towards me. "That was rather unexpected."