INTO THE WOODS.

TALES FROM THE HOLLOWS AND BEYOND.

KIM HARRISON.

Dedication.

To the readers. This one is for you.

THE HOLLOWS.

The Bespelled.

Al is one of my more favorite characters in the Hollows. I never expected him to be anything other than the Big-Bad-Ugly-fun to hate, but nothing more. It was a surprise when Rachel began to understand him, and even more of a shock when Al responded not just by showing a softer side, but by lifting the veil on his past as well. "The Bespelled" was first published at the end of the mass market edition of The Outlaw Demon Wails, and it shows Al in his earlier mind-set of use and abuse. But the appearance of the blue butterflies gives evidence that even before Al met Rachel, he was beginning to find himself lacking and was looking for more.

Paperwork, Algaliarept thought in resignation as he blew gently upon the ledger book to dry the ink faster. Ink that wasn't actually ink, paper that had never been wood, he thought as he breathed deep for the cloying scent of blood. Though blood made a sublimely binding document, the nature of it tended to slow everything down. Even so, if he could pass this part of his job to a subordinate, he wouldn't. The knowledge of who owed him and what was worth a lot in the demon's world, and familiars were known for their loose tongues until you cut them out. It was a practice Algaliarept frowned upon. Most of his brethren were bloody plebeians. Removing a familiar's tongue completely ruined the nuances of their pleas for mercy.

Resettling himself at his small but elegantly carved desk, Algaliarept reached into a lidded stone box, dipping a tiny silver spoon for his Brimstone and letting the drug slowly melt on his tongue. The small tap of the spoon as he replaced it jolted through him like fire, and closing his eyes he breathed, pulling the air into him over the ashy blackness to bring a hundred faint smells to him as the Brimstone heightened his senses and took his mind into a higher state.

Paperwork has got to be the biggest pain in the ass, he thought as he hung for a moment in the mild euphoria. But as his eyes opened he gazed upon his opulent quarters-the walls draped with dark silk, vases painted with beautifully erotic bodies, richly shadowed corners with cushions and fragrant oil lamps, and underfoot, the rug showing a winding dragon devouring its smaller kin-Algaliarept knew he'd have it no other way. Everything about him would be missing if he worked for another.

The East was where the world's intelligence currently resided, and he quite liked the Asian people, even if they called him a dragon there, and expected him to breathe fire. Apart from the elves making a last stand in the mountains of Europe, Asia was the only real culture in the world right now-thanks to his efforts, mostly. One must create what another will covet.

Dipping his quill, Algaliarept bent to his work again, his brow tightening for no reason he could fathom. He was a dealer in flesh and seducer of souls, skilled in training people in the dark arts enough to make them marketable, then abducting them when they made a mistake in order to sell them to his peers into an extended lifetime of servitude. He was so good at it that he had achieved a status that rivaled the highest court members, reached on his own merits and owed to no one. Yet, as his quill scratched out the interest of a particularly long-running debt, he finally acknowledged the source of his growing feeling of dissatisfaction.

Where he'd once relished watching a potential familiar agonize over wanting more and thinking he was smart enough to evade the final outcome, now there was only an odd sensation of jealousy. Though doomed, the familiar was feeling something. Algaliarept, however, was feeling nothing. He'd lost the joy, and the chase had become too easy.

Another page tallied, and Algaliarept reached for a second spoonful of Brimstone while the red ink dried and turned black. As his silver spoon dipped, his moving reflection caught his attention and he hesitated, meeting his own gaze in the gilded mirror upon the desk. Tired, goat-slitted eyes stared back at him. They narrowed, and with a feeling of unhappiness, he watched himself let the black ash sift back into the box. If he wanted sensation, he should go out and take it, not sip it from dust. Perhaps, Algaliarept thought darkly as he touched his script to see if it was dry, it was time to retire for a time. Begin removing his name from the texts in reality to leave just enough for the occasional summoning instead of the numerous summons he fielded. He was weary of mediocre dealings and fast satisfaction that gave him nothing lasting. He wanted . . . more. Mood soured, he bent to his work. This can't be all there is, he thought as he tried to lose himself in the beauty of wants and needs, supply and demand.

Intent on his work, the soft tickling in his nose almost went unnoticed until he sneezed. His hand slammed down on the open Brimstone container, saving it. Shocked, he stared at his door, tasting the air and trying to decide where the sun had just fallen. Someone was summoning him. Again, he thought with a sigh, until he realized where it was likely coming from. Europe?

Algaliarept's gaze returned to the mirror, and his goat-slitted, red eyes glinted. A slow smile came over his creased face. Inside, a quiver of excitement coursed through him, more heady than Brimstone. It had to be Ceridwen. She was the only one who knew his name across that continent, the only one who could call him there. Three months, he thought, his excitement growing as he gazed into the mirror while his features became younger and more refined, taking on the strong jaw she was accustomed to. I knew she couldn't resist.

Humming a snippet of music that had never been penned, he shook out his sleeves, watching them turn from the casual silk kimono he appreciated into a stuffy European crushed green velvet coat. Lace appeared at his throat, and his hair slicked itself back. His ruddy complexion lightened, and white gloves appeared. He would be pleasing to her sight even if he thought the outfit ugly. Until she stopped three months ago without warning, Ceridwen Merriam Dulciate had summoned him every week for seven years. He was nothing if not patient, but the lapse did not bode well. That he was excited for the first time in as many weeks did not escape him, but Ceri was special. She was the most devious, intelligent, careful woman he had tried to snag in almost three hundred years, and he never knew what she was going to do.

Art, he realized suddenly. Ceri was art where everyone else was work. Was that where his dissatisfaction was coming from? Was it time to stop simply working and begin making art? But to do that, he needed the canvas before him. It was time to bring her home. If he could.

Standing, he sneezed again, more delicately this time. His thoughts went to a seldom-used curse and he winced, searching his mind until he remembered. "Rosa flavus," he whispered, shivering as the unusual curse shifted over him to leave a yellow rose in his grip. Damn his dame, this felt good. He'd bring her home this time. He was anxious to begin.

"Zoe!" he shouted, knowing the three-fingered man-whore would hear him. "I'm out! Take my calls!" And with no more thought, he allowed the summons to pull him from the splash of displaced time he existed in to reality.

He traveled by ley lines, the same force of nature that kept the drop of time he existed in from vanishing. The shock of the line melting him into a thought was a familiar ache, and it was with a sly confidence that he found himself drawn to a spot far up in the mountains of Europe. He never knew for sure where he was going until he got there, but this? Algaliarept smiled as the clean mountain air filled his lungs as he reformed, the stench of burnt amber that clung to him being replaced by the honest smell of horses and cultivated flowers. This was pleasant.

The hum of a binding circle grew oppressive, and Algaliarept found himself in a dusky garden surrounded by dark pines, the sky above them still holding the fading light of the sunset and fluttering blue butterflies. The circle holding him was defined by semi-precious stones inlaid in crushed gravel. Through the haze of energy trapping him came the sound of running water and birds. Music. A small orchestra. Something was badly off. And when his eyes went to the full moon rising above the fragrant pines, his smile faded in a wash of worry. Is the bitch getting married?

A soft clearing of a throat turned him around.

"Ceridwen," he said, allowing a sliver of his annoyance to color his words, then he hesitated. She was absolutely stunning in the puddle of nearby lamp light with blue butterflies flitting about her. "Ceri, you are exceptionally lovely." Damn it to the two worlds colliding, she's getting married. Directly. He had tarried too long. It was tonight, or never.

The slight, fair-haired woman before him modestly ran her hands over her clearly wedding garb, white and trimmed with her family's colors of maroon and gold. Her fair hair was piled atop her head but for a few strands artfully drawn down. She was pale and lithe, having wide green eyes and a narrow chin. If for no more than that, she would be unique among the predominantly Asian women populating the demon familiar market and bring a high price. But that wasn't why he'd courted her so carefully.

Though her eyes were cast down demurely, she knew she was beautiful, reveled in it, vainly believed it was why he was attentive and kind to her. He'd kept her oblivious to the real reason he stayed pliant to her summons and demands for knowledge when anyone else would have been met with anger and threats years ago for the audacity of being too clever to be caught and therefore was wasting his time. She carried the surname Dulciate. It was one of the most desired familiar names in the demon realm, though if the castle behind her was the level to which the elves had fallen to, there wasn't much left to take revenge upon. Even if she were ugly, he could make more from her then seven skilled familiars. And she was skilled, thanks to him-infuriatingly clever and careful. Hopefully not careful enough, he thought, his hands clenching in their white-gloved preciseness.

Behind her on the cropped grass, a round stone table was strewn with her golden tarot cards, clear evidence that she was upset. She knew he thought little of them, having spent summers striving to break her from their grip, failing even when he proved them false as she sought counsel from a power he didn't believe in. Rising beyond the garden was the gray-walled castle of her family. It was pitiful by the Asian standards he appreciated, but it was the pinnacle of society in this superstitious, cultural wasteland. Where he'd created a society in Asia with science, rivals had inundated Europe with superstition in their attempts to match his gains.

From the balcony walkway, clusters of overdressed women kept watch as the darkness took hold and the butterflies dwindled. As a member of the elven royal house, it was Ceridwen's right to summon demons, expected and encouraged until she took a husband. Tradition dictated that the ruling personage in waiting was to learn all they could of the arcane. It was just as expected that her station would grant her the privacy to do it wherever she wanted. So her fluttering ladies waited in the torchlight, holding Ceri's little dogs as they yapped furiously at him. They knew the danger, and it was a delicious irony that no one listened to them.

Looking closer, he gauged her aura to see if a rival had been poaching on his claim which could explain the three-month lapse. Ceridwen's aura, though, was as he had left it; the original bright blue marred by a light black coating of demon smut that was all his own.

Seeing the yellow rose in his hand, a heavy tear brimmed in her deep green eyes, unusual for the emotionally balanced woman. Her head bowed as it fell, but pride brought it up again immediately. Chin high, she looked behind her to her tarot cards, beginning to cry all the more. Her hands stayed stoically at her sides, fisted as she refused to wipe her tears away.

Hell and damnation, I'm too late, Algaliarept thought, taking an angry step forward only to stop short as the barrier she'd summoned him behind hummed a familiar, vicious warning. "Love, what's wrong?" he asked, pretending to be oblivious, though inside, he was scrambling. He had not labored seven years only to lose a Dulciate elf to marriage! "Why are you crying? I've told you not to look at the cards. They only lie."

Crestfallen, Ceri turned away, but her pale fingers straying to touch her tarot cards were still bare of gold, and Algaliarept felt a glimmer of hope. "I'm not your love," she said, voice quavering as she turned the lovers card face down. "And you're the liar."

"I've never lied to you," he said. Damn it, he was not going to lose her to some inane cards! Frustrated, Algaliarept nudged a booted toe at the circle's seam to feel her power repel him. Never had she made a mistake in its construction. It both infuriated him and kept him coming back, week after week, year after year, and now, because of it, he was going to lose her.

"I had to tell you good-bye," she continued as if he hadn't spoken, pleading as she fingered a gold-edged card. "They told me not too, that with the responsibility of marriage, I must sever all ties to the arcane."

Agitated, he gripped his rose until a thorn pierced his glove and the pain stifled his fidgeting. "Good-bye, my love?" He had to make her control lapse-if only for an instant.

"I'm not your love," she whispered, but her gaze was upon the cards. There were no others like them, having been painted by a second-rate Italian painter who had attempted to put the royal family within the artwork. It hadn't pleased him to find out Ceri was on the death card, being pulled away by a demon.

"Ceri, you are my unrequited love," he said earnestly, testing the strength of her circle until the stench of burning leather from his shoes drove him back. "Tell me you've not wed. Not yet." He knew she wasn't, but to make her say the words would make her think.

"No." It was a thin whisper, and the young woman sniffed, holding a hand out for a tiny blue butterfly seeking warmth in the fading day. He'd seen them only once before in this profusion, and it was likely the wedding had been planned around the beautiful, fragile creatures. But butterflies like carrion as much as flowers, battlefields as much as gardens.

Algaliarept looked at the yellow rose in his grip, his thoughts lifting and falling as the music rose high in celebration. Fast. He had to work fast. "Why do you hurt me?" he said, squeezing his hand until a drop of blood fell upon it, turning the entire rose a bright scarlet. "You summon me only to spurn me?" He dropped the rose, and she blanched, eyes rising to his bloodied glove. "To say good-bye?" he accused, allowing his anger to color his voice. "Do our seven years mean nothing to you? The skills I've taught you, the music, ideas that we shared from across the sea? It all means nothing? Was I just your demon, your pet? Nothing more?"

Distressed, Ceridwen faced him, the butterfly forgotten. "Talk not to me of love. They are naught but pretty words to trap me," she whispered, but under her misery was a frantic need he had yet to figure out. There was more here than she was saying. Could she be unhappy about the marriage? Was this the key to making her control lapse?

"As you trapped me!" he exclaimed, jerking his hand back when he intentionally burned himself on the barrier between them. Excitement was a pulse when she reached out, concern for him showing briefly. "Ceridwen," he pleaded, breath coming faster, "I watched you grow from a shy, skittish colt to a rightfully proud woman, fiery and poised to take responsibility for your people. I was there when all others grew distant, jealous of your skills. I didn't expect to grow fond of you. Have I not been a gentleman? Have I not bent to your every whim?"

Green eyes deep with misery met his. "You have. Because you're caught in my circle."

"I would regardless!" he said violently, then looked to the darkening sky as if seeking words, though what he was going to say he'd said to untold others. This time, though, he meant them. "Ceri, you are so rare, and you don't even know it. You are so beyond anyone here because of what I've shared with you. The man who waits for you . . . He cannot meet your intellectual needs. When I hear your summons, my heart leaps, and I come directly, a willing slave."

"I know."

It was a faint affirmation, and Algaliarept's pulse raced. This was it. This was the way to her downfall. She didn't desire her husband. "And now you'll abandon me," he whispered.

"No," she protested, but they both knew tradition dictated otherwise.

"You're going to wed," he stated, and she shook her head, desperate as her tiny feet tapped the flagstones, coming closer in her need to deny it.

"That I'm wed doesn't mean I won't summon you. Our talks can continue."

Feigning dejection, he turned his back on her, all but oblivious to the manicured gardens going dark and damp. "You will abandon me," he said, chin high as he probed the circle to find it still perfect. Though he was a demon and could crush an army with a single word, such was the strength of a summons that a simple circle could bind him. He had to upset her enough such that she would make a mistake and he could break it. Until then, nothing but sound and air could get through.

Taking a ragged breath, he dropped his head, his hands still laced behind him. "You will begin with all good intentions," he said, his voice flat. "But you'll summon me into underground rooms where no one can see, and our time together once open and celebrated will become brief snatches circled by guilt instead of precious stones. Soon you will call me less and less, shame dictating that your heart be ruled over by your head, your responsibilities." He took a breath, turning his tone thin. "Let me go. I can't bear seeing what we shared abandoned bit by bit. Make of my heart a clean death."

The clatter of the gravel sliding beneath her shoes sparked through him like lightning, and he grit his teeth to hide his anticipation. One tiny stone, knocked out of place, would do it. "I would not do that," she protested as she faced him, a gray shadow against the dark vegetation.

Refusing to meet her gaze because he knew it would hurt her, he looked at the moon, seeing a few lone butterflies daring the dark to find a mate. Crickets chirped as the music from the castle dissolved into polite applause. "Marry him if you will," he said stoically. "I'll forever come if you call, but I'll be but a broken shadow. You can command my body, but you cannot command my heart." He looked at her now, finding she was clutching a golden card to her chest, hiding it. "Do you love him?" he asked bluntly, already knowing the answer in her frantic expression.

She said nothing as torchlight shined upon her tears.

"Does he make your heart beat fast?" Algaliarept demanded, a shudder running through him when her eyes closed in pain. "Can he make you laugh? Has he ever brought new thoughts to you, as I have? I've never touched you, but I've seen you tremble in desire . . . for me."

He nudged at the circle with a booted toe, jerking back at the zing of power. Though her face wore her anguish, her circle still held strong, even when her chest heaved, and her grip on her dress dropped, leaving creases in the otherwise perfect fall of fabric.

"Don't hurt me like this, Algaliarept," she whispered. "I only wanted to say good-bye."

"It's you who hurt me," he stated, forcefully where before he had always been demure. "I'm forever young, and now you'll make me watch you grow old, watch your beauty fade and your skills tarnish as you shackle yourself to a loveless marriage and a cold bed."

"It is the way of things," she breathed, but the fear in the back of her eyes strengthened as she touched her own face.

Her fondness for the mirror had always been her downfall, and he felt a surge of renewed excitement. "I will mourn your beauty when you could have been young forever," he said, looking for a crack in her resolve. "I would've forever been your slave." Faking depression, he slumped his perfect posture. "Only in the ever-after does time stand still and beauty and love last forever. But, as you say, it's the way of things."

"Gally, don't speak so," she pleaded, and he tensed when she used the nickname she'd chosen for him. But his lips parted in shock when she reached for him only to drop her hand mere inches from the barrier between them. His breath came in with a shudder, and his eyes widened. Had he been cracking the nut the wrong way? He had been trying to rattle her, make her lose her resolve so he could find a crack in her circle and break it, even knowing that her will would likely remain absolute even when her world was crashing down about her. She would not let her circle weaken, but what if she would take it down voluntarily? Ceri was of royal blood, a Dulciate. Generations of crown-sanctified temptation had created women who would not make a mistake of power. But she might make a mistake of the heart.

And the instant he realized why he had failed these seven years, her gaze went past him to the palace, lit up and replete with joy. Her eyes closed, and panic hit him as he saw everything fall apart. Shit, she was going to walk.

"Ceri, I would love you forever," he blurted, not faking his distress. Not now. Not now when he'd found her weakness!

"Gally, no," she sobbed as the tears fell and tiny blue butterflies rose about her.

"Don't call me again!" he demanded, the words coming from him without thought or plan. "Go to your cold bed. Die old and ugly! I would make you wise beyond all on earth, keep you beautiful, teach you things that the scholars and learned men have not even dreamed of. I will survive alone, untouched, my heart becoming cold where you showed me love. Better that I had never met you." He looked at her as a sob broke from her. "I was happy as I was."

"Forgive me," she choked out, hunched in heartache. "You were never just my demon."

"It's done," he said, making a hitch in his voice. "It's not as if I ever thought you would trust me, but to show me heaven only to give it to another man? I can't bear it."

"Gally-"

He raised a hand and her voice broke in a sob. "That's three times you've said my name," he said, crushing the now red rose beneath his foot. "Let me go, or trust me. Take down the wall so I may at least have the memory of your touch to console me as I weep in hell for having lost you, or simply walk away. I care not. I'm already broken."

Expression held at an anguished pain, he turned his back on her again, shifting his shoulders as if trying to find a new way to stand. Behind him, he heard a single sob, and then nothing as she held her breath. There was no scuffing of slippers as she ran away and no lessening of the circle imprisoning him, so he knew she was still there. His pulse quickened, and he forced his breathing to be shallow. He was romancing the most clever, most resolute bitch he'd ever taught a curse to, and he loved her. Or rather, he loved not knowing what she would do next, the complexity of her thoughts that he had yet to figure out-an irresistible jewel in a world where he had everything.

"Do you love him?" he asked, adding the last brushstrokes to his masterpiece.

"No," she whispered.

His hands quivered as adrenaline spiked through him, but he held perfectly still. He would've given a lot to know which card she held crushed in her grip. "Do you love me?" he asked, shocked to realize he'd never used those particular words to seduce a familiar before.

The silence was long, but from behind him came a soft, "Yes. God help me."

Algaliarept closed his eyes. His breath shook in him, hid excitement racing through him like a living ley line, burning. Would she drop her circle? He didn't know. And when a light touch landed on his hand, he jumped, looking down to find a blue butterfly slowly fanning its wings against him.

A butterfly? he thought in shock, and then he realized. She had broken the summoning circle, and he'd never even felt it go down. Oh God, he thought, a surge of what was almost ecstasy making his knees nearly buckle as he turned, finding her standing before him, nervous and hopeful all at the same time. She had let him in. Never had he taken anyone like this. It was like nothing he'd ever felt before, debilitating.

"Ceri," he breathed, seeing her without the shimmer of her power between them. Her eyes were beautiful, her skin holding a olive tint he'd never noticed before. And her face . . . She was crying, and he reached out, not believing when he ran a white-gloved hand under her eye to make her smile at him uncertainly. It was a smile of hope and fear.

She should be afraid.

"Gally?" she said hesitantly.

"Do you really love me?" he asked her as the butterflies swarmed, drawn by the scent of burnt amber, and she nodded, gazing at him as tears slipped down and she hesitantly folded herself into his arms.

"Then you are one stupid bitch."

Gasping, she flung her head up. Pushing from him, she tried to escape, but it was too late. Silently laughing, Algaliarept wrapped his arm around her neck, grabbing her hair with his free hand and pulling her across the garden to the nearest ley line. "Let me go!" she screamed, and gathering herself, she shouted, "celero inanio!" sobbing as she flung the entire force of the nearest ley line at him.

With a quick thought, Algaliarept deflected the burning curse, chuckling as flickers of light blossomed to show where the blue butterflies burned before they hit the dew-wet grass. In his grasp, Ceri hesitated her struggles, aghast that he had turned her magic into killing something she loved. "Do that again, and I'll burn anything that comes round that corner," he encouraged, winding his fist in her hair until she began hitting him with her tiny fists.

"You lied! You lied to me!" she raged.

"I did nothing of the kind," he said, holding her close and dragging her out of the circle so that the people now running toward her screams wouldn't be able to trap him easily. "I'm going to keep you forever young and teach you everything I know, just as I promised." She was panting, her struggle hesitating as she waited for the help that wouldn't be able to free her. Closing his eyes, he smelled her hair. "And I'm going to love you," he whispered into her ear as she began to pray to an uncaring god he'd teach her not to believe in. "I'm going to love you within an inch of your life, then love you some more."

Anticipation high, he reached for her inner thigh. The instant his fingers touched her, she screamed, fighting to be free. A fierce smile came over him and his blood pounded in his loins. This was going to be everything he wanted. A distraction for as long as he cared to make it last.

"Let me jump you to my bed so we may begin your tutelage," he said as the bobbing torches came closer.

"No!" she cried out, wiggling as her hair came undone to fall about her face. She looked so much more fetching, her color high and rage making her eyes sparkle.

"Wrong answer," he said, flooding her with the force of the line.

Her eyes widened, her small lips opening to show perfect teeth. Gasping, she bit her lip, trying not to scream. Almost she passed out, and he let up the instant she started to go limp. That she wouldn't scream made him smile. She'd scream before it was over, and finding her breaking point would be . . . exquisite.

"I'm giving you everything you want," he breathed in her ear when she could think again, hanging in his grasp as she panted. "Everything and more, Ceri. Let me take you." He could knock her out and take her by force, but if she gave in entirely to him . . . it would be beyond anything he'd ever accomplished.

The bobbing torches turned the corner, little dogs yapping in overdressed women's arms.

"Stop! For the love of God, stop!" she shouted, and Algaliarept felt a deep surge of satisfaction. Destroying her will would fulfill his every need.

A young man in white and gold pushed past the women, stumbling to a stop, shock in his perfect face. A wailing outcry rose from the nobles behind him, and several turned and ran.