Virgil and the demon stood at the end of a long path that led up to a mansion on the hill. It reminded Virgil of the College. Much of the architecture was similar, from the large stone bricks to the swooping archways. It was opulent in a way that was elegant in a university and audacious in a home.

  “Master Ziua lives here,” he said to Cyrian. “He used to be the president of the College, and I took one of his classes during my sophomore year. I doubt he remembers me.”

  He was stalling. Finding the Master and coming to his town had been the easy part. Cyrian turned heads, but most people didn’t know what a demon looked like and assumed he was some sort of magical bodyguard. Unusual and certainly unsettling, perhaps, but nobody would assume him to be infernal.

  Master Ziua would be different. He would recognize Cyrian for what he was immediately, Virgil was sure of it. That was what he wanted, of course; he wanted to have a conversation about the connection between Hell and Grimora and discuss what needed to be done to close that connection forever.

  Still. He was nervous about how it would all play out. Deep in the pit of his stomach was a tight ball of anxiety, heavy with doubt and uncertainty.

  “Turning back now would undo all the work you have put into this,” Cyrian pointed out, oddly helpful.

  Virgil shot him a suspicious look, but it didn’t hold the same venom it used to. The truth was, he was getting used to the demon’s presence. Knowing that the creature could not lie to him made it easy to trust its words, though he did continue to be careful not to act too recklessly on the demon’s advice. Aside from the occasional obvious attempt to persuade Virgil to kill everyone in the vicinity, Cyrian largely remained subdued.

  Virgil sighed. “Let’s go, then.” They walked up the path. About halfway up, the way was blocked by a gate and a guard.

  “Stop there!” the guard called out. “What business do you have with the Master?”

  “I am Virgil Spells, graduate student of the College. I must speak with Master Ziua on a matter of the utmost importance.”

  The guard mumbled into an enchanted stone, relaying Virgil’s information to its enchanted twin. His face was stern when he received his reply.

  “The Master is busy. He will not see you.”

  “Wait, please!” Virgil panicked. For all that he’d planned their journey here and what he’d say to the Master, he hadn’t imagined that he would be turned away. Of all the great masters, Master Ziua especially was known for his generosity and willingness to entertain guests. It hadn’t occurred to him that he might be barred from the premises.

  He wrapped his fingers around the wrought-iron bars of the gate. “The veil between Grimora and Hell is weakening,” he said to the guard. “I need to see Master Ziua before it’s too late!”

  The guard hesitated. He saw something in Virgil’s eyes that made him believe. Not just sincerity, although that was there, too. There was madness in those eyes, the wild fervor of a man certain of his own insanity.

  Despite his misgivings, the guard relayed the additional message to his colleague. Still, he got the same reply.

  The guard shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “The Master is expecting no visitors, and he will not see you.”

  Cyrian leaned closer to Virgil. “Would you like my help? I can get us past this gate.”

  Virgil inhaled sharply. He nodded.

  Cyrian moved faster than Virgil could blink. He seemed to teleport to the other side of the gate, then both swords whipped through the air. One stabbed through the heart of the guard, and the other sliced his head clean off.

  Your party has entered combat!

  Defeated Jason the Guard lvl 25!

  EXP +1500

  Virgil vomited straight onto the path. When he finally wiped his mouth and looked up, the demon lord was looking at him curiously.

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  “You killed him!” Virgil accused.

  “I did,” the demon nodded. He cocked his head. “You told me to.”

  “You— you said you could help us get past!” Virgil spluttered. “I thought you’d mesmerize him or something.”

  The demon laughed. For the first time since Virgil had met him, the demon truly laughed, long and low. “What have I ever done that would make you think that?”

  Virgil swallowed hard. That… was a good question. None of Cyrian’s past behavior pointed to a peaceful solution. If anything, the demon was constantly chomping at the bit for violence.

  The scholar took a step back. “We should go. We can come back later or try someone else. There are four other Masters we can talk to.”

  The demon tsked. “But we are here now, and Ziua doesn’t know we killed his guard.” Cyrian ruffled through the guards pockets and emerged with a key in hand. He set to work unlocking the gate. “Besides, think of how many more innocents will die the longer you delay.”

  Virgil felt as though he might be sick again. “I’m responsible for this man’s death,” he said, still coming to terms with the death which had happened to quickly before his eyes. He wanted to be anywhere else. “We should go.”

  “How many more deaths will be on your conscience if we have to delay? And what if the next Master will not see us? How will you feel then?” Cyrian threw open the gate.

  Each question was a vicious blow on Virgil’s psyche. “You’re right,” he said. “Let’s get inside. Quickly, then.”

  They scurried up the path and pounded on the mansion door.

  Moments later, the door swung open. The butler paled at the sight of them. Cyrian’s blades were still coated in blood.

  “We’re here to see Master Ziua,” Virgil said, his voice only trembling slightly.

  The butler tried to shut the door, but Cyrian slammed his palm against it, holding it open. His strength was far greater than that of the butler, who quaked.

  “The Master is indisposed,” the butler managed. His eyes flicked fearfully between Virgil and Cyrian.

  Virgil put his best effort into a disarming smile. “Please,” he said. “Don’t be afraid. We aren’t going to harm you.”

  Cyrian snorted. In a blink, a sword slammed point first into the door, embedding itself into the wood only an inch above the butler’s hand.

  The man yelped and backed away.

  “On the contrary,” Cyrian said, his voice rasping like stone on stone. “If you do not fetch the Master, I will kill you and find him myself.”

  The butler ran.

  Virgil glared. “That was unnecessary.”

  Cyrian tilted his head. “Was it? Your method wasn’t working.”

  Rather than answer, Virgil ducked under the demon’s sword and pushed into the house. The foyer was grander than any he’d seen, even compared to the College. The ceiling rose as high as three houses. Two sets of stairs wound up the sides, and a grand chandelier hung between them.

  Even Cyrian paused to take in the sight. He sighed. “Nothing in Hell could ever match this,” he confided to Virgil. “Such opulence, such a grand and pointless display of wealth. This is the kind of beauty we strive for and can never achieve.”

  Virgil gave him a sideways glance. Violence seemed to have loosened the demon’s tongue; he’d never been so chatty before. Despite himself, the scholar was intrigued. “What is the closest parallel?” he asked.

  The demon lord ran his fingers along the gilded frame of a painting. “We do not have such a rich world of metals and minerals. Hell is all spirit and bone and fire. Each brick is made from a spirit crushed, and our chandeliers would be carved from bone. The most beautiful chimes can be made from finger bones.”

  Virgil swallowed. “Not ribs?” he asked, doing his best to sound casual. “I would have thought the sternum, or any of the bones which protect the heart.”

  Cyrian looked over his shoulder at the scholar. “I didn’t realize you were such a romantic,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain.

  Virgil flushed.

  “Still,” Cyrian continued, gazing up at the chandelier. “I have to admire the way your people do things. We are only able to crush a spirit once, and then it is in use. Here you may crush a spirit over and over again, piece by piece, before it dies.”

  The double doors at the top of the stairs slammed open. Master Ziua stood in the doorway, resplendent in scarlet robes long enough to trail along the floor. They were embroidered with black and gold that moved in dizzying patterns as he strode down the stairs.

  On his face, Virgil could see a storm of barely restrained fury. His heart raced, and blood rushed to his face. Surely there was a better way to have done this. If he’d only had a moment longer to think — but it had all been so rushed. Every moment wasted was another moment someone unknowingly entered into a contract with a demon and set them loose upon the land. It had to be this way… didn’t it?

  Master Ziua paused a few steps before the bottom, so he towered over Virgil and Cyrian.

  “Jason was a good friend of mine,” he said, his voice dangerously even.

  Virgil flinched. Cyrian shrugged.

  “I can’t help but notice the lack of magical security,” the demon lord said. “A shame that you had to rely on such a good friend, rather than your own ability.”

  Virgil sucked in a harsh breath. “Quiet!” he hissed.

  The demon lord held up his hands in mock apology but did as he was told.

  The Master’s eyes lingered on Cyrian for a moment before turning to Virgil. Slight shock passed across his face. “I know you,” he said, frowning. “You took one of my classes.”

  “Yes, Master.” Virgil bowed. “You were most instructive. You have my sincerest apologies for the manner of our arrival.”

  “Is that so.”

  Virgil kept his head bowed, partly out of respect but also because he was frightened by the Master’s fury. This was not how the meeting was supposed to go.

  “Master, I must speak with you on a matter of the utmost importance. The veil between realms is weakening, and if we do nothing, demons will continue to invade our world.”

  The Master was silent, long enough that Virgil looked up. The man’s face was a stern mask, impossible to read.

  “Master? Did you hear me? Demon are coming to Grimora.”

  At last, Master Ziua sighed. “I know.”