her hand was still intact.
The king of the demons touched his jaw, gazing at her with something that looked suspiciously like wonder. Donna’s mind flashed back to the joke Robert made about how Demian would probably like it if she hit him.
She swallowed, still clutching her injured hand, resolutely pushing those thoughts away.
“I should punish you for that,” the demon said. But it sounded like he was only really saying it out of habit.
“Punish me? Like this isn’t already punishment enough. What the hell is your jaw made of, anyway?” Donna stumbled to her feet and shook out her hand. “Don’t answer that.” She glared at him. “Listen, all I want is to find the grove, get the fruit, and see if there’s any way out of this nightmare.”
“You stabbed yourself with the Ouroboros Blade. Your life is forfeit! Only I have the power to release you from death.”
“Well, good for you. You got me. I’m in your power. I bet that really gets you off, doesn’t it?”
Demian advanced on her. “You are treading on very thin ground, girl … ”
“Oh, really? And what are you going to do to me? Kill me?” Donna laughed in his face, knowing that she sounded slightly deranged but not even caring. She wasn’t a pawn. She would not be a weapon—least of all for a petulant demon who didn’t know the first thing about common decency.
Demian looked down, his perfectly unmarked jaw clenched. Unchecked emotion passed over his face like a storm. It was the most expressive Donna had even seen him.
She swallowed, terrified. Waiting.
She was still expecting some kind of attack, so the fact that the Demon King wasn’t doing anything at all shocked her more than whatever he might have done.
He turned away. “I will take you to the Grove of Thorns. You will need all your remaining strength for that. The Philosopher’s Stone is more important to me than your lack of respect.”
Raising her eyebrows, Donna wondered if she could call this round hers.
Demian transported them instantly to the city below, and they walked side by side through what looked like a low-budget movie set for a western. Donna half expected Clint Eastwood to appear at the other end of the dusty street. She wished Navin—the real Navin—was here to make a silly comment about tumbleweed and awkward silences. These were the slums of the Otherworld. The closer they got to the Gallows Tree, the less activity there seemed to be.
Apart from telling her where they were, Demian was quiet, contemplative. She wondered what he was thinking about. Was he angry with her after her outburst? He didn’t seem to be. What did a demon king have to occupy his thoughts? Revenge? Perhaps. Did he think about Simon and the alchemists? Maybe he was planning his attack, figuring out how he would redecorate the world once he was in charge.
Donna was distracted from her own thoughts by a sudden movement she saw out the corner of her eye, but each time she turned her head, whatever might have been there had already disappeared. After this had happened several times, she grew increasingly frustrated and stopped walking.
Demian stopped beside her. “What is wrong?”
“Are we being followed?”
“No.”
“Watched?”
The corners of his thin mouth curved. Very slightly. “Possibly.”
She searched the dark windows of the nearest wooden structure. “From inside?”
He nodded. “Many call the Otherworld their home.”
Home. What a strange word to call … Hell. Donna shivered.
“Who is watching us?”
“Here?” Demian clasped his hands loosely behind his back. “Scavengers, mostly.”
“But what about—?”
“You ask too many questions. It will soon be night here, and you need to enter the grove before darkness falls.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Fine. Let’s go.”
The Grove of Thorns was exactly what Donna had expected—only twice the size and ten times more unwelcoming. She shielded her eyes against the disorienting half-light and swirling dust, looking across a wide expanse to her final destination. Everything was so desolate here. The grove was entirely surrounded by rose bushes, but even they didn’t help improve how bleak everything was. They were black roses, after all. At least now she knew where Demian got his seemingly endless supply of the stupid flowers.
Somewhere in the middle of all that twisted vegetation was the Gallows Tree. But before she could even think about going into the grove and finding it, there was a slight problem to be dealt with. She swung around and faced Demian.
“You didn’t say anything about a river.”
He shrugged. “Should I have?”
“Some kind of a warning