Demon Games [4] by Steve Feasey

great gulps of air.
    The lycanthrope that was Trey Laporte looked around him. In his werewolf form, his senses were far more acute than when he was a human, and he usually relished the wonderful synaesthesia that came with a Change: experiencing smells as layers of colours and shapes that overlaid his wolf vision and built up an incredible picture in his mind’s eye. But the stink of the Netherworld was too much for his heightened olfactory senses. It was a deathly, rotting, putrescent stench that lay upon him like a great black cloud, and he shook his head, fighting the need to gag again. He wondered if his reaction to the smells of this realm would ever abate. If it didn’t, he doubted he would be able to function here.
    ‘Are you OK?’ Dreck asked.
    Trey looked down at his guide, nodding his thanks. He concentrated on a spell that he’d been taught by his sorcerer friend Charles Henstall, forming the ancient words in his head and clearing his mind of everything else except a mental picture of Dreck. When he felt an unpleasant dropping sensation deep within him he knew that the connection had been made.
    ‘ That was very impressive ,’ Trey said, projecting the words directly into his guide’s head. ‘ Thanks for coming along when you did. I don Ï know what happened back there.’
    ‘Don’t mention it. Although it was touch and go for a minute. I wasn’t sure that I would be ready in time for that Shadow Demon. They really are very quick.’
    ‘ What are you?’
    ‘I’m a level-one incendiary Tok djinn.’ He looked at Trey expectantly. After a moment, he shook his head, clearly not getting the reaction that he was expecting. ‘A Fire Imp?’ He sighed, as if he was in the company of a simpleton. ‘We’re very rare, you know.’
    There was a cough behind them, and they turned to see the spiky-headed demon getting gingerly to its feet. It held its hands out in front of it and looked at them imploringly.
    ‘Please, do not kill me,’ Spike said.
    ‘Not kill you? Like you were not going to kill my friend here?’ Dreck asked.
    The demon mumbled something under its breath and looked at the floor.
    ‘Speak up!’ Dreck demanded in a loud voice.
    ‘We were not going to kill him. Our orders are to take all humans back to Molok. Alive.’
    ‘Oh, I see.’ The Fire Imp shook his head. ‘You were “just obeying orders”.’ He spat on the ground. ‘And what do you suppose Molok would do with the human, hmm? By delivering him to Molok, you were effectively condemning him to death . . . or worse.’
    Spike stayed silent.
    ‘You owe my friend here your life,’ Dreck said, stepping up to the creature and poking it in the stomach. ‘So give it up.’ He stared at the demon, an unfriendly look on his face. ‘Come on – we haven’t got all day.’
    ‘ What on earth are you asking for? ’ Trey said.
    ‘His name,’ Dreck said, without turning away from the demon that towered over his tiny frame. ‘His real demon name. He owes you his life. If you have his name, he is forever in your debt and can never harm you.’ He eyed the demon coldly. After a moment he shrugged his shoulders and held his breath, hunching down with the effort as his skin began to change colour once more.
    ‘All right, all right!’ the demon shouted. It stared at Trey, its lip rising up on one side in a sneer that revealed rows of razor-sharp teeth. It leaned forward so that its mouth was close to the werewolf’s ear and whispered barely audibly, ‘My name is Graglor-An-Shashlok and I owe you a life.’ It stepped back again, its shoulders slumped in a gesture of utter defeat.
    ‘ How do I know he hasn’t just made that up? ’ Trey said, looking at Dreck.
    ‘He can’t. If he did he’d be double-doomed. And he, like every other nether-creature, knows it.’ He waved a hand in the air dismissively, ‘It’s all complicated Netherworld stuff; don’t worry your furry head about it.’ He turned and looked at the defeated demon