The Stone Demon by Karen Mahoney Page B

He gestured at a solid-looking door that definitely hadn’t been there a moment ago. “Or, they will be soon. I had to bring you here so that we could join them.”
    He was up to something, she just didn’t know what it was. Yet. Or maybe he was simply playing games—he was a demon, after all. That’s what they did.
    “Fine,” was all she said. “Let’s go.”

    Donna gazed around the meeting chamber and hoped her jaw wasn’t dragging on the floor. She couldn’t help it; the paintings that covered three of the walls were so vivid—so visceral —that it hurt to look at them too long. The one that kept pulling her attention back, despite her best efforts to turn away, was of a young man, painted in an almost-photographic style to look as if he were inside a giant aquarium, staring into the chamber. He was pressed up against the glass of the tank, fully submerged so that his long black hair waved around his head like tentacles, and his eyes were wide with terror. Those panic-filled eyes seemed to move back and forth, watching her. She tried to convince herself that it was just one of those freaky illusions, that there wasn’t really a man trapped in a painting, drowning for all eternity.
    She sat down at a long table, and the Demon King took his place at the head of it. The guy in charge of the seating arrangements was the goat-faced man she’d seen speaking with Demian during the ball. His mask was one of the more realistic ones Donna had seen, and it seemed to move with his face as he talked. Watching him suspiciously, she wondered just how much of a “mask” it truly was.
    Perhaps most surprising of all were the demon shadows, drifting back and forth around the peripheries of the room as though keeping watch over their master. They were completely silent, and Donna shivered every time she felt one of them move behind her. She suddenly hoped that Robert wouldn’t come, after all—she didn’t know what he’d do if faced with a group of these things again.
    Then Demian’s steward, the goat-faced man, began announcing each person in turn as they walked through a doorway that had simply materialized in the center of the only wall empty of demonic “art.”
    “Representing the human alchemists, Simon Gaunt, Magus from the Order of the Dragon, he whom we call Demon Slayer.”
    As he walked through the door, Simon removed his Venetian Plague Doctor’s mask and smiled, showing the edge of his teeth. Donna shivered. How could she ever have found this man someone to be laughed at? Spending the past month with an ocean between them had been a luxury; but now she could see, more clearly than ever, how truly dangerous he was.
    “Also here on behalf of the alchemists, Miranda Backhouse from the Order of the Crow, and her apprentice, Donna Underwood.”
    So it was just Miranda and Simon here at the meeting, apart from herself. What about the other invitations that had been sent? Where was her mother? She’d been hoping to see her so much, and the knowledge that Rachel wasn’t there after all made Donna feel incredibly lonely. And what of Quentin? As Archmaster of the Order of the Dragon, he was spokesman for the Council—surely he needed to be here, to speak for all the alchemists. And then there was what Xan had told her. The real Xan. When they’d talked on the phone yesterday, he’d said that Maker believed the wood elves would be represented. Yet another thing that didn’t make sense.
    Demian’s eyes rested on her, making her feel hot and cold all at once. She straightened her spine and refused to look in his direction. This was all getting to be far too much; she was overwhelmed by the importance of the event. She didn’t know anything about diplomatic negotiations—if that’s what this meeting was even about.
    Well , Donna thought. I need to get some answers, so I might as well start now .
    She glared at Simon. “Where’s Quentin?” She knew it would do no good to ask about her mother, but he