The Stone Demon by Karen Mahoney

mother’s eyes when she glanced at Simon.
    Simon, for his part, looked as though he were about to explode. His forehead had gone shiny and his cheeks were almost purple.
    Miranda leaned toward him. “Is there a problem, Magus?”
Her tone was deferential, but Donna was pretty sure she caught a hint of amusement.
    The Magus seemed to have gotten himself back under control. “Rachel, what a pleasant surprise.”
    “Surely not a surprise, Simon,” she replied, making no attempt to disguise her disdain. “I was scheduled to accompany you in Quentin’s place, after all.”
    “I was unaware of that,” Simon replied smoothly. “How fortunate that you were able to make alternative travel arrangements.”
    “Yes,” Rachel said, glancing at Demian, who must surely have provided her “alternative travel.” “Very fortunate.”
    Donna looked around the table, taking in the strange gathering and trying to keep calm. There was her mother, sitting with Simon and Miranda; Aliette and her wood elves watching her back; the two hot fey guys sent on behalf of the Queen of Faerie, casting furtive glances around them; and Demian sitting majestically at the head of the table, his demon shadows drifting close by like guttering candles in the nonexistent breeze. His steward stood calmly behind his chair.
    It was Demian who broke the silence.
    “I want the Philosopher’s Stone,” the Demon King an-
nounced. “Give it to me, and humanity will not suffer any further at my hands.”

Eight
    E verything clicked into place. Fear tightened Donna’s chest, making it momentarily hard to breathe. A demon king in possession of the Philosopher’s Stone? She couldn’t bear to imagine that—not considering the power the Stone supposedly possessed. Apart from the obvious things—riches beyond imagining, immortality, its crucial role in creating the elixir of life—there was also the not-insignificant legend that whomever held the Philosopher’s Stone could reshape reality. Manipulate matter … maybe even change history itself. Of course, these were stories that she had read in books, but that didn’t mean there might not be some truth in them.
    From the look on the Demon King’s face, maybe a lot of truth.
    Miranda had visibly paled, but her voice was steady. “I expected threats from you, especially after the destruction you caused in London.”
    Demian tilted his head to one side. “Human beings are quite capable of inflicting all kinds of creative forms of suffering on one another. They do not need the help of demons. However, we are perfectly … willing to provide that help, should I not get what I desire.”
    Rachel and Miranda exchanged a look, but it was Simon who spoke for the alchemists. “That’s what all this is about? The Stone has been missing for centuries, presumably destroyed long ago by our ancestors. And even if we did have it, we would never give it to you.”
    Demian narrowed his abyss-black eyes. “Then make another.”
    Simon nodded sardonically. “Oh yes, because it is so very easy to do … ”
    Rachel leaned forward, resting her hands on the table. “We can’t do what you’re asking, Your Majesty. The alchemists no longer possess all of the ingredients needed to create the Stone.”
    Donna’s head jerked up at this proclamation. She turned to Miranda and whispered, “I thought part of the reason for my being here was to help the Order of the Crow create a new Philosopher’s Stone.”
    Miranda shook her head. “We’ll discuss this later, Donna,” she said in a low voice. “Now is not the time.”
    Demian steepled his white hands in front of him, clearly able to hear every word. “No,” he said, “let Donna Underwood speak. I would like to hear what she has to say.”
    His steward turned his goat face in Donna’s direction and gestured with one long-fingered hand. “Speak up, girl.”
    Rachel pursed her lips and looked away, and Miranda shrugged. Simon huffed.
    Donna cleared her throat,