Xiwei backed up.
“Farther,” I said.
She backed up to the doorway to the dining room. I rested my hand on the doorknob. It was an old style knob, made from cut glass to look like an obscenely huge diamond. Like it was magical and opened a door to a magical place.
I flung the door open. The basement stairs weren’t lit, but there was enough daylight from the kitchen window to see the first few steps. They looked clear. A second later, a wave of stench assaulted my senses. Old feces and urine and rotten meat. It wasn’t the stink of death, but of neglect. If I hadn’t prepared for it, it would have knocked me off my feet.
Xiwei put a hand over her nose and mouth. She stifled a gag.
“You okay?” I asked her.
“What’s down there?” she asked, almost choking on her own bile.
“A fallen angel,” I said. “A demon. His name is Marchosias.”
Solomon’s Archivist is a completed, 85,000-word fantasy novel.
Call him a cynical bastard, but Po would rather let the world burn down around him than stick his neck out; it’s what’s kept him alive for three millennia. The problem is, a conclave of magicians is selling the one thing that can bring him out of hiding—the location of the dragon Yingpei, the monster that destroyed Po’s life when he was still a boy—and the price for this information is the weapon that King Solomon deemed too dangerous to be used and too valuable to be destroyed. For nearly three thousand years, Po has kept the weapon safe, but fuck that. Fuck promises and honor and Solomon, too…for the chance to pin Yingpei’s pelt to his wall, Po is prepared to sacrifice everything, even the rest of the world.