Desolation (49 page)

“I admit,” Astaroth said, “you have surprised me. After all the promise you showed when you first started running, I never imagined you would simply return here of your own volition. For what? For the well-being of your friend? I was never going to harm him, Amber. He is not mine to harm.”

Amber looked up to see Fool walking over to where Milo lay, a heavy chain in his hands.

“Let him go,” Amber croaked.

Astaroth looked at her with his black eyes. “Your friend is being returned to Demoriel, the Demon that blessed him. He is no longer your concern.”

Moving slowly, and feeling his way, Fool secured the chain around Milo’s neck.

“You have me,” Amber said, shaking her head. “Let him go.”

“You can only bargain when you have something of equal value to offer,” Astaroth said. “Your hands are empty, Amber.”

Tears coming to her eyes, Amber pushed herself up on to one elbow. She still wasn’t breathing right. “Not his fault,” she managed. “All mine.”

“He helped you run.”

“I asked him to. Please. I’ll do anything.”

Astaroth paused. “Interesting.”

She seized on the interest in his voice. “Name it.” She struggled to her feet. “Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

“You would agree to a bargain so readily?”

“I’ll do anything.”

He made a sound, an amused sound, like a laugh, but not quite. “You killed my representative,” he said. “He had been most loyal. For a hundred years, he spoke with my voice on Earth. He was my eyes, my ears, my hands. He enacted my wrath, secured my vengeance, delivered my judgement. And you killed him.”

She nodded. “What can I do? How do I make that up to you?”

“I am in need of a new representative.”

Amber nodded again. “I can find him for you. Absolutely. Tell me where to start looking.”

“You,” said Astaroth, standing. “You will be my representative.”

Amber blinked. “What?”

“You have cheated me. Evaded me. Insulted me. I sent the Hounds of Hell after you, and only one returned – and he could only manage to bring me your friend. You are proving yourself worthy of the position.”

“But … but I can’t be your representative,” said Amber. “I don’t … I’m not
bad.
”

“Human morality is of little interest to me,” Astaroth replied. “If you say no, your friend will be delivered to Demoriel, who most likely will devour his soul upon seeing him. And you I will torture, humiliate, and degrade. I will make you suffer for a hundred thousand years, or until I grow bored of your screams. Now what do you say to my offer?”

“What … what will it mean? What will I have to do?”

“Whatever I tell you. Your first act is a simple one – ensure that no harm befalls my brother. I want him in that cell for eternity.”

“Do I have to … do I have to stay here?”

Astaroth smiled with cold amusement. “Your place is among the living. For now.”

“And Milo goes free, right? You’ll let him return with me?”

“Of course. But this is your final chance. Do you accept?”

“I … I accept,” she said.

Astaroth smiled again. “Good. Unchain him, Fool.”

Fool did as he was told.

“You may take him back with you when you are done,” said Astaroth.

“When I’m done doing what?”

“Why, you eat of my flesh and drink of my blood, of course,” said Astaroth, holding out his arm.

“Oh,” said Amber.

Her legs wouldn’t work right, but eventually she got them moving, and walked slowly to where the Shining Demon stood. He didn’t say anything more, didn’t offer further instructions, so she lightly took his arm and guided it towards her mouth.

She’d eaten Alastair. She’d eaten Benjamin. She’d eaten a dead man, and she’d eaten a man alive. She had crossed so far into the realms of unexpected behaviour that she’d thought there would be nothing she was not prepared to do. And yet taking this first bite …

She bit down slowly, her fangs sinking into Astaroth’s surprisingly tender flesh. Golden blood spurted, filling her mouth with its sweetness, spilling down her throat. Her eyes fluttered closed and she held on to his arm with both hands now, her teeth cutting into the meat. Christ, his blood was amazing. Warmth spread from her throat, from her belly, outwards. It reached her ribs and the pain went away and she could feel them, she could actually
feel
them, begin to repair themselves. Cuts and bruises and breaks and fractures were all absorbed into the spreading warmth.

She pulled her mouth away slightly, chewed, swallowed, and it was dizzying. She’d never tasted anything like it. It was more than nourishing – it was more than intoxicating. It was pure pleasure. Her heart hammered in her chest. Her skin sizzled with electricity. She took another bite, ripped out a chunk of meat, swallowed, then clamped her mouth on his arm again. She moaned, down deep in her throat. Her left leg was shaking. She twisted a little, ploughing fresh furrows, drinking more blood. The pleasure was building. Rising. Jesus, it felt like …

She was going to explode. Wave after wave of sensation swept through her, stronger and stronger each time, and it built and built and finally there was nowhere left for it to go and the wave crested and she
did
explode, every single nerve ending singing out in rapturous harmony, every cell of her body dancing on fire and she cried out and her knees went and she lost her grip on his arm and she collapsed, gasping, to the stone floor.

Astaroth passed a hand over his mangled forearm, and his hand brought healing.

“You have eaten of my flesh,” he said, “and you have drunk of my blood. You will be my voice on Earth. You will be my eyes, my ears, my hands. You will enact my wrath, secure my vengeance, and deliver my judgement. Stand now.”

Slowly, Amber stood, watching her reflection in the mirrored walls as she did so.

She was taller. She was even taller and stronger than before. Her clothes strained to contain her. Her skin was still that glorious, glorious red, but now it positively shone. Her horns had grown, too. They were practically
antlers
now, majestic and proud. She was beyond magnificent. She was something else entirely.

“Kill the Hound,” said Astaroth.

Amber dragged her gaze away from her reflection.

She was taller than the Hound now, even without her horns. His yellow eyes were wide. He growled, and stepped back. Astaroth ignored him, kept looking at her.

“What use have I for one Hound? His brothers failed me. He failed me. Kill him and I can start afresh.”

Amber blinked, her mind slow to process the instruction. She noted the shock and fear on the Hound’s strange face, saw the snarl of defiance that revealed the pointed, jagged teeth. She couldn’t kill him, even if she’d wanted to. Her fingertips itched. He was too strong, too fierce. He’d knocked her to one side with a casual sweep of his arm. In this castle, in the domain of the Blood-dimmed King, he was too much. She was outmatched. And she wasn’t a killer. She didn’t just kill on command. A sharp pain jabbed at the space behind her eyes.

Not that he was innocent, of course. He was anything but. The Hound was a murderer, a monster who obeyed the order to kill without question. This Hound in particular had been the one who’d attacked her on the street, who’d dragged Milo behind his bike. If anyone deserved to be killed, it was him.

But she couldn’t do it. He was bigger than her, stronger than …

No, wait. He wasn’t. Not anymore.

Amber stepped towards the Hound and the headache went away and her fingertips stopped itching. The Hound reached for her and she flinched, surprised to see her left hand encircling his wrist. Without knowing what to do next, she yanked, pulled the Hound off balance. She shoved him as he stumbled by her and launched him suddenly backwards.

She was stronger than him. She was much, much stronger.

The Hound roared and came at her and Amber turned her hands to claws. One swipe took the fingers of his right hand. Another tore through his clothes and flesh. He spun, staggered, clutching his arm to his side. His throat was right there, ready to be slashed, ready to be cut open like Grant’s throat had been cut open.

Amber stayed her hand and he reeled away from her.

The headache came back, driving needles into her brain. Her claws itched like crazy. She felt sick. She was going to puke. All that lovely warmth was now a distant memory. She was suddenly so cold. She started to shiver. There was a foul taste in her mouth. She wanted to spit, but she had no saliva. Her mouth was dry. Her belly roiled with acid.

She thrust her arm out and her claws glided into the Hound’s back, lacerated his heart from behind and now Amber was warm again, and when her magnificent claws swiped his head from his body she relaxed, breathing out and smiling. She didn’t see the Hound fall. Her eyes were on her reflection. She hadn’t thought it was possible, but she was now even more beautiful than ever.

The Shining Demon spoke to her, then, and she listened, and nodded, and said she understood. He walked away, and as he left the light in the hall faded. When he was gone, Amber looked round. Fool was gone, too. Only the Hound and Milo remained, and the Hound was dead.

She scooped Milo into her arms, and walked out the way she’d come. The castle laid itself open to her, and she took each turn with the conviction that she was going the right way.

But the warmth inside was fading. Each moment that passed took with it a little of her height, of her strength, of her horns. Their loss was an odd sensation. Even though she was returning to her normal demonic stature, she felt lessened, like this was the consolation trophy she’d been handed after letting the grand prize slip through her fingers.

She arrived back in the room she’d started in and her mood was already darkening. All of a sudden she was cold, and lost again, and unsure, and the doubts descended on her like spiders from the rafters.

She turned at a noise, and saw a creature in the darkness watching her. It made a sound, a two-syllable utterance that was almost like Amber’s name.

She frowned as it shuffled out from the shadows. Naked, its skin was flayed in places, pulled back off glistening muscle by black wires that pierced its flesh. Its belly was bloated, its fingernails missing, and its lower jaw had been detached. Clumsy attempts had been made to fix it back into place with wire and thread and hooks, so that now it hung there, like a gaping, impossibly wide mouth.

“Hello, Edgar,” she whispered.

At the mention of the name, tears sprang to the creature’s eyes and its face – what there was left of it – crumpled. It turned away from her, as if it was ashamed, and Amber walked on to the circle of fire that was still burning. On the ground before it were six glass vials. She laid Milo within the circle, and examined the vials. Each contained golden liquid.

Astaroth’s blood.

Despite Edgar Spurrier’s racking sobs from behind her, warmth exploded in her heart and she smiled, she laughed, and she held the vials close to her chest and closed her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

She had six vials. Six more opportunities to get bigger and stronger and more beautiful. The thought made her happy – happier than she’d been in a long, long time.

She pocketed the vials, very carefully, and stepped into the circle of fire. At her feet, Milo moaned, and she took him back to Desolation Hill, and left Bigmouth to his hell.

I
N THE MORNING
, the town lay in ruins.

The snow had melted and the streets had returned to their normal sizes during the twilight that followed the sunrise. Buildings no longer loomed crazily. The cracks in the roads had healed over and now the only damage remaining had been done by the town’s inhabitants.

When dawn had come, the people had reverted. Amber had been outside. She had watched them fall to their knees, weeping at their loss, each one of them feeling the same pain yet isolated in their own grief. One by one they dragged themselves home, still crying uncontrollably, and closed their front doors.

The cops had come, then. Lucy Thornton and the officers who had survived the night came in trucks, picking the dead and the injured up off the ground. They would have gathered up the remains of their very own Chief Novak, but Amber hadn’t been around to see that. She wondered how they were coping with his loss.

Once the dead were taken away and the injured were carted off, the clean-up began. Glass was swept and sidewalks were washed of blood. Rubble was collected. Torched and trashed cars were towed.

At around nine, the people re-emerged from their houses, their tears dry. They replaced windows and fixed doors and hammered and drilled and worked, and they did all this silently. They didn’t look at one another if they could help it. They didn’t make eye contact.

The kids weren’t allowed out yet. Amber didn’t know if they were still in their panic rooms or if they were just confined to their houses. Either way, the town had to be made presentable for the lies to continue.

Amber walked back to Virgil’s house. The Charger was parked on the road outside and the van sat on the driveway. Warrick was checking it when he saw Amber.