Diabolical (44 page)

He pointed the two fingers at Hatcher to mimic a pistol and dropped his thumb in a firing motion. He clucked his tongue and winked as he did it.

Hatcher had no idea what scheme was being put in motion, but he figured he had one shot to keep it from going any further. The knife, still snug in his hand, seemed like his best chance. He took a breath and sprang forward. Two bounding steps and a leap onto the platform. At the first sign of movement, Sedim began to drop from above, plunging like bombs and landing close by, but he'd managed not to telegraph his attack and was a second ahead of them, on the platform now and still moving. Valentine backpedaled a few feet, but Hatcher closed the distance without any wasted motion. He launched himself at the man, cocking his arm and thrusting the blade toward Valentine's chest.

His arm slammed against something, the impact jarring his entire body to a complete stop. No, he realized, not against something, into something. Something tight, constricting. The something had grabbed his arm near the wrist and was holding fast.

The pain was excruciating. His hand seemed about to explode, the build-up of pressure immediately becoming unbearable. His lower forearm was being crushed with machinelike force. The knife slipped from his fingers. His hand swelled, turning a reddish purple. He could feel the two bones of his forearm grind together.

His body buckled from the force on his nerves and he almost collapsed. It took significant effort to raise his head. Morris Sankey had a hold of the arm. Or, more accurately, Sankey's freakish hand was holding him by the arm. A pair of giant leathery crab legs, each almost as thick as Hatcher's wrist, were roped around it, squeezing.

And then the fear hit.

It washed over his body, flowing from his skull to his feet, a shower of dread, drenching him, filling him. Anxiety tearing at his guts, jolts of adrenaline juicing his heart. His mind racing. It was like being electrocuted by a surge of everything that scared him, all at once.

Hatcher caught a vague image of Sankey's face, the man's expression registering through the haze of panic and fright, eyes flashing disappointment, mouth set in a frown. Then he felt himself drop and he was down, his body curling on its side, cradling his arm. The fear lingered for a moment, a crush of madness like noise in his head, drowning him, and then it was gone. Evaporated. Just a dream, obliterated by a sudden wakening.

Before he could collect his thoughts he realized he was being picked up, yanked by a pair of Sedim, one latching on to each arm. His right arm howled in protest. The numbness of his hand gave way to razor blades, the bones bathed in electric pain as the Sedim's taloned grip clamped down. They hauled him to his feet and off the platform.

“Do
not
hurt him.”

Hatcher realized it was Valentine speaking, or whoever the guy was who seemed to think he was Valentine. Hatcher didn't know what to make of it, what to make of any of it. He was too tired to be skeptical, his brain too scrambled to dissect so many pieces of information. For the moment, he would have to accept things at face value.

Which meant believing the man stepping down off the platform and walking toward him was Demetrius Valentine, somehow back from the dead.

“To think, you passed this up.” Valentine held up the ring, then caught it in his palm. “You have no idea,” he said, shaking his head. “Do you even understand what this can do?”

Hatcher gritted his teeth, his breath catching from the pain in his arm. He pulled against the Sedim, but they tightened their grips. He'd forgotten how insanely strong they were. Immovable when they tensed up, like a pair of six-foot rocks.

“Control demons,” he said.

Valentine's face showed a mixture of surprise and disappointment. “That's like saying a nuclear weapon lets you blow something up. True in a sense, but completely lacking any sense of scale. We're talking about much more than controlling a few demons. This allows its bearer to command Asmodeus, the one who controls all others.”

Hatcher said nothing. His eyes jumped from Valentine to Sankey, then to Edgar. Edgar grinned back, as if thoroughly enjoying the events unfolding before him. He held up the large knife Hatcher had dropped, the one he'd given him, and slid it into a pocket.

“I doubt you can even grasp what that means. This ring is how Solomon became the wealthiest, most powerful king the world ever knew. And even though they were unable to unlock its true potential, it was how the Templars became the most feared group of their time.”

“Congratulations.”

“Oh, I owe it all to you. You see, the reason the Templars—and no one else—could actually take advantage of this is because Solomon grew fearful of what would happen after he died. He began to repent for having strayed from God and relinquished his power. But he didn't want anyone else to have it, either.”

Valentine held up the ring, a professor using a visual aid.

“So he used his power to fashion a guard. The Tablet of Hadad. A sealed stone engraved with a language known only to demons. A seal that could only be broken by one man. You.”

“I don't believe you.”

“No? What if I told you the only person who could break the seal was one who had killed a demon, and only the one who broke the seal could claim the ring? Until your unfortunate meddling, do you know how long it had been since anyone had killed a demon? Take a guess.”

With slow, deliberate movements, Valentine slipped the ring onto his left ring finger. The torches lining the perimeter of the chamber flared.

“Solomon was quite clever. Without the ring, it was next to impossible to raise a true demon, so how could anyone kill one to claim the ring? Well, by foiling my plans with Belial, you satisfied the requirement. Fortunately, I had a contingency.”

Valentine turned and gestured toward the platform. Sankey hopped off and followed him toward the wall. Hatcher craned his neck to look. He could still see the shape of Vivian there, moving beneath the surface.

Another gesture from Valentine, this one simply a glance and nod, and the Sedim began to move. They pulled Hatcher forward, stopping short of Valentine and Sankey, several yards from the wall. Hatcher looked beyond them, fixated on Vivian's blurry image swimming behind the murky black screen of rock. Hatcher wanted to tear his eyes away, but couldn't.

“So, you want to be king of the world? Fine. You have it. Now let her go. Let me go while you're at it, too.”

“I'm afraid it's not that simple.”

Valentine stepped forward, holding out his hand. The wall began to glow, and the light brought Vivian into sharper relief. Eyes locked in a hopeless look of terror. Feral creatures tearing at her flesh. Hatcher realized her wounds were healing instantly, or at least disappearing. Torn and restored, over and over. She was enduring a mauling that wouldn't stop.

“You see,” Valentine continued, “The deal I cut allowed me to jump from body to body, to occupy vessels of the damned. But all of them have been temporary homes, and Asmodeus's powers are limited by his lack of access to this plane. I have to share my host. I get nights.”

He turned to face Hatcher, leveling his eyes toward him. “But once he's free, he can claim the soul of the damned on the spot. And you, dear brother, are damned.”

“That's what this is about? You went through all this just to send me to Hell early?”

Valentine let out a short laugh through his nose. “My, don't we think highly of ourselves? No, that's just a happy by-product. The moment he claims your soul, I'll be filling the void in your body. I mean, really . . .” He glanced down at himself, sweeping his hand from his chest past his belt. “Why would I choose soft and middle-aged over young and athletic?”

He's insane, Hatcher told himself. Bat-shit crazy. But then he realized he was thinking of him as Valentine, and if this was Valentine, he was already in someone else's body. So maybe he wasn't the crazy one.

The mauling behind the wall continued. Vivian's screams seemed all the more piercing for not making a sound.

Hatcher struggled to pull free, unable to resist trying, wincing as the claws dug into arms. “Just let her go, then. For Christ's sake, you've got everything you wanted.”

The muscles in Valentine's jaw tightened, and the features of his borrowed face grew hard. “I'll never have everything I want. I have to settle for causing pain to the one who made sure of that.

“Besides,” he said. His expression relaxed and he broke eye contact. “The deal I made won't allow it. If it were up to me, I would. But I'm afraid she's a prize. He won't give her up.”

Hatcher watched as a chunk of flesh was torn from her neck, ripped by jagged teeth.

“You know,” Valentine continued, “you really could have saved her. When Deborah offered you the chance, it was real. You had to give up the ring of your own free will for it to work. We couldn't lie, not materially, or your rejection of it wouldn't have sufficed.”

“You tricked me.”

“No. We told you the truth when it mattered. That was what was required. You refused to believe it. We may have been prevented from deceiving you, there was nothing to stop you from deceiving yourself.

Valentine stepped back, raised a hand toward Sankey. “But even with the ring, none of this would be possible without this man.”

Sankey straightened his back. Though his expression didn't change much, his face seemed to light up with pride.

“Our friend here is very special,” Valentine said. “He's the only person who can actually pass through to the other side.” He clapped Sankey on the shoulder. “He was touched by an angel at conception. A fallen angel.”

The other side
. Hatcher thought about Sherman, how Sankey had appeared to hand his head through the wall. It hadn't been an illusion. They simply wanted him to think it all was. Lori must have been a spy, someone who fed them the info they needed, told them about Denny and his magic videos. She probably had no idea what they had in store for her. He bit down on his lips, forcing himself not to look at Vivian. They had laid their cards faceup on the table, and still managed a bluff.

“And now,” Valentine added. “With his special gift, he's going to complete our deal.”

Valentine pointed, then snapped his fingers. Several Sedim scrabbled over to take places in front of Hatcher, forming two rows. A blockade.

“Sorry, can't afford to have you try to mess anything up.”

Valentine tugged his suit coat straight, then nodded to Sankey. He stepped close to the wall and held his hand out. The gold of the ring flashed in the torchlight.

Sankey reached his enormous claw out and took Valentine's arm by the wrist. He guided it to the wall, touched it against the surface.

Behind the wall, the demons yanked Vivian aside, gnawing on her face and neck and breasts, slashing her stomach open with their talons. Hatcher shut his eyes and turned his head.

A murmur rose from around him, a hum that sounded almost like a chant. He felt the Sedim holding him tense up. The ones in front of him were facing the wall, watching intently. Anticipating something. Behind the wall, a shape was drawing nearer, coming into view.

He's going to give him the ring, Hatcher realized. That was the deal. Asmodeus gets the ring, Valentine gets Hatcher's body. Asmodeus could then pass through, walk the earth, without being under anyone's control.

The form began to take shape through the blurry pane of rock. A huge head, imposing horns. A beast with a massive chest and animal legs.

The Sedim clamped down even harder on his arm, causing his knees to buckle.

All right, all right, I get it,
Hatcher thought, cursing the Sedim in his mind. His legs gave out and he sunk, but the pain of his own weight on his arms forced him to stand back up. Out of frustration, he gave another violent tug with one arm, paid the price for it, but the Sedim holding it didn't budge. They may as well have been trees for all they moved.

Hatcher's head snapped up.
They won't move.

Two rows of Sedim stood between him and what was going on. Two rows, two Sedim almost directly in front of him. One was a couple of feet away, the other a couple of feet in front of that one. That forward-most one was about only about five feet from Valentine and Sankey.

None of them was paying any attention to Hatcher. Asmodeus clearly had a lot of fans among the Sedim. They were riveted. A rock star was about to enter the building. Hellvis, live on stage.

Hatcher pulled his arms and pushed back with his legs, endured the pain as the grips tightened again.

The shape behind the wall was now in full view. Hatcher's breath caught in his throat. He hadn't looked this close before, hadn't caught the details of it. The thing was huge, practically prehistoric in its proportions. He could see why the Baphomet was its symbol, but now he knew it was a weak facsimile. The goatlike face was vaguely human, but its mouth was too large, its jaw too long, its cheeks too high, its eyes too angled. An impossible number of fierce teeth extended from its mouth.

It stopped to look at Vivian. The things feeding on her immediately pulled off and backed away. She collapsed, but it caught her by the hair as she dropped and raised her back up.

She was healed already, the gashes and rips all closed. The creature ran a finger down her face, almost caressing it, then yanked her head back by her hair and bit out her throat.

Blood gushed out in a plume. The thing thrust its jaw in the air and swallowed, savoring the mouthful.