Eban (12 page)

“What did you do?” she whispered. The image in the mirror spoke too, like a puppet, mouthing words it couldn't understand.

“This is an illusion, but I can make it reality.”

Eban appeared behind her, resting his hand on her shoulder and smiling broadly. His suit was as fine as the one Wystan had worn home from Santa Fe. She felt Eban's hand, warm and light against the silk on her shoulder. Beryl turned her head, expecting to see him there, but the shop was empty.

“You can think about it if you like, but you mustn't tell anyone. One word of this passes through your lips and the deal is void.”

Rosemar sounded harsh.

“O-okay. Let me think about it.” She already knew she had to say no. As much comfort as it would be to have Eban fall instantly in love with her, to have the life she'd left behind when she was only a little older than Sylvie sounded too good to be true.

“Till we meet again, Beryl.”

Chapter Eleven

Eliakim stared at Eban, piercing silver eyes ablaze.
“Rosemar is plotting against you.”

“You think I don't know that?”

Heat rolled out of the Pit, giving off a noxious sulfuric smell that made Eban's eyes water. There was no place he hated more than the wide gaping hole in the desert that led to Hell. Astaroth had opened it long before Eban was born and his father became the territorial chief of New Mexico. Why in God's name some fool human decided to build a town a few miles from it was beyond him.

Back then it hadn't been much more than a rift in the craggy desert rocks. It hadn't opened to this state until Astaroth found out Seneca Heckmaster was betraying him. The battle that ensued reshaped this part of the desert, leaving it bare except for scrub brush, cedars and thorny bushes. Mass piles of demon bones were buried in the broken mountains, evidence of the legions Astaroth had sent to destroy Eban's father.

Although they were far from nobility, Seneca had been a strong demon in his own right. It wasn't until Astaroth himself emerged that things started going downhill for the Heckmaster family.

“You are lost in thought and open for attack,”
Eliakim pointed out.
“What are you looking for out here?”

A fight, but he didn't want to say that. “Nothing in particular. You know, I don't feel like you've ever passed on that angelic wisdom I asked for when I called you down here.”

“What do you wish to know?”
Eliakim walked the edge of the Pit, peering down at the barrier.
“I carry the memories of thousands of lifetimes. There are many things I can teach you.”

“Why does God let innocent women get possessed?”

Eliakim looked up sharply.
“You must believe in destiny.”

“That's not an answer.” Eban removed his saber from its sheath, then twirled it through the air, loosening his shoulders and back as he moved. “I can't protect her forever.”

“I don't believe anyone would ask that of you. You're not strong enough or considerate enough to care for a woman of Beryl Brookshier's importance.”
Eliakim bent and picked up a rock. He studied it before he threw it out over the Pit. It fell through the barrier without a sound.

Eban's arm went limp and he almost lost his grip on the saber. “I beg your pardon?”

“She's strong enough to carry a demon without breaking. Most human women would have succumbed to death's embrace long ago. She doesn't need protection, not yours.”

Eban bristled. “Just as well she ran off then. Someone else can watch after her.”

Eliakim's blank face turned disbelieving.
“You've made an error.”

“She left. I didn't make her.” Except he had, by acting like a bastard. He'd been angry when she accused him of being so weak, his demon side was surfacing. “No one asked you to come with me either.”

“You're lost.”
Something like compassion creased Eliakim's face.

Eban looked away, ignoring the truth behind those two words.

“I know right where I am—the mouth of Hell, waiting for a demon or two to show their ugly faces.” He kicked a rock, watched as it bounced until it settled close to the Pit's edge, but didn't fall. Sometimes Wystan brought the decapitated bodies of the demons he and Tell slew and threw them into the Pit to remind Astaroth they were still alive and fighting.

“You're waiting for one.”
Eliakim nodded at the Pit.
“You plan to slay it.”

“Yes.” The sigil on his chest would appeal to them. Barghests and changesteeds would sense the marking. Once they caught sight of him, they wouldn't be able to resist the lure of easy prey.

“This is a fruitless task.”

“I didn't ask you to come,” he repeated.

When he led his horse out of the stables, the angel had been waiting in the street. Eliakim hadn't asked to join him, just followed along, keeping up with the horse's pace without difficulty.

The green filmy barrier over the pit rose like a soap bubble about to burst. Eban lifted his saber, muscles tense as he watched the Pit's edge.

“You're going to die.”

“Everyone does.”

He was afraid and felt sure Eliakim knew, but the saber didn't tremble. Steam rose from the Pit, obscuring his vision. The sulfuric stench heightened and a strange cackle filled his ears.

“Changesteed.” He bent his knees slightly, waiting for the creature's appearance.

“You don't need the weapon, Ebaneezer. I won't hurt you.” Gloria Heckmaster's voice rose out of the fog. “I've missed you.”

Unexpected tears burned his eyes. He hadn't heard her voice since he was a child. The saber slipped in his grip. Her voice sounded like water rippling over stones, cool and soothing.

“It is a trap.”
Eliakim moved forward, pulling his broadsword out so quickly the steel rang.
“I will dispatch it.”

“Get away. I'll handle it.” He shouldered past the angel.

The steam parted and hooves clattered on the rocks. The changesteed had a mouthful of sharp teeth. Its dark, gray-striped hide looked greenish in the light from the Pit.

“My, how you've grown up, my son. I've missed you.”

The creature's mouth moved, its voice a perfect imitation of his mother. Eerie, and designed to throw him off his guard. He didn't wait for it to approach. Weeks of anger propelled him forward, his saber lowered. The changesteed lunged, opening its mouth, prepared to rip the blade away and devour another soul.

He kept the blade razor sharp, though he seldom drew it. Wind whistled around it before it bit into demon flesh. The changesteed howled, rearing on its hind legs, lashing out with sharp hooves. Eban stepped back. It roared past him and he slashed its shoulder with the blade. A low growl left its throat as it spun to face him again. Slobber flew from its jowls in long strings as it rushed at him. Its snake-like pupils constricted and muscles bunched as it galloped. Brownish blood oozed from the wounds. Something inside him pulsed with the pleasure of causing it misery.

He let it get near him, making little cuts on its chest and neck, causing the changesteed to back away and squeal with each slash. It whirled and kicked at him, but he slapped it across the rump with the flat of his saber. Toying with it, letting it grow fearful eased some of his anger. The changesteed galloped around him and charged again. It bared jagged teeth, snapping at his right arm, dodging another blow from the saber. On its next circle, he drove the saber into its chest. It fell, shrieking and spewing brown fluid from the wounds.

With one swift motion, Eban severed its head from its neck.

“Impressive.”
Eliakim didn't put his sword away, but sauntered over to examine the beast's remains. He laid a hand on its neck, sifting his fingers through the long, stiff hairs.

Eban kicked the head closer to the body. “What are you doing?”

A pale blue shimmer ran over the changesteed. Its frame jerked, legs stiffening. Eban pointed the saber at it. The cloven hooves grew together to form a single piece. The head twitched, rejoining the body. The neck shortened, the snout elongated, the fur changed to dapple gray. Eban blinked. It wasn't a changesteed anymore, but a magnificent horse. It climbed to its feet and shook itself.

“How did you do that?” Eban asked.

“There is majesty in every beast. One only has to ask to see it.”

Eliakim ran his hand over the horse's nose, smiling for the first time since Eban had known him. A snarl sounded behind them and the horse reared, snorting with fear. Before Eban turned, Eliakim had pierced the second changesteed on his broadsword. It didn't make a sound as it slouched on the silver blade. Eliakim pulled it free, muttering in his deep voice.

“More are coming. You should smudge the sigil.”

“They already know I'm here. It wouldn't do any good.”

Energy surged through his veins. The horse Eliakim had created danced nervously. The angel whispered in its ear and it galloped away as he pulled his sword free of the changesteed.

Eban swept his hair off his forehead. “What are you going do with a horse?”

“One may need a fine steed to ride into battle when the day comes
.” Eliakim stared at the Pit.
“Something bigger is coming. Something that will not allow you to toy with it for long.”

“Good.” He tightened his grip on the saber.

Eliakim eyed him.
“Demons spat from Hell are never ‘good', my friend.”

“We'll see.”

The bubble over the hole expanded again. Fumes burned Eban's nose and stung his eyes. With the seals weakened, there wasn't any way to know what might come out. The sigil on his chest was meant to draw any demon fearless enough to risk burning up in the barrier.

Something dark with wide leathery wings exploded from the Pit with an ear-shattering scream. Divine fire burned holes into its flesh. It flew around them in a circle, scratching at the air with long claws. A whip-like tail sliced through the air as it landed in front of Eban and Eliakim. Its scaly brown hide shone in the light. It took a swipe at Eban, hissing as it passed Eliakim in a blur.

Winged creatures were a little more difficult to dispatch than the kind that were limited to walking or running. Eban had no powers of levitation, stuck to the ground because of gravity. The lizard-bat darted around him, gripping his hair for a moment, taking a swipe at his sleeve, and snapping its tail across the back of his head.

The edge of his saber slipped along the beast's hind leg and it let out a high-pitched howl, spiraling through the air toward Eban with its claws extended. He knocked it away with the saber, the vibration of the blow shooting through his arm. Hot, murky blood splattered his face and neck as the creature soared past.

Eban watched Eliakim follow the lizard-bat with his eyes as it beat its wings and gained altitude.

“Aren't you going to help?” Eban snapped.

“You did not ask before.”

He didn't want to admit he might be in over his head. “I'm asking now.”

Eliakim's face hardened.
“Smudge the sigil.”

“You aren't afraid of this thing.” Eban ducked as the lizard-bat dived, nearly taking off his head with its tail.

“Eradicate the demon call. Smudge the sigil or I will go without offering assistance.”

“Then go. I don't need you.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before the beast slammed into him from behind. They skidded along the rocky ground, the lizard-bat hissing and scraping his flesh with its claws. It forced his head into the loose gravel, pinning his arms with its bony knees, wrapping its massive hand around his throat. Eban gagged, struggling for breath as his saber slipped from his fingers.

“Eban?”

He swore he heard Beryl's voice in the beast's growl. Her image flickered in front of his face. The lusty look she'd given him the night they made love. Her fingers in his hair. The lizard-bat slammed his forehead into the ground. Bright white light flashed in Eban's vision.

From the corner of his eye, he saw its tail curled around its thin body, the end slicing through the air with quick jerks. Long yellowed fangs descended from its gums. It threw its head back, roaring with triumph.

“Don't leave me.”
Beryl's whispered plea when she'd been so sick with fever after arriving at his clinic rushed back to him.
“Will you hold my hand?”

His throat burned like coal fire from Hell simmered inside it. Something silver arched through the air, landing with a wet thunk behind him. The lizard-bat's head toppled and rolled a few feet away, but the tail whipped faster and its hands gripped Eban's neck tighter. His relief was short-lived.

I'll never get to tell Beryl I'm sorry. Never have the chance to give her the life she deserves.

Who would protect her if he wasn't there? He clawed at the creature's fingers. She needed him as much as he needed her. He wasn't a demon slayer—he was her protector. Fate had brought her to him as surely as the sun rose in the east. He managed to get his hand beneath one of the demon's and pry the scaly fingers back. He had to live, dammit. Beryl was out there somewhere afraid and hurt because of him. Out there alone and in danger because he couldn't admit he loved her.

If he got his head out of his ass, if he saved her from Rosemar, he could have the very thing his parents had—a love worth dying for.

He saw Beryl's sweet smile, heard her laughter as he pulled at the monster's digits and wrenched one of its hands free of his throat. Eliakim kicked the beast's body and it fell away with a thud and scuffing sounds while it kicked the dirt. Eban drew in a breath, then coughed.

Beryl. He had to talk to her, ask her for another chance. Beg for her forgiveness, if that was what it took. His brothers' teasing be damned. They'd give him a hard time, especially because he'd denied his attraction to her. None of that mattered now. Only getting back to her in one piece.

Eliakim spat into his hand. He jerked Eban's shirt away from his neck and smeared the spittle across the twining lines that formed the sigil.

“What did you see when you looked into the face of death?”

It hadn't been Rhia. Out of all the people he knew and loved, the first person he'd thought of was Beryl. Desiring her wasn't the same as wanting Rhia. He
needed
Beryl, but his infatuation with Rhia seemed like a lifetime ago. Eban dropped his head against the ground, panting while he caught his breath. “I need the practice.”

“You searched for trouble and found it. That is unwise.”
Eliakim knelt next to him on one knee.
“The seals here are weak. Something must be done to raise better protection.”