Eban (15 page)

“It's not fair to expect Wys to do it.”

“It's not fair that any of should ever have to do it. Sometimes I hate what we are.” Tell scuffed his boot against the gravel.

Eban gaped. It was the first time Tell had ever admitted anything like that. He was a smooth, silent warrior who took pride in the demons he returned to Hell. It never occurred to Eban that Tell thought of it as anything but duty.

Maybe Tell had a human side too.

“We need to put Astaroth away for good.” Eban stared into the dying flames. “Once the Pit is locked, secure, we won't have to be anything other than normal citizens. As normal as we can be in a town like this, anyway.”

Tell nodded. “That'll be nice.”

“So when we are doing this?” He wanted it over. The thought of calling three powerful beings into their town—demons nearly on equal footing in Hell as their enemy—made him sweat.

“Full moon next week. It's a good time to call up power.” He snorted. “If you've got a death wish. Seere's one thing, with his promise to help where he can against Astaroth. These three—well, our old friend might be telling tales about us. Could be they don't care what he's up to, or they could want some blood of their own. We'll have to be careful.”

“We wouldn't do it any other way. Too many lives on the line. They won't break our bonds.” He had to believe that, because if they loosed three demons on Berner, there wasn't much to stop them from leaving if they took the notion. What happened in Berner wouldn't be an issue—the whole world would be at the demon lords' mercy.

“Think I'll head over to the saloon for a drink and maybe some company.” Tell kicked rocks and dirt over the last of the flames. “Tell Beryl I said hello.”

Eban nodded. “Keep an eye open.”

“They don't catch me unaware.” Tell gave him a half-smile. “I'm not some townie doctor in love with a human possessed by a demon, looking for trouble.”

“No, just the part about the trouble.”

“Never know. Maybe I'll find a human of my own.” He sauntered away, whistling softly, before disappearing into the darkness.

Eban watched him go and pondered the statement. Tell, married? That would be the day.

Chapter Fourteen

Rosemar raked her nails across the vanity top, staring at Beryl's reflection in the mirror. She seethed with rage. Earlier she'd attempted to take the body for her own, but Beryl had resisted and Eban helped talk her out of it. She didn't have enough power to claim a human vessel and it burned her like a rash. Damn Seere for withholding that ability.

The Heckmasters planned to call demon lieges, to banish her. Over her dead body. Or Beryl's. The choice was theirs. Eban, who practically stank of love and devotion to this filthy human woman—the woman she'd pulled out of an alley—would sacrifice himself to save her if it came to that. Disgusting.

She smiled anyway.
You want love, Ebaneezer? Well, you have it, you young, naïve bastard. Wait until I snatch it away. Just wait.

She dressed without thinking about it, leaving her hair loose and the top few buttons of the dress undone. Her throat burned for blood. She saw every vein pulsing beneath this thin, pathetic human skin, and thought about opening one, but it would weaken the vessel, which would be no help at all. Tell and Eban had gone to dispose of the demon the angel had slain. Who knew when they would return?

Rosemar left the clinic, sticking to the shadows, listening for loose demons on the prowl, though she couldn't sense any. Not until she made her way down to the angel statue on the edge of town. She crouched next to a building, watching the street.

The presence was entirely human, young and full of life. It was with someone else, something different than a demon, more godlike. She sneered. Sylvie Duke and that little Chinese boy, the son of the hearth spirits. A smile replaced her sneer. Those two would do nicely.

Sylvie was whispering, clutching Thomas Jefferson's hand as she pulled him along. Sneaking out. How naughty.

Rosemar cleared her throat and stepped out of the shadow of the building. “Sylvia Duke! What are you doing out this late? Don't you listen to anything Wystan says? These streets aren't safe.”

Sylvie jumped like she'd sat on a pin. She whirled and faced Rosemar, terror on her face. It melted away into relief. TJ's expression remained embarrassed and frightened.

Sylvie dropped TJ's hand. “Beryl, you scared me.”

“You should be scared.” It was all Rosemar could do to hold Beryl's voice and not just reach for the pair of them, snap their necks and drink their blood. “There are things out there that want to eat you. Does Rhia know you're gone?”

“No,” she admitted. “We weren't doing anything. Just enjoying the night air.”

Rosemar believed that, but she glared at TJ. “Do your parents know you're with Sylvie, young man?”

“N-no.” He was shaking, never one to take scolding lightly. He truly feared authority, which would make him much easier to kill.

“I didn't think so. What's the big secret?”

“Nothing,” Sylvie insisted, her chin shooting up in defiance.

Spirit. Rosemar fought another smile. She loathed this little girl, who'd lost her fear of the dangers lurking in town. The last thing to cross her mind would be the realization that something wearing human skin might not be human, and therefore not to be trusted. Not that the lesson would do her any good.

“You can tell me.” She forced a smile. “I'm your friend.”

“I told you we shouldn't have come,” TJ muttered. “I'll go straight home, Miss Brookshier. Please don't tell my parents.”

“No deal, TJ. Come here.”

Sylvie put her hand out to stop him. “Stay there.”

He gave her a questioning look, wrinkling his nose. He was already uncomfortable. Defying an adult's orders was a foreign idea. Rosemar's smile faded and her hands curled, nails cutting into her palms.

“Sylvie, what's wrong?”

Rhia's sister didn't move except to narrow her eyes.

“I'm taking you home. Rhia and Wystan are going to tie you to the house, young lady.”

“I'm not going with you. Neither is TJ.” Sylvie straightened, her hand still in front of her friend. “You don't seem right.”

She laughed, but it sounded harsh. “What are you talking about?”

“You're not Beryl.” Sylvie seemed doubtful now that she was prompted. “We'll go home, but not with you.”

Rosemar moved. Even weighed down with a human body, she was able to reach the kids before they knew what was happening. She snagged the front of TJ's shirt, pulling the neck of it tight. He froze, pupils nearly swallowing his irises.

Sylvie shrieked, scratching at Rosemar's wrists and kicking. Rosemar got her by the hair, forcing her to her knees and pulling her head back.

“Shut up before you draw attention, you little bitch.”

TJ whimpered, but Sylvie went silent, breathing hard. Rosemar could almost feel the blood coursing through Sylvie's veins. It would taste so sweet. She salivated as she imagined the hot rush sliding down her throat.

“You're going to behave now. One attempt to get away, one noise and I'll snap your neck, do you understand?”

“Who are you?” Sylvie demanded. “Where's Beryl?”

“That's not your concern, sweetie.” She jerked Sylvie's brown braid. “Do you understand what I said?”

“Yes.” The word came through Sylvie's teeth like a curse. “You're going to kill us no matter what we do.”

Rosemar barked a laugh. “You're too smart for your own good.”

“Rhia tells me that all the time.” For a moment, she was a small, lost child with no hope, but she recovered, sneering. “The Heckmasters will get you. They're not going to let you get away with killing us.”

“Maybe you're not as bright as I thought.” She gave Sylvie's hair another yank. “They're going to burn. At least you won't have to witness that.”

“Tell will kill you,” Sylvie whispered. “He'll hunt you down and make sure you suffer before you go back to Hell.”

Her eyes were wide, brimming with unshed tears, but her fists were clenched and she showed remarkable strength. For a second, Rosemar wondered what it would be like to occupy such a young body. Beryl was weak. She'd fallen ill quickly after Rosemar entered her. Sylvie was strong and healthy—a prize compared to many other vessels.

No, she needed the girl's blood more than her body. The boy would make a nice snack for later.

“Get up. We're going somewhere a little more private.”

TJ was breathing so hard she wondered if he'd pass out, but he seemed shocked and compliant. Sylvie climbed to her feet, but even with Rosemar's hands tangled in her hair, she was reluctant to follow. It didn't matter. In minutes her brief little life would be snuffed out and she'd trouble her sister no more.

Something flickered in the corner of her eye. Rosemar glanced at the marble angel standing in the fountain Seneca had erected for his wife before Astaroth destroyed him. Its expression was disapproving, frosty as a glacier. Its arms were crossed, but its wings spread as though it planned to fly out of the fountain and save the children. Odd, because before, its wings had been folded behind its back.

Rosemar tossed her hair. The ugly thing wasn't alive, wasn't a threat. Nothing in this town could threaten her, not even Eliakim if he didn't want Seere to rip him apart.

“You're afraid,” Sylvie accused.

Rosemar didn't bother with an answer. She pulled them both beside her and they'd just reached the shadow of the building she'd hidden behind earlier when something pierced between her shoulder blades. She roared in pain, but didn't let the children go.

“Tell!”

Sylvie's shout made her ears ring.

Rosemar bared her teeth and whirled, searching for the youngest Heckmaster. He raised his crossbow and fired another bolt. It hit her arm, the one holding Sylvie and her fingers went numb. She lost her grip. Sylvie kicked her in the shin and on reflex, Rosemar loosened her hold on TJ. He stumbled and fell, scrambling away on his hands and knees.

Sylvie turned to run, but Rosemar launched herself and tackled the girl. She pinned her with her useless arm and body, using her good hand to expose Sylvie's neck. A bolt zipped past her ear and she laughed, even as she heard Tell approaching. Her teeth—the blunt, almost useless things humans had—sank into Sylvie's flesh.

Sylvie screamed, but as Rosemar used all her strength, something big struck her, rolling her off the girl. Tell straddled her, his little silver knife at her throat. Others were coming, shouting, brandishing weapons that gleamed in the little light surrounding the street.

“I'll fucking kill you.”

Tell's face was twisted, inhuman. His eyes were wild and dark, the demon part of him yanking at its chain for freedom. Rosemar was breathing hard, this body so unused to physical activity, but she managed a laugh.

“Do it. See if you drive your brother mad.”

“Tell, no.”

That was Eban, horrified at the prospect of losing his lover. Wystan held Eban back, while Rhia sobbed next to Sylvie, her arms around her sister and TJ.

Someone else had joined them, not Eliakim, but a smaller, darker spirit.

“You can't kill her.” Meacham, the cranky abbeylubber who'd given up cleanliness in favor of filth, spoke so everyone on the street could hear. “We need her.”

“I don't think so,” Tell growled.

“One to guard the present.” Meacham was looking at Eban, who didn't seem to hear.

“Do it,” Rosemar urged. “See what it gets you. What my liege thinks about it. Seere will—”

“Seere won't give a shit. He'll be glad to be rid of a leech like you.” Tell shifted his weight, pushing the air out of her lungs.

He wasn't going to kill her, or he'd have done it by now.

“What do you mean, guard the present?” Wystan asked. “We don't need mysticism right now, Meach.”

Rhia looked up. “He said that before. One to secure the future, one to guard the present, one to repair the past, right after the flower bloomed. What does it mean?”

Meacham looked surly and said nothing.

“It means I can't kill her, but I can keep her from killing anyone else.” Tell's fist flew through the air and pain burst in Rosemar's head. “Guard this.”

Murmuring. A disembodied sob. The pounding in Beryl's head was so bad, she wished she could go back to sleep. Forever would be good, because she wasn't sure the pain would ever let up. A dull throb started in the middle of her back and her arm above her left elbow. Had she fallen again?

“…some bruise, sweetheart.”

Tell was here, his voice softer than the last time she'd heard it. Gentle, even.

“Why did she do it?” Sylvie sounded heartbroken.

“She's not herself.” Eban, his tone hard and unforgiving. “Hold still.”

“Ouch,” Sylvie complained half-heartedly.

“What were you thinking, going out after dark on your own? Don't say you weren't alone. TJ isn't an acceptable escort.” Rhia was hushed, stern and overflowing with concern. “If I ever catch you out alone again, you won't need to worry about demons.”

Beryl groaned, raising her hand to her head. How many injuries had she sustained lately? Enough to rattle her forever? Would she start losing her memories again?

“You don't have to worry about her again. Those bonds aren't breaking. I'm the best bond maker in New Mexico Territory,” Tell promised.

“I'm not worried,” Sylvie answered.

A lie that everyone heard. What happened? Beryl sat up, closing her eyes as the room swirled. Her stomach was empty, thank heavens, or Eban would be cleaning up another one of her messes. Her vision cleared and she managed to stand. Two, three steps and she didn't fall or crash into the bed. She hadn't felt so bad since the day she'd woken up after visiting the saloon.

The door was a mile away, but she wanted to make sure Rhia and Sylvie were all right. She blinked and slammed into a wall. An invisible one. She bounced back a step, rubbing her nose.

“She's awake.” Tell, low and threatening.

She imagined him pulling his silver knife out and a shiver made her freeze.

“I'll see to her. I need to check her bandages.”

She recognized the sound of Eban's gait. When he entered the room, he looked exhausted. A splash of blood darkened his shirtsleeve.

“Is that Sylvie's blood?” She started forward again, but her hand hit the wall. “What—”

“Beryl?” He studied her, expression suddenly closed.

“Of course. Oh.” The dizziness struck again and she stumbled back, sitting on the bed. The painful place on her back pulled and she grimaced. Rosemar had made another appearance and she hadn't even known. “What did I do?”

“It wasn't you.”

She pressed her palm to her forehead. “She's wearing my face. It's the same thing. Eban, what did I do?”

“Sylvie and TJ snuck out of their houses. Rosemar caught them in front of the angel statue and meant to kill them. She bit Sylvie.”

“Oh my god,” Beryl whispered. Her heart thundered in her ears. “Why?”

“She needs blood to maintain herself in your body.” Eban plowed his hands through his hair. “Sylvie will be fine. Rosemar barely broke the skin. Sylvie's just upset. Not at you. She understands that you weren't in control. There are enough strange things in town and she's bright, so—”

“Be quiet.” She rubbed the space between her eyebrows. Tears threatened to spill and her throat hurt from holding them back, but she knew if she started, she'd never stop crying. “Now. It has to be now, Eban. If Rosemar is really this evil, there's no sense in waiting. I don't want to wake up again with something like this, or something worse, hanging over my head. Next time someone could be dead.”

“Tell set up bindings. You can't leave this room. There's no reason to talk about ending anyone's life. You're safe in here. I can get in, bring you food and water, but you're behind a wall, so to speak. Rosemar can't do anything as long as you're here.”