Eban (16 page)

She jerked her head up, ignoring the pain it caused. “I don't want to live like this. Trapped in a room. It's not fair. You can't leave me this way.”

“There's a full moon next week. We're going to—”

“That's not good enough, Eban.” She got to her feet again, standing as close to the invisible wall as she could without smashing her face into it. “I'll call Eliakim. I know he'll understand, even if you don't.”

“Not without risking Seere's wrath. You'd introduce a new sort of war to Berner. I know you don't want that.” He stared at her, as though daring her to go ahead. “I'm crossing the bond now. Tell shot her and I don't want you to tear the stitches.”

“Why didn't he kill me? He must know it would be better. Seere wouldn't move against the three of you. He needs you too much.” The tears broke and she buried her face in her hands. “I hate this. I hate what I am and I don't want to do this anymore.”

Eban gathered her into his arms. “Don't say that. I love you and this will end, I promise. We'll get rid of her.”

Beryl tried to get free, squirming against his embrace. “She won't let you. She'll never go away.”

He held her, pushing hair over her ear, rocking her back and forth while she cried. “I know you're scared, but we'll get through this. Our best chance is for you to stay here for a few days.”

He kissed the top of her head as she held back a sob. She heard him murmuring, but couldn't make out anything he said. She wasn't crying for herself, or the terrible situation she was in now. Knowing she'd hurt Sylvie, scared TJ and alarmed her friends made her feel worse than knowing a demon lived inside her.

She didn't protest when he checked her bandages, muttering about how if the bolt that hit her back was an inch up or down, she would be dead, but as it was, it had just glanced off a rib. He promised to bring her some tea even though she didn't respond.

The truth was, she didn't want company, or to think, or eat, or do much of anything except stay in bed until they talked to the demon lieges. Outside Tell's lines of binding, the rest of the world was safe.

Chapter Fifteen

Eban knew Beryl could hear him, but it didn't stop him from pacing in front of her room. The edges of all his fingers were sore because he'd picked his cuticles away and now had nothing left to do, so from time to time, he popped his knuckles and ran his hands through his hair.

He passed the doorway again and decided that it was good she was sitting up. Yesterday, she'd just lain in a miserable lump beneath the blanket. But her eyes were empty, her face waxy and drawn. She'd given up hope of banishing Rosemar and no matter what he said or did, she didn't respond.

He felt like a weight was crushing him. Watching her close up her feelings made him edgy. Under the power of the bonds, Rosemar couldn't even appear in Beryl's body. A short-term solution to a long-term problem. She hadn't gotten the opportunity to drink blood. Her thirst must be awful and he worried that was why Beryl looked like she was on death's doorstep.

Drinking blood was crude and made his stomach turn, but when the lust demon said she needed it, he believed her. If Beryl died because of Rosemar, he'd—well, there was nothing he could do.

Unless I follow her into Hell and bring her back.

The only way that happened was if he set the demon inside free. He'd walk through the nine circles of Hell to see Rosemar suffer again and again. Astaroth and the rest of the demons be damned.

Rhia appeared on the staircase, her brown hair falling out of the knot on top of her head. Her expression was all worry and no teacher.

“How is she?”

He ran his fingers across his lips, then folded his arms. “No better. I'm afraid she's giving up.”

The first time he'd looked at Rhia and only seen a friend was the night Rosemar attacked Sylvie. Rhia was his sister-in-law, and Wystan was damn lucky to have her for a wife.

“Eban, I'm so sorry. Maybe I can talk to her.” Rhia stepped onto the landing. “It can't hurt, can it?”

“I don't suppose it could. Rosemar can't try anything. She's weakening because she can't get a drink.”

“I'm not afraid of her. Not like that. Only of what she can do to my friend. Beryl needs to know we're all here for her.”

He leaned against the wall, letting her pass. “I'll be right outside.”

“You should sleep, Eb. I can see that you haven't been. I can sit with her for a while. You're going to have to be at your best for the conjuring. I don't want anyone getting hurt and ruining our chances of banishing that demon.”

“I'll be fine.” He didn't have any other choice. “I could do with a cup of coffee, but I won't go far.”

She nodded. “Take your time.”

Rhia didn't hesitate to enter the room. He heard her call a soft greeting, but Beryl didn't answer. Not that he expected it. The crushing weight fell down again, leaving him breathless for a moment. When he felt ready to move again, he took the stairs two at a time, but didn't enter the kitchen. He walked, letting his feet carry him along the boardwalk.

He didn't need to look to know he'd ended up at the marble statue. Why wouldn't he? The monument was a place of bittersweet memories. What surprised him was Eliakim waiting beneath the statue, sword across his lap.

“You're still here. We didn't see you for a couple of days and thought maybe you'd gotten tired of staying.” He wasn't sure if he should be glad or angry that Eliakim was still in town.

“Change is in the air.”
Eliakim looked down at his shining blade.
“Danger lurks around the corner.”

“I know.” He sat on the edge of the fountain. “I don't like what we're going to do, but I don't know what other option we have.”

“You're correct. There is no choice but to consult the demon lieges. I will be there, watching, waiting in case of problems.”

“Thoughtful of you. Not everyone gets angel protection when raising demons. I'm surprised you're not against it.”

“Seere is not the only one in favor of stopping Astaroth. He cannot be allowed to walk the earth again.”

“Tell knows things. He gets feelings, glimpses of the future. He doesn't know how this will turn out, but you do.” It was a guess, but one he felt certain about.

Eliakim ran his fingers over the blade.
“I am not allowed to divulge information to mortals.”

“It goes well? That's all I'm asking.” He couldn't leave his hair alone, fingers fluttering through it. “A yes or no. Simple answers.”

A smile curved the angel's lips.
“We will see.”

“Beryl is going to live.” It was a demand. He wouldn't accept anything else. A slow boil started in his blood as he imagined dragging Rosemar through Hell.

Eliakim gave him a sidelong look.
“Keep it on a short tether.”

Eban ground his teeth. “I'm trying.”

“Peace, brother. All things in their time. Your Beryl is strong.”

“I know.” He rubbed his thumb over his sore index finger. “Takes a special woman to host a demon. To put up with a man who's half.”

The angel appeared sympathetic, but didn't comment.

“She wanted you to kill her.” The edges of his fingers around the nails burned. He sat on his hands and glanced at Eliakim from the corner of his eye. “Would you?”

Though he'd never noticed whether Eliakim breathed or not, he saw the angel's chest rise and fall as though he'd taken a deep breath.

“My duty is not to destroy innocent humans. My master loves them for all their flaws. He gives them chances they do not deserve. She is special, and I would hate to take that action. But if it is necessary…yes, I will. Beautiful though she is. Even a pretty face can hide terrible thoughts.”

Eliakim's gaze was on the wavering air that hovered above the horizon. Jealousy curled through Eban's veins, but it came as no surprise that an angel would find Beryl beautiful. “I saw her first.”

“I believe you are incorrect. I am much older than you. Beryl has been in Heaven's eye for many years.”

“Never mind. I'm going back to the clinic. Rhia's visiting her, but she has a family to see about.”

“There is more to family than blood. She doesn't mind sitting with Beryl. She knows her friend would do the same for her. There's a kindness in her that surpasses most humans'. Rosemar cannot stand it.”

“It's a weapon we can use against her.”

“Yes.”
Eliakim stood and tucked his sword away. He nodded at the horizon.

Demon eyesight was a help in most cases. Far off, he made out the gray horse Eliakim had transformed at the Pit. It galloped toward town, kicking up its heels and tossing its head.

“Pretty.”

“Indeed.”

“Don't you worry demons will get it?”

“The horse has already seen the worst Hell can provide. He fears nothing.”
Eliakim sounded dreamy, as though he was looking into paradise instead of at the desert.

“I didn't thank you for saving my life.” Eban squirmed, trying to squash the urge to pick at his nails again. “I shouldn't have gone.”

“You set the horse free.”

“You did that. I wouldn't know the first thing about turning a demon into a horse.”

“The trick you do will be more impressive, I believe. We will see in due time. Farewell for now, Ebaneezer.”
He was there, and then he wasn't, gone in a small flash of light.

Eban squinted, sure he could see the angel near the horse, who'd given up his prancing in favor of staring into the sunset. With a sigh, he slid off the fountain and walked slowly back to the clinic.

He carried Beryl to the empty church they'd agreed to use to raise the demon lords. Half the roof was missing, caved in long ago, perhaps when Seneca's curse had destroyed Berner and removed the human population.

Tell sat on a pew, his feet propped on the back of another, his hat pulled low over his face as though the moonlight was too bright. He looked asleep, but he gave a short wave when Eban carried Beryl past and settled her on another pew.

“Everything is going to be fine soon,” he whispered to her.

She offered the briefest nod, her green eyes so wide he worried they'd pop out. She hadn't liked the idea of leaving Tell's bonds, but they'd all agreed she needed to be there for the lords to see. Eliakim kept watch beneath the stained glass window at the front of the building. He said nothing, although his sworn was drawn, the point nestled against the warped wooden floor.

Wystan entered the church last, his bowie knife on his hip, the lash that held it in place free so it would be easy to grab in case he needed it.

“Tell?”

“Sigils in place, herbs spread, candles waiting to be lit. What do you need me for now? Ain't like you never conjured a demon before, Wys.”

“I'll light the candles,” Eban said.

Five tapers in all, a big Solomon's star across the front of the church. His skin prickled as he took in the cobwebs and shadows in the corners. The empty church gave him a chill the way the graveyard never could. Those were dead bodies, long at rest. This was a house of the Lord, no matter how long it had been since anyone worshiped here. Demons and churches didn't mix. His brothers appeared unconcerned with it, though Wystan's shoulders were tense.

He went in a circle, using three matches to light the white candles. White for purity, which was laughable. The demons they were calling had seen and done so many evils, they'd never respect white candles. They'd be lucky if the sigils and Tell's bonds held.

He glanced at Beryl, slumped on the pew.
Let this work. Not for me, but for her.

The candles weren't very bright, not under the flooding light of the moon. It looked close enough to touch, hanging directly above the hole in the roof. He thought he could see every crater, every hill, every crevice on the glowing surface. It was beautiful and too exposing at the same time.

Tell stood behind one of the candles, nodding at Wystan to move to another and Eban a third so they formed a triangle. They stood at three points, a divine number, but he knew there was nothing holy about any of them. They'd been conceived in love, they battled demons, but their blood ran thick with barely controlled evil.

They were each inked with the sigil of the demons and bound inside a ring of their own protection. Eban exhaled nervously, waiting for Tell to start the summons. If he was patient, this would be over soon and things would be normal. Beryl would be herself again.

Tell bowed his head. “I invoke thee, the Bornless one, who created the Heavens and the Earth. Night, day, darkness and light. You know the Just and Unjust, and created man to love one another. To hate one another.

“Hear me, and make all your spirits subject to me; every Spirit of the Heavens, every Spirit of the Divine, on Earth and under Earth. On dry land and in water. Of whistling wind and roaring fire. Every spell and scourge of God may be obedient to me.”

Wind rushed through the church, causing the candles to blow out, but the moonlight still poured in. The hairs on Eban's skin rose and he looked around, searching for signs of a presence he hadn't sensed before. The lines on the floor glowed molten red.

“I call Berith, Buer and Sitri, the duke, the president and the prince.” Tell didn't take his eyes off the center of the circle. “As you did for Solomon, do for me.”

The church filled with the scent of sulfur. The demon royalty shimmered into existence, one by one. Berith, on his steed, a red horse that reared inside the confines of the circle. He was draped in a blood-red cloak and carried a spear. A golden crown perched on his head, covering his black hair.

Seere and Eliakim looked enough alike to be twins, handsome men who were almost too beautiful, but Eban could barely stand to look at Berith. His face was the model of handsome, as though he'd been created to fulfill the word, bearing the features every man longed to have. Regal nose, compelling eyes, square jaw and high forehead. The only thing odd about his face were his coal-black eyes, reflecting the moonlight. He was tall in the saddle, probably standing well over Eban's six feet and an inch. Berith was a warrior duke who ruled twenty-six legions of lesser demons. He quieted the horse, remaining silent as his counterparts formed.

Where Berith had beauty, Buer was what Eban expected a demon to look like. Five equine legs surrounded a snarling dog-like face. He growled and snapped as he cantered around the circle, threatening the Heckmasters with jagged teeth. An unhappy guest—no surprise there.

“Buer, I command your human form.” Tell's voice rang with authority and smoke swirled around Buer. When it cleared, he was a man, but not nearly as handsome as Berith. He might have been the average person passed on the street any given day. He didn't seem like a president.

“Fifty legions,” Tell mouthed.

More than Eban would ever have as long as he resisted Rosemar's offer to become her consort. Which suited him just fine.

Sitri appeared last, his speckled leopard body and gryphon wings forming amid dust motes. He roared once, then morphed into a human shape, though his animal eyes remained, watching the Heckmasters and his fellow lords with hunger. The prince controlled sixty legions and had more power than anyone in the room. Dark blond hair flowed from beneath his crown of tarnished gold serpents, over the shoulders of his long, blue velvet robe.

“So we are trapped by Seneca Heckmaster's sons. In the presence of the Unborn one under the light of a full moon. To what purpose?” Sitri's voice was melodic, so soothing Eban found himself leaning closer to listen.

Tell directed his words at Sitri, bowing a little as he spoke. “Our purpose is two-fold. First, we seek the answer to a problem that even the Unborn lord's messenger can't tell us. This woman is possessed by a lesser demon who once walked the earth. Her name is Rosemar. We want rid of her.”