Eban (7 page)

“I will go when I have mulled over the situation. Until then, I will enjoy a walk upon this earth. Much time has passed since my last visit.”

On the verge of stomping away from the clinic and riding out of town for good, Eban blew out a breath. “Remarkable how much he resembles Seere. Not to mention mimics him. ‘You presume much.' If I hear that out of either of them one more time… Rosemar, Eliakim, I release you. Go.”

Nothing happened.

Rosemar continued to smirk and Eliakim stared.

“Fine. Do whatever you want. I'm going to bed.” Eban grabbed a broom leaned against the wall and swept the pepper and cinnamon into a pile. “I might as well get a good night's sleep before my brothers kill me.”

“Seere would resurrect you. He needs you in order to defeat Astaroth.” Rosemar patted his shoulder. “Eliakim may not help you save Beryl, but you could have done much worse than summoning him. Take comfort in that.”

“Real comforting when I let power surge across the universe and risked opening the Pit,” he muttered.

“Eban.”

It wasn't Rosemar's voice that caused him to look up.

Beryl put her hand on his chest. “It's not your fault.”

“Stop it,” he growled. “I don't need this right now.”

Rosemar's harsher frown took over. “You're going to find more trouble than you ever imagined if you don't stop acting like a silly boy and take the yoke of responsibility.”

“I'm responsible for her, but no one seems to care.” He pushed her hand away.

“This one is weak. It will take a great jolt to wake him up.”
Eliakim looked at the ceiling as though listening to something only he could hear.
“It was no mistake he summoned me. I must think on this. To your saloon?”

Rosemar nodded. “Eban needs time to think as well.”

“The hell with both of you.” He had no guarantees Eliakim wouldn't slaughter Rosemar once they stepped outside, but he couldn't stop it. Neither of them gave a damn what he thought about the situation.

He swept the remains of his mess into a dustpan and left it for the morning while the unlikely pair slipped out of the clinic. Through his open window, he heard Rosemar laugh. Maybe he'd summoned a demon in disguise from the Gray Lands. She didn't seem the least bit threatened by Eliakim.

Disgusted, he picked up his pillow, then threw it against the wall. It did nothing to relieve his tension. Without the
Ars Notoria
, he was afraid to trying summoning another angel. His next visitor might not be so nonchalant about the invocation.

Exhausted, he dropped onto the bed. His failure begged the question of whether he should tell Beryl she was going to die. Was it better to know, or leave her unsuspecting? He imagined the look on her face once she found out about Rosemar. She'd be horrified. Would she want him to do the job before Rosemar started taking a toll on her body? He knew she'd hated being ill when she first arrived in town. Perhaps she wouldn't want to suffer that again—and suffer she had. He'd nursed her through long nights of coughing and sputum, half afraid she'd die no matter what he tried.

She'd pulled through then. Because of that, he didn't want to let go now. If Beryl died, it would be like the moon winking out for good. The faint glow she cast on the world would leave him in perpetual darkness. He couldn't stand the idea of failing a fragile human life.

Not for the first time, he cursed the day Rhia had driven her rickety wagon into town.

Chapter Seven

Beryl wished whoever was moaning in her ear would stop. It made her splitting headache worse. She snuggled beneath the covers, curling against the solid source of warmth next to her. For a moment, the noise stopped, but her stomach lurched and it started all over again.

Someone whispered her name. A hot hand caressed her forehead. She couldn't open her eyes for fear of seeing the room twirl around her like an out-of-control wheel.

“I'll be right back.”

The warmth left and she clung to the feather mattress beneath her, praying the world would right itself, the headache would vanish and her stomach would stop flopping like a fish.

“Here. Sit up a little and lean to your left. It'll help settle your stomach.” A pair of hands lifted her into a sitting position. “Hold this.”

A cold metal basin plopped onto her lap.

“You'll be all right in a while.”

“Eban?” She dared crack an eye, peering at him through her lashes. Light coming through the window drove a spike into her brain. She moaned, clutching the basin. “What's happening?”

“I'd say you drank too much.”

“I don't drink. Not even when the customers are buying. You can't get drunk on tea.” Her eyes felt dry as the land surrounding Berner. They snapped open as she realized what she'd said. A million more spikes exploded in her head. It was too much and she held the basin close as her stomach emptied.

He'd hate her now. She reeked of alcohol and sickness, had admitted to entertaining men, and for some reason she couldn't recall, had apparently imbibed—a lot.

Although her ribs felt as though they'd burst through her skin, she thought she'd survive long enough to suffer Eban's disappointment. She sank against the pillows propping her up and narrowed her eyes so she could only see his face.

His expression registered sympathy. He took the basin, settled it on the floor, then drew the sheet up to her neck.

“I'll get you some water and a wet rag. There's not much we can do except let you ride it out. Sorry about that.” He disappeared again, leaving her in a puddle of misery scented like a saloon after a long night of debauchery.

Beryl wiped her hand across her mouth. Her palm came around smeared with blood and she stared at the bright crimson stain. Her stomach turned again.

Eban came through the doorway, his hands full. She lifted her shaky hand.

“Am I dying?”

He stared at her pale fingers for a second, but didn't meet her eyes. “No. I think it's…”

“What?”

“An ingredient in whatever you were drinking. Trust me, you don't want to know.” He settled on the edge of the bed and dabbed her face with the wet cloth. “Better not to ask.”

The cool swipes against her heated flesh were reviving. She watched him through her eyelashes again. He smiled, though it was full of pity. When he laid the cloth aside, he stroked her hair back. He lowered his face to hers and brushed a kiss across her forehead.

“You'll be all right in a few hours.”

She wanted to curl close to him and sleep in the comfort of his arms as she'd clearly done last night. The thought jarred her. The room was starting to settle and she realized it wasn't hers. Eban's bedroom was papered with striped wallpaper in dark blues. Her walls were brown and cream. She tried not to worry about what she was doing here. He'd offered her comfort when he knew she wasn't herself. Finding out what had happened was more important.

“Why was I drinking?”

“I'm not sure. I wasn't there,” he murmured. “Drink some water. You're dehydrated.”

She took the cup, almost sloshing water over the side. Her stomach warned it was a bad idea, but she drank anyway. It didn't ease the furry feeling in her mouth, but it stayed down.

“I have no memory of it. Nothing.”

There were other things crowding her mind—flashes of color and laughter, touching men. A lot of men. No one she recognized from Berner, no place she could name.

“I don't expect you do. You weren't yourself last night.” He lowered his chin to chest. “You mentioned you don't drink. Did you remember something else?”

“I'm not a good person.” She drew her knees up, hugging them. “I've done bad things for money.”

She closed her eyes, resting her chin on her knees.

“Don't think about it right now.”

His calm voice only made her angry. When he pressed the cloth to her forehead, she snatched it away, wincing as pain jarred her skull.

“I don't want your sympathy.”

Eban sat back. “Drink the rest of the water and I'll make you some tea. It's early. There's still a couple of hours before we should expect Wys and Rhia.”

Beryl rubbed her forehead. “That's today?”

“Yeah.” He didn't sound happy about it. “You should have a bath before they get here.”

Heat burned her face. “Why did you let me drink?”

“I didn't. Some things happened and you left. You didn't return until about four this morning.” He didn't look at her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember anything. When she opened them again, she saw her dress crumpled on the floor. “Oh…”

Without looking, she knew she was naked. Another moan left her mouth. This had to be a nightmare.

Eban held his hands up. “It's not as bad as it seems.”

“What do you mean? I'm in your bed! Naked, and I don't remember how I got here.” She had the feeling she'd made a fool of herself when she came back to the clinic. He must think the worst of her. “Eban, I don't know what's happening.”

“I think I do.”

He said it so quietly she thought she imagined his voice. His dark blue eyes were half closed, his hands knotted together in his lap.

“What is it?” She forced the words out.

“Goddammit, Eban, what did you do?”

Tell's bellow drowned out anything Eban was about to say. He cringed and despite the way she felt, she placed her hand over his folded ones. He looked like a kicked puppy.

“What did you do?” she whispered.

“Called an angel.”

Confused, she wrinkled her nose. “That doesn't sound so bad.”

“Either Tell's met Eliakim or the power it took to call him broke another seal on the Pit. I'd better go downstairs.” He stood. “Try to get some rest.”

“But—”

He'd been about to explain what was wrong with her, and now he was leaving? He didn't make it to the door before Tell burst through, crossbow in his hands. The shining silver tip of a bolt pointed at Eban's face.

Fear caused the fine hairs on Beryl's arms rise. “Put that away!”

Tell didn't even glance at her. “There's an angel on your doorstep. An angel! He says you brought him here. You swore you wouldn't mess with things you don't understand.”

Eban didn't back down from the threat of being penetrated by the weapon. “I invoked Eliakim.”

“Well, un-voke him.”

“That's not a word,” Eban said in a flat tone. “I can't. I tried.”

The crossbow dropped a fraction. “He won't leave? He can't stay here. Can you imagine what kind of trouble we'd be in if a parasite imp got into his head?”

His gaze slipped away from Eban and fell on Beryl.

She blushed, clutching the sheet around her.

“What the hell is Rosemar doing in your bed?” He lifted the crossbow again. “You'd better have a damn good reason for all of this.”

Beryl looked between them, half afraid to move or speak. Eban's shoulders slumped and he seemed reluctant to say anything. She couldn't imagine Tell shooting him, but in Berner anything was possible. Had Tell lost his mind? Calling her by another name, assuming Eban had let a bad angel into town?

Eban sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “That's not Rosemar. You don't have to threaten her. Beryl was sick this morning and I am a doctor, in case you forgot.”

“They're the same thing,” Tell growled. “Isn't that why your new friend is out there?”

Eban nodded. “I memorized part of the
Ars Notoria
and asked for help. Eliakim answered, for what it's worth, which isn't much. While you were at the Pit, I drew the sigils. I'm as surprised as anyone that it worked. When he refused to help because of some treaty with the Gray Side, I tried sending him back. He said he plans to stay until he's given everything some thought.”

“You're an idiot, you know that?” Tell lowered the crossbow, letting it hang at his side. “You can't invoke angels willy-nilly. It has to be done when the planets are aligned and at certain times of the day. All those long-ass prayers have to be said at the right time too. Not just whenever Eban gets his head stuck up his ass and decides to do it. When the hell did I turn into the responsible one around here? I thought you could read.”

She knew by the way Eban remained silent that he hadn't considered any of the things his brother said.

Tell looked at her again. “And you. You're not sick. You reek like someone dipped you in a vat of whiskey. I'll bet if I went down to the saloon they could tell me all about your midnight escapades.”

Beryl shrank lower behind the sheet. “I don't remember what happened.”

He snorted. “The way you smell, I don't doubt that.” His keen gaze returned to Eban. “Explain.”

“Not now.”

“Cat's outta the bag, Eb. She's knows something's not right here.”

Eban's expression change from defeated to furious. “I'll fix this. It's not for you to worry about.”

“Oh, it ain't?” Tell laughed bitterly. “Wystan is supposed to be back anytime, there's a half-loony angel gallivanting around town, and you've got a naked girl in your bed that doesn't know up from down. You've fixed enough around here by my way of thinking.”

“This is my clinic, my life, my choice. If you don't like that, you're free to leave.”

Tell fixed Eban with a stare. For several seconds, the older Heckmaster didn't move.

“Are you looking into his head?” Beryl asked quietly.

Tell didn't answer. Eban lunged for him, but Tell was expecting it and stepped out of the way.

“How many times do I have to tell you not do that to me?” Eban growled.

“Your brain is so fuzzy, I can't make out a damned thing in there. I don't even know whose side you're on anymore. I'm not gonna be like Wys, nearly getting all of us killed because he didn't want to put blade to flesh on Sandra. It'd be easier to kill you now and have it done.”

Tell moved so fast, Beryl didn't see him until he was directly in front of Eban. One second the bow was down, the next a silver bolt was pressed into Eban's neck. It was still firmly settled in the crossbow, but Tell's finger was on the trigger.

“No!” She reached out, although she was too far away to do any good.

Sweat beaded Eban's forehead as the sharp edge of the bolt nicked his skin. A dark red drop of blood stained the bolt head.

“Do it, then. Unless you're afraid.”

Eban's voice was harsher than Beryl had ever heard it. Both brothers' irises were red instead of the normal blue. She shook with fear.

“Please don't do this, Tell. He's your family.”

“Don't listen to her. You think you know best, then you'd better get on with it. Before I turn on you.” Eban grabbed Tell's arm, pressing the bolt into his own flesh a little harder.

Tell's finger remained on the trigger. Beryl's heart clogged her throat and she buried her face in her hands, unable to bear the sight of Eban's lifeless body when the deed was done.

“Do it,” Eban ground out.

Beryl muttered a prayer, hoping the angel might intervene. She heard footsteps on the stairs, but couldn't force herself to look and find out who it was.

“Dammit, I leave for a week and come back to find the two of you at each other's throats. What the hell is going on?”

Beryl peeked through her fingers. Wystan stood in the doorway, hands on his hips. He didn't look like himself, or at least not the sheriff she'd come to know. He wore a three-piece suit and boots polished to high shine. His dark hair was covered by a felt bowler hat. He'd become Bat Masterson in the time he'd been gone instead of the Wild West demon-slaying town dictator.

Eban and Tell didn't take their eyes off each other, but they both started talking at once.

“Gone crazy, summoned an angel. You know—”

“If Tell's going to kill me, I wish he'd hurry up and—”

“Enough.” Wystan's gaze landed on Beryl. “What are you doing in here and what's that smell?”

“I-I…” She couldn't find any words.

He turned and bellowed down the stairway. “Rhia! Beryl needs your help. I've gotta take care of these two dumbasses before they murder one another.”

With a sigh, he reached out and jerked Tell and Eban apart. “Let's take this to the jail.”

They both protested as he dragged them out of the room. Beryl sat frozen, wondering if this was the last time she'd ever seen Eban. Wystan was sure to be even angrier than Tell once he found out what Eban had done.

Rhia entered, shaking her head. Her eyes were wide, but she had the flush of a woman who knew she was loved and had enjoyed her honeymoon. “I'll never understand the three of them. I'm not sure I want to know what's happened since we left. So much for a peaceful place where demons can reside.”

Beryl hated the heat that scorched her face as Rhia's hazel eyes took her in.

“I'm not sleeping with Eban,” she blurted. The hateful throb between her eyes worsened.

Rhia surveyed the room. “You don't have to explain that part.” She smiled. “It's good to see you, even if you look like you've been in a fight with a barghest. You weren't, were you?”

“Apparently I took off last night and went drinking.” She rubbed her palm against her forehead. “I don't know why. Eban was going to tell me, but Tell burst in.”