Shady Lady (23 page)

Darklight swarmed around it. If I expected fury or outrage, I was disappointed. Instead, the thing displayed reverence. It fell to its knees as the world ripped wide once more. “My queen,” it breathed. “You are she, born of Solomon the Binder’s line. Master did not tell me, I swear. I did not know.”

And then it crawled backward from whence it had come. Distant screams came to me as if filtered through a layer of water. I heard the pain and the anguish, and then that too fell silent. The air lost its viscosity, holding now only the hint of sulfur and brimstone.

Kel.
If that was where the fiend had sent him, I had to get him out of there. My hands shook as I fought to recall precisely what the demon had said to him. If I could find the right words, words that were precisely opposite, I could call him. I knew his name. I crawled across the trampled grass to the crucifix; I would use it as my focus. Once more, the energy surged through me.

“Kelethiel, my friend and guardian, son of Uriel and Vashti, in the name of the smoke and the earth, and the wind and the water, I call and command thee.”

Nothing. No flash of light. No otherworldly pyrotechnics.
No, no, no.
I wasn’t leaving this up to divine minions, who might not get around to liberating him for a hundred years. Maybe I hadn’t gotten the verbiage quite right.

I wrapped both hands around the crucifix, feeling the burn start on my branded palm. Power built, like lightning in the air before a storm. “Kelethiel, my true friend, son of Uriel and Vashti, on the strength of your sacred vow, I call thee!”

Everything shifted and slowed. It wasn’t like before, but more like the world split in two and then merged. In the old one, I was alone. In the new version, Kel tumbled to the ground before me.

He looked dead, so many wounds. Blood smeared his skin, obscuring his tattoos; they held no light at all. Visible bite marks scored his skin, as if a horde of demons had chewed his flesh. The hole in his chest hadn’t healed, either, not even a little. He had no power in hell, or whatever dimension contained the demons. They’d stripped him, as if his clothes contained his strength or his power. Or maybe they just hadn’t wanted his garments getting in the way of good torture.

Movement in my peripheral vision caught my eye; a few villagers had come out of their homes to investigate the weird lights and noises. I shooed them off with a fierce scowl and a bark of, “
¡Lárguense!
” I’m sure the sight of a bloody, naked woman and a dead-seeming man did more to frighten them than my voice.

Shielding his body with mine as they hurried off, I remembered how he’d pressed his hands over the wound in his belly in my bathroom; that seemed like ages ago now. Uncertainly, I sealed both his palms atop the gaping wound, using mine to hold his in place. If the fiend had pierced his heart, perhaps he couldn’t heal from this. In all the lore I’d ever read, destruction of the heart guaranteed true death.

For the longest time, I maintained the pose. I didn’t know how the magic functioned, and I’d give ten years of my life for my mother’s grimoires. For the first time, I thought they might work.

His blood bubbled up through my fingers, dark and rich. If I had open wounds on my hands, I’d be insane with the rush. Fortunately, I’d also gone past revulsion; I found it hard to credit that I’d once been squeamish. I’d changed so much since I left Chance. There was no way I could doubt it; I wasn’t the same woman I had been. I shouldn’t be able to call upon the power of dead priests to bolster my own strength. Once, handling only offered pain and heat and information. Now I had stepped through a veil, and the world reacted to me in a different way.

Since you took your mother’s power, and you died
, a little voice whispered.

“Wake up,” I said shakily. “I don’t think I can get back to civilization on my own. Please don’t leave me here by myself.”

Tears filled my eyes, spilling down my cheeks. They dropped onto his pale, still face. When I’d touched him in the hostel room, he’d had a heartbeat. He didn’t now. Which meant he was dead. It didn’t mean he couldn’t come back, if I helped him.

I’d taken CPR years ago. Did I remember it?
Fingers on nose and chin . . .
When I moved my hands, his stayed on the wound. I bent down and opened his mouth, tilting his head, and then gave him two breaths. I could remember very little other than that. I counted and exhaled for endless moments, need and worry tangled up inside me. Listening, I couldn’t tell if it had any effect.

The tenth—or twentieth—time my lips touched his, a tremor went through him. His tats kindled with a pale glow, telling me systems had come back online. From here he should heal on his own, though it would hurt like a bitch and kick him into a long sleep afterward. Eyes still shut, he flung me onto my back. Despite his injuries, he was incredibly strong.

I wouldn’t risk fighting and hurting him worse. His blood covered me as it was. But this wasn’t an attack. His eyes opened; silver filmed them. I knew he didn’t see me. Not wearing a smile like that. It almost stopped my heart.

“Asherah,” he whispered. “Asherah.”

The name rang distant bells, but he lowered his head and obliterated my long-term memory. His mouth took mine, full of possessive need and hot with devotion. Gods and goddesses, how I wished I
were
Asherah.

If I’d ever wondered whether he was a fully functional man, he put my curiosity to rest with slow hip movements. At some point he had been some woman’s lover. The name sounded old—why didn’t I stop this? I shouldn’t—

His lips traced over the side of my throat, tasting the blood the demon had drawn. “Who hurt you,
dādu
? I will bring you his heart.” He nuzzled my ear, whispering in a language I didn’t recognize.
“Ana dadika.”

Even knowing he held another woman in his mind, I couldn’t pull free. I told myself I didn’t want to fight him; there was no telling what new hallucination resistance would summon. Slowly I grew conscious of my nakedness and that there could be people watching us. He wouldn’t thank me if I let him sweep me into the delusion.

“Kel,” I whispered.

His hands wandered, exploring me from shoulder to hip and back again. His tats blazed until they burned against my skin. He bit down on the curve of my ear. “Say it again.”

“It’s been so long.
So
long since I touched you.”

I exhaled slowly. If he moved or I did, protest would be moot. Already I could barely remember why I didn’t want to do this.

“Look at me. I’m not Asherah.”

Finally, the silver shine faded from his eyes. I could tell the moment he recognized me. But his desire didn’t vanish; since we were naked, I would’ve been humiliated if it had. Instead his longing gained layers. His gaze carried eternity, the weight of loneliness, and something unfamiliar. I only knew that I had never seen that expression in anyone before.

“Binder,” he breathed. Dimly, I remembered Caim using that word. “You called me back. You gave me your breath.”

“You needed it.”

“I need
this
.” He shifted his hips as if asking a question.

I didn’t ask why. In truth, I needed it too. No promises, just relief and the keen, knife-edged moment. I needed to wipe away the horror handling the demon’s harness had left behind.

He lowered his head, and this time he kissed
me
. His lips felt fevered against mine, faintly flavored with my blood. It did not revolt me, only offered a coppery tinge, and then it was more, a kiss that took my breath and gave it back. Heat rose from his body like sunlight on crystal and quartz.

“This creates energy,” he whispered into my throat. “I can use it to drive off that cursed sleep. I can’t leave you unguarded now.”

I didn’t care about his reasons. I just wanted him. It was enough that he knew who I was. In answer, I wound my legs around his hips. I didn’t care how many people might be watching from the shadows. Let them think we were pagans or devils.

He filled me with divine heat in one smooth motion, and I arched. His fingers curled around the rope of my braided hair, tugging my mouth to his. We kissed endlessly, our bodies rocking as one. As the heat amplified and his motions quickened, his tats shone brighter. I could feel them on my skin like starbursts.

“Corine,” he murmured. “Binder. Thank you.”

Kelethiel, son of Uriel and Vashti
, I whispered back soundlessly.
Thank you.

His face struck me as reverent, as if we shared more than our bodies, as if for him, this counted as both prayer and ritual. I responded, letting the sweet glow carry me higher. Sheer intensity ratcheted my need to ferocious levels, and I lost myself in him, bucking and whimpering against his lips. When he came, the sigils on his skin lit in unison, bright and pure and powerful. Answering energy burned out of me like a meteor and fell into his skin. When the glow dimmed and died, there were no new marks on him. No dried blood. Just the old scars. With my fingertips, I found the place where once wings had grown. He shuddered beneath my light touch.

“Will you get in trouble?” I asked.

His head rested in the curve of my shoulder. He did not move. “For what?”

“I just assumed . . .”

His lips lifted against my skin; he was smiling. “I’m not celibate by vow. . . . The rules of your religions do not come from us. We are older than your writings.”

I felt impossibly young and inexperienced beside him, yet safer than I ever had. “Oh. Well, I’m sure you—”

He put a finger on my lips. “I needed to share that with you . . . for many reasons. To fuel my healing, as I said . . . but that’s not the only reason.”

“There’s more?”
Please, let it be something good.
I needed to hear it, even if there were no promises. I didn’t ask for those . . . just a memory of his voice in the dark.

“You called me back from the pit and asked
nothing
in return. I know of no other way to express . . . no deeper—” Words failed him then.

“I get it.”

Maybe it seemed strange, but I believed we’d performed some ancient rite, and it also served as a way for him to say,
Thank you
, and
I care.
We said with our bodies what we could never speak out loud.

He went on. “Ordinarily . . . I abstain. It is unfair to share such intimacy when I can never stay. And I have spoken too many good-byes.”

That addressed his longevity, but it was more too. The moment they ordered him elsewhere, he would go. That much I knew. It hurt, but it wasn’t an impossible pain. Instead I felt lucky to have this moment; despite everything, I felt perfectly balanced.

“Who was Asherah?”

Behind his eyes, oceans of sorrow rose and fell in moontouched waves. “Someone I loved and lost, long ago.”

That was no answer, but I didn’t press. I hadn’t earned his secrets, even if he was crushing me into the ground, draped over me like a blanket. I hesitated to complain; once he moved away, the moment would become a memory. So I asked something else.

“What does
ana dadika
mean?” I butchered the pronunciation, but he recognized the phrase.

“Where did you hear that?”

“You whispered it to me.”

“Ah,” he said. “It is Babylonian, and it means,
I am made for your love
.”

Melancholy washed through me. What wouldn’t I give to have someone say that to me for real? “I’m sorry I’m here instead of her.”

One big hand curved against my cheek. “I’m not.”

My breath caught. Fresh yearning rose and he didn’t try to hide it from me. This time we had no excuse, not even a thin one. We did it again because we wanted to.

At daybreak we dressed in clean underwear, filthy clothes, and our hiking boots. The village remained unnaturally quiet. I sensed people watching us through their windows and sometimes I caught movement in my peripheral vision, but when I turned, I saw only closing doors. A few children were bold enough to stare out the windows, but their parents swiftly pulled them away and closed the curtains against us.

The silent message was clear: They weren’t coming out until we were gone. Based on the events of the night before, I understood their caution. Only the churned earth and faint, lingering smell gave a hint what had happened here. Maybe in a few days’ time, this would seem like a collective hallucination, and they’d start to forget. Today, the silent treatment proved a pain in the ass, and I didn’t look forward to more walking, but we wouldn’t receive further assistance. I was glad, however, that none of the villagers had come to harm because of me; I didn’t think I could stand more innocent blood on my conscience.

I ate the last of the protein bars and drew some water from the public well. With a philosophical shrug, I filled my bottle, and Kel did the same. The parasites might bother me, but we needed to keep moving. If we lingered here too long, Montoya’s sorcerer might send something else, something worse, though that defied imagination. Since I hadn’t known demons could be summoned in corporeal form, there was no telling what gruesome surprises lay in store.

In silence, I led the way toward the church, intending to ask the priest for directions, but the doors were closed, and he didn’t respond to my tentative knock. I glanced up at Kel, who said, “The best thing we can do is move along.”

Since I agreed, I didn’t argue. Logistics posed a problem, however. “But where?”

He canted his head while the day brightened around us, as if listening to silent voices. Then he pointed. “That way.”

“Did your archangel tell you how far it is too?”

Kel almost smiled. “No. I don’t call him—he calls me.”

“Oh.” I fell into step beside him. The dirt track led toward gently rising hills. “So what did you do just now?”