Damned If You Do (10 page)

Seth sat up suddenly, forcing Abaddon to do the same. He reached for Abaddon, brushing his fingers down Abaddon's cheek. “Don't. Please. Not on my account, Abaddon. I couldn't bear it.”

“You're the one who should be angry. It amazes me that you can be so calm.”

“I'm not, though. I'm terrified. I know I shouldn't be. My faith tells me I'm going to a wondrous place and that there's nothing to fear, but I've never been so scared in my life.”

“That's normal. It's…” Abaddon almost choked. “It's human.” But thinking about Seth's easy acceptance of what was coming gave Abaddon a new idea. Why hadn't he thought of it before? “What if we left?”

“Left the revival, you mean?”

“We could take your truck and your trailer and just drive. We could go anywhere. I could take you to the Grand Canyon. I could give you your sight for a minute, at least. I could let you feel the wind rushing up the canyon wall onto your face. Isn't that what you want?”

Seth gave him a soft, sad smile. He took Abaddon's hand, holding it between both of his. “Is it so easy to escape Hell?”

Abaddon's heart clenched. Tears filled his eyes, and he covered them with his free hand. “No. You're my only chance now. If I come back without you…”

Seth squeezed his fingers. “What? What happens?”

Abaddon shook his head. He wasn't going to burden Seth with the truth. The last thing he wanted was for Seth to feel guilty because some worthless devil got sent to a deeper level of Hell. “I'll be heartbroken. That's all. I just thought…” What? What in the world had he been thinking, asking Seth to run away with him, as if that would solve everything? “I wouldn't be able to go with you, but I could at least give you your sight.” He'd have to pay for it later, and he'd never see Seth again, but wouldn't it be worth it? “You'd at least have enough time to go there yourself. To see a few of the places on your list.”

But Seth was already shaking his head. “I can't run away from this. I tried once, and I went blind. And I know you'll tell me it was just bad luck and not God sending me a message, but what if you're wrong? Yes, I could run away, and it might buy me an extra day or an extra week, but at what cost?” He put his fingers against Abaddon's cheek and leaned close, as if he could look into Abaddon's eyes. “I have weighed my transgressions, Abaddon. I know where I stand. Now, I must follow Christ's example and face my death—”

“You're not Him!”

“I know. I would never make such a presumptuous claim. But the message is clear. I must stand strong in the face of adversity, armed with nothing but the promise of God's love. I could give you half a dozen other examples from the bible—”

“I don't want to hear them!”

Seth laughed, brushing his thumb over Abaddon's lips. “I know you don't. I know it makes you crazy when I start spouting bible verses.”

“Only when it's to justify something stupid!”

Seth jerked his hands away, his face falling into the same hurt, uncomprehending look a puppy gave his master after being kicked. Abaddon would have preferred a knife in his chest to seeing that wounded expression on Seth's face.

“Please don't call me stupid. This is all I have. I have my faith in God, and I have you. Please don't try to take one of them away.”

Abaddon groaned. He really was the world's biggest jerk. “I'm sorry.” He took Seth's hands and leaned over to place his forehead on them. “You're right. I'm being selfish, and I'm sorry, but I can't help it. I wish I could accept it as easily as you, but it makes me so angry.”

“I know.” Seth placed his other hand on the back of Abaddon's head, ruffling his fingers through his hair. “But you will accept it. I want you to promise me, Abaddon. I want you to promise that when the time comes, you won't try to stop it. I want you to promise me that you'll let me face the serpents, and heal the sick, regardless of the cost. I need you to promise that you'll be there at the very end, but that you won't interfere in the process.”

Abaddon's breath hitched. He couldn't hold back the tears that filled his eyes. He hated this plan. He hated it with every devilish fiber of his being. He hated it more than he hated God. More than he hated Hell.

But it wasn't about him.

“I promise,” he choked. “Oh God, I promise.”

“Thank you.”

Abaddon wept.

C
hapter Ten

Everybody Loves a Bad Boy

N
ot much later, somebody knocked on the trailer door. Abaddon prepared to dive into the abyss, but whoever it was didn't come in. They just yelled through the door, “Time to start, Seth!”

“I'll be right there!”

Seth moved easily about his small bedroom despite his blindness, taking out khaki slacks and a clean, white dress shirt. Socks and shoes came next, then finally, a blue silk scarf, which he wrapped around his neck to cover the many scars. And all the while, Abaddon sat with his head in his hands, hating Thaddeus and Zed and the Rainbow Revivalists and God and Hell in equal measures.

Seth laid his hand on Abaddon's bowed head. After finally making love, the brilliant power of Seth's soul hadn't changed, but its effect on Abaddon had. Instead of burning hunger, he felt only love and overwhelming grief.

“I wish I could take this pain from you, the way I can for the sick.”

“No.” Abaddon shook his head. “I would never ask that of you. I'd rather bear it myself than burden you with it.”

Seth laughed. “You're a terrible devil, you know. You miss all kinds of great chances to be evil.”

Yes, he was a terrible devil. It was the reason he'd missed his quota in the first place. And now, he'd not only failed to secure Seth's soul, he'd also doomed himself to an eternity without him. But time was short, and Seth needed him to be strong.

He wiped his eyes and stood. He pulled Seth into his arms. He kissed him, savoring that wonderful sweetness. He pulled back to look into Seth's eyes.

“I love you. No matter what happens, I want you to know that.”

Seth's brow wrinkled. “I do.” He frowned. “Abaddon, you're scaring me. I feel like there's something you're not telling me.”

Once again, Abaddon had to wonder if the soul sense went both ways. “I told you I'd be here until the end, but it may not be possible.”

“What? But you promised.”

“I know, but it's a promise I may have to break.”

“No! You can't do that to me. You said—”

“I'll try, Seth, but there's a chance I'll be gone in a couple of days—”

“You promised!”

He pushed at Abaddon, trying to get away, and Abaddon grabbed his arms, shaking him a bit in his urgency to say it all. “I know! And I'll do everything I can to keep that promise, but once they figure out what I've done…” Once his time was up, there'd be no appeal. “If Hell takes me away, I won't be able to come back no matter how much I'll want to. But I want you to know that I'll do everything I can. I want you to believe me when I say that I've never cared about anyone the way I care about you.”

Seth blinked, his cheeks paler than usual. “But, I need you. If you're not here…” He shook his head, his focus shifting to some distant spot, far away from Abaddon and the trailer.

They were interrupted by another knock on the trailer door. “Seth! It's time to go!”

“Coming!” Seth called, seeming to return to his place in Abaddon's arms. He swallowed, squaring his shoulders. “I need to go now.”

“I'll come with you.”

“No.” Abaddon felt a ripple in the energy of Seth's soul, like a pebble sinking into a still lake. “You don't have to come.”

“I promised I'd be there—”

“At the end.”

“Yes. If I'm able, at any rate. And if it's tonight—”

“No.” Another ripple. A strange undercurrent that seemed out of place. “No, it won't be tonight.”

“You can't know that.”

“But I do.”

“I should be there—”

“You're exhausted.” Seth put his fingers against Abaddon's cheek and leaned forward to kiss him. Abaddon tasted the familiar sweetness, along with a strange hint of salt that was new. Maybe it was only the result of having had sex out of wedlock. “You should rest. I'll be back before you know it.”

Then he was out the door, off to the revival. Abaddon debated following, but Seth was right. He was exhausted. He hadn't slept well in ages.

He collapsed onto the bed. The sheets were soaked in Seth's cotton-candy essence, and Abaddon smiled to himself, already halfway to sleep.

He still had his extension. He'd go back to Hell. He'd talk to Baphomet again. He'd come up with a new plan.

One that saved Seth.

Maybe one that saved them both.

* * * * *

He woke in confusion. He was still in Seth's bed. He could have sworn Seth had called his name, but when he looked around, nobody was there.

He glanced outside. It was just after sunset. The tent was lit up like a circus. The revival would still be going, and yet…

There was no music.

His heart tripped into gear.

And then, it came again.

Abaddon, come now!

Not Seth's voice, but Zed's. Abaddon didn't take time to wonder why Zed was calling him or how he'd made his voice echo through the abyss. He burst from the trailer, noticing in the first step or two he wasn't wearing shoes, or a shirt. Easy enough to change that—being a devil had its advantages—and he manifested them as he ran, remembering with sudden clarity the strange ripple in Seth's soul.

That salty taste.

Seth had lied to him. Possibly the first lie he'd ever told, and he'd told it to Abaddon, knowing Abaddon wouldn't be able to keep his promise. Knowing he wouldn't be able to stand idly by when the snakes came.

He burst through the back door of the tent, onto the stage. He'd missed the snakes completely. Seth was in the aisle, his shirt soaked with blood and venom, on his knees in front of a woman in a wheelchair.

“No!” Abaddon ran for him, but Zed caught him at the bottom of the steps.

“Not yet!”

“He didn't think they'd come tonight.”

“They wouldn't have,” Zed said quietly, “if he hadn't called them.”

“He can do that?”

“Apparently, he can. He made me promise I'd get you once they had gone.”

“But why? Why would he want to—?”

“I suspect he has his reasons for choosing the time of his death.”

Death.

This was Abaddon's fault. Seth was afraid to face his death alone, and so he'd chosen to call the snakes now, before Hell took Abaddon away. If only he hadn't told Seth, and yet what else could he have done?

Grief stabbed at his abdomen, bending him in half. Zed had to hold him up to keep him from falling. “No! Dammit, no! Don't do this!” He'd never felt as helpless as he did now, watching Seth soak up somebody else's disease, knowing it would kill him. It made him furious. He felt the power stir and quake inside him. He could burn the whole revival to the ground. He could kill them all. He could—

Seth turned his head, his blind eyes pinning Abaddon where he stood, blazing with the ferocity of a dying soul. “You promised.”

It was only a whisper, but it struck at Abaddon's heart. A sob broke in his chest. He didn't even care that Zed still held him.

It felt like they stayed there forever—Seth on the floor, holding the woman's hands. Zed in the aisle, holding Abaddon up—but it could only have been a minute. Finally, Seth pushed to his feet. Behind him, the woman in the wheelchair rose as well. The crowd cheered. Thaddeus began to proclaim the grace of God. The choir began to sing. Nobody seemed to notice that Seth's sweet, devout life was about to end.

“Go,” Zed said softly, letting Abaddon go. “Bring him away from the tent, as quickly as you can. Thaddeus must never know that tonight is different.”

Abaddon barely got there in time, catching Seth as he fell. A few of the congregants gasped, backing up.

“Just give them some room!” Thaddeus cried.

The crowd seemed half-afraid, half-jubilant. Voices shouted, “Me! Heal me!”

“Give them space,” Thaddeus cried again. “The Lord's touch is a powerful thing—”

Abaddon scooped Seth up in his arms, carrying him up onto the stage, toward the back door of the tent, choking on his tears, hating the sounds of celebration behind him. “You lied to me.”

Seth hung limp in his arms, barely able to hold his eyes open. “Had to… Before you were gone…”

Abaddon stumbled out the back door of the tent and toward Seth's trailer. It felt like it was miles away. He'd never make it. Zed was nowhere to be seen.

“Here,” Seth whispered. “Stop here.”

It was a relief to obey. His whole body was shaking. Abaddon sank to the ground, holding Seth close, crying like a child. “Why did you lie to me? We could have had a few days at least.”

Seth shook his head. His face looked almost yellow against the bloody gore of his ruined neck and the shredded collar of his once-white shirt. How many snakes must have come? “It's easier this way.”

“Easier for who?”

“I lied about one other thing too.”

“What?”

“About who owns my soul.”

“No!”

“I give it willingly to you.”

“Don't say that!”

“I mean it, Abaddon.” He gasped, arching his back as in pain. “I cede my soul—”

“I won't take it!”

“You have to.”

A sob tore from Abaddon's chest, and he held Seth tighter. Behind him, the sound of music swelled from the tent, the notes empty and meaningless without Seth's contribution. “I won't!”

“My eyes,” Seth whispered, his voice weaker. “Let me see you again. Please.”

It took a moment for Abaddon to push his grief aside enough to realize what the words meant. Another moment to gather the strength and the focus, but finally, he placed his fingers against Seth's temple. Tears flowed down his cheeks as readily as the power surged through his fingers, and Seth's pupils at last found focus. He looked directly into Abaddon's eyes, and Abaddon felt the wondrous power of Seth's soul. He felt the scalding flare that told him it was about to burn out forever.

“I love you,” Abaddon gasped. “Oh God, I love you so much, I think it's killing me. I didn't even know I could, but I do.”

Seth reached up and laid his hand against Abaddon's cheek. “But you don't want to take me with you.”

He thought the pain would tear him in half, but he forced himself to maintain contact. To keep Seth's vision intact for just a bit longer. “No. You don't belong where I reside. You deserve better than that.”

Seth smiled, looking as peaceful as he ever had. “‘And if a kingdom be divided against itself, that kingdom cannot stand. And if a house be divided against itself, that house cannot stand. And if Satan rise up against himself, and be divided, he cannot stand, but hath an end.'”

“You fool,” Abaddon sobbed. “Spouting biblical bullshit until the end, you damned fool!”

“‘All sins shall be forgiven unto the sons of men.'”

Abaddon lost all control then, over both his emotions and his power. Seth's eyes again lost focus, and Abaddon felt the loss like a knife in his heart. No matter what verses Seth might recite, there was no saving him now. And once he crossed over, he'd be out of Abaddon's reach forever. He needed only to accept the offer of Seth's soul in order for them to be together, but he couldn't do it. He couldn't condemn Seth to an eternity in Hell. Abaddon had to let him go. He couldn't afford to doubt. He couldn't afford to change his mind, no matter how much it hurt. He could do nothing but hold Seth and weep.

“Peace and love to you, brother,” Seth whispered. “Peace and love.”

And Abaddon continued to hold him as the glorious wonder of Seth's soul faded into darkness.

* * * * *

H
e didn't know how long he sat there, clutching Seth's limp body.

He'd feel this pain for an eternity. It was a worse punishment than living in Hell.

“Abaddon.” Zed was suddenly there, kneeling in front of him, gripping Abaddon's arms, shaking him, although his voice was hushed. “Come with me. There isn't much time.”

Abaddon made himself look up. He could barely force his numb mind to work. “Wh-what?”

Zed gripped him harder. His eyes seemed to blaze as he leaned closer. “I know what you are, Abaddon, Harvester of Souls. And I know what you were before. Now, it is time for you to know me.” It wasn't just his eyes that were blazing. All around him, Abaddon detected a faint glow, burning brighter as he tried to focus on it. And peeking up over Zed's shoulders, he caught the faint outline of white wings.

No wonder Zed's dark eyes had always seemed to find him, even when he drifted in the abyss. No wonder he'd been able to call to Abaddon when Seth couldn't.

“You're an angel?”

“Yes, and I can still save him, but not here, where somebody might see. Thaddeus can never know that this night is different from all the other times the snakes appeared.” In the blink of an eye, the glow was gone, leaving only plain old Zed. He stood, whirling toward Seth's trailer. “Quickly!”

Too stunned to do more, Abaddon obeyed, lifting Seth and following Zed across the dark expanse of grass to Seth's trailer and through the door.

“Lay him on the bed.”

Abaddon didn't want to let go of him, but Zed took Seth's body from his arms.

“It's too late.” Abaddon's voice was hoarse from crying. “Even for you—”

“Not yet, it isn't.” Zed laid Seth on the bed and crouched over him, his hands on Seth's head.

“If you know what I am, then you know what I can do. I felt—” He choked on the words, fighting back a sob. “I felt his soul leave.”

“The boy's heart has stopped, but his soul is as strong as ever.” Zed's head was lowered, as if in prayer, his eyes closed. “What you felt was your own powers waning.”

“But—”

“He told you himself before he died. ‘If Satan rise up against himself, and be divided, he cannot stand, but hath an end.' He gambled with the devil, and he won. Now be silent and let me work!”