Eban (13 page)

“We know.” He ignored the angel's thoughts on what he was doing here. He'd come looking for a fight, true enough, but he didn't need Eliakim judging him for it. “We're working on it.”

“It should be your priority. Can you not feel Astaroth just below?”

A shiver rolled down Eban's spine. He raised himself on his elbows and looked at the Pit. He couldn't feel any presence other than the angel's.

“You're sure he's there?”

“Pacing, testing the boundaries, amassing an army that will burst through the barrier. You can't fight them alone.”

“I'd never try. The three of us together and Rosemar could barely handle Noem's army. We'll have to seal the barrier because we can't slay the monsters Astaroth will send.” He picked up his saber and found his feet. The skin around his throat was tender and he was bleeding from multiple cuts. His demon blood would take care of the injuries in a few hours, but until then, he'd feel every one of them.

“I wouldn't tarry with repairing the seals. He's coming and he has vengeance in mind.”

“I've always known that.” He wiped his blade on his pants, then tucked it away. He stared at the demon bodies. “You have any more magic tricks?”

Eliakim's gaze flickered toward town.
“Not tonight. Will you burn them?”

“I'll throw the changesteed into the Pit. An extra hand wouldn't go amiss. Do you have pressing business elsewhere?”

“Rosemar is creating mischief.”

Eban spun toward town, but he couldn't sense trouble from that direction either. “What's she doing?”

“Spinning yarns. Using her powers to trap a victim.”
Eliakim's frown grew.
“She's persuasive.”

“Is Beryl in danger?” His hand tightened on the saber's hilt. He wanted to kill Rosemar, but harming her wouldn't end well for Beryl. The woman he had been determined to drive off. Emotion warred inside him.

“I will intervene. Clean up after yourself here.”
He nodded at the decapitated monsters. With a flash of light, he vanished.

Eban kicked rocks at the lizard-bat.
Clean up, hell.
He'd never seen anything like this. It was new, dangerous and stomach-churningly revolting. Tell would never forgive him if he didn't get to study it. Even though he was mad enough at Tell to knock him over the head with his saber, they couldn't afford not to examine this thing. As for the barghest, he nudged the head to the Pit and drew his foot back. He kicked it as far across the steaming opening as he could. It made it about fifty feet before dropping through the barrier with a sizzle. The body was heavier and it took him a few minutes to drag it to the edge. The scent of burning hair clogged his nose.

He bagged the lizard-bat's head in a burlap sack and tied it to his saddle. There was considerably more effort involved in stringing its body over his horse's back. The horse protested at first, shying at the sight of the strange creature that gave off the faint odor of lizard musk and sulfur. Eban quieted the horse with a few strokes along its arched neck. It gave in, allowing him to secure the beast to the saddle.

It was a long walk to town and his worry for Beryl replaced his anger. His father had possessed the ability to think of a place and go there in a flash, but it hadn't been passed along to his offspring. Pity.

Taking the horse by the reins, he nudged it with his shoulder, urging it toward what passed for civilization out here. The sooner he got back, the sooner he could deposit this
thing
at Wystan's office. The sooner he could find Beryl and learn what was really going on with her. Maybe if she was in the mood to listen, he could apologize for the things he'd said and begin making it up to her. And for the first time, tell a woman he truly loved her. Eliakim was with her—or Rosemar—putting a stop to anything that would cause trouble. The angel wasn't as useless as he'd thought. Eliakim would know where she was and if he gave the angel enough thought, he was bound to appear.

With a tug, he urged the horse to walk faster.

Eban dropped the blood-soaked sack on Wystan's desk in the jailhouse. Tell, who'd either been pretending to be asleep—his chin on his chest—or really dozing, almost exploded from the chair.

“What the hell?” He glared, blue eyes sparking like hot flames.

Brownish blood smeared the ink blotter as it leaked from the sack.

“The rest of it is outside on my horse.” Eban tried to keep his tone neutral, holding back his anger over Tell's earlier action. “I thought you'd want to see it. We can take it over the clinic and cut it up later if you like.”

Tell unlashed the sack. “Were you attacked? Where's Beryl?”

Eban shook his head. His neck was sore, the various cuts and scrapes stung and he knew his clothes were ruined, but the important thing was that his heart still thumped on. “I wasn't attacked. She's…we needed some space.”

Tell's upper lip curled and he gingerly reached out to peel the burlap away from the head. “Jesus, that thing is ugly. Where'd you find it?”

He lifted the head out of the sack and held it up to the lamplight, turning it this way and that to study the features. Empty yellow eyes stared around the room, making Eban's skin crawl.

“The Pit.”

“What were you doing out there?” Tell stuck his finger in the lizard-bat's mouth, testing the points of the teeth.

“Hunting.”

His brother looked away from the creature. “You don't hunt. What's going on?”

“None of your business.”
Maybe it has something to do with the way the world is swirling down the drain around us? Ever consider that, little brother?

Tell's eyebrows rose. “You're in a fine mood, I see.”

For half a second, he wondered if Tell could read his mind, but dismissed the idea. Eban folded his arms. “Just tell me what you think it is.”

“Scaly hide, pointy teeth, ugly face. Must be a demon.” Tell wrinkled his nose when he examined the thing's long forked tongue.

“I gathered when it didn't want to sit down and have a conversation over tea.” Sometimes he wanted to smack the insolence out of Tell's mouth. “What kind?”

“Damned if I know. You say the rest of it is outside?”

“My horse doesn't like it.”

“I can imagine. You wouldn't take kindly to carting around dead demons either if you could be tucked into your stable munching on hay.” Tell put the head beneath his arm and strode outside. He didn't seem to notice the creature's blood dripping down his side.

Eban waited at the door, wincing when Tell let out an ear-splitting whistle.

“She's an ugly bitch. You saw this come out of the Pit?” He held the head next to the stump of neck.

“Yes.” He wasn't about to admit he'd called it out.

“I still can't pin down a reason you'd be out there slicing off monster heads after we spent years begging for your help.”

“I don't recall any begging. Threatening is familiar though.” He didn't want to spend the rest of the night debating the finer points of his arguments for the reasons he didn't like dismembering demons. “You want me to take it to the clinic or get rid of it?”

“Clinic. I'd love to dig through this thing and figure out what it is.” Tell gripped the demon head by its pointed ears. The sightless eyes stared into the darkness. He positioned the head on the back of the body. His fingers splayed across its forehead while his other hand rested on one shoulder.

“What are you—”

Tell's jaw dropped and his eyes became cloudy. His body jerked and he winced, pulling away while he shook his hands. The head toppled to the ground. Eban's horse snorted and tried to move, but the tether held it to the hitching post.

Tell faced Eban. “Eliakim killed it.”

“He went with me.”

“Then you put it on the horse all by yourself?” Tell's eyes were back in focus, his pupils tiny and accusing.

“Why?”

Tell grabbed the head and replaced it on the lizard-bat's back. “Touch it. One on the head, one on the body.”

“No.” Eban took a step back. “What's wrong with you?”

“Do it.” Tell lunged and grabbed his wrists. He was strong and it was easier to give in than fight.

The moment Eban's hands touched both parts of the demon, a shock like static, only much stronger jolted through him. A picture flashed in front of his eyes. It was the lizard-bat choking him, triumphant, until the angel's knife severed its short earth life. The blade that cut through the flesh had the heat of the sun behind it, burning worse than hellfire.

Tell pulled Eban's hands off the corpse. “Look at your palms.”

They were burnt, bright red and blistered. “What the hell?”

“That sword he carries has some serious holy power. It shouldn't leave an effect like that behind in a dead demon. My God.” Tell shook his head, his face disbelieving. “It hurt like—”

“Holy water.” He tried to remember if Eliakim had ever touched him, but couldn't recall and silently vowed never to let that happen. “It didn't bother me before because I put the head in the bag first.”

“You cut the power by keeping them separate. Better keep that in mind when you lug this thing inside.” Tell grabbed the saddlehorn, giving it a little shake and the head fell to the ground again. “What did you let loose, Eb?”

“I don't know.” He didn't feel good about that. “He saved my life, killing this thing. I can't fault him for that.”

He resisted scratching the blisters on his palms. There was salve at the clinic that would sooth the burning itch—after he found Beryl. “The body will be at the clinic whenever you're ready for it.”

“Where will you be?”

“Around. I have an errand.” He no more wanted to mention his argument with Beryl than touch the body with the head attached again. “Just be careful when you're dissecting it. Don't mix up the clean instruments with the dirty ones. Again.”

Tell rolled his eyes. “It was a mistake.”

“Still not buying it. It was carelessness, plain and simple. You forget I practically raised you.”

“Eb?” Tell's brows knit together.

“What?”

“I don't know why you drew the sigil on your chest—maybe it was anger and maybe it was desperation—but I'll put the dirty instruments in the washbasin if you won't do that again, okay?” There wasn't any anger in Tell's words, but there was something else.

Fear. An emotion he rarely saw from his little brother. He didn't ask how Tell knew about the sigil. Maybe from the creature's memory, maybe the smudges on his chest, or maybe just because of Tell's damn sixth sense, but it didn't matter.

“I promise.”

Tell touched the brim of his hat. “See you later. Take care of this nasty bitch for me until then. We're gonna have a little fun later, me and her.”

Chapter Twelve

Beryl sank into the corn-husk mattress on the bed in the living quarters attached to Berner's schoolhouse. Rhia and Sylvie had lived here up until the wedding and she figured if it was good enough for them, it was more than good enough for her. There wasn't much room, but it was clean and hardly dusty. It was warm, dry and far away from Eban's clinic. Better yet, there were no windows, so no one would guess she'd come here. She would nurse the wounds to her heart in privacy and think about Rosemar's offer without interruption.

She curled her hands on her lap and closed her eyes. She could ignore Eban until he left town, or with help of an invisible demon, she could trick him into loving her. The first option seemed much more plausible. He'd taken what he wanted from her because she'd insisted on it. It wasn't his fault he couldn't love her. Some people weren't compatible. Her parents, for instance, had done their marital duty for the sake of producing heirs and spent the rest of their time living separately.

She couldn't trap him in marriage. Surely that was a sin, and she had plenty of those to answer for when the time came without adding to it. Rosemar's offer was too good to be true and she knew better than to trust a demon.

Even trusting a half-blood was out of the question. He might not have meant for her to fall in love with him, but he'd meant to hurt her with his parting words. Feeling sorry for herself wasn't much good, but right now it was all she had.

Beryl untied her boots and dropped them at the foot of the bed. She stood to pull the patchwork quilt down and when she straightened again, Eliakim stood by the door, hand on his sword.

She stifled a scream, stumbling into the bed frame. “What are you doing here?”

“You had a visit from Rosemar.”

It wasn't a question. Somehow he knew.

“You shouldn't be here.” She didn't want to discuss anything with the angel. His fierce face left her nervous and she had a fear of his sword that made Tell's gestures with his bolts feel like a tickle. “I'm going to ask you nicely to leave.”

“I've come to keep you from making a grievous error, Beryl Brookshier. You may not want my help, but it is offered without the price Rosemar attaches. She's offered you a deal, one that will allow her to claim your vessel as her own. It would be folly to accept her terms.”

“I know.” She glared at him. “You could have knocked.”

“I felt the issue was dire.”
Eliakim almost seemed apologetic.
“You are not going to accept Rosemar's suggestion?”

“Not tonight.” Especially considering he suggested Rosemar wanted to take over her body. She got the same feeling, even though Rosemar hadn't asked for anything in return.

His features hardened in a look of disapproval.
“I assume you are not serious.”

She wasn't sure how to respond. “Maybe we can take this up again in a more public place at a later time. I appreciate your concern. I wasn't too keen on having a demon proposition me.”

Not after she'd spent years being propositioned by men who had souls just as dark.

“The Heckmasters are summoning powerful demons. They wish to banish Rosemar, although she will fight them. Your life is at stake.”

The matter-of-fact way he stated it alarmed her more than his presence. “What do you mean?”

“Rosemar is dangerous. She'll stop at nothing to claim a human vessel. Her form is ancient and withered, beyond use for this world. She's very real and very dangerous.”
Long, lean fingers traced the jewels set in his sword hilt.

Eliakim itched for demon blood on his blade—the notion oozed from him. Even without Tell's powers of sense, she felt it.

“I'll keep an eye out for her. When I refuse her, maybe she'll go on to bother someone else.” She licked her lips, hopeful that the whispery voice that almost seemed to come from inside her head would leave for good.

Eliakim studied her with glowing silver eyes, his mouth twisted in displeasure.
“Unlikely.”

“Why?” Her hoarse voice scraped her throat.

“You're close to the Heckmasters and she desires the power they wield.”

“They're only half demons—they don't have much power. They all agree on that.” The room seemed stuffy and overcrowded with Eliakim looking at her like she was the dumbest human he'd met.

His lips thinned, but he didn't answer. He tilted his head, letting the long blond flow of his hair fall across his shoulders.
“You are safe from Rosemar's tricks tonight. I must go.”

“Where?” It was almost as though he heard something.

“Ebaneezer calls.”

Her turn to look peevish. “I thought you didn't bow to humans.”

“He requires guidance. He isn't aware he called. However I can assist him. Forgive me for barging in. That is the apology you desire, isn't it?”
The smallest smile turned his lips.

“One of them.” His effort made her smile in return. “Is there anything I can do to help Eban?”

She didn't know why she offered. He hadn't earned her help, but the thought of him calling for it without realizing made her uneasy. Her traitorous heart loved him no matter what.

“You may accompany me if you wish. He is in no danger at the moment.”

That gave her some relief. “If you're sure I won't be in the way.”

Eliakim looked uncertain. Beryl almost retracted her words, but he continued before she could.

“Do not give up on him. He is much like his mother, reluctant to do what he believes is the wrong thing, when his heart pulls him in different directions. Come, Beryl.”
Eliakim offered his hand.

She hesitated, but then decided he had no ill will toward her, or he'd have attacked her already. His palm was soft like a pillow, hardly substantial beneath hers, almost ghost-like. Warmth ran up her arm, through her chest and spread to her other limbs, filling her head with a peaceful sensation.

Until someone screamed.

“Stop touching him!”

She tried to pull away from Eliakim, but his grip was firm.

“You,” she spat, facing him. “Let her go this instant.”

Her mouth moved, words spilled from his lips, but they weren't her words. She didn't want to say them, not to an angel who was no doubt eager to slay demons. Her palm burned where Eliakim held her.

His eyes blazed with silvery light.
“Your tricks are no good as long as I have her in my power, Rosemar.”

She felt her lips pull away from her teeth in a feral snarl. “You'll pay for this.”

“My duty is to serve my master. Yours is the same, but you have other things in mind. I would not stay your hand if I thought you were serving Seere's good intentions.”

“He promised me I could have this body and I will have it, no matter what you or your master think!” She tried to rip her hand out of his, but it was stuck as though sealed there with cement. The burning flush that rolled through her veins faded.

No long able to stand on her own, Beryl sagged onto the bed. Dizzy and frightened, she stared at him. “What was that?”

“Rosemar. Creating trouble as she is wont to do. You are unhurt, merely shaken from the encounter.”

“I'm fine,” she agreed, although her legs felt wobbly and her head woozy the way it did when Tell tried to look inside her mind. Her palm was red, burning as though she'd used pure lye to wash it. She
was
fine, except now she was sure a demon had been inside her head.

“Seere should not trust her. When he took her in, she was eager to please, to show her worth. Now she only thinks of her own goals.”

“She was inside me. Why was she there? How did she get in there?” She scrubbed her opposite hand against her forehead, giving a little shiver as she thought of the invasion. It was much worse than Eliakim appearing and catching her unaware. Why didn't someone do something? If Tell suspected, then Wystan and Eban had to know too.

“They must not delay the meeting.”

His thought was so faint, she almost missed it. Then the room turned, and her stomach with it, but it vanished, leaving only a blur of light and color as they rushed through the air.

Beryl's feet hit solid ground with enough force to make her feet ache. “Ouch.”

Eliakim held one finger to his lips and nodded into the distance.

Eban stood in front of two graves with big granite markers. A stone angel—smaller than the one at the fountain—stood between them, its face turned toward the sky, hands folded in front of its robe, wings raised as though it would lift off from the ground any moment. Time had worn its expression away, dulling the eyes, nose and mouth, reducing its face to smooth, youthful roundness. Two dark lines ran from its eyes to the gentle slope of its jaw. Like tear tracks. Beryl shivered again.

“He's thinking of them. Of how they loved despite knowing Astaroth would never let them find peace.”
The soft whisper of Eliakim's thoughts was laced with sorrow.
“Seneca Heckmaster spent his last years on Earth with deep regret for his transgressions against the humans.”

What if Eban turned and spotted them, angry because they watched during his private moment?

“Aren't you going to help him?” she whispered.

Eliakim gave her a smile, a real one this time, and gestured for her to follow behind him, his long legs eating up ground as he passed through the cemetery gates. Beryl trotted to keep up with him.

Eban touched his father's headstone and bowed his head.

“We shouldn't watch this,” she whispered, but he didn't slow down. “It's private.”

If Eliakim heard her, though she was sure he did, he didn't pay her any mind. They stopped six feet from the graves and Eban didn't seem to notice them.

Eliakim's unearthly glow cast light over the area.
“You came here, pondering their choices, hoping to find an answer for your own.”

Eban jumped and turned. “What are you doing here?”

His gaze darted to Beryl. She tried to make herself smaller, worried he was still angry, that he'd think she was interfering in his private moment. An excuse bounded to her lips.

“Beryl.” Some of the tension went out of his shoulders. “Thank God Eliakim found you.”

She looked between them, then forced herself to hold Eban's gaze. “I didn't know he was bringing me here.”

“It's all right. I was taking a moment to think about how all this”—he swept his hand around—”came to be.”

Eliakim's eyes glistened.
“You have doubts about yourself, about Beryl, about everything, but I can show you how your parents felt.”

Eban's face took on a pinched look. “I don't think that's a good idea.”

“There is no time for indecision. Rosemar is through waiting. She wants a vessel now and she's made her offer to Beryl.”
Rolling anger made Eliakim's thought sound like shouts.
“You have the strength to defeat her, if you will throw off your fear.”

“How?”

They asked the question at the same time, glancing at each other.

Eliakim raised his arms and clapped them together above his head. The result sounded like thunder and the sky clouded—the first storm she'd seen in Berner since arriving.

The world shimmered and Beryl thought they were leaving the cemetery. She blinked and when the world focused again, the sun was shining brightly overhead, instead of above the horizon. This was Berner, but far different than it looked now.

In front of her, a woman with dark hair walked down an alley, her head bowed, arms folded. Her posture suggested she was unhappy and Beryl reached out, planning to say something comforting, but a figure stepped around the corner of the building.

The woman looked up, and a smile bloomed over her face. “Seneca.”

He was tall, easily Wystan's height, with blue eyes like beacons. Midnight black hair gleamed in the sun. “You made it.”

His voice had the same timbre as Eban's, soft and comforting. Beryl's jaw dropped. The woman launched herself into Seneca's arms, burying her face against his shoulder.

“No need to cry, my love.” His big hands caressed her back and a hint of worry came over his smooth features.

“There will be if Father finds out I'm meeting you.” She drew back. “I've missed you.”

She peppered his jawline with kisses before he claimed her mouth. They kissed as though it had been years since they'd seen each other last. Beryl looked away.

“You're not hurt?” Gloria ran her hands over his shoulders and chest. “It scares me each time you leave. I'm afraid he'll find out about us.”

“I'm not without my own power.” Deep inside the sparkling blue eyes, something malicious gleamed. “He doesn't suspect a thing, nor shall he.”

There was a princely air about him. The way he carried himself, the manner in which he spoke. He wore a fine suit cut to fit him. If he'd stood in a crowd of people and someone asked Beryl to pick out the demon, she would have chosen him. There was something not quite right about his appearance, or perhaps it was his aura.

“If he catches us, he'll kill you.” Gloria clung to his arm.

“Please don't worry. There are other matters I'd like to discuss with you.”

The worry didn't clear away from her face, but she nodded. “I'm so glad you're home. Every second without you is an eternity.”

Seneca smiled. Beryl saw the love he felt for the human woman, despite what he was and what he'd done for his liege. It was the same way Wystan looked at Rhia, the same look she'd longed for from Eban.

“Soon you won't have to measure them. I'll stay with you until my last breath.” He lowered himself to one knee. “Marry me, Gloria. Make me the happiest being on Earth.”