Hellfire (28 page)

Alton shook his head.
Obviously he didn’t want anything to do with the original bitch on wheels.
“Later,” he said. He had his hand on the door like he was ready to bolt. “I
need some air.” He stepped out through the sliding glass door and quickly shut
it behind him.

Ginny stared at her reflection
in the glass. Alton’s cold rejection left her feeling nauseous and
light-headed. She’d been so sure he wanted her with him tonight. So positive
while they were driving home that he was thinking of sex, of making love.

At least, that’s what she’d
been thinking of, when she wasn’t worrying about Dax, or about keeping her
mental shields up. She’d imagined what it would feel like to crawl into that
big bed with Alton and just do the deed until they both quit worrying about
demons and her job and what exactly was going on between the two of them. Quit
worrying and fall asleep.

Only it looked like she’d been
alone thinking along those lines. Obviously their minds weren’t nearly as
synchronized as she’d thought. Ginny stared at her reflection against the dark
glass a moment longer. Then she picked up her scabbard and her silent sword and
went into the bedroom by herself.

Alton sat in the darkness on
the back deck, cocooned by the quiet night sounds of the desert. An owl hooted
nearby. In the distance, a coyote howled. Crickets chirped from their hideouts
beneath the deck. Bats squeaked overhead as they hunted on the still night air.
All normal nighttime noises.

Not a single
banshee scream
among them.

Slowly he slipped HellFire out
of the scabbard, laid the sword across his lap, and stared at the glowing
crystal blade. He was filled with questions, but Taron wasn’t here.
Taron, who’d been his anchor in so many ways for so many, many
years.

Taron.
Alton chuckled. He could almost hear his
buddy telling him to pay attention. To be aware of the world around him, or in
Taron’s phrasing, to get his head out of his ass.
So
pragmatic and focused—so aware.
Taron was the one who always had the
answers. The one Alton counted on.

He’d thought he could count on
Ginny the same way, but now he had his doubts. He didn’t understand her well
enough. Was she too complex, or was he just stupid?

He ran his fingers over the
shimmering crystal. HellFire had become his trusted companion. He
wondered…could the sentience within the sword help?

Ginny hadn’t hesitated to ask
DarkFire, and DarkFire had answered. Alton swallowed back his fears. A man
shouldn’t be afraid of the weapon he carried, but Alton had feared this sword
for most of his life. It had been the constant reminder of his failure as a
man, as a warrior.

And then, when it finally
chose to speak to him, it had generally been insulting.
Probably
served him right, that he carried a sword that still didn’t respect him.
He was a man without honor.
Now, a man without even a family
name.

As if Taron whispered in his
ear, prodding him to take a leap of faith, Alton made his decision.
“HellFire?
Are you awake?”

The soft chuckle surprised
him. “I am always awake. What troubles you?”

Now that was the question.
Alton wasn’t certain he wanted the answers for what truly troubled him. His
feelings for Ginny felt like an open wound, too tender to probe. Instead, he
asked, “Who were you?” He ran his fingertips along the blade. “DarkFire was a
warrior named Daria. Who were you before you became spirit? What is your
story?”

The blade
pulsed
dark blue, then light, then dark again. Alton wondered if he’d somehow insulted
HellFire’s spirit. It wasn’t like he had a set of rules to follow. How to talk
to one’s sword without screwing up? He wished.

He could have sworn HellFire
sighed.

“I was called Justice. Like
you, I was the spoiled son of one of Lemuria’s leaders. I was a sycophant,
foolishly proud of my position as a parasite upon the world as a whole. I
existed with the same sense of entitlement you had for so long. I believed
Lemuria owed me a living. I was young and handsome, and I enjoyed every
unearned moment.
Until the demons came.”

Frowning, Alton stared at the
blade. He hadn’t expected an answer like that, though in retrospect, he knew he
deserved it. Knew HellFire described him perfectly. “Am I still that way?
A parasite?
The spoiled son with a sense
of entitlement?”
Alton thought of the person he’d been when he first
left Lemuria. Hadn’t he changed even a little?

“I would not speak to you if
you’d not moved past your childish ways.”

Childish?
A man
grown,
one who’d lived thousands of years? He’d
laugh, except it was too true to be funny. He sighed, accepting. “Why did it
take me so long, HellFire? What was I lacking? I left everything I knew to
fight demons, yet you refused to speak. What was I doing wrong?”

“The same things I once did.
Your motives were not pure, though another sword might have recognized your
growth sooner than I did. Since I saw myself in your actions, I knew you could
be so much more if properly challenged.

“You left Lemuria because you
were bored. The chance to fight demons was a diversion for you. The excitement
of going into battle was all about you—your needs, your wants. You could have
stopped the demon gargoyle on many occasions, but you were unwilling to risk
your safety. Instead, you put Dax and Eddy at risk by your cowardice.”

HellFire certainly wasn’t
mincing words. Alton felt the heat in his face and knew his humiliation must be
showing. The sword was right. He’d been afraid each time they fought the demon,
and he’d pulled back. He’d been terrified during that last big battle on Mount
Shasta. As difficult as it was to say the words, he admitted his fears to HellFire.

“Ah, but in that battle, even
though you were afraid, you didn’t falter. You attacked.”

Alton snorted. “A lot of good
it did. The damned gargoyle just about crushed me. I’m surprised it didn’t kill
me.”

“Yet knowing you might die,
you attacked to save Eddy and her father.
To help Dax.
You failed, but you were willing to give your life for your friends. Do you
recall your thoughts at that moment, Alton? It wasn’t all about you. It was
about keeping others safe. You finally showed me that you have what it takes to
carry crystal.”

Alton stared at the glowing
blade for a long time. The sounds of the night ebbed and flowed about him and
he thought of the battle he’d fought, how frightened he’d been.

How angry he’d been, to think
they might somehow lose, that demonkind might actually overrun an innocent
world. Nothing else had mattered then. Not his life, not how terrified he was
or the chance he probably wouldn’t survive. He hadn’t felt particularly brave
when he’d attacked the gargoyle. No, he’d been desperately afraid, not only for
himself, but for his friends. He’d been willing to do anything to save his
friends and his people.

Anything,
including risking his life.

But he’d failed and the
gargoyle had completely overwhelmed him. He’d been unconscious when Eddy had
grabbed his silent crystal sword and decapitated the gargoyle. She’d faced
death to save her father, to avenge Dax’s death, and she’d succeeded. No wonder
her sword had spoken to her from the beginning.

And Dax! He’d actually
died—horribly, painfully. He’d thrown himself on the gargoyle, knowing he
couldn’t possibly prevail. He hadn’t, and the gargoyle had killed him.

Thank the gods Dax had been
given another chance.

Alton wondered if Dax
remembered those last moments when the demon had broken his body—snapped his
spine as if it were nothing more than a twig. Ed had given Alton the gruesome
details later, when they’d had time to talk about those last frantic,
frightening moments. Alton had missed the worst and the best of it—Dax’s death,
Eddy’s selfless bravery.

He’d been unconscious. Not a
very brave participant in that one big battle, but it had changed him forever.
He’d come away from it believing in himself for the first time in his very long
life. Believing in his value as a Lemurian, as a man.

It had given him the courage
to face his father, to stand up to the Council of Nine. He hadn’t even faltered
when his father had publicly disowned him. He never would have been brave
enough before that battle.

That was the first time he’d
truly been tested—and he’d passed. There’d never been a reason to doubt Dax’s
bravery. Knowing he had only one week to live, Dax had sacrificed everything
for the cause. In that respect, Alton’s first opinion of his friend had been
right—Dax had more honor and integrity than any man he’d ever known.

He ran his fingers along the
sharp edge of the crystal blade.
“HellFire?
You said
you were like me, a spoiled young man with a sense of entitlement. What changed
you? What was it that turned you from that worthless parasite into a warrior
brave enough to be reborn in a crystal sword?”

“My death changed me.” The
light of the sword dimmed. “I fought a battle we had no hope of winning, but my
stand allowed some of our citizens to escape to safety. I didn’t intend to die
that day, but that was my path.”

“You sacrificed yourself so
that others might live.” Alton felt the burn of tears in his eyes.
“A truly brave act.”

Again he heard the soft
chuckle. “It was both a brave and foolish act. I was terrified. My actions were
those of a coward with no other choice than to act bravely. If I’d fought a
smarter fight, I could have survived and gone on to fight another day. As it
was, I died less than a week before the demons were finally vanquished. All
these thousands of years I’ve waited for my rebirth. It’s about time you got it
right.”

This time it was Alton who
laughed. “I never claimed to be the sharpest sword in the scabbard.”

“No, Alton. That is my job.
Your job is to help build a stronger force to take up the battle against
demonkind once again. There are so few of you. Go to Ginny. You must convince
her to stay. Without her courage and strength, without DarkFire, our chances of
success against the demon invasion are slim. Their leader is a new malevolence,
something we’ve not seen before. Something I still don’t truly understand. It
will take a powerful force to defeat him. Without DarkFire’s unique talents,
without Ginny…”

Alton sighed.
“But how?
Ginny is determined to follow a path of her own
choosing. How can I hope to change her mind?”

HellFire shimmered brightly.
“You must give her a reason to stay that is within her grasp. The concept of
saving many worlds against demonkind is too much for any mind to comprehend,
but there are other reasons for her to stay, for her to risk everything. Think
of how you have focused yourself in this fight. Think of the adjustments you’ve
made in your own goals. Then ask yourself—do you love Virginia Jones?”

The blade went dark and
silence closed in around Alton.

Alton stared at the sword.
What did loving Ginny have to do with anything?
Nine hells.
He had no idea if he loved her or not.
How could he know if those feelings tearing him up inside were really love?
Love shouldn’t hurt this much.

Except he knew, in the
deepest, most private part of his soul, that HellFire had been right about
everything else. Alton’s motives had been entirely selfish when he first left
Lemuria. Thinking back to his feelings at the time, he’d seen helping Dax and
Eddy escape from the Lemurian prison as a grand gesture on his part, a chance
to find some excitement to liven up his dull life.

So why had HellFire asked him
if he loved Ginny? What an odd question. Or was it? Hadn’t he realized from the
first time he saw Ginny that she was the one he was fighting for? Not for
Lemuria, not for Earth or the people of Atlantis and Eden. No. It was Ginny who
mattered. Ginny’s safety, her future.

By focusing on Ginny, he’d
been able to face a battle beyond anything he’d ever imagined possible. He’d
discovered strengths he hadn’t realized he possessed.

What if he were to put the
battle against demonkind into words that made more sense to Ginny? Show her
something to focus on besides worlds she barely believed in, people she didn’t
know. If she realized how Alton felt about her, how much she meant to him…He
shook his head. First he needed to get his own thoughts in order before he
tried organizing anyone else’s.

Still, he had to admit that
maybe HellFire hadn’t been so far off the mark after all.

It came to him, then, what had
been different about the conversation he’d just had with his crystal sword. No
snark.
None at all.
HellFire had spoken sincerely, as
if they were comrades of long standing. As if Alton
were
an equal.

Justice.
His name had been Justice, and he’d been
young once, and spoiled. And then he’d died, though he’d obviously redeemed
himself with his death. Alton stroked the silent blade with his fingertips,
imagining the young man HellFire had once been. Then he picked up his sword and
carefully slipped it into the scabbard.

An errant thought filtered
into his mind. Had Justice ever been in love?

The blade remained dark.

“Well, Justice. It appears
it’s up to me to convince Ginny to stay and fight.
Is loving
her the key? Is it really something so simple?” He shook his head, chuckling
softly. “Like love is simple?
Nine hells.
If I screw
up, lose track, and forget, please remind me it’s about the fight and it’s
about Ginny.
About winning against demonkind for the good of
all.
That it’s not about me.”