Demonosity

Cassidy wasn’t sure what to expect the following morning as the pale pink sun finally decided to push some weak tendrils through the overhanging canopy of the woods, but it certainly wasn’t this.

“Don’t drop your shoulder,” Thomas barked as Cassidy threw a slim, sharp knife at him. Unfortunately, she had recently discovered that not only were her knife-throwing skills less than stellar, but throwing things at an apparition was completely pointless. Thomas seemed indifferent to her mental turmoil. “Now try it again. And this time concentrate.”

“I
am
concentrating.” She gritted her teeth and pressed the blade into her leather-gloved hand so that the point was facing her. Then she drew back her arm before throwing it forward. Once she released it, the metal blade spun as it flew through the air before landing harmlessly on the sodden leaves that covered the dark, damp dirt, nowhere near the apparition of Thomas.

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SPEAK

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First published in the United States of America by Speak, an imprint of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 2013

Copyright © Amanda Ashby, 2013

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

Ashby, Amanda.

Demonosity / Amanda Ashby.

p. cm.

Summary: Thomas Delacroix, the spirit of a fourteenth-century knight, needs a

contemporary girl to help him protect the Black Rose, a powerful ancient force,

but popular, quirky high school junior Cassidy Carter-Lewis is not happy about being chosen

to train before dawn and battle demons at parties, the mall, and even school.

ISBN 978-1-101-62590-3

[1. Demonology—Fiction. 2. Spirit possession—Fiction. 3. High schools—Fiction. 4. Schools—Fiction. 5. Knights and knighthood—Fiction. 6. Family life—California—Fiction. 7. California—Fiction. 8. Humorous stories.] I. Title.

PZ7.A7993Dem 2013

[Fic]—dc23

2012042252

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

As always, I would like to thank Jenny Bent and Susan Hawk for continuing to have my back and help me become a better writer. A big thank you needs to go to Karen Chaplin for believing in this book right from the start and to the amazing Kristin Gilson for helping me to bring my demon knights to life! Also to everyone else at Puffin for all of their support. To Sara Hantz and Christina Phillips for continuing to put up with my crazy. To my husband Barry Holt for being a fount of knowledge when it comes to history. And finally to my lovely sword guy, Caleb Chandler. Thank you for letting me pick your brain and for helping me with all of my many, many questions and for being so happy to discuss the best way to kill medieval demon knights! Any mistakes are well and truly mine.

France 1310

T
homas de la Croix was not someone who scared easily, but as the smell of decaying flesh, rancid blood, and black magic caught in his nostrils, he felt dark tendrils of fear clutch at his chest. His grip tightened on his sword—the only gift his true father had ever given him—as he forced himself to concentrate on the horde of demons that came crashing through the cloister entrance. Their poleaxes and shields clanked violently as they pushed against one another in their haste to reach the doorway that Thomas and his companions were currently guarding.

Over in the corner, the monks cowered in a huddle, their heads barely visible above their coarsely woven cowls, but Thomas ignored them. Instead, he concentrated with an intensity that belied his seventeen years. He ignored everything but the demons as they tore across the tiled abbey floor, their amber eyes ablaze with swirling colors of liquid fire, their once-human faces now distorted beyond recognition as the siren call of the thing that Thomas had sworn to protect lured them ever forward.

He held his ground, aware of the cold steel of his helmet against his brow. For three years, ever since the bitter night in Landévennec, Thomas and the other knights had been on the run as they protected the Black Rose from the many demons who now desired it. Three long, torturous years they had managed to protect the alchemist treasure that offered not only immortality but also unlimited power and strength to whoever should harness it. Unfortunately, as Thomas well knew, if the demons succeeded in their mission, then the world would be over. Not something that he was prepared to let happen. He had lost everything he cared about in the last three years, but he would make sure that those losses hadn’t been for naught.

The first of the demons reached him, but before it could even open its mouth, Thomas thrust his faithful sword deep into its chest. The runes engraved on the steel buzzed with energy and helped the blade to slice through the thick skin until it penetrated the beast’s heart. Thomas ignored the demon’s look of surprise as the fire swirled out of its dying eyes, and he used the giant, limp body as a shield to stop the next demon from reaching him.

He staggered and almost fell as the enraged demon slashed at the flesh of its fallen comrade in order to get past. Thomas’s muscles howled in protest and he clenched his jaw before finding the extra strength to push the dead creature backward, causing the demon behind it to go crashing to the ground. As soon as it fell Thomas was down on his knees thrusting his sharp dagger deep into this demon’s neck, slitting its throat until dark blood spilled out onto the abbey floor.

If Thomas didn’t already know that he was condemned to the bottom of the Great Wheel, then surely this latest sacrilege would secure his place. But again he reminded himself that it mattered not. As long as the Black Rose was safe, he would take whatever the Great Wheel chose for him in this life and the next.

To one side, Symon was struggling to stop another of the demons from snapping his neck. In a flash Thomas was beside him, using his shoulder to shove the giant creature away from his fellow knight. The pair of them then stepped forward in tandem, and both drove their swords past the demon’s shield and deep into its chest. It immediately crumpled onto the abbey floor, joining its fallen comrades.

Thomas wasn’t sure how long they fought, but finally the onslaught was finished. Over where the massacred demons lay, the all-too-familiar sickening stench of the blood magic that the demons used to bolster their strength rose upward, like steam on a winter’s morn. Thomas ignored it as he turned back to his men. Etienne had fallen, and the gaping red slash where his guts had once been told Thomas that he was no more for this life. But the three other knights with whom he had come were still standing and looking to him for direction.

Thomas didn’t hesitate as he stalked over to the altar and picked up one of the beeswax candles, of much finer quality than most nobles would see at their dinner table. Without preamble he threw it onto the pile of corpses and watched as the demon flesh burst into flames.

Watching the long fingers of fire lick across the ancient beams that were strutted across the ceiling until they, too, burst into flames, the monks moaned in protest. Thomas dismissed their looks of condemnation. A church that could afford beeswax candles instead of tallow ones could afford to be reconsecrated and rebuilt once the filth of this night had been burned away.

“We need to leave now,” he said, marching toward the door. He nodded for his men to join him just as the roof went up in another burst of flames. In the distance he could hear one of the monks crying out “
enfant du diable
,” but Thomas shrugged off the insult just as he had been doing his entire life. Besides, while he was sure that the devil had given him many sins, he knew that his eyes—one pale blue and one dark brown—weren’t a gift from the ruler of hell, but rather from his long dead mother who, according to his old nurse, was similarly afflicted.

“Thomas, you go too far,” Symon said from next to him, his face ashen as the wailing monks followed them out into the safety of the cool night. “Is this how you repay their hospitality? By burning their church to the ground? Where is the honor?”

“Honor?” Thomas spat as he marched across the cobbled courtyard, oblivious to the burning abbey that he left behind. Instead, he focused on the small outbuilding that concealed the entrance to the monk’s hidden vault. “You were told when you joined the Brotherhood that there would be no tourneys, no spoils of war, no glory. There is no honor in what we do, Symon. There is only duty, and the sooner you learn this, the better. Besides, you know as well as I do that the only way to truly kill a demon is to burn it.”

“Yes, but there was another way to have stopped this battle. If you’d listened to me, then the demons wouldn’t have come here and the church would’ve been saved,” Symon persisted, causing Thomas to yank the helmet from his head and run his hand along the long, angry scar that covered the length of his cheek.

“Only a coward would consider
that
an option,” he said in a cold voice as he twisted the crude steel handle of the door and then used his shoulder to push it open. The monks had shown them the secret vault two days earlier when they had taken sanctuary, and Thomas had decided it was the safest place for them to keep the Black Rose.

“Who are you to call me coward? I have ten more winters than you,
garçon
,” Symon snarled, as he tried to emphasize Thomas’s youth.

“
Oui
. And yet I’ve still killed many more demons than you have,
old man
,” Thomas retorted with a withering glare. “Now, enough of this. We need to get Armand and the Black Rose and leave this place before word reaches more of the Demon Lords and they decide to—”

However, the rest of the words died on his lips as he dropped his shoulders and stepped through the low doorframe, only to discover there was no sign of Armand or the dull wooden box that housed the most dangerous artifact in the entire kingdom. Thomas scanned the deserted room, his horror mounting as he noticed the crudely drawn circle etched into the dirt floor; the flickering candles, burned down almost to their wicks; the smell of Eastern herbs and spices that hung in the air. Then he saw the bowl of blood in the center and his horror turned to ice-cold rage.

“What have you done?” His voice was little more than a whisper as he pulled off his gauntlets and tightened his fingers. “Where is Armand?
Where is the Black Rose?
”

“We did what needed to be done,” Symon said in a defiant voice as he pushed his meager chin high into the air. “While we were fighting, Armand invoked the ritual and sent the Black Rose to find its vessel. The ancient books all said the best way to protect it is when it’s housed in human flesh. This was how it was always done until the Brotherhood came along and decided that they could do it better.”

“He
what?
” Thomas’s voice echoed around the stone vaults and hung in the air like an unsheathed sword.

“You heard me. He did the ritual. We can’t keep running forever, Thomas. It’s been three years, and there are only six of us left—no, five, now that Etienne has fallen. And the Demon Lords keep turning more human flesh into demon minions. They are like a plague that will not end. Someone had to take the lead.”

“And that someone is
me
.” Thomas could almost feel his mismatched eyes blaze as he kicked over the bowl of blood and sent it flying across the room, dripping its unholy essence down one whitewashed wall before finally coming to rest on the dusty ground. “I am the grandmaster now, and not only have you disobeyed me, but you’ve made a mockery of every knight who has given up his life to protect the Black Rose. If my foster father was still alive, he would kill you where you stand.”

“We made the right decision,” Symon insisted as his hand nervously clutched at the hilt of his sword, no doubt wondering if Thomas shared the late Hugh de la Croix’s views on betrayal. But instead of reaching for his own weapon, Thomas threw his gauntlets down on the floor in an angry gesture.

“Tell me, Symon, do you know
why
the Brotherhood stopped allowing the essence of the Black Rose to reside in a human vessel?”

“Because they grew arrogant and didn’t want to relinquish power to anyone? Because they liked feeling important?
Just like you do
. How do we know that the Black Rose hasn’t corrupted you, too?”

The muscles around Thomas’s jaw twitched, but still he didn’t reach for his sword. “Actually, it was because we couldn’t control
where
the Black Rose would go to find the vessel. Sometimes east. Sometimes west. Once it went back in time. Problem enough when it was only mortal men who were chasing after it, but once the Demon Lords, with their blood magic and their ability to travel through the ether, joined the hunt, it was impossible. We can’t match them for ability, and we can’t risk leaving the Black Rose unprotected. Not even for a blink of an eye.”

“We
haven’t
left the Black Rose unprotected,” Symon insisted. “We have sent forward a guardian. We went through all the ancient texts, and we found a way. Where the Black Rose goes, Armand will follow. He has the grimoire, so that he can keep the vessel safe, just as our ancestors before us did. The old ways are not the wrong ways, Thomas. You must see that now. The Black Rose will be safe, and all of our running will be at an end.”

For a moment Thomas felt the room start to spin. Then he regained his composure and strode across the dusty floor to where the leather traveling satchel was lying on a stool. He snatched it up and shook it, only to discover it was empty.

The grimoire was the one thing that stood between the Brotherhood and the demons. It was a large leather-bound book, and not only was it infused with power, it was possessed of all the magical rituals they needed to fight and ward off demons.

And now it was gone.

Thomas dropped the leather satchel to the ground and spun back around. “You fool! What have you done?”

“I told you, we can’t keep running. This was the only way. We need to trust Armand. He will keep the Black Rose safe.”

“Armand will be dead by the time the vesper bell rings on the morrow,” Thomas retorted in a cool voice, and suddenly Symon’s arrogance started to falter as his face paled.

“Wh-what? Armand is going to die? Are you certain?”

“As certain as night follows day. The magic from this circle, though powerful, is not enough to keep his body together. Even with the blood of whatever pathetic vermin you drained and all of the laws of nature that you violated, it’s still not enough. The whole reason the Brotherhood stopped doing the ritual was because we couldn’t travel through the ether to protect the Black Rose. So what say ye now? Now that you know the Black Rose is lost in time and unguarded?”

“What have I done?” Symon let out a horrified groan as he awkwardly dropped to his knees and lay prostrate on the dirt floor, his plated armor protesting as he did so. “Forgive me. I have failed you.”

“Yes, you have, but since I am not your confessor, it’s not my forgiveness that you should seek,” Thomas snapped, his voice rough as he signaled to the other knights to gather up their meager belongings. “Now get to your feet. We need to find the grimoire and a new guardian to keep the Black Rose safe from”—he paused for a moment, stumbling over the words—“from the demons. Otherwise, we will all be doomed.”