Eban (11 page)

“Eban?”

At the foot of the bed, he stilled. A whetstone rested in one hand and his saber lay across his lap. There was darkness in his eyes that reminded her of yesterday before Wystan had broken up the fight. She swallowed as she looked at the saber. She'd never witnessed him sharpening it before. For a moment, she thought he intended to use it on her. He sheathed it and laid it aside.

“How's your head?”

“It hurts. Did I hit it on something?” She touched the sore spot. “I missed Sylvie's party.”

“You fell, but Tell came for me and I brought you back here. You'll be fine. No concussion, just a little bruise.” His smile was tight and didn't reach his eyes. “Sylvie understood that you needed to rest.”

“How did I fall? I don't remember that.”

“Rhia said you slipped on the porch stairs. Banged your head on the ground. You should feel better in a day or two.”

She started to nod, but cut the action short. “Then you talked to her.”

Eban looked away. He hadn't gotten the information straight from Rhia's mouth then. How long would it be before he could look Wystan's wife in the eye and open his mouth? Why did she care? Thinking about the complicated relationship made her headache worse.

“What are you doing with your saber?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.” He ran his fingers over the sheath. “I was making sure it was sharp enough for anything I run across.”

There was an edge to his voice that had been missing before. It startled her. Eban didn't approve of violence, or he hadn't until the business with Eliakim.

“Are you expecting trouble?”

“No more than the usual barghests and changesteeds, maybe some other minor demons. Tell doesn't think any more seals are broken, but we can't let our guard down.”

“You don't like to kill them,” she whispered. Something had changed since he'd left her in the street. She sat up and took his hand, concerned for his well-being. “Tell me what's wrong.”

“The usual,” he repeated. “Town full of unfriendly beasties and three half demons who might care enough to slay them, depending on the day.”

“I always worry when you say you're going to the Pit or chasing monsters.” Her tongue felt thick and dry. “I wish you wouldn't go.”

“I'll be fine.”

“When are you leaving?” She clutched his hand harder. Was there any way to convince him not to set foot outside the door?

He glanced out the window. “It's early yet. I'm not going until nightfall. I'm sure you're fine, but I decided to stick close just in case you had any sudden symptoms of trauma.”

“Will you stay with me a while?” After their earlier conversation, she wasn't certain he wanted to continue their relationship, but the idea of him beside her was comforting. The last few days had left her worried and weary.

He slid the saber off the bed and placed it on the floor within reach. He lowered his frame to the bed, then turned to her. “I'm sorry you didn't have much fun at the party.”

She laid her hand on his thigh. “I seem to be an accident waiting to happen. Every time I turn around, I'm doing something I can't remember. I feel safe when you're here, though.” She shuddered when she recalled Eliakim's accusation that she smelled of demon.
I'm perfectly ordinary…just different.

Eban sighed. “You wouldn't be in any of these situations if you weren't in Berner.”

She sucked in a breath, willing her heart not to ache at his words. His hand rubbed her arm. “No, I'd probably be dead somewhere.”

“You're a good woman, Beryl. So you had a bad run before you met Rhia. Everyone's entitled to some mistakes. One day, all of this will seem like a bad dream.”

Her eyes watered and she bit her lip to keep it from trembling. “I'm washed-up trash. I supposed I've always known it, but it's starting to come back. I don't know how or why I crawled out of the alley where Ernie left me to die, but it wasn't a miracle. It wasn't because I deserve another chance at life. It's not me who deserves a good future. You do. You think your heart is broken, but when you meet the right woman, you'll forget the rest. What's the harm in entertaining each other until you get the chance?”

His jaw tightened. “Look at where love got my parents. She was murdered because of him and he gave his life to save a town that hated him.” His voice was flat, as though he was talking about someone else's parents.

She sat up, then leaned against his shoulder. He pushed hair away from her face with a tender stroke.

Beryl looked up at him. “If you could ask them, they'd say it was worth it. They wanted you to live, and you have.”

“I don't know why. They couldn't have imagined what this place would become.” His lips touched her hairline right above her ear. “I'm afraid for you. For your heart, for your body, your mind.”

She couldn't find the voice to ask him why.

“You're not trash, Beryl. You're so much better than you believe.”

She studied his face, close enough to see every fine wrinkle around his eyes, the beginning of lines across his forehead and mouth. His hair was disheveled and the lamplight made his eyes shine.

“But not as a good as Rhia.”

He frowned. “You are, but in a different way.”

“Maybe.” Lowering her gaze to the top of his shirt, she saw the edge of a sigil inked on his collarbone. One that hadn't been there when she slipped from his bed this morning. “What is that?”

“Protection.” His tone was clipped, his eyes hard.

She didn't believe him. “What does it really do?”

“It's nothing to worry about.” Impatience tinged his tone.

Her skin tingled. “I don't believe you. It's meant for something else. Maybe attracting demons somehow? The anger you carry around inside is no good. You'll do something reckless because of it and it will kill you.” She pressed her hand to his face. “Please, Eban, you don't have to chase monsters. You're just upset because of the wedding, but in time, you'll forget how much it hurt.”

“It's not about that. I've stayed out of the fight too long. There are demons to slay. I've let Wys and Tell handle it alone too often without any help.”

No matter what he said, she knew the ember of anger over Wystan's marrying Rhia still smoldered in his heart. She didn't need Tell's special knowledge to sense it. Eban's behavior was straying toward destruction. He didn't care if he lived or died, because he knew his chances of leaving Berner were small.

“You've changed, Eban. Your demon side is trying to come out—can't you feel it? You're not sharpening your saber to help anyone. I'm right about what that marking means, aren't I?”

His eyes flared red. “It isn't your concern.”

Hurt, she shrank away from him. “I'm your friend.”

He slipped off the bed, then picked up his saber, sliding it into the sheath. “Not my wife. I'll come and go as I please, taking out demons or leaving them where I see fit. I didn't ask you to come here. You stayed because you have nowhere else to go.”

Shock, anger and sorrow warred inside her head. “Go to hell.”

So angry that tears wouldn't come, she scrambled off the bed and ran. He could have caught her, if he'd cared, or if he'd wanted to take his words back, but she left the clinic alone. The sun was beginning to set, beaming on buildings that cast long shadows in the streets. With a sob stuck in her throat, she struggled for breath.

How dare he? Right after he'd declared her healthy, she'd talked about leaving the clinic. Eban had assured her that she wasn't a bother and he liked the company. They shared meals together, companionable silences, talked about the world and the places they wanted to visit someday. He'd never suggested she was a hindrance.

It hadn't been her idea to stay there. If he wanted her gone, he could have found a gentler way to suggest it. She wouldn't have refused.

She hadn't run in a long while and felt winded before she'd gone more than a few blocks. Abandoned buildings stood all over Berner and she let herself into an old barber shop with a faded blue-and-red-striped pole out front. Eban had told her it was to signal barbers were capable of doing some doctoring, but he was no good at cutting hair, and the building wasn't big enough to suit his needs.

Beryl dropped into one of the chairs. Tears came, blurring her vision, hot as they rolled down her cheeks. She knew Rhia and Wystan would welcome her, but the embarrassment was too great. If she went over there crying, Wystan might confront Eban. She couldn't bear the thought.

A dusty mirror mounted on the wall across from her showed her reflection, splotchy from crying and running, eyes puffy and red, shoulders slumped, hair a mess. Not a very appealing picture. Drawing her knees up, she folded her arms on top of them. Maybe she'd stay in this building until she died. The Mad Woman of the Barber Shop. Wouldn't that make a lovely story for the parents to tell their children? A woman in love with a man who could never love her in return, driven insane by the knowledge. She could take up carrying a razor and haunting shadows to make the tale scarier.

She rested her cheek on her hands. “It's time to go. There's nothing here.”

Santa Fe might hold some prospects, although she had no references, no money to live on once she arrived and she didn't know a soul.

Over her own heavy breathing, she heard laughter. When she held her breath, she listened for it again. It was there, faint, and all around her. Beryl sat up straight, looking out the plate glass window for demons strolling past.

There were none.

“Hello?” she whispered.

“Beryl.”

Unmistakably her name, though it was no louder than a thought. “Who's there? Eliakim?”

“Not quite, my dear.”

“Who then? I'm not in the mood for games.” There weren't any footprints besides hers in the dust coating the floor, no signs suggesting someone else had been in the building recently.

“You've been asking for me long enough. They call me Rosemar, though my real name is not suitable for human tongues. I know what transpired between you and Eban. I know the pain you must be feeling.”

Beryl blinked. Rosemar. Communicating in whispers, or in the same manner as Eliakim. And she knew about Eban. A fresh wave of misery rolled over her.

“You're a demon.”

“Correct. I can help you. Together we'll make him fall in love with you. His eyes will never stray toward another woman. All you need to do is ask.”

Beryl's muscles tensed. “How?”

Rosemar laughed again.
“This is my task. I make men and women fall in and out of love all the time. My first master gave me special privilege. I saw to the population of Earth when it was young, I saw to the tragic death of lovers, to women straying from their husbands' beds. I've created and broken some of the most powerful couples in the world. Antony and Cleopatra. Paris and Helen of Troy. Cupid and Persephone. Albert and Victoria. Poor Mr. Lincoln and Mary Todd.”

“Why would you let me and Eban remain happy?” It frightened her a little that she was considering Rosemar's help. Especially when she couldn't see the demon.

“I like you, Beryl. I've watched you and I know you're good at heart. The type of woman Ebanezeer needs. More importantly, he's part of the key to locking the Pit forever and Seere needs him. But there's no reason you and he can't be happy forever.”

Beryl clutched the chair arms. “I'm not sure talking to you is a good idea. The others talk about you. I mean, they've mentioned you but won't explain who you are, which makes me think I shouldn't be listening.”

“Aren't you wise?”
Rosemar sounded impressed.
“You value your friends' opinions. The trouble with that is, none of them want to see you with Eban. They say they don't want him to go, but as long as the Pit is closed for good, they couldn't care less what he does. We both know your past isn't wholesome and that your future looks bleak without a respectable husband. The Heckmasters might dally with girls who have backgrounds like yours, but they're from an old, proud demon family. Not one of them would be caught marrying a lady of the night. Bad enough their father Seneca married a human. To marry a whore? Unthinkable among powerful demons.”

Beryl shrank back in the chair.

“It doesn't have to be that way. We can change that. You belong with Eban. You weren't always gutter trash, were you?”

She stared at her reflection in the dusty, tarnished mirror. “I did this to myself.”

“Yes.”

“I defied my father by refusing to marry the man he picked out for me. I ran away and I let men touch me for money. Men who were worse than the one Father wanted me to marry, but I wasn't anyone's property.” Except she'd been everyone's property when she let man after man come to her. Her stomach clenched as she remembered the night Ernie saved her from a drunkard in Kansas. He'd been kind at first, winning her trust with a smile and buying her a meal. He was starting a brothel in Dakota Territory and if she played her cards right, he promised she'd be madam of her own place in a year or two.

Beryl had believed him and then he'd dumped her in an alley like refuse.

“But you came from good stock, even if your rebellious nature ripped you from them. With a respectable husband—a doctor—you could stroll back into your parents' house any day of your choosing.”

“They'd know. They would take one look at me and know what I'd been doing all these years.”

“Not with my help.”

As she looked at herself, the image in the mirror changed. Her hair twisted into curls and a silk dress replaced the one Rhia had bought her. Her complexion turned rosy and her face filled out a little more. Her lips smiled, even though she knew she wasn't. She looked happy, fulfilled, excited.