Eban (18 page)

“War, Miss Brookshier, has spurred the rulers of Hell since the beginning of time. My liege Ea desires territories. The demon with the largest territory wins. Souls are his currency, and while we don't need to trick humans in order to gain souls—some of these pathetic creatures are doomed no matter what—it helps to have our servants keep watch over them. Ea is the first and most powerful of the four kings of Hell. He formed the Gray Lands, and he collects what's his by right. But Astaroth is his old enemy and he won't stand for that maggot to rule more than he deserves. Without Berner, without New Mexico and the wretched territories surrounding it, Astaroth will gain more power than he can hold. There must be balance. We cannot have him overthrow the other kings.”

“Then I trust you to see that Rosemar does the right thing when the time comes.” She swallowed the dry lump in her throat. “You'll keep a tight tether on her?”

“Of course. I'll see you soon.” A ripple opened behind him and he stepped backwards, disappearing with a soft whoosh.

Beryl's knees gave out and she sat heavily on the edge of the chair, holding her head in her hands. She'd done what was necessary, despite the cost.

“Beryl!”

Eban burst into the room with his brothers at his back. Eliakim entered last, sword at the ready, obviously recovered.

She watched Eban approach from between her fingers, his eyes widening in shock. “Is everything okay outside?”

Tell broke the circle, smearing white chalk across the floorboards. “Seere vanished like he was called. Know anything about that?”

Eban's gaze went from her wrist to the blood on the floor. “You didn't.”

“I had to.” She didn't trust her legs, so she remained seated while he knelt by her, cupping her still-bleeding arm in his gentle hands. “He would have destroyed Berner and you.”

He made a choked sound in his throat. Devastation mixed with anger. “I won't let him hold you to this.”

“There's no choice. You wanted to sacrifice yourself. Well, now it's me instead. It's better this way.” She ran her fingers through his hair. “He's going to find your father because he believes it has to be Seneca who closes the Pit.”

The air seemed to go out of the room and the Heckmasters' faces turned bleaker, though she hadn't thought it was possible.

“He's good, but I don't think Seere is that good,” Tell said. Under his five o'clock shadow, his skin was sallow. “You shouldn't have made a deal with him.”

“He was going to get what he wanted even if I didn't. You should be thankful I saved the town. He has to keep his promise—he was bound.” Mostly. There wasn't much point in telling them Seere had destroyed the sigil on his own.

“Enough. Let's get you cleaned up.” Eban swept her out of the chair and carried her toward his examination room. His expression was stony, emotion hidden behind an excellent poker face.

The strong scent of astringent burned her nose, making her eyes water—or maybe it was because of the circumstances. She wasn't sure what to say, or how to apologize, although she didn't want to. They didn't exchange any words as he gathered bandages and a bottle of iodine.

Muscles in his jaw jumped while he cleaned the wound again. The cold brown iodine splashed on her skirt, a stain she wasn't sure she'd ever get out, but she had little time left to wear the dress. The burning sensation was a relief compared to the pain in her heart.

“Don't pick at it.” Four words with strong anger behind them. He wound a white bandage around it tightly, clipping one end, then fumbled with both before knotting it twice. “Leave the bandage alone and it should heal without scarring too badly.”

When Rosemar took control, her injuries would probably heal with the same speed as Eban's body did. Maybe faster because she was full-blooded. Beryl swallowed the bile rising in her throat as Rosemar's threats to leave her aware surfaced again.

He dropped his scissors into a drawer, then slammed it. It bounced out again, rattling the contents. With another push, gentler this time, he closed it and braced his arms on the counter top, his back to her. Eban's shoulders shook and he drew in a ragged breath.

She'd broken his heart, the second woman in a matter of months to do so, and there wasn't any comfort she could offer.

“When are you giving yourself to her?” he asked.

“Once we're sure Astaroth can't get free.”

“That could be tomorrow or two months. Jesus, Beryl, I don't understand what you were thinking. You could be free from her right now if you'd let us handle Seere.” He turned, looking more haggard than he had when she'd found him in the cemetery. “I can't let you do this.”

“You can't stop it. I agreed to his terms. There's nothing anyone can do.”

A red flush covered Eban's face. “I can kill him.”

The saber hung at his side, but he grabbed the handle as though it was part of him.

“He'd strike you down before you got close. This is what demons do, Eban. They make deals, they separate loved ones, they spread misery. Instead of dwelling on the time we don't have, we should make the most of what's left. Isn't that what you planned to do before throwing yourself into Hell?”

He rapped his knuckles against the cabinet. “It's not the same.”

“No? I'd consider myself a coward if I'd let Seere loose a legion on Berner. Why did you and your brothers fight Noem if not to save this place?” She slid off the examination table and crossed to him. “You're right to be angry. I am too. I didn't ask for this burden, but there's no sense in staying mad at one another. Just love me in whatever time is left.”

He drew her into his arms, burying his face against her hair. “Goddammit, Beryl. How am I supposed to live without you? I'm about to break thinking about it.”

He didn't just mean his heart, he meant the demon blood wanted full reign—a notion that scared her more than spending eternity with Rosemar in control of her body. “You have Wystan and Tell. They'll help you.”

His coffee-and-mint scent washed away the medicinal smell in the room. Beneath her palm, his heart beat a rapid tempo and his muscles were hard and tense. When she looked into his eyes, she saw the red glint, the demon buried just beneath the surface and for one second, she wondered if it would come loose now.

“Don't,” she whispered, running her finger across his lips. “Don't let it out.”

He took her hand away from his mouth. “It doesn't matter. I'm dead anyway.”

“Not yet.”

“Close enough. I don't think I can stand losing you and my father twice. Seere is insane.” His brows knit together. “This whole plan to save the world is.”

“Better to lose us than the world.” She believed that and hoped it came through. “There's Rhia and Wystan to think of. You don't want them living in a place where Astaroth can get them. You want Tell to find love, don't you? And Sylvie to grow up?”

He nodded reluctantly.

“Then I'll do what has to be done.”

Chapter Seventeen

No matter how he'd tried to prevent it, it seemed Beryl was destined to lose her life. Eban sat on the end of his bed, watching her sleep in the low, flickering lamplight. One hand curled under her chin, her blonde hair spread over her shoulder, hiding her bare breast. She looked every inch a care-worn saint.

He dressed quietly and slipped out of the room before he let the first tears slide down his cheeks. He hadn't cried since the day they'd buried Gloria Heckmaster almost eighteen years ago. Not even when Sandra died. Wiping the tears away, he left the clinic, but collapsed on the stairs outside.

The moon was waning, but hidden behind a building, casting very little light on the street. All the better to hide his grief. Or it would have, if Tell hadn't materialized out of shadow. With the half-demon vision they all shared, Tell would see his sorrow plain as day.

“Some might question the sacrifices we make to stay alive. I know there are plenty of nights when I do.” Tell's voice was rough. “I like Beryl, and I hate to see her do this. If there's another way, I wish we'd find it quick.”

“There's not. Seere knew it and I don't give a damn how noble his intentions are, he meant to make us weak one way or another. He couldn't let us forget we're not in control. Father might have been a minor royal, but we're still dirt beneath Seere's feet.”

“He's really going to bring Father back.” Tell sat beside him, rubbing his fingers over the rough denim encasing his legs. “You think he knows what's been happening here since he created the barrier? That he knows what happened to Ma?”

“I'm sure Astaroth sees to it that he's reminded of Ma's death every day.” Bitterness clogged his throat. “I say we let the prince come. The three of us could cut him down, send him back to Hell in pieces.”

“I've thought about that,” Tell admitted. “He deserves every ounce of pain coming to him for what he did to us.”

Wystan stepped out of the shadows on Eban's other side. “What makes you think we could do that? In case the two of you have forgotten, Astaroth has powerful friends and minions. We might have a little royal blood of our own, but we're not a match for his armies. Not even with Seere, Rosemar and Father on our side. Not with Seere's legions and every demon in this town.” Wystan's bowie knife glinted in the starlight. “Sealing it before Astaroth gets out is the only way.”

“Getting soft?” Tell asked, his voice pure acid. “You've got a wife now, but that doesn't mean you get to decide you don't want to fight anymore. There's more to fight for than before.”

Wystan didn't respond. He settled next to Eban, then balanced his knife on his knees.

“We do this, we've broken with Seere, which means we've broken with Ea too. He's not apt to take that lightly. We're going to have every demon lord in Hell gunning for us someday.” Tell pushed his hat farther up his forehead. “At the end of someday, we're gonna find ourselves in some nice little prison, pondering our choices, but I don't aim to regret not fighting.”

Eban smiled, though he couldn't summon any joy to go with it. “Fair enough.”

Somewhere nearby a cricket chirped. The sound was followed by unpleasant crunching. Eban grimaced, hoping it was a lizard that caught the insect and not a night-lurking demon.

“The attacks should start soon, if Eliakim and Seere are right about Astaroth waiting just below the opening. We need to post guard. I'll go tonight.” Wystan leaned around Eban, looking at their younger brother. “Tell, you want tomorrow?”

“Suits me.”

“Don't do anything that's going to scare Rhia.” Eban hated the thought of his sister-in-law worrying over Wystan. “It isn't fair to her for you to throw yourself into danger because of me.”

“Guess if I want any kind of future here, it's for all of us. I'm tired of fighting, but that doesn't matter to the other side. They have strength in numbers. We have each other.”

Wystan's voice was gravelly. He'd never been good at expressing sentiment and it amused Eban in a way that Tell's words hadn't.

They sat in silence for a while and the cricket-eating lizard crawled up on the boardwalk. It crept closer, then darted beneath the wood again.

“You think what Seere said about Father was true? About that royalty shit?” Tell scuffed the heel of his boot across the boardwalk.

“He wasn't bound. Could've been a lie. And every other word that comes from Berith is when he's not asked a direct question.” Wystan's tone was dark. “But I think they meant it. He was something besides Astaroth's boot licker. At least for a while.”

“We couldn't have summoned him, not with a sigil or anything else if Astaroth had him trapped.” Eban tried not to feel guilty that they'd left their father to suffer all these years. Had they known, Hell or high water couldn't have stopped them from reaching out. He pictured the massacre that would have happened if the Heckmasters entered the Underworld, but they'd have gone out trying. The way they probably would in the next few days.

Like their father, they had dreams and hopes that didn't include torturing and collecting souls. They'd tried to become something else, even at great risk.

Tell leaned back, his face tipped toward the brilliant pinpricks of stars. He slouched, looking at ease on the boardwalk. “Don't look like someone's died yet. We got more fight than any of those demons thinks. Weapons of silver, holy water, and two prophecies that might hold in our favor.”

“Two?” Eban asked.

“Meacham's ‘one to guard the future' bullshit and Berith's ‘marked' horseshit. That means the universe has something planned we ain't quite counting on.”

Wystan narrowed his eyes. “You sound pretty sure.”

“‘Course I'm sure. You ever know me to be wrong?” A half smile curled one corner of Tell's mouth. “I'm the damned oracle around here. Someone has to say the encouraging things.”

“You're a pretty damn lousy oracle,” Wystan grumbled.

Tell sat up straight, his smile replaced by a frown. “How's that?”

“Didn't know when Noem was coming, did you?”

“That's different.” Tell dismissed it by waving his hand. “Meacham is all the time spewing nonsense words. Sometimes it's about Lois's pies, sometimes it's about the weather. He's almost never wrong. You gotta learn to listen, boys.”

“So this ‘one to secure the future, one to guard the present, one to repair the past' stuff, it's a prophecy?” Eban pinned Tell with his stare. “He's not talking to hear himself?”

Tell shrugged. “I didn't say that. If you look at it this way, he's right. Wystan is the one who secured the future. I think you're supposed to guard the present.”

“You're repairing the past?” Eban asked, aware his skepticism shone like the North Star overhead.

Tell scowled. “I'm the one with a name curse, which happened in the past.”

“He has a point,” Wystan allowed.

“How's he going to fix that?” He didn't want to remind them that their sister was long dead and had no hope of returning. The grimoire curse used on Tell was nearly impossible to revoke. Seneca had devoted years to trying.

“First things first. The present. Or the near future, if you want to look at it that way. We're gonna need holy water and a miracle.” Tell stretched his arms overhead. “Holy water's easy to come by, but the miracle…”

Eban picked at his pointer finger, pulling the skin around the nail loose. “Ask Eliakim.”

“You think he'd help? I know he's willing to hold off Seere—those two have more issues than the three of us combined—but help with Astaroth?” Tell shook his head. “I think this is bigger than him.”

Eban snorted. “Bigger than an angel whose name means
God rises
? I think it's the reason he's here. He'll honor the treaty between Heaven and the Gray Side. That means stopping Hell from taking over.”

“He's a warrior.” Wystan wiped the silver blade across his trousers, removing the fingerprints from the metal. “He's got a temper and he's on our side for now. We'll use him.”

Tell folded his arms. “I'm about to get real tired of you siding with Eban all the time.”

Eban elbowed him. “Wise up then.”

“I'm the orac—”

“You're an idiot.”

“Both of you shut up. You weren't this rotten as kids.” Wystan blew out a breath. “If this works, you know what it means.”

“We're not going to Hell?” Tell grinned, knocking his elbow into Eban's ribs despite Wystan's order.

Wystan reached behind Eban and slapped the hat from Tell's head. “It means we can be a town. A real community. With humans and shops and none of these rundown, depressing streets. Just like before.”

He remembered it better than Eban and Tell, even though Eban had ventured out into the world and experienced human life in St. Louis.

“You think so?” Tell shrugged. “I can't imagine Berner that way. We'd have to cover some things up, pretend we aren't…you know.”

He gestured at the street.

“It happens all the time outside Berner. Demons pretending to be human. We could do it.” Wystan pressed the point of his knife into his index finger. “I plan to do it, once the threat is gone.”

“We could have real women in the saloons? The succubi are nice gals, but a man can only take so much of a demon jezebel picking at his soul, you know?”

Eban rolled his eyes. “Is that all you think about? The next place to wet your wick?”

Tell gave him a lazy grin. “Bidin' my time, Eb.”

“For what?” Wystan's eyes narrowed again.

“Don't you worry none about it. You heading out now, or you gonna sit here jawing with us the rest of the night?” Tell rose and stretched. “Got places to go, demons to smite.”

“I'm going on patrol.” Wystan followed him. His sharp gaze fell on Eban. “You two going to be all right here?”

“Can't imagine why not.” He wasn't ready to return to bed, to face Beryl's sleeping form. “We're safe enough inside the clinic.”

Often as he'd worn the saber lately, it would grow to his hip if he wasn't careful. He remained seated, even when Wystan clapped him on the shoulder.

“We'll get through this.”

For better or worse. Had Sandra cursed him before Tell? Left him doomed to love women he couldn't have?

“Get some sleep. I have a feeling we're all gonna need it.” Wystan walked away, hand caressing his bowie knife hilt.

Rosemar had expected Seere's visit from the moment Beryl agreed to give up her body. The air ripped open inside her room at the clinic and Seere stepped out of nothingness into existence with his usual flare. So handsome, he looked unreal surrounded by the showy wind no one else could feel, he let her bask in his golden glory before he swirled his hand in the air and brought something else into the world with him.

Orange light glowed from the orb in his palm.

“You're truly a wonder, my liege.” She gave a little bow that was more mockery than respect and she knew he was aware of it.

“I need the Heckmasters, much as I dislike needing anyone.”

The orb pulsed at his words.

“Seneca's essence is inside, isn't it?” Rosemar peered at the ball of light, searching it for signs that a being inhabited it. It looked as though it was made of jelly and would burst with too much pressure, but she knew better. Seere was a master of getting what he wanted. He only needed to think about an object or a person and he could materialize wherever he needed to be. It came as no surprise that he'd already located and liberated Seneca.

“It requires a body. I've already acquired one—it's waiting for me to return. I wanted to reassure you that in mere hours, you'll be permanently attached to that vessel if you follow my orders.” Seere's crystal-blue gaze sharpened. “I have every faith in you, Rosemar.”

Rosemar's chin shot up. “I can control her.”

“You'd better. I dragged you out of Hell in much the same condition as our friend here. I won't hesitate to send you back. See how well your reception goes if that happens.”

His smile nearly burned a hole through her. While he was slower to anger than many demons, Seere's temper wasn't to be trifled with. She suppressed a shiver, but he probably sensed her fear. When the world was new, she'd belonged to no one but herself until Astaroth gained his power. She'd worked under him because her choices were that or imprisonment. When he no longer found her useful, she'd spent a dozen lifetimes in chains so hot they'd reduced her original body to a shriveled form that would do her no good in Hell or on Earth.

Seere had been her savior, rescuing the demons he found most useful to his cause, but he was no better a master than Astaroth. When her usefulness ran out, he'd discard her without another thought. He'd claim Berner as his Eden, but there wouldn't be room for the likes of her.

Fortunately, he was as vulnerable to silver as any other demon. With Sandra's hatchet in her hand, she'd knock Seere off his throne and rule in his stead. Berner could burn to the ground then, for all she cared.

The substance in the orb swirled as though Seere had shaken it, although he remained still.

“I'll see you soon,” he promised. The air trembled around him and parted. He stepped back, disappearing without a sound.

Rosemar drew the blanket up to her chin, willing away her anger. Eban would be back shortly and he mustn't suspect Seere had been here. Her host's body needed sleep to recover from the day's events, but she'd never felt more awake. The wound she'd inflicted to draw Seere twice itched. It was slow to heal because Eban wasn't wrong—she was slowly killing the body. But with Seere's help, she'd become the sole occupant and make it her own. When that happened, a few cuts and scrapes wouldn't mean anything.