Personal Demons

by Phoebe Ravencraft

  “Take the key and try,” Miriam instructed.

  He sighed. There was nothing to do but trust her. Unless he was planning to run out on his own, leaving her standing here with the key and her temptation, there was only one way forward.

  He took the artifact from her. In the time that he blinked, it had transformed into a small brass Schlager. Miriam grinned.

  Ephraim threw her an irritated glare, then turned to the door. Unsurprisingly, the modern key slid perfectly into the lock. He turned it. The door opened without resistance, revealing not the adjoining room but another world altogether.

  Ephraim wasn’t sure whether to be astonished or disappointed. This filthy motel actually concealed a dimensional portal? Was this the work of the Kingdom of Ashmodei? They preyed on sexual urges, and Miriam was a succubus. Perhaps this whole place existed primarily for them to work their corruptive magic.

  He couldn’t remember whose idea it had been to hide here. Was it hers? Had she guided him here after he’d woken her in the middle of the night and told her to pack a bag, that they needed to flee? Had he just driven here randomly? Had he known this was a ratty place where the manager would ask no questions, where they could hole up until they plotted their next move?

  Or maybe Miriam’s key created the portal. Perhaps her master’s realm could be accessed from anywhere so long as you had the totem to make a gate, and she’d just been waiting for the right time to show him.

  How much was he being manipulated?

  He decided he was past caring. Sassy Kincaide had taken away his life. The Order had issued a warrant for his arrest. If their own agents didn’t turn him up soon, they would put out a contract. Then the bounty hunters would come for him. Those people were the worst kind of foes. They were used to taking in dangerous magical creatures. They played rough. They fudged the rules.

  If Ephraim was going to survive this, he would need allies. And at the moment, Miriam was the only one he had.

  Besides, he wanted to make his “sister” pay. This was the path to making that happen.

  He cast his gaze through the portal before him. A wide floor made of ebony stretched out into infinity. Red fires burned at irregular intervals in every direction. They had no source Ephraim could detect. The sky was dull-white, like linens that needed washing. There were no other features, just an endless, flaming floor.

  “Come, my love,” Miriam whispered. “Take charge of your destiny.”

  The last word stabbed him through the heart. A destiny. His father had never spoken of him having a destiny. Only Sassy. The Prophecies were unclear on the gender of the N’Chai Toroth. Most scholars interpreted the language to indicate the destructor was a woman. It made sense, given both the way that the verbs were conjugated in Cirrael, the ancient magical language, and that women were often the destroyers of all that is good. After all, it was Eve who tempted Adam.

  But the scriptures did not unquestioningly name the N’Chai Toroth as female. It could be a male. And if Father were correct in his interpretations, that he had somehow been chosen to sire the foretold destructor, it could very well have been Ephraim. Perhaps it was, in fact, Ephraim who was chosen to unmake the magical world and bring it to a new golden age. The destroyer wasn’t thought to be an instrument of Armageddon, only the fire that smelts down the old ways, so that new ones could be fashioned.

  And of course, Father never believed Ephraim was capable of that, the son of a bitch. Well, maybe Miriam was right. Maybe Ephraim was the one with a destiny. And given that Miriam had said, “We hate her too,” when she’d first revealed to Ephraim what she was, it was possible that it was time for him to step onto centerstage.

  He inhaled deeply, locked his arm with Miriam’s, and went boldly through the gate into the strange realm on the other side. As soon as they were through, the world he knew disappeared.

  Ephraim’s heart thudded in his chest. The portal was gone. There was only the infinite sky and burning floor around him. For all he knew, he would never escape. He could wander for eternity and never find his way back.

  “Relax, my love,” Miriam said. “I would not lead you astray.”

  He turned and looked on her incredulously.

  “You’re a demon, Miriam,” he said. “That’s your raison d’etre.”

  She giggled. He’d never heard that laugh from her before. It was genuine delight enshrouded in wicked intent. The Miriam he knew was a meek secretary. She’d been embarrassed to confess her love for BDSM, for humiliation. Her titters and chuckles had until now been nervous.

  “Under ordinary circumstances, you’d be right, my love,” she said. “But this is different. I’m not trying to tempt you away from the side of light. I’m not trying to use your sexual appetites to condemn your soul. I’m recruiting you to join a fight against chaos, against the destruction of all we know. I may be a demon, but I’ve no desire to see everything destroyed.”

  He regarded her suspiciously. Unless she was a member of the Kingdom of Abaddon, the society of demons dedicated to utter ruin, it was entirely possible she told the truth. And given that she was a succubus, she almost certainly enlisted in the Kingdom of Ashmodei instead.

  But she was still a demon. Lies and manipulation were her stock in trade.

  “All right,” he said. “What now?”

  Miriam smiled. He wanted to smack her.

  “Master,” she called. “I have brought him.”

  A deep rumbling sounded from all around. Ephraim gritted his teeth, trying to control the panicked beating of his heart. His military training and his long tenure in The Order told him only a quiet mind could fight and think. But the hellish appearance and ominous sounds chilled him.

  He sucked a breath in through his nose. The stale, rotten-eggs scent of brimstone assaulted his nostrils. Was he actually in Hell?

  No, he couldn’t be. Sassy Kincaide was nowhere to be seen.

  “Greetings, Ephraim Silverman,” a voice said.

  It sounded like children screaming in terror. What the hell had just addressed him?

  “Hello,” Ephraim replied, trying not to sound scared. He wasn’t sure he had pulled it off.

  “I am told you would be a powerful ally in our war against the N’Chai Toroth.”

  “Perhaps,” Ephraim said. “Assuming my sister is the destructor, I am happy to stand with you.”

  “We believe she is,” the voice said, sounding like the dying gasp of a drowning dog. “But why do you wish to join us?”

  Ephraim smirked. Had . . . whatever he was talking to not been briefed?

  “Revenge,” he said. “And redemption.”

  “These are insufficient motives,” the voice said.

  Ephraim’s mouth fell open.

  He blinked twice. Had he heard right?

  “What the hell do you mean?” he asked.

  Miriam stroked his arm to reassure him. He smacked it away.

  “Suppose you don’t like our plan for revenge?” the voice asked, sounding like the screams of a woman being flogged.

  Once again, Ephraim was stunned. Their plan? He was the one who would be stepping on Sassy’s neck. He needed their help, not their plan.

  “I am the one who will be taking revenge on Sassy,” he said. “All I want is some assistance.”

  “We are not in the business of revenge, Ephraim Silverman,” the voice rumbled. “Our designs are larger and grander than simple vengeance. We seek soldiers, those who will fight with us against the coming tide of disorder.

  “Once Cecily Kincaide is dead, what assurances do we have that you will continue in our service? Once you have what you want, what will you pledge to us?”

  “What do you want?” Ephraim asked.

  He was almost afraid to hear the reply, but he knew it was best to name the terms. He needed to know what was at stake, so he could choose his response wisely.

  “Fealty,” came the answer.

  Ephraim nodded. That made sense. Miriam had said she wanted him to join them
. They wanted him to commit before they helped. It was fair.

  So here he was – faced with the choice. Was he committing himself to a shadowy cabal of demons? Was he turning his back once and for all on his life’s work, on the side of light in which his father had taught him to believe?

  Under normal circumstances, he’d have demurred. He knew a demon or other powerful Hellish force was tempting him. If he made a mess of this, it would be costly.

  But he just didn’t give a damn about caution. The Order had betrayed him. After he had Sassy, he would be happy to make them pay.

  “You’ve got it,” he said.

  “Prove it.”

  “What?”

  “Prove to us your oath of service is sincere.”

  “How?”

  Miriam squeezed his arm. He looked at her. She smiled hopefully at him.

  Here it came. This was the big reveal, the catch.

  “You will engage in three trials, Ephraim Silverman,” the voice said, now sounding like thunder. “You must pass each to be considered a member of our organization. You may give up at any time, but if you do, if you yield, you fail. And if you fail, you will never be given another opportunity.”

  “You’ll never see or hear from us again, darling,” Miriam said. “You’ll be on your own. Good luck against The Order.”

  So. There it was. Pass the test or get abandoned. His new “friends” would show no more loyalty than his old ones. Even Miriam would let him go.

  He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. She might have been the best lover he’d ever had, the only woman who’d ever fulfilled his fantasies. But she was also a demon, and she’d been using him. She’d brought him here, tempted him with revenge in effective exchange for his soul. Bitch.

  On the other hand, The Order had proven it had no loyalty. It had shown it had no respect for him. Just like Father, it cared more about bastard-child Sassy Kincaide than for him. Sassy got everything. He got nothing.

  Fuck that. “’Tis better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven,” Milton had written. So it was. Perhaps Ephraim would triumph and become a revered leader in this new organization. Perhaps they would betray him as profoundly as The Order had. It didn’t matter. If he chose their path, he would have the satisfaction of making his former friends and Sassy as miserable as he was. That would be victory enough.

  Besides, Shelley had declared Lucifer “the hero of Paradise Lost.” And so he was.

  “Fine,” Ephraim said. “I agree.”

  “I’m so proud of you, my love,” Miriam said.

  She kissed him deeply, wetly. She grabbed his balls and gently squeezed. Then she withdrew.

  “I’ll be waiting for you on the other side,” she said.

  “Be ready,” Ephraim growled. “I’ll be hungry.”

  Miriam flashed him a wicked smile. Then she disappeared.

  Ephraim blinked twice in horror. What the hell had just happened?

  “Let the trials begin,” the voice roared. “The first is Suffering!”

  Ephraim was immediately engulfed in flame.

  Two

  I got off the train uncertain what to do next. When I’d left Cincinnati, my only real plan had been to get the hell out and start over somewhere no one would be able to find me. Chicago seemed good, since it was huge and I didn’t know anyone there.

  But now that I was here, I needed a next step. I mean, great. I’d gotten out of Cincy. Now what?

  I took a deep breath and told myself to take things as they come. First step: I needed information before I could make any real decisions. Since I didn’t know anyone, I needed access to the Internet.

  I shouldered my backpack and grabbed the guitar case I’d bought in Cincinnati. I carried a katana, because, in addition to being a badass martial artist, I also knew how to swordfight. And since demons, vampires, and Big Brother Asshole had all tried to kill me recently, I didn’t fancy going anywhere unarmed.

  But you can’t exactly carry a deadly weapon onto an Amtrak train and not have people worry. So I’d stashed the sword in a guitar case to make it easier to travel with.

  Outside the station, I grabbed a taxi.

  “Where to?” the driver asked in an accent I didn’t recognize.

  He had deep-brown skin, like he was from India or Pakistan or somewhere around that part of the world. His black hair was cut short, and a gold wedding ring adorned his left hand as it gripped the steering wheel.

  “Is there, like, a Kroger or someplace like that near here?” I asked.

  It occurred to me I probably should have done this before I left Cincinnati. But if I’d bought a phone there, it would have a five-one-three area code, and that would leave a footprint I didn’t want. I needed to look like I was from Chicago to anyone who saw me online.

  “No Kroger,” the driver said. “Osco?”

  “Sure,” I replied.

  I had no idea what the hell Osco was, but if this guy steered me wrong, I could always try something else. He started his meter, and we were off.

  ***

  Ten minutes later, we pulled into a tiny parking lot surrounding a dirty, brick building, with people walking in and out of an automatic door. It reminded me a little of the CVS that wasn’t far from Felicia’s apartment.

  “You want me to wait?” the driver asked.

  “Yes, please,” I said. “I won’t be long.”

  I got out, making sure I had my backpack and my guitar case with me. I’m sure the dude was trustworthy, since he asked if he should wait. But I couldn’t afford for him to drive off, leaving me unarmed or destitute. There was almost twenty-five thousand dollars in cash in my backpack.

  You see, the reason I’d gone up against that vampire was because I’d been hired by, get this, Ephraim. He’d lied to me and said the vamp was out of control and had to be put down. The truth was, it was all a setup. He’d hired Gerard Dulac, Mr. Undead Bloodsucker, to kill me. Only as usual, Ephraim underestimated me. I’d been the one who had done the killing. The twenty-five grand was the second half of my fee, which I’d collected before skipping town. It was all the money I had in the world, and I was not letting it out of my sight.

  Osco was like a cross between CVS and Kroger. Perfect.

  Sure enough, they had a phone section. I grabbed the card for an Android smartphone, and a one-month, deluxe, wireless plan. Then I headed to the service desk.

  A bored-looking Black woman about ten years older than me took the card nonchalantly and wandered into the back room. Two minutes later, she came out with a box and tapped a number of keys on her computer. She rang up my plan and the phone.

  “One-fifty-four, thirty-three,” she said.

  I about choked. The phone and plan were a hundred forty dollars. Chicago’s sales tax was ridiculous compared to Cincinnati’s. Maybe I needed to find a cheaper city to live in.

  But I hid my surprise at the total, pulled out a roll of bills from my pocket, and handed over a hundred and sixty bucks. The clerk took it without really looking at me, entered the total on her register, and then opened the drawer to give me my change.

  Seconds later, I was walking out with my purchase. I grinned a little to myself. I’d bought a burner phone with cash. I felt like a gangster.

  The taxi driver had made good on his promise to wait. It occurred to me he had solid motivation. If he drove off, he didn’t get paid. I hopped in the back and smiled at him.

  “Where to now?” he asked.

  As if the question had been addressed to it, my stomach growled. It occurred to me I hadn’t eaten anything since before I got on the train.

  “I need food,” I said. “Can you take me to a restaurant? Something low-key?”

  “Sure,” he said.

  “Thanks.”

  ***

  Fifteen minutes later, he dropped me at Eat at Mike’s, a greasy-spoon diner that didn’t look promising. But I was in no mood to argue with him, and as long as there was something edible inside, I was willing to go with it. Si
nce I was trying to keep a low profile, the less of a stink I made, the less likely it would be this driver would remember me from the countless other passengers he took that day.

  I got out, paid my fare, and tipped him twenty-five percent. Then I made my way inside.

  The place was bigger than it looked from the street. It had the traditional counter, and a series of booths and tables. The place was about half-full, and three servers in blue uniform dresses and stained aprons were working the floor.

  “Go ahead and seat yourself, hon,” one of them called to me. “We’ll be with you in just a few minutes.”

  I nodded and looked for a booth. I wanted some privacy. I found an empty one a few feet from the door, which seemed perfect in case I needed to get out quickly. I slid into it, putting the guitar case next to me on the seat and my backpack on the floor with my leg wound through the strap. A menu stood behind a stainless-steel napkin-holder sitting on the Formica tabletop. A sugar-pourer sat next to a stainless-steel tray of single-serving jellies and black and white salt and pepper shakers. I felt like I’d gone back to the Fifties.

  As I reached for the menu, the smell of bacon and sausage hit my nose. My stomach switched from growling to roaring.

  I’d just finished perusing my options when a White waitress, who looked old enough to be my mama, arrived with a mug and a pot of coffee. She set the mug on the table.

  “Coffee for you, hon?” she asked.

  “Oh, my God, yes,” I replied.

  “Cream?” she asked as she poured.

  “Nah, straight black,” I replied.

  She filled the cup to the brim. I thought I might fall in love with this woman.

  “Were you ready to order, or did you need a few minutes?”

  “I’m ready,” I said. “I’ll go with the two-egg combo, with bacon and hash browns. And can I get a side of pancakes with that too?”

  “Sure, hon,” she said. “How did you want your eggs cooked?”

  “Over medium.”

  She made notes on her order pad.

  “No problem, hon. I’ll have that up for you in a few minutes.”