by Devon Monk
But the unicorn didn’t have to know that.
“You like to threaten, don’t you, Old One?” Xtelle asked.
“I value a word given and kept. You understand promises and bindings, don’t you, unicorn?”
“Yes,” she practically hissed.
I hadn’t brought the car up to the order window yet. Luckily, there were no cars behind me, so I could sit there all day until she did what he wanted.
“Tell me what you know about demons,” I said. “About Bathin.”
The guy in the car in front of us handed his money to the barista behind the window and traded it for coffee cups and a bag.
“Bathin is different,” she said, her voice as steady and flat as I’d ever heard it. “Very different, in some ways.” She lifted her front hoof in a shrug.
“Why is Bathin different? How?”
“He’s a prince.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard. So?”
“He is the son of a king of the Underworld. That makes him something different than most demons. He’s just very arrogant and insufferable and princely about everything. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
“What kind of king of the Underworld?” I asked. “A demon king?”
“The King. The king who is currently the only King of the Underworld, because he is more vicious and powerful than any other demon who has ever lived.”
“Why didn’t I know that?” I asked.
“I have not a single idea,” she said. “He speaks of himself constantly. Great Darkness this, Royal Darkness that. The All of the Null. So tiresome. I’d horn him in the brain if I thought that would shut him up for even three minutes.”
“So Bathin is the son of a very powerful demon,” I said.
Xtelle met my gaze in the rearview mirror. I’d only known this unicorn for a short time. Just over twenty-four hours. Most of that time she’d spent talking back and annoying the hell out of me. I’d seen outrage in her eyes, I’d seen curiosity, I’d seen scorn. But now, this moment, I saw a fatal sobriety.
“The most powerful demon who has ever existed. The King’s power has grown beyond the souls he has feasted upon. It has grown beyond the minds he has broken and drunk dry. All those in the Underworld fear him. Fear that he has become the one thing that will destroy all demonkind.”
“A tyrant?”
“Hunger that cannot be sated. Madness that obliterates all it touches. Teeth and claws and rage. A horror. The end of demonkind.”
Than was very quiet. I was trying to process what it meant for us here in Ordinary.
“Are you telling me I have to wait for the king to kill Bathin before I can get my sister’s soul back?”
“I am telling you that something has speared demonkind with a fear they have never known, a horror rising they have never imagined. They see their own end. Extinction.”
“What does that have to do with Bathin and my sister’s soul?”
Her big, watery eyes slipped to one side. She stared at Than, and I felt like I was missing out on a larger conversation going on between them.
I thought I saw Than nod just slightly.
“Think of it this way,” Xtelle said. “Once the great hunger of the King of Darkness runs out of demons to feast upon, where will he turn?”
I ran through the ancient lore of demonology. We had never had demons in Ordinary, and so our knowledge base showed real holes.
The next logical target after eating every demon within existence would be to find more demons. Or an alternate food source.
“He’ll consume other supernatural creatures?”
“Eventually, yes. But supernatural creatures have defenses against demons. Why fight for a meal when you can simply sit back and let the meal come to you?”
“Who’s going to go willingly to be eaten by a demon?” I asked but even as the words fell out of my mouth, I knew the answer. “Humans. He would lure them in with demon promises and then eat them.”
“He wouldn’t have to put in much effort,” she said. “For the right price, and usually a very low one, he will be able to recruit humans, cater to their weaknesses and needs, and then…well, then the humans will be the sowers of their own strife. And destruction. And when they are screaming, one foot in the grave, the other in despair, he will crack their spines and slurp down soul after soul after soul.”
A chill ran over my skin. Even though I wasn’t the Reed with disaster precognition, I knew she was telling the truth. “Then there would be no humans.”
“But there would still be Ordinary. Where the gods foolishly give up their powers to walk around like mortals. Mortals, Myra. Are you listening?”
I was more than listening, I was making huge intuitive leaps.
“Humans die, or are dying, eaten by demons, and the gods for some reason—maybe free will—don’t put a stop to it,” I said. “Then what? The king strolls into Ordinary and decides to eat up all the vacationing gods too?”
“No, that won’t happen for two reasons,” she said. “Tell me what would stop a demon from feasting on the souls of gods?”
“Gods don’t have souls,” I said. “Not like human or supernatural souls.”
“That’s one.”
“Delaney, Jean, and I wouldn’t let that happen.”
“That’s two.”
She didn’t say anything else, and I ran back through the information again. I felt like I was missing something. And it was big. And it was bad.
“What aren’t I seeing?” I asked. “What am I missing?”
Then it hit me. Hard.
“Bathin has Delaney’s soul. He’s going to use it as a bargaining chip, isn’t he?” I could feel my blood cooling, my guts knotting. “He’s going to hand her—the bridge to Ordinary, a rare soul touched by many god powers—over to his father to save his own life.”
“Or,” Xtelle said, “he consumes her soul. And in doing so, becomes greater than his father, destroys the King, and saves Ordinary and all of humanity.”
I heard her, I really did. Bathin could be a hero.
It was just that my mind was still slogging through the mud of betrayal, the huge swampy realization that Bathin had been hiding out from this confrontation with his father all the time he was holding our dad’s soul hostage.
Now that he had Delaney’s soul, he could still betray us. Could give her soul away to save his own hide.
Or he was going to eat her. Eat her.
A small part of me, very small, wondered if the unicorn was lying.
That small part of me didn’t believe Bathin could do something so very deliberate, calculating, and cruel. The rest of me thought he was in the position to do exactly what the unicorn said.
But…
His smile, his strength, his hands, steady and strong catching me so I didn’t fall, didn’t hurt myself. He’d saved Ben, saved Ryder. He’d fought with us against Lavius, helped us close the vortex.
“How?” I breathed, though I didn’t even know which question I was asking. My mind was spinning.
“If he consumed the soul of Ordinary’s bridge, the one true doorway into Ordinary,” Xtelle recited, as if this were already written down, in ink, in stone, in blood, “he would control Ordinary, and all the monsters, gods, and powers within it. It is possible he would use those powers to fight his father. He might even defeat him. But in the end…”
“In the end,” I said, my voice a ghost of what it had once been, “he is still a demon. He would destroy. Ordinary, the world, and all the gods.”
“It seems what a demon would do. Any demon. All of them. Given the chance,” she said.
I inhaled, letting the shock wash through me. Letting the shuttering flashes of imagined horror chase lightning down my nerves.
Then a great calm, a great silence washed over me. My resolve was bone deep.
I had to stop Bathin.
And find a way to kill his father. The tug in my chest was pulling on me, this wasn’t where I should be. Not here. Not how.
“We need to go home,” I said.
Than was silent. The unicorn might have said something but I was too busy working out how to stop the one man—
— no, demon—
—I almost liked—
—no, loved—
—before everything and everyone I cared for were tortured and eaten.
Chapter 13
It began to rain, the lightest of drops, steady as a creeping fog. I made my way down roads as familiar to me as my own name.
When I pulled up in front of my house, the unicorn in the back seat sighed. “You’re going to leave me behind because I told you the truth? That’s not a very good way to make me want to tell it again.”
“Just stay here for a few hours,” I said. “I need to think.”
“I thought you needed to train Detective Death over there.”
“I’ll do that too.”
“Well, since you’re such a good multitasker, let me come along. I promise I’ll be as silent as the Grim Reaper’s galoshes.”
“Poor choice,” Than said.
“Oh?” she asked.
“They squeak.”
It was that, his attempt at a joke that drew me out of my mental fog.
“Your boots squeak?” I asked, trying to regain my footing in this new world of evil king demons, soul-swallowing almost-boyfriends, and unicorns who told a truth darker than any I’d ever known before.
“They were sold to me by the man at the grocery store. In the produce aisle. They were,” he paused as if trying to remember the exact words, “a great deal.”
“Wait. So you really have rubber boots?”
“I fail to see how this is beyond your comprehension, Myra Reed. I am aware of the need for appropriate outdoor gear.”
“Are they black?”
“Mostly.”
“And…green?” I guessed.
“No. Yellow.”
“You have yellow galoshes?”
“Certainly not. The god of Death does not wear yellow galoshes.”
“What kind of galoshes does the god of Death wear?” I needled.
“Ladybug.”
I laughed and choked. “You have…” I coughed, my throat full of a laugh that couldn’t find its way out the right pipes, “…boots.”
Than raised one eyebrow and watched me choke. “Yes?”
“Squeaky ladybugs?”
“I fail to see the humor in foot protection.”
I sucked down some air, coughed again. “It’s not about the boots. It’s about the…boots.”
“Enlightening.”
“I need to see a picture of them. Oh, better. You need to wear them to work tomorrow.”
“I wasn’t aware galoshes were dress code for a reserve officer.”
“Oh, I think they’ll be just fine for the day. Perfect.”
Just thinking about Than in those boots helped take the hardest edges off my mood. I didn’t feel like I was shivering under cold water any more. Because I knew, somehow, I’d find a solution to our newest, gravest Bathin problem.
His hands warm and roughened, stroking ever so gently down my arm, my hips, wrapping around the top of my thigh and burying there between my legs.
The blush was back, heating me further. Stupid heart. No matter what I heard about Bathin, no matter what truth was handed to me on a platter, my heart still wanted to make excuses. He couldn’t be that evil. There had to be something more to him, something kind and strong and good.
My heart might be a fool, but my mind was not. As for my body—
—The flash of dream memory winged behind my eyes, lifting my heartbeat. His eyes curved as he laughed, his head thrown back, throat exposed.—
—yeah, my body had it bad for him.
Two against one, I guessed. But my body and my heart were not going to win.
“I’m happy with my life just the way it is,” I said, even though it had nothing to do with Death and his boots, and everything to do with the demon I could not keep my mind off of.
Than had already tucked his badge into his jacket, and seemed nonplused by the sudden change of subject. “Of course.”
He didn’t believe me.
Problem was, I didn’t believe me, either.
Being disastrously attracted to a man who was going to either devour my sister’s soul and rule the earth, or sell my sister’s soul to a different demon who would devour it and rule the earth, wasn’t the makings of a happy life.
And in what way could that end? Would I have to kill Bathin to save my sister?
“I don’t like killing people,” I said.
“I find it relaxing,” Than murmured.
“Me too,” the unicorn sighed.
I’d almost forgotten she was still in the cruiser. What I needed right now was more information. Solid data. The tug in my chest was warming, and instinct whispered it was time to visit the library.
“All right,” I said to the unicorn, “out.”
“But I’ll be bored!”
I threw the car into park, got out, and opened the door for her.
She hesitated.
“Nope.” I pointed at the house.
“But…”
“Out.”
She huffed, then lifted onto her dainty little hooves, and hopped out of the car. “I hate you.”
“Yep. We’ll find you another host who can entertain you. I think a couple of the Muses have room.”
“I refuse to be downgraded to a mere Muse. I shall give you one final chance to do better by me, Myra Reed.”
I opened the garage door and she sashayed inside, her tail swishing behind her. I waited until the garage door shut, then looked in the squad car’s windows, popped the trunk, and checked in there too.
I was one hundred percent unicorn free.
Finally.
I swung back into the driver’s seat and fastened my seatbelt. “You mind coming with me on an errand?”
“Will there be tea?”
I smiled. “My own private stash.”
“Well, then. Do lead on.”
~~~
The library was built on top of a hill on the eastern side of the main highway. It was squarely in Ordinary, but so out of the way, no one ever wandered up there.
The fact that it looked like an outbuilding or pump house helped keep the curious visitors to a minimum. Also, the powerful spells and guarding charms built into it and around it usually did the trick.
The clouds overhead raced and pushed, roiling in swirls of crisp white, slate gray, and charcoal. Hearty coastal pines threw mossy shadows over the road that unstrung like a child’s scribbled line.
When I was younger, this drive with my dad always felt like trekking down some kind of mystical fairy highway, a road that would lead me to magic and trickery and dreams come true.
Death in the passenger seat was a comforting stillness. I felt like I’d been surrounded by a raging fire, and he was a cool cloak, an umbrella against the scorch of the world.
“You know Xtelle isn’t what she appears to be?”
“I know,” I said. “She says she has nothing to do with the Hell vortex, but she was there when it opened. I don’t think it’s a coincidence. Plus, she has a history with Bathin.”
He made a small “mmm” sound.
The little structure came into view and Than leaned his long body forward, tipping his pale, pale face up into the wavering gray sunlight. “The library.”
“The library,” I agreed.
It did look more like a pump house than a library: four neat cedar shingle walls, a thin door, and a sharply peaked roof.
“I assume it is larger on the inside?”
“Well, it is magic.” I parked the car and killed the engine.
“I don’t usually bring people here. So…well, I just thought you should know that.”
He sat back and unbuckled his seatbelt. “You have stoked my curiosity, Myra Reed. I shall be the soul of discretion.”
We crunched over the gravel
, and a crow called out from somewhere up in the tall pines. The air smelled cool and damp and green, earth with a tang of salt, wind whispering as it combed tough green needles as if the entire world was breathing, breathing.
I stopped at the curve of mossy stones ringing the little structure. Third stone to the left of the door wasn’t anything special. It was about knee high, a common brown-gray rock found everywhere on the Oregon coast. I touched the top of it with my right palm, then whispered three secret words.
Than stood outside the stones, right in front of what would soon be the entrance to the place. I could feel his gaze on my back, and it was not unkind.
I walked backward, careful that my footsteps were even and fell exactly into my previous steps. When I was next to Than, I said, “Myra Reed.”
There was the slightest sound of distant chimes, the scent of sweet honeysuckle, and the spells that kept the library hidden and safe released.
The little pump house stretched up and outward, fanning open like a book whose pages were flipped by a giant’s thumb. It didn’t build itself shingle by shingle, window by window, arch by arch, it simply wavered at the edges, out of focus, blurred. And then, from the center outward, it became sharp, clear, real.
“That is a very old spell, Myra Reed.”
“It is,” I said, happy he knew it. “This has been here since a Reed has been here. So, basically, from the beginning of Ordinary.”
He tipped his head slightly to one side, taking in the sturdy log beams that poked out from beneath the roofing, the round chimney stones with bright flashes of quartz and glass nestled in the mortar, and the general stack and curve of architecture borrowed from a different age and a different world.
While all of Ordinary had been built by people who moved here, this one building had been built by the Reeds. And each Reed who tended the library added to it in some way.
Dad finished his section before Jean had been born.
I hadn’t started building mine yet. Every time I tried to do so, I walked away, thinking Dad could have done more, built more.
Lived longer.
The crow called out again, startling a jay’s screeched response.
“Does everyone think about death when they’re around you?” I walked up the path laid with stones in a swirling pattern that echoed growing things, clouds, the wind, the waves.
