I can’t scream, even now. I’m sure, I’m sure he remembers that he’s not allowed to kill me, but I’m also sure that doesn’t mean he’s not allowed to hurt me, and he proves me right on this almost instantly, lowering his head almost casually and taking a bite out of my left shoulder.
Now I can scream, and I do, and I see him pull back again, watching me, drinking in my pain and terror, his mouth stained with my blood. Another tongue snakes out and smears the blood slowly across his own face. I hear one or both of my friends screaming from behind me; I can’t tell who it is or what they’re saying but it doesn’t matter, because we’ve lost, we’ve lost completely, and there’s nothing either of them can do now. I know we’re not supposed to give up, I know not giving up is the rule, the first rule, the most important rule, but I can’t help it. I have to give up because the cart-demon is eating my shoulder and the stars are black and cold and that was our last and final chance and now it’s gone.
And then something enormous barrels overhead and slams into the cart-demon, throwing him back and away from me.
LB, bleeding and dirty and glorious, leaps enthusiastically onto his opponent, spider legs spread wide, and I swear his demonic beetle face has never looked so brightly and unambiguously full of joy.
The cart-demon immediately entangles LB in his tentacles, but LB only begins snapping them off with his pincers, causing thick, bruise-colored blood to come gushing out of the severed pieces of limbs. Someone grabs my arms and I scream again as my injured shoulder is jerked upward. I slide back along the ground, away from the fighting demons. Away from the amulet.
“No!” I shout, struggling to get away. “I need to get back! I need to get it —”
“Cyn, you’re going to lose too much blood!” It’s Ryan, peering down at me with terrified eyes.
“That doesn’t matter! Nothing matters if we don’t get that thing away from him!”
He knows that I’m right, because this time when I pull away he doesn’t try to stop me. Instead he helps me to my feet and then helps me forward again, toward the curtain, circling around to avoid the flailing limbs of the battling demons. After a second, Peter appears beside us, limping and disheveled. He adds his support to Ryan’s, and together the three of us reach the curtain again.
But this time when I reach through to grab the urn, something grabs me back from the other side.
I freeze, staring up at the swirling mass that has suddenly stopped swirling. Ryan and Peter stare with me. LB and the cart-demon are still too caught up in their fight to notice what is happening here.
Slowly, I try to draw my hand back. It comes, but not alone. An immaculate set of shiny black claws are locked around my forearm.
Then the claws abruptly let go as the shape behind the curtain grows and swells monstrously, the shimmering curtain dissolving as the thing behind it solidifies. We scramble backward, and the other demons have finally noticed that something is going on that they should maybe pay attention to.
Mr. Gabriel is standing before us. He’s in his original full demon form as I first saw it during the melee battle for the demon throne: half enormous, upright bull’s head and body, half monstrous black bird, with almost-human arms and not-at-all-human claw-hands. His sleek black horns curve up from his head, gleaming like new. Which makes sense, I guess, because they are.
Around his neck, tiny against his gigantic stature, a complicated piece of metalwork hangs from an incongruously delicate silver chain. The metal is dark and tarnished, and there are several milky-white stones set irregularly around the perimeter. And in the center, the familiar, final stone glows in nearly blinding bloodred triumph.
The amulet, complete at last.
Mr. Gabriel stretches luxuriously, enjoying our bleak enthrallment. “It’s so nice to be really here again,” he says. “And how lovely of you to be here waiting for me. Is it a welcome-back party? Will there be cake?”
I hate him so much in that moment. I mean, I always hate him, obviously, but right now, for him to have reappeared when we were so close to winning our advantage, for him to be standing there, really standing there, new and terrible and so goddamn smug — it’s unbearable. If I could kill him with my hate he’d be dead right now. He’d be the absolute deadest thing in the entire universe. Dead a hundred thousand million times over.
But I can’t, and so he continues to stand there, alive and aware of our powerlessness. Aware that his long-anticipated revenge is finally about to begin.
He smiles widely at me and then begins to sweep his gaze over to the cart-demon, no doubt to give him some unpleasant instruction regarding what to do with us, when his eyes snag on the bristly/furry arachnid-bovine-hexapod form of his brother.
There is a moment of uncomfortable silence.
“You are unexpected,” Mr. Gabriel says finally. “But not at all unwelcome. I will deal with you shortly. And we will discuss just exactly where you have been all this time.”
“No,” LB says, standing up straighter on his many legs, some of which still have tentacle bits wrapped around them.
Mr. Gabriel stares as though he believes he must have misheard this statement. “No?”
“No. We will not discuss. You . . .” LB hesitates, then glances at me and continues, “You are not the boss of me!”
I have to bite the back of my hand to stop myself from exploding in sudden hysterical laughter. I remember shouting that in panicky anger at LB over the summer. I can’t believe that’s the line he’s decided to borrow out of all the things I must have said to him or in his presence since we first met. At the same time, I am touched that he is quoting me in his emancipation speech. And my laughing now would totally ruin his moment.
“Oh. Oh, I see.” Mr. Gabriel starts to laugh, having no such similar concerns about moment-ruining. “You’re . . . you’re on Team Cynthia, now, are you? Wow. I — okay, I will admit that I did not see that one coming. Well, once I kill her, you can decide whether you want to be next, or whether you would like to reconsider your position.”
LB turns his head toward me, and I know he is asking whether this is the moment when he finally gets to attack his brother. For once, his expression is absolutely clear — I can see in his shiny beetle eyes all his imaginings of conquering this enemy that for all I know he has secretly been dreaming about murdering his entire life. But before I can give him any kind of indication, before I’m even sure myself whether this truly is the moment, there is a flash of light in the entryway to the chamber, and we all turn to look.
Aaron has appeared, looking even worse than when we last saw him. For a second, my heart leaps up, believing this must mean that the queen is going to help us after all, but Aaron’s expression is ghastly — not at all the face of someone who has come to tell us good news. He shoots me one agonized glance of guilt and shame and possibly a hint of defiant anger, and then he reaches back and pulls Annie out of the shadows behind him.
There is a piece of gray duct tape stretched across her mouth, and her eyes are red and angry and terrified. Her hands are bound behind her. The sight of her standing there, standing here, feet away from the new and improved Mr. Gabriel, after everything, is like a cosmic punch in the gut, in the heart, in my very soul. I nearly double over with the shock of it.
But then I recover, because I have to, and also because suddenly the person in the room I am hating the most is Aaron.
Fucking Aaron.
“Aaron, what . . . what the hell?”
“I had to!” he shouts back defensively. “Mr. Gabriel’s demons found us! They — they had the queen surrounded. This was the only deal they would accept to let her live.”
My poor brain can’t even begin to process this. It’s like last fall all over again, when Aaron first tried to betray us, only a thousand, thousand times worse. I walk toward him, slowly, forgetting to even wonder whether Mr. Gabriel and the cart-demon will allow this freedom of movement. “I don’t care what reasons you thought you had,” I tell him in a decept
ively calm voice. “Get her back up to where it’s safe. Right. Now.”
He shakes his head, looking miserable but determined. “I’m only doing what I have to do. Just like you are. My mistress —”
I haul my arm back and punch him in the face as hard as I can.
He reels backward as I stumble back myself, shaking out my hand. That hurt a lot more than I was expecting. But it was so worth it. I want to do it again. I stride forward to do just that, but one of the cart-demon’s still-intact tentacles curls abruptly around my waist and yanks me backward. I scream with frustration and with the fresh agony in my shoulder, struggling to get free, to get my hands around Aaron’s hateful throat, but the cart-demon is entirely too strong. In my peripheral vision, I see that Ryan and Peter are being similarly detained.
“That’s enough,” Mr. Gabriel says, as though we are quarreling children assigned to his care. “If our friend Aaron made a deal with my associates, it would be shamefully impolite to allow him to be molested while fulfilling his part of the bargain.” He turns to consider Aaron, who can’t seem to meet anyone’s gaze at this point. “Bring her forward, please.”
Aaron takes one of Annie’s arms and pulls her stumbling forward several steps. She jerks away from him and backs against the nearest wall, staring in horror at Mr. Gabriel.
“That will do,” Mr. Gabriel says, looking at her with a terrible smile. He turns back to Aaron. “You may go.”
Aaron vanishes at once, like the disgusting coward he is.
“Now,” Mr. Gabriel says softly, turning his eyes again to Annie, who immediately shrinks back even harder against the wall. “There you are.” He begins to walk slowly toward her.
“Don’t you touch her,” I say.
He stops, sighing in annoyance. “Your turn will come soon enough, Cynthia. Try to be patient. You’re interrupting my reunion with my beloved.”
“She is not your anything,” I snap at him, and then, as some demented musical-minded part of me shouts Now, Pippin, now! in the back of my mind, I scream LB’s name.
LB practically flies across the room, throwing himself, finally, at his brother.
Mr. Gabriel seems momentarily paralyzed with shock at this attack from a completely unexpected quarter. But not for long. His surprise quickly turns to outrage, and he begins to fight back, not just with his claws but also with the familiar red glow of demon energy that I remember from the demon battle for the throne so long ago.
It becomes clear very soon that LB is at a supreme disadvantage.
Disturbingly quickly, our secret weapon goes from enthusiastic offense to a sort of frantic scrabbling to get away. It’s heartbreaking to see him realize how outmatched he is, to understand that there is no possible way he can win this fight. And — I suspect that Mr. Gabriel isn’t even actually trying to kill him. He wouldn’t want to kill LB now; he’d want to keep him alive, to punish at his leisure.
I have to help him. I know it won’t be enough, but I can’t just stand here and watch.
I’ve never shared my protection from a distance before, except when the demoness took it from me. But I’ve sent it out as a weapon, and so I must be able to send it out as a shield in the same way. I could try attacking Mr. Gabriel, but from the various prison experiments it seems clear that my power is much stronger as defense than as offense. I force myself to concentrate, staring at LB and willing my power to settle over and into him the way it did when Ms. Královna borrowed it those two other times before. I visualize my follow spot again, and then add several more, all at full intensity and bathing LB with a powerful, illuminating glow of protection.
I can tell when it happens. Both because of the immediate unpleasant weakness I feel and the way LB suddenly stops cowering. Mr. Gabriel lands a couple more energy blows on him before realizing the change. They both stop and look over at me.
Mr. Gabriel smiles. “I’d nearly forgotten you could do that,” he says. “Unfortunately for you and my betraying brother, however, I have enough power in reserve to overcome even your roachy protection. Observe.”
And with that, he backhands LB with a bone-shattering swing of his arm, fortified with an intensely bright-red burst of demon energy. LB flies backward across the length of the chamber and crumples against the wall. One outstretched spider leg twitches feebly and then goes still.
Mr. Gabriel now turns his back to all of us and focuses once again on Annie, who starts screaming behind her duct tape. I pull at my tentacle restraints, but I know it’s hopeless. There is nothing I can do. Mr. Gabriel starts toward her again, slowly and deliberately, drawing out the experience. Annie is throwing herself backward against the wall so hard I’m afraid she’s going to bash her own head in. But maybe that’s her intention. It would certainly be better than being taken alive by Mr. Gabriel.
But those should not be the only choices, goddammit. I was supposed to save her from this. Hot tears squeeze relentlessly from my eyes, perhaps trying to burn the image before me out of my vision. I have to do something. I have to do something. I can’t let this happen.
But there it is, continuing to happen. Mr. Gabriel looks down and watches Annie convulsing in mad terror for a few more seconds, then says “Shh” in a soft voice. She stands instantly still, frozen in place. Her eyes still burn with fear and hatred but it’s clear she’s no longer able to move anything below her head.
He gestures at the floor beneath her, and suddenly the stony surface erupts, sending the section of rock she’s standing on shooting upward until she is abruptly perched on a newly formed ledge along the wall, at least ten feet from the ground below.
Mr. Gabriel reaches out with one claw-hand and traces a delicate caress down Annie’s cheek. Even with her on the ledge, he still towers over her, and he has to crouch slightly to be closer to her level. She closes her eyes, tears now spilling freely down her face.
“I know,” he says. “This is a very emotional moment for me, too.” He caresses the other side of her face, capturing a tear on the tip of his claw. “I have missed you so very, very much. But I knew that we would be together again, no matter how hard they try to keep us apart. You belong to me.”
He moves his other claw-hand, and the duct tape rips from her mouth. Her eyes fly open again as she cries out in pain. I can see her force herself to meet his gaze. “I do not belong to you, you psycho bastard,” she says.
He smiles indulgently. “Oh, yes, you do. You used to know that; you have only forgotten. But you will remember. In time.” He runs a claw along the side of her body this time, and I can’t stand it, he can’t be winning, he can’t have Annie, it’s not . . . he can’t . . .
Annie is still doing her best to be strong. “No, I don’t,” she says to him. “Let me go.”
He doesn’t bother to respond this time. He just keeps his eyes on hers and continues to drag the tip of his claw along the side of her body, her legs, and back up to her face. He presses just hard enough this time to draw a thin line of blood along her cheek. Then he brings the claw up to his mouth and slowly licks it off.
“Stop it,” Annie says, and her voice begins to falter. “Please.”
“There we go,” he says, his smile stretching wider. “There’s my polite girl.”
Annie spits in his face.
He jerks back, and for a second his eyes flash with anger, but his pleasant mask is back in place a moment later. He wipes the spittle from his cheek and then licks that off his claw, too. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I will teach you how to behave appropriately. The king’s consort is an important role. I know you’ll want to do your very best to please me.”
He stares into her eyes, and I see her features begin to slacken, the hate and fear beginning to dissolve into something else.
No, I think, new horror cascading over me. No. He is not going to take her mind again.
I yank my power back from LB and thrust it toward Annie, driving it as far into her as I can, imagining every single cell of her being coated in my protection. She
blinks and shakes her head, and suddenly her face is her own again. Her body, too. She looks at me, realizing what I’ve done.
Unfortunately, Mr. Gabriel realizes it at the same time.
He whirls toward me, staring down in fury. “Release her!”
“Nope. Sorry. I may not be able to stop you from touching her body, but you can stay right the fuck out of her mind.”
Mr. Gabriel strides over to me and jabs one of his claws into my wounded shoulder.
The pain is explosive, worse even than Peter’s light-tunnel back to the demon prison, and for a moment I’m lost in my own screaming agony.
When I come back to the room, Mr. Gabriel is watching me expectantly. “Release her. Now.”
“You know I won’t,” I say softly. My throat hurts from screaming. “You’ll have to kill me.”
For a second, I think he is considering it. The fire twining in his eyes flares red, and his claw-hands are shaking with rage. But then he regains control.
“Oh, no. You won’t escape that easily. I will have my long, slow revenge.” He smiles then, and looks away. Away toward Ryan and Peter.
“You can’t hurt them,” I remind him. “Our deal.”
“Yes. About that.” His smile stretches hideously. “Remember that time when I died, and was thereby released from all of my former obligations? I have this strange feeling that the same thing applies when one gets a new body. For all practical purposes, I am now a new man. A brand-new man. With nothing to stop me from doing whatever I want.”
That can’t be true. I look at him, trying to see the lie in his eyes. He has to be lying. He has to be.
“I can see that you don’t quite trust my analysis of the situation. Shall we test out my theory? Why don’t I kill one of your friends, and then we’ll know for sure.” He points back and forth between Ryan and Peter, watching my reaction. “Which one should it be?”
Curse of the Evil Librarian Page 22
