I Spy a Demon

by Keta Diablo

The demon studied her for the longest time, his features expressionless. “At last he spoke. “Do it; kill me.”

  Stunned into silence, she stared at him. Had raindrops fallen into his black eye pits or could it be tears? Something was amiss, yet Cecily couldn’t put her finger on the strange undercurrents in the room. Why would the demon surrender his prey and turn to her? It had to be a trick, a sick, deceptive ploy to beckon her forward only to rip her throat out.

  “Now is your chance,” he said again. “Take it. Or must I give you the details of your brother’s death before anger and hate consume you?”

  Cecily pounced, her body so close to his, she smelled the rotting stink of death and decay. She brought Calder’s dagger up and before she could form coherent thought, buried the knife deep into the demon’s heart.

  He clutched his chest and fell to his knees, a river of thick, green sludge drenching his black robe. Flames shot upward; smoke rose high in the air. The demon burned and smoldered, driving Cecily back.

  She could no longer see Marcel through the thick haze, yet couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from the scene playing out at her feet. The robe had disappeared and in its place a form began to take shape...a human body.

  Cecily fell to her knees and looked across the short expanse to Marcel. Like her, his eyes were focused on the transformation taking place. A man lay before them, his demon features eradicated, but his wounds grievous. Blood oozed from his nose and mouth and his torso showed a fatal wound.

  Marcel crawled toward the prone man and then clasped his hands to his head. “No! No! It can’t be!”

  Cecily crawled up beside him. “Oh, Dear God.”

  Elliott reached out a bloody hand. “I’m sorry, brother.”

  “Don’t speak. Save your strength, Elliott.” Anguish ripped through Marcel’s words. “We’ll get help.”

  Elliott shook his head. “No, bro. I’m done for. I met my fate in Katy, Texas. Two of ‘em ambushed me.” He glanced to Cecily. “Calder...I’m so sorry, Cecily. May God forgive me.”

  “Marcel, I don’t have much time left. Come close.” Marcel put his ear to Elliott’s mouth. “I love you, brother.”

  Tears ran down Marcel’s face. “Don’t talk, Elliott. There’s still time.”

  “No, listen to me. In the pocket of my shirt...there’s a note.”

  “Okay, all right. I hear you.”

  “They’re coming, Marcel, all of ‘em.” Elliott coughed. Foamy blood painted his lips and dribbled down his chin. “It’s up to you now.”

  “Don’t leave me, Elliott. Elliott? Elliott!”

  Elliott’s last breath escaped in a rush and then his head lolled to the side.

  Marcel and Cecily clasped his hands and sat in silence for an eternity it seemed. Long moments later, his face ravaged by grief, Marcel dug into the pocket of Elliott’s shirt and pulled out the note.

  “What does it say?” Cecily asked through a sob.

  “My name is Legion, for we are many.”

  Epilogue

  The Frost house was draped in inky black. A black wreath hung on the door to greet friends and neighbors who came to pay their respects to Elliott. Inside, ebony table runners adorned the hallway sideboards and even the dining room table.

  “Tradition,” Mae had said. “To symbolize the never-ending battle between darkness and light, good versus evil.” Makeshift altars, adorned in pure white linens with bright burning candles, graced every room.

  “But, why?” Cecily had asked the day of the funeral. “The black is so bleak and depressing, a reminder of everything we’ve lost.”

  "The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. John 1:5. This is our oath, our promise and a constant reminder we must never let the darkness win." Mae said.

  Elliott was buried beside Calder and Gus. Cecily, Marcel and Mae returned home to regroup and recuperate, mentally and physically. In the following days, Marcel seldom left his room, and Cecily wondered if he’d remain a broken man forever.

  The morning Cecily was to take a flight from Des Moines to Minnesota, she and Mae sat in the late-summer garden, each lost in their own thoughts.

  Mae’s eyes followed the erratic flight of a butterfly. “I wish you wouldn’t leave, dear. It’s going to be lonely without you.”

  “I’ll be lonesome and homesick too, you know that, but I can’t stay, for reasons we’ve already discussed.”

  “At one time, I was where you are now, wondering if I could accept this life, not knowing from one day to the next whether Gus would come home. And then, one day he didn’t. I remember asking myself if I had to do it over again, would I?”

  “And what was the answer?”

  “Yes, of course. A thousand times yes, but I’m not you, Cecily and you’re not me. I have accepted your choice and respect your desire to live away from this life. It’s my selfish side that wants you to stay.”

  Cecily’s heart overflowed with emotion. “You know no matter what I’ll always be here with you and Marcel. A day won’t go by without thoughts of you.”

  Marcel’s voice floated over a cluster of rose shrubs and a stone bench resting beside them. “Why are you leaving, then?”

  Mae looked up and smiled at her only surviving son. “How are you feeling, Marcel?”

  He shrugged. “Better than yesterday and the day before that.”

  Mae came to her feet and reached out and touched his cheek before he settled onto the bench. “Well, that’s all we can ask for now. Listen, I’ve got chicken noodle soup boiling on the stove. Time for me to check on the progress.”

  Cecily’s eyes followed Mae’s exit from the garden and then she turned to Marcel. This morning, his eyes were like cloudy vintage mirrors. Walking away from him would be the hardest thing she’d ever do in her life, but she couldn’t stay, wouldn’t live like Mae had, wondering if tonight would be the night he’d never come home again.

  “We haven’t talked since...since Elliott died. In fact, if I were a betting man, I’d bet you’ve been avoiding me these last few days.”

  “I guess I have been. I’ve never been good at goodbyes.”

  “And yet, you’ve been forced to say so many.”

  Her throat swelled with emotion.

  “I need to explain what happened with Elliott.”

  “I think I know. While trying to avoid you, I did some research. He became a dybbuk. In Jewish mythology, a dybbuk is a demon that adheres to or clings to a dead person. Isn’t that the meaning in your world?”

  “My world,” he said with a weak snort. “Our world, Cecily, everyone’s world. You, of all people, should know that. You witnessed it firsthand.”

  “Yes, and I didn’t ask to witness it. I wanted answers to my brother’s death, never dreamed such a world existed.” She released a long sigh. “Poor Elliott. That was no longer him in that abandoned building, was it?”

  “No. Just before Calder died, N.O.M.E.D sent us out on a mission. Reports came in that a horde of demons had taken over a warehouse in Katy, Texas. They planned to wreak havoc in the area. The network sent me, Elliott and Calder. We were vastly outnumbered and the fight lasted for hours. Elliott paired off with one in another room, emerged a long time later alive, but seriously wounded. A short time later, Calder died, and Elliott took to the bottle. Mom and I believed Calder’s death drove him over the edge. We thought if we gave him time, he’d come to terms with it and return to us.”

  “It was too late; he never would have.”

  “No, he was already lost to us forever. A dybbuk is a malicious spirit and your research was correct. It takes over a host body and once it has accomplished its goal, it leaves the body or leaves once the person is destroyed.”

  Sarcasm edged her words. “I’m sure you can understand why I must get away from this madness. I can’t be a part of the world you choose to live in...world of dybbuks, Ba’als and sisimites.”

  “I wonder...did I choose this world or was I born into it?”

 
“Then leave it behind, Marcel. Choose not to lead this life and we can be together, walk away from all of it.”

  “Can we? Can I, just walk away? It’s deeper than we can imagine, encompasses realms we’re unaware of.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He entwined his fingers and rested his hands on the back of his head. “After you drugged me in that motel room, Gus came to me. His voice, I mean. He said, ‘Get up, son. You must get up. You’ll lose her too if you don’t rise. They are about to steal the light from her eyes.”

  “No, Marcel.”

  He brought his hands down and crossed himself. “I swear it. I remember falling off the bed and vomiting my guts out. The next thing I knew, I walked into that railroad building dressed in armor and confronted the demon.”

  “But that’s impossible.”

  “Is it, Cecily? Not long ago, you said demons didn’t exist.”

  “That’s why I must leave. For my own sanity, I need to get away from all of this, find some semblance of peace.”

  He lowered his head and nodded, a slow series of nods, as if he understood, but didn’t want to accept her decision. Clearly, Marcel had accepted this life and all it entailed years ago and would never give it up, not for her, not ever.

  When he looked up, a half-smile curled the corner of his lips. “You don’t know how much I wish we could go back to the days when none of this existed, or at least it didn’t seem as if the entire world was on my shoulders.” A wave of nostalgia flitted through his eyes. “Remember that song you loved when we were younger, the one by Trisha something?”

  “Yearwood. She’s in Love with the Boy.”

  “Yes, that’s the one. I used to lie in bed at night and wish you’d look at me the way that girl in the song looked at Tommy. I prayed for the day you’d look at me like that.”

  “Oh, Marcel, I always looked at you the way she looked at Tommy. You were just too cocky or too proud to see it, maybe both.”

  “And now, what? You’ll go back to that little town in Minnesota, sell your herbs and potions and forget all this happened?”

  “Yes, call me a coward, but I’m going to live with my head buried in the sand, like an ostrich.”

  “You’re no coward, Cecily. You’re the bravest woman I know.” He paused. “And the most beautiful I’ve ever seen.”

  Mae’s voice broke into their conversation. “Cecily, we must leave for the airport now or you’ll miss your flight.”

  “Coming, Mae!” She looked across the short expanse and held Marcel’s eyes. “Like I said, I hate goodbyes, so for now, I’ll say so long.”

  “It isn’t goodbye, Cecily, never will be between us.”

  She turned to go, calling out over her shoulder. “Take care of yourself, Marcel. You know where to find me if...well, you know where to find me.”

  Cecily walked into the kitchen with tears in her eyes. “I’m ready, Mae.”

  * * *

  Four months had passed since Cecily left Des Moines, and not a day passed when she didn’t think of Mae and Marcel. Not a night passed that he didn’t haunt her dreams. She didn’t know which option was worse, living every day with a fractured heart or living every day wondering if Marcel was lying dead in some back alley or abandoned building. She felt like the addict who couldn’t live without the drug and wouldn’t live with it.

  The Goat’s Beard did well in her absence and continued to thrive upon her return. Content customers came and went, and the days sped by with the speed of a jet plane. Sometimes, she didn’t know what day marked the calendar, and for now, that suited her fine. Too much idle time meant too much time thinking about Marcel, wondering what he was doing this very minute, wondering if he ever thought of her or missed her like she missed him.

  This morning, she stood behind the counter tallying up yesterday’s receipts and the door ringer chimed.

  “Hey, I don’t know the name of scent, but I know the ingredients─white tea blossoms, chrysanthemum petals, a thimble of ginger and a pinch of thyme. I think there might be a drop or two of rain and a splash of sunshine in there too.”

  Stunned into silence, Cecily stared at Marcel.

  He was more gorgeous than ever, if that was possible. His hair still touched the collar of his shirt and his eyes were still gray, although today they were filled with longing and, dare she think love?

  “Well, has the cat got your tongue? Got nothing to say? You want me to turn around and walk out that door?” He shifted his weight from hip to hip. “Damn it, Cecily, say something.”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  A look of shock stilled his features. A thousand crickets had entered the shop while they gazed into each other’s eyes.

  Oh, God, that was the last thing he wanted to hear. Any second now, he’ll turn around and run like a wild wind.

  He walked toward her with the grace of a sleek, black panther, every step confident and self-assured. As he rounded the corner of the counter, she retreated a step. He reached out, took her hand, and pulled her close. His lips claimed hers, a kiss borne of passion, longing and all-consuming love.

  When at last he broke from the kiss, he set her back and captured her eyes. “There’s never been anyone for me but you, Cecily. Ever. We best call Mom and tell her to take the next flight out.”

  “And why would we be doing that, Marcel?”

  “What? You don’t have a minister in this hick town?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Is that your way of asking me to marry you, Mr. Frost?”

  “Of course we’re getting married.”

  “Oh, we are, are we? I’m not marrying you until you ask the proper way.”

  “You mean I have to get down on my knees, right here in the store? What if someone walks in?”

  She lifted her shoulders. “You never do anything you don’t want to. Your choice.”

  He dropped to his knees and took her hands in his. “Will you marry me, Cecily Sizemore? I love you, have always loved only you.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “Does this mean...?”

  “Yes, it means I’ve decided to become a fishing guide, attend the turtle races every Tuesday.”

  She laughed. “Now you’re an expert on turtle races?”

  “No, I saw a poster outside about the turtles.” He rolled his eyes. “Sounds exciting.”

  “You want excitement? I’ll show you excitement and so much more, Marcel Frost.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Yes,” she said fighting back tears. “I’ll marry you and spend every day of my life making you happy.”

  “Ditto, little gazelle,” he said and never seemed more sincere.

  The End

  About the Author

  Keta Diablo lives in the Midwest part of the United States on six acres of gorgeous woodland. When she isn't writing or gardening, she loves to commune with nature. A pair of barn owls returns to the property every year to birth their young and show them off in the high branches of the oak trees. Nothing more adorable than these white fluffy babies with heart-shaped faces. A lifelong animal lover, Keta devotes her time and support to the local animal shelter. Emma LaPounce, a rescued feline, has been her furry companion for the last ten years.

  Keta is an award-winning and bestselling author who writes in several genres: Romantic Suspense, Western Romance, Historical Romance, Paranormal Romance and Contemporary Romance. In a past life, she wrote Gay Romance. Her books have received numerous accolades, including RWA contest finalist, Authors After Dark finalist, Top Pick of the Month and Recommended Review from many top review sites, and Best Romance Finalist from The Independent Author Network.

  Ps: For some strange reason, ghosts often show up in her stories, no matter the genre.

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