He laughed, a bitter sound like stepping on dry grass. He’d bedded Rhia once and he was already planning a family with her. The ursa demon must have cut off the blood to his brain for a minute if he was thinking like that.
He had to get out of here, let the night air settle things. Watching for signs of other Pit dwellers would take his mind off this dilemma. Knowing Noem was on the way was almost a welcome distraction.
Chapter Seventeen
Eban stalked the halls of the clinic. His saber tapped his right leg, making a clinking sound with every step. He knew. Of course he knew. The first time he’d witnessed Rhia and Wystan together, he’d seen something between them that snapped with energy.
Like a thundercloud looming over his head, anger swirled through his veins. It took a lot to push him that far. Wystan and Tell had tempers befitting demon spawn. Eban was more like their mother. Gloria Heckmaster had been a fixer, a kisser of hurts, a steady rock in times of turbulence. Growing up, Eban had been glad he was like his mother. Now, he wished he had some of his father’s guiltless anger so he could tear Wystan limb from limb.
He’d asked Rhia if she loved someone else. He thought perhaps the Mr. Butterman Sylvie sometimes talked about had scorned her and she was trying to recover from the hurt. But she’d denied it. She’d lied to his face, insisting there was no one, all the while Wystan had been in her thoughts. His brother, the ignorant, overbearing, demeaning, selfish, hell-bent Wystan. The one who seldom smiled, often made light of others’ pain, never helped anyone but himself and growled when anyone got too close to him.
“Eban?”
He stopped in his tracks at the sound of Beryl’s voice. He’d intended to talk to her about the Gray Side, but he’d wanted to wait until his temper was cooler. After three weeks of drinking willow-bark tea and pleurisy-root concoctions, eating regular meals, and resting, Beryl was beginning to look more like a woman and less like a walking skeleton.
Her hair, the shade of ripe wheat, hung over her shoulder, though she’d gathered it at the base of her neck with a ribbon. Long and straight, it glistened with restored health in the lamplight.
“Did I wake you?” He struggled to keep his voice even, to resist yelling at her to go back to bed.
“There’s an awful lot of stomping coming from around the building. I’ve never heard you stomp before.” She toyed with the ends of her hair, wrapping it around her fingers. “Are you all right?”
Might as well get it over with. “Why don’t you have a seat? We need to have an important discussion.”
Her eyes—a strange shade of green—widened. “If it’s about money, I’m afraid I don’t have any.” Her brow wrinkled. “I’m not sure if I was robbed, or maybe I ran away. I can’t remember any money. There must be something I can do in town to work off my debt.”
“It isn’t about money.”
She raised a pale eyebrow, but didn’t ask any more questions as she crossed the sitting room to one of the chairs. The cushions nearly swallowed her thin frame, but she sat up as straight as she could, a snowy queen amid rusty red material.
“I need to ask you about the Gray Side. Wystan—” It took all his effort to get his brother’s name out. “Wystan had a visitor tonight. One of the princes of Hell, who told him that you were sent to throw a demon named Noem off Rhia’s trail.”
Beryl looked away, but he thought she was searching her memory, grasping his information and trying to make it fit into the dark spots in her mind. After a quiet moment, she met his gaze and new light filled her eyes.
“That’s why I chose Beryl. She was lost, abandoned, ready to die because no one cared. I picked her because she suits my purposes.”
The voice that left Beryl’s mouth wasn’t human. It was too gravelly, harsh in Eban’s ears. He drew the saber and pointed it at her. “Who the hell are you?”
“Peace, cousin. I have entered her body and almost fulfilled my mission. I fear I pushed too hard and nearly destroyed this one. If not for your kindness.” Beryl’s mouth curved in an innocent smile. “The Gray Side has long watched the destruction of this town. We have studied the Pit and the weakening power of the seals. Your father was noble when it suited him. He did not put this plan into place so your brother could decimate his own heart. Rhia and Sylvie are your hope. They will restore the peace enjoyed by this town before Astaroth destroyed your father.”
“You didn’t answer my question. What are you?” He stepped forward, leveling the tip of the blade with Beryl’s chest.
“You would call me a parasite could you see my true form. But I am more. I am seductress, wanton, bearer of the flaming heart. Lust incarnate.” Beryl rose from the chair. She pushed his saber aside with one hand while the other loosened the ribbon holding her nightdress closed. Light spilled across her skin and the small breasts bared to his eyes. “I desire a place of peace much as your father did. His actions are spoken of with approval in the Gray Lands.”
Eban swallowed, trying to dampen his Pit-dry throat. He couldn’t tear his eyes off Beryl’s chest, not even when she laid a hot hand alongside his face. Pert pink nipples rubbed against the fabric of his shirt and hardened into taut peaks.
“You’re a trickster. Like all the Gray People.” He felt the rigid hilt of the saber in his hand and tried to raise it, to knock her away, but he couldn’t move.
“Astaroth will destroy us for our apathy. He will take the Earth piece by piece, pronounce himself king with the flick of his wrist. That notion displeases us. You have fire in your heart, Ebaneezer Heckmaster. Use it to defeat him.” She licked her lips, leaving a shining trail behind. Dainty white teeth showed between them and she stretched up to kiss him. She nibbled his lip and a small hand cupped his crotch, giving a squeeze.
Why Eban let her do it, he couldn’t figure out. Her touch was all-consuming, he probably couldn’t have stopped her if he’d wanted to. And damn her, he was aroused. Damn Wystan and Rhia for interfering with his feelings.
She drew back and smiled. “This body wants you. The mind inside has imagined laying with you on many occasions.”
That shocked him out of his stupor. “That body is weak. She’s been feverish for almost three weeks. She doesn’t know what she wants.”
“Foolish male. There is more human in you than even you know.” The she-parasite’s smile widened. “She and I agree this body and yours would suit nicely.”
“Beryl’s in there…with you?” He couldn’t imagine what she was thinking. Was she frightened that the parasite had control of her body?
“No. She is contained. Unaware of all this. It seems rude to deny her the pleasure, but…” The she-demon ran her hand down his neck and traced an X over his heart. She batted her eyelashes and purred in Beryl’s voice. “Lay with me, Eban. Let me please you.”
“Get out of her.” Eban dropped the saber and grasped her shoulders, giving her a shake. “Leave her alone. She doesn’t want you in there.”
“As you wish, cousin.” Beryl’s eyes rolled up in her head. Eban held on as her knees buckled.
“Dammit.”
The she-demon hadn’t given him her name or he could have summoned it, maybe in a different form, maybe banished it from Beryl forever. Supporting the parasite in addition to the bacteria causing the inflammation in her lungs was taxing her. The doctor in him ignored her nakedness and slipped an arm under her knees. He carried her from the sitting room back to her bed. She was hot and sweating. The trip from her room to see him had exhausted her frail body.
“Dammit, Beryl, you’d better still be in there.”
He stretched her out on the bed and took her pulse. Rapid, but not dangerously so. Eban left for a vial of smelling salts, brought it back, then held it beneath her nose.
Golden eyelashes fluttered and her face screwed up in disgust. “What? Eban, what happened?”
Big, trusting eyes searched his face and
he grasped her hand. He’d bet every last penny that Beryl was back in control of her body.
He struggled to think of an excuse for what had happened. “You, uh—your fever came back and you fainted. Nothing to worry about. I’ll take care of you.”
“Why is my gown undone?” She jerked her hand out of his and drew the material together over her breasts. She coughed, but it wasn’t as violent as it had been even a week ago.
“It must have come loose while I was bringing you here. Rest, and I’ll be back in a minute with tea.” He had to control himself. Her embarrassment was evident in the way she lowered her eyes. The she-demon had said things to trick him. Beryl—the real woman—didn’t desire him.
He still wanted to bludgeon Wystan with his own arms. As for Rhia, it wasn’t her fault Wystan was half in love with her. Anyone with eyes and a working brain would be. They could be friends. Beryl too. The poor woman was being taken advantage of by one of the Gray People. She needed his help if they were going to get that thing out of her head before it could do any real damage.
Chapter Eighteen
Rhia jerked out of a deep sleep and reached for Sylvie. Her sister lay curled against her, snoring. Safe and fast asleep. Tension thrummed Rhia’s body like a taut rope. She wasn’t sure why, but even imagining acres of grass wasn’t going to lull her back to sleep now.
She raised the cover and slipped out of the bed, then tucked it back around Sylvie. She padded across the floor and into the schoolroom. Reading might take her mind off the lingering ghosts that must have haunted her dreams. Or maybe it was guilt for bedding Wystan instead of accepting Eban’s suggestion that they court.
She struck a match. Before she could take the glass shade off the lamp, she caught movement at the corner of her eye. She almost screamed, but a hand clamped over her mouth and she dropped the match. It went out, leaving them in darkness.
“Don’t wake Sylvie.”
Wystan’s whisper filled her ear and she grabbed his hand, then pushed it away from her lips.
“Why did you scare me like that?” she hissed.
“Noem is on his way.”
“May I light the lamp and you can explain what sort of gnome we’re talking about? Is it worse than the barghests?”
“Light it.” He pressed a match and flint into her hand.
She repeated her actions, and this time managed to put the flame to the wick before Wystan touched her again. His hand cupped her face and he stared at her as though he’d never encountered a woman before. Rhia desperately wished she had a robe. Despite their earlier actions, she felt shy in front of him.
“Tell me about the gnome.”
“No-em,” he corrected. “You already know him.”
She shook her head. “I’ve never met anyone by that name.”
Wystan folded his arms over his chest and she saw the bright red marks on his hand. She reached out, but he stepped away. “Butterman.”
Her hand fell to her side and her throat tightened. Butterman couldn’t have found her. She hadn’t told anyone she was coming to New Mexico Territory. He made certain she had no friends, and—except for the money she’d stolen from him—she had very little and might have gone anywhere. She’d been careful not to leave any sort of trail.
“I don’t believe you.” Rhia wanted to wake Sylvie and run. She had no idea where they’d go, or how they’d get anywhere, or what they’d eat, but she couldn’t let Butterman find them.
“Rhia, look at me.”
When she didn’t, keeping her gaze on the door to their living quarters, he took her by the shoulders and made her face him.
“Let go of me. We’re in danger. We have to leave tonight. Now.” She looked into his eyes and her heart fragmented. A few hours ago, she’d been in the other room with him, letting him make love to her. Now she’d never see him again.
“Noem is Astaroth’s chief deputy. He has special favor with the prince. You are in danger, but I can protect you, if you tell me what happened.”
She shuddered, closing her eyes as memories washed over her. She couldn’t tell Wystan what a fool she’d been. Blinded by pretty words and false hope. She’d grown in those months in Lincoln. Become a stronger woman. One who could save Sylvie from making poor decisions like hers. But she had to hide first, get them somewhere safe. Pretend Butterman—Noem, whoever he was—didn’t exist.
“No.”
“Rhia.” There was a note of desperation in Wystan’s voice, something she’d never heard before.
“Please. Let us go.” She tried to wrench free of his grasp. The walls of the schoolroom shrank around her.
“Not until you pry the knife out of my heart with your own hands. You’ll have to kill me to get away.”
“You don’t understand.” Tears leaked from her eyes. “He’ll kill her because of what I did.”
“Tell me.” Voice gentle now, Wystan held her at arm’s length and bent his knees a little so he could look her in the eye. “Then we’ll decide what to do.”
She was already formulating a plan. Beg the Heckmasters to tell Butterman she’d never been there and run. “I—I told you about my father. How he took money…bribes from those government men. They murdered him and we’d have starved if I hadn’t found an ad for a housekeeping position in Nebraska. We exchanged a few letters and he seemed so charming. To know my mind and he put all my fears at ease. He sent money so we could travel and he greeted us at the train station. Sylvie hated him from the moment she saw him. I should have listened. I was stupid.”
Wystan wiped tears from her cheek. “You’ve done good by her.”
“I haven’t. We moved into his house and at first, he was the man in the letters. He gave us our own room and he tried to get Sylvie to like him. Showered her with dolls and a new wardrobe. It was too much for a servant to accept and it bothered me. Butterman asked if it was all right if we started seeing each other socially. No one would care, he said, that he was courting his housekeeper. The West isn’t full of rules like the East. So I—I agreed. I wanted someone to love and love me in return. It had been so long since I felt like myself.” Rhia sniffed and hung her head. “Then things started happening. Strangers knocking on the door late at night, hushed conversations. Once I found a box with odd little trinkets inside. They looked like they were carved from bone. They had symbols carved on them. Strange pictures like I’d never seen before.
“Sylvie adopted an alley cat, but Butterman hated it and puffed up and hissed each time it saw him. It disappeared after a week. Sylvie was crushed. He gave her a pretty necklace to make up for it and she never took it off. She started sleepwalking. It sounds ridiculous to say it, but I think the necklace caused it. She fell down the stairs once and nearly broke her neck. It scared me so badly.”
Wystan’s arms slipped around her waist and she let herself melt into the comfort of his chest. “Go on.”
“He stopped paying me. He wouldn’t let us leave the house. We didn’t have any friends and he insisted I teach Sylvie if I wanted her to have an education. Sometimes at night, I’d wake up and feel a presence in the room. I was groggy and couldn’t come fully awake, couldn’t move or scream. I laid there for hours, waiting for something to come out of the dark and kill me. Sometimes, when I woke, I wasn’t even sure I was in our room. It was so dark and cold. But wouldn’t I know if I had been moved? Later on, after we left, Sylvie admitted she’d experienced the same thing.” She paused to catch her breath.
“I found out he was drugging us. There were little cuts on ours arms or fingers. He was taking blood. But the worst was the night I got out of bed for a drink, and there was a doorway I’d never seen before in the hall. It was stupid, but I followed it. There were so many people, all of them wearing red masks with terrible faces. In the center of the room was a body. A woman, pale as snow, and her blood—oh God, her blood filled a channel around the altar where she lay.
”
Her stomach clenched as she remembered the coppery tang.
“He was…I don’t know, Wys. I don’t know what he was doing with it, but we’d stayed too long. I knew if we didn’t leave, one day it would be me or Sylvie lying there. Sometimes he would tell us he was going to a gentlemen’s club. I think he was meeting with others like him.”
She paused, trying to control the tremble in her voice. “Once I packed our things while he was out, but we’d no more than crossed the threshold and he stopped us. I told him we were leaving. He dragged me down to the cellar and locked me inside. He threatened to harm Sylvie. When he let me out, I found her in our room, perfectly fine, but scared to death. I knew he’d hurt her the next time, so we had to find a way out.”
Wystan’s eyes narrowed. “How did you escape?”
“I stole every coin I found, every little trinket that looked valuable and then we pretended to be sick. When we ate, we made ourselves vomit. Sylvie did it right on the dining room table. Butterman was disgusted. He left and we fled. I sold what I could, bought that wagon and while I was waiting for the liveryman to hitch the team, I found the teaching ad. We came south. Far away from Lincoln. I thought we could escape Butterman, but the liveryman was in his pocket and he gave us away. Butterman found us on the trail and he demanded we come back. So I shot him in the face. I thought I killed him, except when I checked to make sure he was dead, he started moving. I climbed back into the wagon and made those mules run as fast as they could. Even though the wagon could have turned over. I’ve never been so scared. Not until now.”
“It’s all right.” His arms tightened around her. “I’m sorry that happened.”
“How did he find us here?”
Rhia buried her face against Wystan’s shirt and let out a sob. He stroked her hair.
“He’s pissed because of what you did to his face. Astaroth won’t repair him unless Noem brings you to Hell. He drove you here, close to the Pit, for that reason.”
Wystan Page 15
