They picked their way through the muddy street. She tried to stay on the boardwalks as much as possible.
The front door of the clinic hung open, just as it had when Zaïre had forced Rhia through it at gunpoint. The sounds of Sylvie sobbing and a male voice offering comfort drifted through the air. Rhia picked up her skirt and ran. Beryl didn’t—or couldn’t—keep up.
In the study, Tell sat with Sylvie on his lap, her face pressed against his chest as she alternately hiccuped and wailed. Rhia had never been so glad to witness her sister’s hysterics. The sleeve of Tell’s shirt was ripped off, revealing a nasty burn over the same shoulder Zaïre had shot. He looked up and smiled, but it held none of his usual cockiness. It was a tender, grateful smile. He couldn’t know what had happened to Wystan, or he’d probably look as devastated as the girl he held.
“Wish granted, Princess Sylvie. There’s your sister, in one piece, just the same as when she left. Told you so.”
Sylvie’s head rose and she gasped as she squinted through her smudged spectacles. “Rhia!”
She bolted off Tell’s lap and hit Rhia hard enough to throw off her balance.
“I told you everything would be fine. Didn’t Tell come for you like I said he would?” She got on her knees so she was closer to Sylvie’s height. “You’re all right?”
Sylvie nodded. “I am, but Tell’s hurt.”
Rhia looked back at him. He sat in one of the wingback chairs, face pale and posture giving away his exhaustion. He’d nearly melted into the cushions. The blood on his shirtfront was drying, but she suspected he was in a great deal of pain.
Beryl joined them, crossing the room to examine Tell’s injuries.
Rhia looked at Sylvie. “We’re safe now. Wystan and Tell fixed it so Noem can’t hurt us again.”
“Really?” Sylvie threw her arms around Rhia’s neck. “You promise?”
“I can’t promise we’ll be safe forever, but he’s definitely gone.”
“So we’re staying here?”
“For the time being.” Her heart ached as she thought of someone else filling Wystan’s role as sheriff. Eban had no reason to stay now. Poor Mila was without a mother, and perhaps they were in more danger from Astaroth. But they’d handle each situation as it arose. She stood, holding tight to Sylvie’s hand. Although she’d lost the man she loved, she still had a reason to move forward.
“Eban said he’d be along shortly. There was a lot of water in the bottom of the building where we hid.”
Tell grimaced as Beryl touched the burn on his shoulder. “I thought sure Wys would be here by now.”
Rhia looked up sharply, but she couldn’t speak.
Tell’s dark-blue eyes burned into hers. “Where’s Wystan?”
“He was with Noem,” Rhia whispered. “He’d gone…” She looked at Sylvie, who was too young and still too innocent to hear these things. “Beryl, would you mind taking Sylvie to the other room?”
“Rhia, I want to stay,” Sylvie protested. “What happened?”
Beryl shook her head. “Mind your sister. You can help me clean up.”
“It’s not fair. There shouldn’t be any secrets,” Sylvie argued.
“Please. I’ll tell you about it before we go to bed tonight. Right now, this is for Tell to hear.” Rhia smiled at Sylvie, but she felt as though her face was about to crack. “Beryl really does need your help.”
Sylvie muttered under her breath as she stomped away with Beryl in her wake. Rhia approached Tell.
“I’m so sorry, but Wystan didn’t come back from the water tower. I didn’t see it, but I’m sure he held Noem there while the tower crashed down. I don’t think he could have survived that. Besides, he’d—he’d gone over, Tell.” She sat at his feet, resting her head on his knee. The day had seemed as long as a year, and every hour had been a terrible battle. “Whatever scrap of humanity was left, that’s what took control in the end. He did it to save all of us.”
She felt Tell’s hand on the top of her head and heard his sharp intake of breath as he digested her words. That was all it took for the dam inside her to finally collapse. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, and worst of all, she felt numb. Nothing would ever be the same without Wystan.
Tell slid out of the chair, though it must have hurt him, and sat next to her, his arms wrapped around her shoulders. “He loved you. You know how I’m able to know things. I know for certain that he loved you. You’re special, Rhia. Beryl brought you here for a reason—to help all of us. You’re right about him saving us and the town. You changed him, you made it possible.”
She looked at him and saw the tears in his eyes. “Why did he let his demon side surface? Was Astaroth behind it? If you or Eban die, will you come back like that too?”
Tell shrugged. “I don’t know. When I talked to him, he seemed odd, but I didn’t think he’d turned dark.”
“You talked to him?” She pulled back a little.
“When Noem had you. Right before Wys confronted him. He told me to tip the water tower. His eyes weren’t demon red then. Usually I can tell when one has gone over or turned away from Astaroth. Wys seemed pissed off, but that’s all.”
Eban burst through the door. “You’ve got to see this. It’s…unbelievable.” He gestured for them to hurry.
Rhia exchanged a puzzled look with Tell. He struggled to his feet, moving like an old man as he offered his hand to help her up.
They found Eban staring out at the street. Blankets of grass sprouted between the empty lots in town. Trees that had been barren and skeletal waved bright green new leaves from their branches. Wildflowers sprang from the window boxes that still hung on the clinic. Even the few thorny bushes that clung to life in the town had new growth.
Rhia blinked, sure she was dreaming. “What happened?”
Eban shrugged. “There haven’t been a lot of plants since we were kids. It’s a miracle. I never imagined we’d see Berner like this again.”
“You think it’ll die when the water dries up?” Tell asked warily.
“Hard to say.” Eban looked at his brother and winced. “You’d better get back inside. How many holes do I need to patch up?”
“Two too many. Rhia, you coming?”
She bit her lower lip and shook her head. It had been weeks since she’d seen this much plant life. While it was beautiful, it wasn’t much comfort.
Tell leaned over and muttered in Eban’s ear. They both gave her long, scrutinizing looks.
“I don’t need either of you to fuss over me. I’m not the one with a bullet in my gut,” she snapped. “I’ve seen death before and I’ve killed things most people have never heard of. I’m fine.”
Fine might’ve been an overstatement, but she’d gotten used to taking care of herself. She didn’t need their concern right now.
Tell studied her, then nodded. “Don’t leave Sylvie alone too long. She’s worried about you.”
“I know.”
They left her on the steps. She sat, watching the new grass wave in the breeze. Though the buildings were still in disrepair, Berner looked different. Better, but the change in its appearance had come at a steep cost. She closed her eyes and pressed her palms over them, resting her elbows on her knees.
“Oh, Wys. What are we supposed to do now?”
The rustle of leaves was her only answer.
The harsh smoky scent hung over the streets, bitter as the tears stinging her eyes. Tell’s warning not to go far rang in her ears, but she needed space, needed time to collect herself before she had to explain to Sylvie that Wystan wasn’t coming back. If she could get through that without another round of tears, she might be able to get through anything.
She stood, clinging to the bannister a moment while she took in Berner’s transformation. The haze blocking the desert sky matched her mood. All the grass and flowers in the world co
uldn’t brighten the sense of loss riding her. Mud darkened the sagging boardwalk between buildings, painting a fresh coat of stains on her skirt as she made her way toward the jail.
He wouldn’t be there, she knew that, but his pillow would smell earthy, like overturned soil and hardy sage. Maybe she’d take it back to the schoolhouse, lay her head where his used to rest. It ought to be enough, knowing he’d died for her and his brothers, that he’d removed a threat and shown her love, even if he’d pushed her away in the end. It should be enough that he’d existed, but her heart broke all over again when she thought of facing Eban and Tell, whose eyes were so like Wystan’s.
The jail was empty, of course, dim light streaming through the hole in the roof. Debris lay scattered across the floor—shingles, broken boards, dust, and even a few new leaves.
Rhia covered her mouth with one hand, stifling a sob. There wasn’t much in the way of personal effects, nothing that showed a man had spent a good portion of his life here, secretly protecting the world from demons. She sank into his chair, dropping her palms on the desk. Her fingertips brushed dozens of nicks where he must have dug his knife blade into the rough wood. She’d lost his knife in the fight with Noem. God alone knew where it was now. They probably wouldn’t see it again, not after the way the water had surged through town.
There was a cemetery nearby with a few headstones and statues, where she might be able to convince his brothers to set up a stone with his name written on it. They had nothing to bury, but there would be a small record of Wystan’s time on earth. Little comfort when she only wanted his strong arms and assurance that everything would be all right.
The jailhouse walls were constricting, even with the hole in the ceiling. She left without any mementos, but more drained than she’d been when she arrived. Wind and the sun were drying the puddles, letting her pick an easy path to the school. Time to change clothes, burn these because they’d never come clean, wash her face, and see if she couldn’t put herself together so Eban and Tell wouldn’t continue to worry about her.
The hair on her neck prickled, and she raised her head, looking around to see if some of the town’s other residents were emerging. The streets were still empty, more abandoned than she’d ever seen them. Her walk didn’t seem like a good idea anymore and all Wystan’s warnings about looking out for demons hung over her head. There wasn’t anyone to save her this time.
Relieved when she saw the schoolhouse undamaged, she hurried to the door, then let herself in.
Don’t think about Wystan and making love on the desk. Don’t remember him in your bed. Don’t think.
Numb, she unlatched the chest where she kept their clothes, then pulled out clean undergarments and a dress. The one she’d worn the day she arrived in town, the night Wystan had slit the barghest’s throat in front of her. There weren’t many dresses to choose from and all of them had some memory of him attached.
She tried to steady her hands as she unfastened buttons and let her ruined dress slide to the floor. Good riddance, and hopefully burning it would take the bad memories. Her chemise was damp with sweat and she was glad to leave it beside the dress.
A floorboard groaned when she entered the classroom. Clutching the fresh dress to her chest, she reached for a pair of scissors left on the bedside table. Hardly a useful weapon, but her fears were gone, replaced by anger toward any demon that dared showed its face this side of the Pit.
Her palms were sweaty, making the scissors difficult to grip, but she crept toward the door separating the living quarters from the classroom. The door squeaked a little as she pushed it open, scissors held high.
Her breath sounded loud and her heartbeat pounded fit to deafen her. She peered into every corner of the room, feeling foolish when her search turned up empty. Rhia sighed and lowered the scissors. She turned back to the living quarters. Time to get dressed and back to Sylvie before her sister started worrying more.
She didn’t feel any better once her hair was newly braided, her dress pulled into place and buttoned, her face and hands washed. Once she stepped outside, the empty buildings would only be a bigger reminder that Wystan was gone.
She’d been brave before meeting him—she could do it again.
The air was dry and hot, stealing the last of the moisture from her hairline when she stepped outside. Newly budded leaves waved in the breeze, giving the scenery a peaceful feeling despite the morning’s battle. She didn’t trust the quiet, not after everything she’d seen happen here. Perhaps she should have brought the scissors. Better armed with something pointy than unarmed, although in broad daylight, she hoped the worst demons were in hiding.
Time to tell Sylvie the truth and start rebuilding. Time to stop running and make a foundation for her sister, the way she’d planned all along. She reached behind her to shut the door, but something held it open. A snarl rent the air as a scaly brown blur darted from the doorway and climbed her skirt.
The weight of it staggered her, causing her to lose her footing and tumble down the steps. She landed with a thud that knocked out her breath. The scaly creature pounced onto her waist, claws extended, crooked green teeth bared. Its round, spike-framed face hovered inches from hers. Snakelike red pupils constricted as it tasted the air with its tongue. Rhia hit it with her open palm, cursing herself for leaving the scissors behind. The demon snarled and dug its hind legs into her skirt, snapping at her fingers.
She twisted, attempting to scramble to her feet. It grabbed her sleeve, sharp talons slicing through the material. A feral growl rumbled in its throat.
She hit it on the jaw, but it seemed unfazed by the blow. Thick, ropy drool leaked from its open mouth, splattering her bodice. Then the demon exploded in a shower of water, glass, and black ash.
Wystan, holding a slingshot, narrowed his eyes. “Can’t leave you alone for a minute. Noem attacks the town and you’re out here strolling like it’s Central Park.”
Dressed in clean clothes, but looking as though he’d been dragged by a train, Wystan stood a few feet from her. Like Tell, he appeared singed from the water spillage. A few blistered spots marred his face and hands. His eyes were the same indigo blue they’d been on their first meeting, all traces of red vanished. Rhia tensed, unsure whether to scream for help or run into his arms. Part of her feared it was one of Noem’s tricks.
“But you—the holy water and…Noem. Tell’s whole arm is burned, but you look…” She got up, but her legs threatened to buckle. “I don’t understand. What just happened?”
He waved the slingshot. “Holy water in glass capsules. Best I could do on short notice.”
Dizzy, Rhia blinked. “But…”
“Noem’s gone. He’s lost any claim to demon leadership because of the battle. It’ll be a cold day in Berner before Astaroth lets Noem out of Hell.” Wystan took a step toward her. “I know you don’t trust me. I’d be disappointed if you did. Where’s Tell? He can vouch for me.”
“With Eban. He’s hurt worse than he lets on. Though not as badly as you should be. I didn’t think there would even be anything left of you after the holy water washed through town.”
She took him in, the scruffy overnight growth of beard on his square jaw, the easy way he moved. Gone was the wariness that usually perched on his shoulders. The belt with his bowie knife and sheath was missing from around his hips. The lines around his eyes were softer, the set of his mouth curved with a soft smile. His brown hair was glossy and had the slightest hint of wave. If Wystan had died and come back as an angel, this might be what he looked like.
He was far too perfect and it roused Rhia’s suspicion.
“But he’ll live?” His face showed his concern, the tightening of lines, the smile fading.
“I’m sure. Eban wouldn’t give up on him so easily.”
Wystan nodded. “Sylvie?”
“Scared to death, as she should be. Beryl doesn’t seem any worse for the
wear. Maybe she’s even a little stronger.” She didn’t know why she was telling him. If he was still under Astaroth’s control, she was feeding him information he’d use against them.
“Eb?” His shoulders strained against the cotton of his shirt and his back straightened.
“A broken nose. You hit him awfully hard. I don’t think he’s going to forgive you for that.” She studied him, wondering how he had the demon hidden now. Why he was toying with her? Why not just kill her and have it done?
“My father was the fastest, strongest person I ever knew. Until Noem. It’s the demon in them. It makes them almost invincible. I’m not too proud that a minotaur brought me down. I should’ve had a better chance with it. If I hadn’t lost my knife—the knife you lost when you confronted Noem, by the way—I might have a fancy pair of horns to hang in my office. A mortal man can’t hope to fight a demon. Not barehanded.”
Rhia stared. “What happened when you died? Noem said you must have gone straight to the front of the line in Hell.”
He studied the ground, as though he’d just noticed the grass at his feet. “There was no Heaven, no Hell. Just me and Sandra sitting in the shadow of that statue.”
He nodded at the angel that looked at the outside world. Suddenly, it didn’t seem so foreboding. Wildflowers sprang up around it in bright oranges, reds and yellows. She saw sunlight reflecting off water inside the pool, casting beams of light over its marble robes. Once it had been a welcoming icon. It might be again someday.
“What did Sandra say?” She knew he missed his sister. She hadn’t yet decided if she believed he’d really talked to her. Or even if he was who he claimed to be.
“That she understood why I had to kill her. She didn’t want to live with a parasite imp in her head. She thanked me.” He swallowed, causing his Adam’s apple to bob. “And then she told me about how we’re going to defeat demons. Our father had a dream. He wanted peace. She was determined to see that her brothers got it.”
“So Astaroth won’t trouble us—I mean you—anymore?”
“No, there are battles ahead.” He looked sorry that he had to tell her. “She told me to be strong, that despite our demon blood, we’re in control of our own lives. We can send evil back where it belongs. In order to defeat Noem, I had to unleash part of myself I’ve struggled with for years. It was strong enough to live when I wasn’t.”
Wystan Page 22
