“Tell.” Wystan laid one hand on his wrist, the other closed around the hilt of his knife.
“If anything happens to Sylvie, it will be at your hand,” Meacham spat.
The fire in him turned to frost. Shit, all he needed was to lose control out here. “Let’s get home before Sylvie wakes up and makes me regret this trip even more.”
Chapter Eleven
“Go home, Wys.”
Wystan froze. “Don’t listen to Meacham. The little bastard is as grouchy as they come. He’ll say a few things that make sense, but he can’t leave you pleased and feeling good about what’s coming next. It’s not his way. Sylvie’s got a big job ahead of her, but she’ll be all right. She’s tough.”
Tell rubbed his fingers across the denim stretched over his thighs. “Sure she will. I’m not worried.” Scared out of his mind, on the verge of tearing out his hair. So far gone past worried, it didn’t even factor in anymore. “Go on back to Rhia and the kids. Tell them I said hi and we’ll stop in sometime in the afternoon.”
Wystan raised his brow. “I should walk you back to the shop.”
“I know my way.”
The dead silence spoke more than words. Do you?
A numb throb worked its way over the power of fire thrumming through him. “I promise not to kill anyone. You can trust me.”
A muscle in Wystan’s cheek twitched. “I have trusted you. Plenty of times when I thought you’d get your dumb ass killed. Somehow, you always surprise me.”
“Once more won’t hurt, will it?” He needed air, time to think away from his family. They’d smother him—even Sylvie—if they kept him corralled.
“Sylvie’s gonna be pissed if she wakes up and you aren’t there. Besides, how do I know you’re not going back to Meacham?”
“I already said I wouldn’t kill anyone.” He gestured to his body. “No weapons. Unless I pull off a button and make him choke on it.” He tried to grin, but failed. “This doesn’t have anything to do with Meacham. I swear.”
“Are you going home or somewhere else?”
Tell sank his jaw teeth into his tongue. “I’m a grown man. I think I can take myself around town without an escort.”
“I have to know so if something happens, I can look for you. Consider it a big-brother thing and not a demon-hunter-looking-for-a-demon thing.”
Tightness in his chest sucked the air out of his lungs. “Sometimes I think it’d be better if you just stabbed me in the back and put an end to all this.”
“I’ve wanted to kill you plenty, but I figure I’d run into some trouble I couldn’t get out of if I didn’t have my brothers when I needed them.” Wystan’s grin was weak. “Don’t get into any trouble, because I might not be there to help you. You get back to Sylvie as soon as you can.”
“I just need—” He gestured down the road. “I haven’t been in a while.”
Wystan’s face softened in understanding. “Me either, but I’ll save my visit for another day. Sure, spend a few minutes talking or…whatever. Then you get home to Sylvie. She’ll need you. The living always need you worse than the dead. We’ll look for you this afternoon.”
“You’ll see us.” He waited until Wys was several steps in the direction of his own home before turning toward the cemetery.
During the daylight hours, the gates remained open. Beneath the hulking shapes of big, weathered cedar trees, the single acre of sun-dappled plots appeared peaceful. At night, someone always shut the gates. Not only to keep people out, but to hem in any unnatural presence. They’d never had monsters in the cemetery abduct an unsuspecting soul, but why tempt fate?
Near the gates, two huge granite slabs rose from the ground. A stone angel as high as Tell’s waist lurked between them. Its face, smooth from two decades under the harsh sun and driving wind, appeared peaceful. They’d set the angel to watch over their mother’s plot. Her remains barely filled the box she rested in. Under the tombstone for Seneca, there was neither a casket nor a body. There’d been nothing to bury when Astaroth dragged him to Hell. Even though the headstone was unnecessary, there wasn’t much use in removing it.
He rested his hand on Sandra’s headstone. Hers was the first dead human body he’d ever seen. The wounds Wystan had inflicted in order to kill her hadn’t been pretty. The thing they placed in the casket had been less his sister and more a monster. Eban and Wystan had shielded him from their mother’s charred corpse, but Wystan ordered him to look at Sandra so he’d know what kind of new trouble they faced. It wasn’t but a couple of years after, the memory of her ragged severed head burned into his skull, that he’d gone into the world bearing a crossbow with silver bolts and took his first demons.
“I need the book. Whoever gave it to you didn’t take it back. You kept it and hid it somewhere. So where is it?”
Wind whispered through the cedar boughs, but it didn’t give up any long-buried secrets.
“There’s no bringing the dead to life again. That’s for fiction and idiots. I need some help here. If you can talk to me in a dream, you can damn well give me some kind of hint in the real world.”
A fat gray dove landed on Seneca’s tombstone and cooed. A second joined it.
Tell hung his head. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
The birds startled and flew away in a rush of wings and panicked chirping. Tell spun to see what had frightened them.
Nebo, wearing his natural skin, stamped his hooves into the grass. “Pardon my intrusion. This is a private place and your conversation more so.”
Tell’s skin prickled. “What do you want? This is sanctified ground. You can’t hurt me.”
“I’ve no wish to hurt you. I tremble at the thought of what would become of any demon ignorant enough to do so while Baron Seneca is on watch. And he would give what little remained of that doomed soul to your brothers to finish off.” Nebo’s tentacles curled around Tell’s battered hat. “I’ve come with a message for you.”
His body coiled with tension. He itched to reach for the hat, but hesitated. The last demon that had handled it nearly killed him. “Why didn’t Father send Dochi?”
“My grasp of English is better. You’ll want the message I bear, for it’s ill tidings and must be considered straight away.” Nebo licked his nose with his fat tongue. He offered the hat. “I apologize for it, though it is not of my doing.”
“Spit it out.” Tell snatched the hat, then settled it on his head.
“There’s a presence with a putrid eye turned on you. Its servants watch. Servants of the vanquished Astaroth. They know your name, for they listened closely when it was given. Quiet, they walk through your town and outside it too with the syllables burning their lips.” Nebo twisted his tentacles together. “These demons seek to steal your powers and plot to help Astaroth escape.”
Tell approached the messenger. “Tell me where they are and I’ll cut them down myself.”
“Too dangerous, Master. They slink through the night and will find you when they see the opportunity. My advice is to hide well and wait. The day will come when they expose themselves and then it will take all your efforts to dispatch them.” Nebo’s bovine eyes widened. “I sense a temper coming on you. I would remind you again, I am the messenger. A learned demon, but that only gets one so far. I pray for your long life, Master Tell. Nothing would be better for the Gray Lands than for one of Baron Seneca’s sons to inherit.”
“No, thank you. I’d rather cut my own hand off than spend the rest of my life in the Gray Lands, ruler or not.” He put confidence into the words, but it didn’t trickle into his heart. “How do I know I can trust you? Maybe you have my name too.”
“As it happens, I do, though I’m not foolish enough to put it to any use. I grow tired after centuries of battles for good and evil. Learning suits me better. Your father’s libraries are vast. A good place for learning.” Nebo gazed at the t
ombstones. “Your sister and mother. And a shrine to the baron.”
“We thought he was dead once.”
“If we are lucky, we might all get that long sleep someday.” Nebo’s mouth moved as though he was chewing cud. “I’ve studied necromancy.”
Tell shuddered despite the sun. “Better leave that behind in the Gray Land libraries.”
“It has its uses. Perhaps a conversation with a dead girl brought down too soon?” His ears twitched. “She would have saved you later, had the parasite imp not taken her mind. It was foretold.”
Tell straightened. “By who? When?”
“Who and when are lost along with opportunity. What’s foretold isn’t always written in stone. Your sister met Death and changed the course of the world. The book of spells given to her vanished shortly after she branded your name a curse. Though she was quite clever, was she not? I saw her once, while passing through, before the parasite got her.” Nebo laughed, a bad blend of a moo and a human chortle. “I think she was the only one of you with any real goodness in her.”
“You’re trying me, aren’t you?” Tell shoved his hands in his pockets, but the fire burned in his fingers again. “You want me to agree to this necromancy thing, bring her up and force her to tell me where the book is. You’re willing to help, but it’s got a price. A bigger one than I want to pay.”
“I would never tempt you. The consequences might be too much for a centuries-old demon who prefers books to battles.” Nebo shook his head. “Better to let her rest in peace, if there is any to be had. Though I have a thought, Master.”
“I’m sure you do.” He couldn’t ask Nebo to raise Sandra from the grave. Whatever came out might still have a parasite imp attached to it. He didn’t want to face his sister’s withered corpse and whatever evil clung to it. Nebo was right—let her rest. “What is it?”
“Have you searched the angels?”
“What?”
“I’m sure you must be aware there’s a straight line directly from this angel”—he pointed at the little statue—“to the one in the town’s center. If it is coincidence, you should be wary, for few of those are accidents.”
“Wystan and Eban arranged for this statue. I don’t think they planned any paths from angel to angel. I think we’d know if anyone bothered to hide a book near one.” You crazy bastard. He held his tongue on the last part. Even though Nebo seemed mild, rile any demon enough and they could explode. “Next you’ll tell me there are little angels all over Berner making up a pentagram.”
Nebo gave the unusual chuckle again. “It does seem farfetched.”
Tell moved in front of the angel and faced toward the center of town. “How far you reckon it is to the fountain?”
“Less than half a mile.” Nebo shrugged. “I can do the proper calculations if you like.”
“No time for that. Got some walking to do.” He left the stone angel behind and passed through the cemetery gates. Damned if he knew what he was looking for—and he was likely headed for a trap—but the way Nebo brushed it off without pushing the issue further piqued his interest.
Sylvie won’t be happy. The nagging voice buzzed inside his head.
She doesn’t even need to know unless I find something.
He couldn’t wait for her to wake up before he explored the line. It had to be now.
Trouble was, he couldn’t walk a straight path from the cemetery to the fountain. Buildings interfered and forced him to go around. The oldest buildings in Berner dated back to the 1830s. Most of them still stood, reinforced by the men and women who’d settled here after Astaroth’s defeat. Plenty of the shops and houses were recent additions. None were over ten years old. A couple of the new ones stood in his way. If anything had been hidden there, it might have been destroyed.
He ran his hands through his hair, then clasped them together behind his head. “Shit. What does it mean?”
That I’ve lost it.
He blinked as the morning sun burned into his eyes. His first hope lay in the books Dochi had brought him. His last one lay with Sylvie and his brothers.
I could walk away right now. Spare them the trouble if some big ugly demon wanted an easy victim. No weapons, no reason to fight back. Nebo says predictions don’t matter, then if I let something kill me, none of this goes any further.
The rocky red soil under his feet shifted as he turned. Demons lurked beyond town. Their twisted minds called to him and dug their sharp talons into his soul. Give up, they whispered. Weaponless and half mad, he wasn’t any good to his family. And the relief they’d feel when they didn’t have to deal with him, worry about him, fear him, would be worth the price of his life. It wasn’t much of a life anyway, not after the things he’d done. Killing in his father’s name, for the sake of banishing demons, but he’d liked it. He’d enjoyed taking the lives, spilling the blood of those monsters. In turn, it made him as evil as any of the creatures that dared cross him.
A thousand whispers filled his head. They affirmed his weaknesses, his uselessness, his bad behavior. Wetness dampened his cheeks. It wasn’t right that he should live only to create misery among the people he loved. People who deserved better than the meager emotion he called love. His brothers, his niece and nephews, his wife, could all do better—would be better without him. He wiped away the tears pooling in his eyes.
They’ll be happier without me.
For the first time in weeks, everything made sense. He only had to cross the town border, where Seneca’s renewed magical boundaries separated true evil from the outside world, and let one of Hell’s devoted slay him. The sacrifice would make up for the way he made his family’s life miserable.
Tell trudged and each footstep seemed heavier than the last. His motions were minuscule, agonizingly slow, as though he’d fallen into honey and it glued him to the ground. The town border had never seemed so far.
“I have to get there.” The words dropped out of his mouth like stones. His muscles seized, going rigid against his will.
What the—
“Tell?” Sylvie’s voice cut through the whispers. “Where are you going?”
His body trembled, but he managed to face her. “I can’t.”
Storm clouds brewed across her face. “We agreed you wouldn’t leave without me. You heard what your father said, you selfish, inconsiderate, thoughtless—are you crying? What’s happening?”
“I have to go.” He nodded toward the flat expanse of desert beyond town. “If I let them have me, you don’t have to hurt yourself.”
Her hands were raw and chafed. She glanced at them, then met his gaze again. “Let who have you?”
“The demons waiting out there.” So much darkness lay hidden among the colors in the desert. “I can fix all of this if I go. They’ll take me and everyone will be all right. This thing inside me can’t hurt anyone anymore. It’s only death.”
Sylvie’s mouth worked, but no words came out. She grabbed his shirtfront and pulled his face close to hers. “Listen to me. Whatever you think is out there telling you this doesn’t have any power over you. You belong to me—with me—heart and soul, Tell Heckmaster. You let go of any crazy ideas that say you’re giving up. I love you, and anything that says differently is a liar. Anything bold enough to come out and say otherwise to my face will die at my hand too.” She pressed her lips to his.
Something inside him snapped and he circled her waist with his arms as he kissed her in return. Sylvie, soft and sweet, but frighteningly dangerous, melted in his embrace.
Kissing her was like a breath of cool oxygen after standing in an inferno. The darkness nibbling the edges of his soul fell away, deflated like a squashed dog tick. With the taste of Sylvie on his lips, he stopped being a miserable worm and turned into Tell again.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Whatever that was, it wasn’t me. I’d never leave you, not like that.” He crushed her a
gainst him. The jasmine scent of her hair curled into his nose and quickened his heartbeat. “Nebo’s right. The demons want me bad.”
She tilted her head back to look up at him. “What is going on?”
“I was stupid and I shouldn’t have left you. The answers I got from Meacham weren’t enough to justify leaving.”
“You went to Meacham’s? How did you end up here? Why did you go to Meacham’s?” Light reflected off her glasses. “Are you insane?”
“No. Only selfish, inconsiderate and thoughtless.” He laughed as he lifted her off her feet, then swung her in a circle. “Christ, I’m happy to see you.”
There wasn’t any happiness in her thunderous expression. “You know what would have happened if you crossed the town boundaries? Even I can feel what’s lurking out there. They probably wouldn’t hurt me, but you? That darkness would rip your soul—your bright, shiny soul that’s bound to mine for all eternity—into teeny, tiny bits. What in God’s name were you thinking? Were you even thinking? Did you stop to consider if you sacrificed yourself, I’d die from heartbreak? Did you?”
Bright and shiny. That was an apt description of how he felt with her, even when she railed at him. “No, ma’am, I didn’t.” His grin slipped. “The fingers of darkness stuck through the barrier and snagged my britches. All I could think was you’d do better than me. There’d be someone good enough for you eventually, but I had to let something else destroy the demon in me for you to get there. You’re right, a hundred percent. We belong together, souls, hearts, bodies, every bit. Without you, I’m nothing. I don’t deserve it, but will you forgive me?”
“If you swear you won’t leave my side again until this is over.” She pressed her fingers to the wetness still clinging to his cheek. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“I swear on my black heart.”
“Then I forgive you.”
“How’d you find me?”
Her mouth twitched. “I had the strangest dream. There were two doves resting on a tombstone—I couldn’t read the name on it. Something spooked them and they flew over the town until they landed on the stoop right outside the shop door. I heard my name, it sounded like a woman whispered it. I woke up then and you were gone. When I came outside, I turned for the cemetery and I ran because I knew you were in trouble.”
Tell Page 13
