Tell

by Allison Merritt

  Sylvie gaped at the remains. She started to move, but Magabed grabbed her. Blood ran freely down her arm and her right side. He ran his finger across the puncture on her arm, lifted it, then licked the blood away. Rapture crossed his face and his eyes rolled heavenward.

  Sylvie shuddered and squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Very nice.” He sighed with pleasure. “Now, I have your lovely young bride. Her blood is excellent, her body sweet and juicy. Unless you wish to see her neck snapped like a mushroom stem, you will not move. Shim was only one minion. There are plenty more waiting for my signal to squash you all like plump grapes.” He smiled, as though everything was a joke.

  Tell trembled with rage as the fire spread around him. His brothers stepped away as the wood began to burn at his feet in a small circle.

  “I call the power of Astaroth, whose true strength has been hidden, waiting, sheltered in the body of a human-demon hybrid these long years. I call forth his secret name. I call out—” Magabed screamed and loosened his hold on Sylvie. At his feet, Dochi tugged at the bolt he’d used to stab the bigger demon.

  She ran, darting past the demon into the street.

  Dochi lifted the bolt that had bounced out of Tell’s crossbow and stabbed Magabed again. The demon snarled and grasped Dochi’s tail. He launched the imp across the room. Dochi collapsed in a heap. His small paws sizzled.

  Blackness spread across Magabed’s skin as the silver coursed through him. “Too late. Harlowe.”

  An invisible wave of force pulsed through the jailhouse. It knocked Tell back two steps. Nausea engulfed him. The fire went out, leaving him cold. He shivered as his knees gave away. Eban moved like lightning and severed Magabed’s head. It rolled to a stop near the door. Wystan caught Tell beneath one arm, but recoiled as though burned.

  Tell met Seneca’s gaze. “Father—” His strength failed him and he hit the floor hard enough to jar his bones. Every inch of him felt as though it were being torn away by something with needles for skin.

  Seneca lifted the sword, but he shook as badly as Tell.

  “What are you doing?” Wystan hissed. He wrapped his hand around Seneca’s wrist to stop the blade from descending.

  “I have to before Astaroth rises. I don’t want—” Seneca’s voice caught. “He is my son, but just as your sister was taken by them, Tell is gone.”

  I’m not gone.

  Every muscle, every bone, even his teeth ached as though about to explode. He writhed on the gritty floor. Above him, Wystan and Seneca argued. Eban knelt beside him, but seemed reluctant to touch him.

  Then Sylvie was next to him and she didn’t hesitate to put her warm hands on his face. “Tell, listen to me. Don’t let that thing wake up. You fight it. You’re stronger than some demon. Do you hear me? That thing living in you is not you.”

  “Move, Sylvie,” Seneca bellowed. His sword arced through the air, flashing in the fire that still burned across the floor.

  She threw herself across him. “No. There has to be a way. Wystan and Eban both—”

  Another crashing wave of pain fell on him. Oh God, just let it end. If the bite of Seneca’s sword would bring relief, so be it. He tried to grab her, tried to force his mouth to move, but his teeth ground against each other as pain clenched his jaw tight. He shuddered, driving his body against the unforgiving floorboards.

  Sylvie’s tears hit his face. “Do something!” She directed her demand at Eban, but he looked completely stunned.

  I didn’t hesitate to try to kill you, asshole. If this was what turning into a demon felt like, he was through with all things demonic. His vision swirled black as his muscles convulsed again. He managed to roll over and find his way to his hands and knees. He threw his arms toward the hole in the ceiling and turned his face up.

  “Tell.” Sylvie reached for him, but Wystan jerked her back.

  “That’s not Tell,” he said. The bowie knife came out again.

  “This is what it’s like to be a god. Soon I shall be the one god and Hell will reign.”

  The voice echoing in his head was familiar. He knew it too well, heard it in his nightmares. His skin seemed to stretch, drawing out another explosion of pain. Red mist boiled out of his pores, swirling in front of him. He rose jerkily, as though strings pulled him to his feet while the mist solidified.

  He dropped to his knees again. Bile burned his throat and his muscles clenched, then relaxed. Weakness gripped him in place of pain, but relief came with it. Until he opened his eyes and stared up at the twisted, dragon-ish face of Astaroth. The demon prince’s skin gleamed red and scaly, plated with hard, bony armor. Rows of spikes protruded from his back and a pair of onyx-black horns rose above his crown. A long, reptilian tail swayed as he surveyed his surroundings.

  Seneca lunged for his former liege. Astaroth stopped him with a wave of his knobby hand. Seneca hung suspended in midair.

  The demon prince bared his pointed yellow teeth in a grin. “My loyal servants told me you serve as baron in the Gray Lands. What an honor my brother bestowed on you. And how stupid he was to think you could defeat me.” He looked around the room and licked his scaly lips. “No angels this time? No matter. It wouldn’t do you any good to have one. The whispers in Hell are that El doesn’t have much time for the trivial problems of one little corner of the world like Berner.”

  Sylvie dropped to her knees beside Tell. Blood smeared his skin as she grasped his hands in hers.

  Tell tried to summon the fire, but his chest felt cold and empty.

  “That won’t work, little Harlowe. You see, I was the one who gave you those powers, who stretched and worked your fear. There’s nothing you can do to harm me.” Astaroth tilted his head while he studied them. The fire receded from around them. “Such power is mine to control now. However, I owe you deep gratitude for allowing me to feed off your demonic energy for most of your life. Yes, fair is fair. I must think of a way to repay you, because you were so kind to host me these many years. One boon for you before I destroy you. Would you ask me to spare your pretty wife?” He laughed, a terrible noise like thousands of bat wings combined with the screech of rusty door hinges.

  Sylvie clutched his hand. “He wants his sister. He wants to know why she did this. Why she let this happen to him.”

  “Sylvie, shut up. I don’t want—”

  Astaroth’s eyes glowed red. “You wish to speak with the dead? Shall I reanimate her corpse? Do you think you would recognize her, Heckmaster? If she even has a mouth from which to speak. Such a pretty girl until Noem got the parasite demon into her head.”

  “Not her body,” Sylvie said. “She’ll need a different one.”

  “Are you volunteering, beautiful Sylvie?”

  Her face paled. “The angel statue. Couldn’t you put her into that?”

  “The woman speaks for you, Heckmaster? You’d give the gift of life to a statue instead of taking one of these worthless humans and awaking your sister in flesh and bone?” Astaroth curled his long fingers. “Or have you a plan like your weakling father’s to imprison me again?”

  Tell met Sylvie’s gaze. Her glasses were askew, one lens had a crack at the edge, blood and dirt covered her face. He couldn’t pretend to understand why she’d asked for Astaroth to awaken Cassandra. In a marble body no less.

  “I guess my bride is eager to put together a family reunion before we meet inside the pearly gates.” His voice came out harsh and raw. You’d better have a real plan here, Princess.

  “Tell.” Eban’s voice was little more than a whisper.

  Wystan’s face was stark white and etched in grief. Sandra was probably the last person he wanted to see again, in her own body or a borrowed marble one.

  Astaroth whistled a high note and reached into thin air. He plucked a glowing bead of light that hadn’t been there before and pinched it between his fingers. “I will devour them all soon.
A few minutes with this one will not alter my plans. I can end you all in one moment.”

  The tiny light floated free from his fingers, then sped through the air. It disappeared into the whipping wind.

  Dochi stirred and sat up. He rubbed his head, then shook it, but stared around the room with a dazed expression.

  Astaroth turned to Seneca, malice replacing the curiosity he’d expressed while talking with Sylvie. He whipped his hand and threw Seneca into the wall. “I’ve plotted a million ways to torture you for eternity. You were one of my most loyal and twice you have betrayed me. There will be no third time.”

  Seneca picked himself up and reclaimed his sword. Taller than the average human, he looked formidable with the flaming weapon clutched in both hands. “You can banish me to Hell each time we meet, but I will never stop fighting you as long as there’s a chance I can defeat you.”

  “I am the beginning and the end. No one can crush Astaroth. It was written in the stars before man was a thought in my brother’s gigantic head.” Astaroth growled. “You are nothing but a minion who thinks too highly of himself. The only place for you is a cell in the bowels of Hell.”

  The ceiling collapsed inward before the last syllables left the prince’s mouth. The angel statue righted itself. A bright white glow rolled off its polished surface. The empty eyes were still black, but somehow seemed human. Water—or tears?—made the rust stains on the angel’s cheeks appear glossy. The thing’s mouth moved and a soft whisper came from its throat. “Father?”

  “Impossible,” Eban said.

  The disapproving expression the statue usually wore melted into disbelief and hope. “What’s happening?”

  “Sandra?” Wystan stepped forward with his hand outstretched.

  She met him, her own hand brushing against his palm. “Am I…is this home?”

  He cupped her face, but his awe faded. “Not for you. Not anymore.”

  “What do you mean? Why is he here?” She frowned at Astaroth, then turned back to Wystan. “You didn’t make a deal with him, did you?”

  “Never.” Wystan’s eyes were wet. He shook his head. “Send her back wherever she came from. This isn’t right.”

  “Wys.” She withdrew her hands from him, clutching them to her chest. “Eb, don’t let them send me away.”

  Eban gaped like a fish.

  Her eyeless stare landed on Tell. “There’s something you have to know. The book! The book is hidden at the fountain. It took so long to work that rock free, but it’s there and it will get rid of the name curse. It can banish Astaroth forever. I wanted to tell Father, to tell someone, but I was afraid. Then…there wasn’t any time.”

  “Dochi, get the Liber Animae Perit.” Sylvie’s voice was sharp.

  “Mistress.” The imp didn’t hesitate. He was gone the moment the word left his mouth.

  Astaroth snarled. “You think some book will help you defeat me? There is no defeat this time. You’re already dead, all of you.” He swelled to twice his normal size, further destroying the jail as his head collided against the broken ceiling.

  Dochi appeared at Sylvie’s feet, book offered up in his paws.

  She snatched it and opened the cover.

  Astaroth snagged her in his huge clawed hand, but she was reading already, paying him no mind as Latin spilled from between her lips. The fire surrounding the prince shot toward the ruined ceiling.

  Sandra looked at her stone hands, then flexed her wings. Her smooth face contorted into something ugly. She launched herself at Astaroth with a shriek.

  He swatted her away and she crashed through the floor, but it only took her a moment to surge forward again. She knocked him off balance and Sylvie fell, but held tightly to the book.

  Tell reached her as Astaroth let out a roar. The sky brightened, opened, and the jailhouse gave a shudder when the fire Tell had started expanded from wall to ceiling.

  A mass of people gathered around, but none of them seemed interested in putting out the fire. People Tell had known for years pressed close. Humans he’d liked, trusted, protected from the demons that occasionally slipped into Berner, had become the very thing he fought. A sea of monsters with glowing eyes surrounded the jailhouse remains.

  “Kill them.” Astaroth swiped his hand through the air.

  The silver hatchet Sandra had carried to defend against demons appeared in Dochi’s hand. He passed it to Sylvie, gave a short bow and leaped at one of the human-demon creatures coming for them.

  “Stay close to me. I’ll protect you as much as I can.” Tell positioned himself in front of Sylvie.

  “I can handle a hatchet,” she answered, holding it up, but she had one hand on him as though she feared they’d be separated.

  Seneca’s flaming sword shot through the air and a demon screamed as the divine fire ripped through its flesh. Near him, Eban and Wystan fought side by side. With every advance or swipe the demons made at them, they left howling as the coats repelled the blows. Both Heckmasters were sweating, but appeared unharmed.

  Tell’s stomach churned when he recognized the postmaster who fell in a puddle of his own blood after Wystan cut into him. There wasn’t time to mourn the human bodies falling around him as his brothers got into the fight. The demons wanted blood. Tell swung at Mrs. McGeary, the cook who worked in Lois’s restaurant. His little knife bit into her flesh and her face slackened as the demon spirit left her body.

  A thwack behind him signaled Sylvie using the hatchet. Her hold on him slackened and she grunted with effort. From the corner of his eye, he caught her fighting like a hellcat against a young girl who probably hadn’t graduated from school yet.

  Seneca stepped away from the fray. He drew a sigil in the air with a blood-coated finger. It glistened for a moment, then a portal ripped the sky apart. Under the brilliant light pouring through the clouds, another horde of creatures moved in on Berner. Twisted things and monsters from nightmares swarmed among the humans turned demon. Seneca’s reinforcements from the Gray Lands looked a hundred times fiercer than anything Astaroth had summoned for this battle.

  Sandra scratched at Astaroth’s face, wild in flight, dodging his swatting hands. “You broke my family apart. You destroyed my town, my life, everything I loved.”

  “You are nothing but a stone girl given a brief reprieve from death because of me.” Astaroth pinched one of her wings. “I’ll crumple you into dust.”

  Sandra screamed and struggled against his grip.

  A silver bolt shot into Astaroth’s face below his eye. He snarled and flung Sandra away from him. She crashed through the charred wall.

  Tell whirled and then grinned as Dochi struggled under the weight of the crossbow. The imp loaded a second bolt. He aimed again. Before he could pull the trigger, a two-headed green demon knocked the weapon away. Both heads snarled at Dochi. He vanished and reappeared at Seneca’s feet.

  Sylvie thrust the hatchet at Tell. “I have to read from the book. We’re not safe yet.”

  “How’s the book gonna help? What are you talking about, Princess?” He kicked the legs out from beneath a small ursa demon, then delivered a swift blow to its head with his boot before sinking the knife into its right eye.

  “Don’t you worry about what I’m doing. Just keep them away from me.” Sylvie dropped to her knees and spread the book open.

  As she read in Latin, hurried phrases he couldn’t quite catch, the light in the sky became unbearably bright. Tell squinted through narrowed eyes as he fought the next human-demon that attacked. The man fought with the strength of a wild animal, biting and clawing at Tell.

  Smoke poured into the air, causing the sky to go foggy. The fire spread, dancing and crackling across the town buildings. Sylvie coughed, then uttered a little cry as the flames caught the edge of her skirt. She beat the fire out with her hand.

  Driving his knife up through the human’s mouth,
Tell remembered the last time they’d almost burnt Berner to the ground. There wasn’t a tower full of holy water to stop it this time.

  Everything was going to hell and damn quick. They’d be lucky if they weren’t burned to crisps before Astaroth killed them. No fire surrounded his brothers. The coats seemed to repel it as well as the demons charging at them.

  Screams and guttural cries filled the air. Sylvie stopped reading, shielded her eyes from the light, and a peaceful smile crossed her blood-splattered face. It fell a little and Tell turned away from her.

  Surrounded by burning buildings, three tall figures swept the street clear of feuding demons. Azazel, with his wizened, ugly red features led the pack. His green cape fluttered in the wind, whipping out behind him like a banner as he rode his gray steed into the melee.

  “What did you do?” Tell crouched by Sylvie as the fighting came to a standstill.

  “I can’t stand a bully. I think Astaroth’s brothers might feel the same way. I’m sure Azazel is more than a little tired of fighting with him.” Sylvie squinted against the glare surrounding the princes. “I just hope they’re not mad because I called.”

  “Me too.”

  Except for the crackle of fire and the whistle of wind, the streets had fallen silent as the demons bowed before the four brothers.

  Astaroth’s heavy breathing—part pant, part growl—rose above the other noise. “I control them. I have clawed my way through the bowels of Hell, the home I have taken and served, to reign again.”

  “The three of us united on one front should give you pause, Astaroth.” Azazel leaned on his pommel, his bulbous nose twitching as smoke blew toward him. A wicked smile curled his crooked mouth. “What smooth words will you use to try to dissuade us from stopping you this time? Millennia of fighting to put you in your place grows old.”