by Brenda Huber
Glade.
A small sound echoed from the far end of the room. The delicate clearing of a throat.
Turning, he appraised the small Charocté slave. Eyes downcast, head bowed. On bended knee. Ah, another perfect object. Charocté Demons made such ideal servants. Obedient. Loyal. Submissive. Spiritless.
“Yes?”
“Gusion is waiting, my master.”
Finally. “Send him in.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Rising, eyes still trained on the floor, the Charocté backed from the room.
A moment later, Gusion shimmered into his inner sanctum.
“Rise,” Stolas commanded, eyeing the demon with growing displeasure. “You seem to be missing something, Gusion.”
“My lord?”
“The woman’s head,” he supplied, impatient. “I don’t see it.”
“She is still in possession of her head, my lord.” Gusion lowered his own head, wordlessly acknowledging his failure. “The Seer guards her most ferociously.”
“I’ve ascertained that for myself by the number of your kind that he’s exterminated.”
Gusion continued to keep his eyes downcast. “If I may speak freely, my lord?”
“Go on.”
“I believe I know where the Seer has secreted the woman away. There is a farm, a single, isolated dwelling located in rural Minnesota, a portion of the Midwest in the United States. I believe he’s using this farm as a base of sorts. The nest Glasya set up near there, some of the demons were out scouting for entertainment. They stumbled upon an area of land that was heavily protected with ward stones. Curious, suspicious, I returned with them. We ran into the Seer. The woman was with him. A Scavenger Demon got close enough to reach for her. But the Seer has given her guard stones. A lot of them. Powerful stones. Peridot, brecciated jasper, and chrysoberyl. Before the Scavenger could react, the Seer shimmered behind him and beheaded him. He appears fiercely protective of her.”
Stolas rubbed his hand over his coarse beard. Considered. Plotted.
“She is a fairly pretty little thing,” Gusion added; a hint of lust gleamed in his eye for a moment, and then was carefully hidden. “I deliberately provoked him, but he wouldn’t leave her side. I could tell I got under his skin. But he didn’t attack. He was acting quite out of character. Very protective. If I might make an unsolicited observation, my lord?” He paused, waiting until he’d received a grunt of permission. “I believe he’s grown unusually attached to the human female. Her…death would cause him great torment.” Again, that lustful gleam flickered on his face, making Stolas wonder just exactly how fairly pretty this female was.
Tilting his head, Stolas clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace. Gusion’s comments were enlightening. Certainly worth taking under advisement. If Niklas had indeed grown attached to the woman, she could be used as leverage. It was impossible, at this point, to guess whether or not she knew anything that might endanger his plot. Still, turning the Seer over to Lucifer? That would certainly buy him the time he needed to procure the other relics.
“Continue to hunt for the female and the Seer.” He picked up Glade again. Sniffed. “But I want them, alive. Spread the word. She’s not to be killed. I want the honors for myself.”
Lines of disappointment bracketed Gusion’s mouth.
“Yes, my lord.” Gusion bowed his head, crossed his arms, thumped his fists to his shoulders and vanished.
What was he doing here? This was crazy. Hell, he was crazy. Leaving Carly in Gideon’s care had probably been one of the biggest mistakes of his life. And that was really saying something, all things considered. Granted, Gideon was behaving more like his old, charming self. Niklas still hadn’t figured out why. But he would. Eventually. Still he couldn’t make himself go back to the farm. Not just yet. He needed a moment to himself. A moment to process everything. A moment to make absolutely certain that the decision he’d come to had been the right choice. Like Xander, he was a brooder. Why he’d chosen this particular place to come to brood? Well, that was probably yet one more reason for his crazy self-diagnosis.
He hoisted himself up on top of the white, pitted, weatherworn slab, and scooted back, letting his legs dangle. A small pebble poked the back of his thigh. He swiped up the small stone and absently rolled it between thumb and forefinger, smoothing it, spinning it as his gaze wandered over the small graveyard. Spanish moss dripped from the ancient, gnarled trees overhead. A rusted, waist-high fence surrounded the small cemetery. And inside that wrought iron fence, a couple dozen decrepit, sun-bleached headstones thrust up from the ground at haphazard angles. Some were pitted and missing chunks. Some had been worn smooth by wind and rain so that names, dates and epitaphs were no longer legible. All were coated on one side with the spongy growth that thrived in the humid heat of the bayous.
In the distance, just up the hill, a loose shutter slapped against worn clapboard. Glancing over, he noted the cross on the steeple had begun to list to the side. The little country church sat empty. Its pews collecting layer upon layer of dust and dirt. Its altar barren. Forgotten. Just like this tiny section of burial ground. But, unlike that church, this graveyard was unconsecrated ground. Thieves, adulterers, murderers were buried here. Those who would never look upon the gates of Heaven. The Unforgiven.
The fallen.
Maybe that was why he was so comfortable here. He fit right in.
He’d stumbled upon this church a long, long time ago. Back in the early days when he’d first begun to doubt his choice to follow Lucifer. He’d wandered close to the church, actually had the audacity—the nerve—to peer inside. He’d even risked rubbing his sleeve to the window to clear a spot to see better. Of course, when thunder had rumbled warningly in the distance, and a shot of lightning had cracked through the air some miles away, he’d been quick enough to step back. Put a bit of respectful distance between himself and hallowed ground. He always returned there, though, it seemed. Whenever something was troubling him.
Whenever he felt in danger of losing his way.
He’d come there a lot in the last few decades.
He hadn’t even realized this was his destination tonight. Not until he’d arrived a few minutes ago. Was his subconscious trying to tell him something? Maybe. Just when it seemed he’d figured everything out, been so sure that keeping Carly was the right thing to do, he’d started second-guessing himself. Second-guessing everything he’d fought for and bled for, everything he believed in.
Would God ever forgive him for all his trespasses? Niklas’s betrayal had been so deep. He’d almost convinced himself centuries ago that his God was loving and forgiving. All you had to do was repent and ask forgiveness.
But he’d been asking for so long, asking with no signs of an answer, that he’d begun to dwell on all the stories of a wrathful, vengeful God. Stories that filled the Bible. From Eve’s curse to the Great Flood. Lot’s wife whom He’d turned to a pillar of salt simply because she’d not followed his command and looked back. The Lord had rained down upon Sodom and Gomorrah brimstone and fire for their sins. On and on the stories went. And yet, Niklas held within him some small kernel of hope. Hope that his transgressions could be forgiven. Hope that he had not been cast out eternally. Hope that he would one day find peace.
Heaving a deep sigh, he called to mind the image of Carly’s face. There was something special there. Something special about her. Why would God let one such as him guard and protect one such as her without reason, without a plan? He could no longer view her as a test. He’d done that already. Too often. Viewed every innocent he’d ever saved as a test.
He’d passed all those tests. At least, as far as he could tell. And still he’d not earned redemption. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he frowned. If he kept Carly as he wanted, if he selfishly took what he craved most, would it only prove he didn’t deserve forgiveness?
Ha
nging his head, he braced his palms against the rough edge of the stone and drew a deep breath. One thing was for certain. He couldn’t keep going like this. Doubting himself. Doubting his judgment. His gaze lifted, settled upon the broken church. How he longed to go inside. Longed to lay his burden upon God’s altar. Longed to absorb the tranquility, the peace of knowing that when he walked through those doors, his soul would be clean once more. Clean enough to deserve the woman who was fast stealing his heart.
“Can I make you some lunch, Gideon? Are you hungry?”
“Darlin’, you’ll make us all fat and lazy.” A cup of Starbucks appeared in his hand as he leaned his hip negligently against the counter.
She blinked, but kept on smiling. It was getting easier.
“No, you don’t need to cook for me. You don’t even need to cook for yourself.” He leaned close and did a poor imitation of a stage whisper. “I can conjure anything you want.” He settled back, wiggled a limber eyebrow and offered her a bawdy smile. “Anything at all, sugar.”
Laughing, she shook her head. He set his cup aside and pulled the chair from the table for her, and she sat. He took the seat across from her. His cup disappeared from the counter and reappeared in his hand.
This time she didn’t even blink.
“Actually, one of those looks pretty nice.” She nodded to the coffee. The words had barely left her mouth when a Starbucks cup appeared on the table in front of her.
“Thanks.” She took a cautious sip. Hot. Sweet. Creamy. Sublime. “You really are good.”
“Not quite as good as Niklas, though.” Gideon raised a speculative eyebrow.
“What do you mean?” She tilted her head, running a finger up and down the side of the cup in studied innocence.
“This morning at breakfast. Niklas conjured stuff right and left, almost before you could even ask for it. Now, I know Niklas—have known him quite a while, mind you”—he leaned back, draping an arm over the back of his chair—“and I’ve never seen him so…” He narrowed his golden eyes, tilted his head as if searching for the right word. “So obsessed over anyone’s comfort as he is yours.”
Feeling suddenly awkward, she lifted the coffee to her lips, delaying her reply while she thought of an appropriate response. To her embarrassment, she couldn’t come up with anything better than, “Oh?”
“Now why is it he’s suddenly concerned himself with your every comfort?”
“Why didn’t you ask him these questions?”
“Tried to. I was met with the usual tight-lipped Niklas stare.” Gideon paused, gave her a mocking rendition of Niklas’s infamous stare, and then took a sip of coffee. “Besides, you’re right here.”
“And I can’t shimmer off in a fit of temper?”
Chuckling, he set the cup down. “There is that.”
“I think I’ll plead the fifth.” At his puzzled frown, she said, “You’re going to have to wait for Niklas.”
“Darlin’, I’ll be old and decrepit before he gets around to explaining himself to anyone.”
She lifted an impish eyebrow. “And that’d be different from now how?”
Tossing his head back, he gave himself over to a good belly laugh. “I bet you give Niklas fits.”
“On occasion,” she said with a small grin.
“What will you do when this is all over?”
“Provided I live through it?” She smiled, but then heaved a deep sigh, traced the rim of her cup. “Go back to work, I suppose. I used Niklas’s phone last night and called my boss. I pleaded a family emergency and bought myself a week. Maybe two.”
“He must be pretty understanding, giving you that much time off on such short notice.”
“Understanding?” She laughed, shook her head. “Scrooge himself could take lessons from Mr. Tate. No, I’m just good at what I do. He knows that. He also knows he’ll never get anyone else with the scarecrow salary he pays.”
Gideon frowned, studying her over the rim of his cup. “Why do you stay when this job obviously makes you unhappy?”
“Good question.” She took a long sip, set the cup down, then turned it in slow circles. “I wanted to make a difference. Sounds naïve and clichéd, I know. But I did. I wanted to help people. I thought this was a good way to do it. Unfortunately, my boss and I disagree on the type of people we should be helping. Conner, Tate and McGaffney was the only law firm hiring at the time in this area. And I didn’t want to go away, I couldn’t leave Uncle Jason after he got sick again. I guess I let myself get stuck in a rut.”
“Sounds like you’re ready to break out of that rut.”
One corner of her mouth curled up on a rueful smile. “You know, standing up to Tate was surprisingly easy. Maybe all these demon battles are starting to toughen me up. They certainly have a way of putting things into a new perspective.”
“Oh, I think you were probably tough enough all ready.” Chuckling, he nodded approval. At length, he leaned back in his chair and watched her sip her coffee, a curious light in his eyes. As if she were some fascinating puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out. “You know, you’re surprisingly okay with all this curse-of-the-damned stuff.”
“I was raised to be open-minded. I have faith and I have a good imagination. What can I say?” She took a deeper drink of coffee, then set the cup down in favor of twisting the peridot ring on her finger.
“You could tell me how you hooked up with one of the meanest, most dangerous demons hell has ever produced.”
And so she told him the story of how she’d stumbled upon a demon ritual in the city park. How she’d come to be tied to a tree, and how Niklas had, apparently, rescued her. She hadn’t realized she’d allowed emotion to slip into her voice, until Gideon peered at her with a soft, pitying expression.
“And you fell in love with him,” he said softly.
“No!” she burst out, knee-jerk. But his gaze said he knew better, and she reluctantly admitted aloud, “I’ve come to care for him. I’m a fool.” She held a hand up, forestalling any sympathy or words of caution he might be ready to offer. “I know, I know. He’s a demon. I’m human. There are a hundred and one reasons why it would never…” Her fingers fumbled the coffee cup.
She made a second quick grab, but he’d grabbed too. Their hands clasped the cup at the same time, rescuing it from spilling. His hand passed right through hers. A whisper of cold, and then he withdrew. Her gaze flew to his, met. He looked away first.
But not before she saw the pain, the longing, the despair.
Her heart went out to him. “How long?”
He turned back to her, the question in his eyes.
“How long has it been since you last were able to touch someone?”
“The entire time I’ve been earthbound.” At her confused frown, he elaborated. “That curse was one last parting jab from good old Lucy right before I escaped. A punishment, if you will.”
“And Niklas summoned you around the same time he escaped Hell?”
Gideon nodded. “Almost two centuries now.”
Two hundred years. Wow.
She kept her sympathy to herself, knew it would be as useless and unwanted as any he might offer her. But empathy was too strong in her nature to not reply at all. “I’d give you a hug if I could.”
And she meant it. From the bottom of her heart.
He blinked at her, clearly surprised. A wide smile slowly split his face, and for once, there was no teasing seduction. Only a warm offer of friendship. “I’m beginning to see what draws Niklas to you.”
She stared at him, long and hard. Then she quietly said, “I won’t try to keep him, Gideon. I don’t want you to worry over that. I know it would never work. I’ll grow old. I’ll die. And he won’t. I would never ask him to watch that. And I’d never dream of asking him to choose between me and everything he’s been working so hard for.” She lowered her grief-fi
lled gaze to her hands, surprised to find herself twisting the ring Niklas had given her instead of her mother’s ring, as was usual when she sought comfort. Lifting her gaze to Gideon—the demon she presumed to call friend—Carly vowed softly, “I care about him enough that, when the time comes, I’ll let him go.”
Gideon reached out and laid his cupped hands on top of hers. Hovered them there. A cold whisper of air was the only thing she felt, but the warmth of his gesture went clear to her heart. In his eyes, she found understanding, respect and unspoken sympathy. But no pity.
“Appease my curiosity?”
He shot her a lopsided grin as he withdrew his hands. “Maybe. Depends on the question.”
“Ever since you showed up here, Niklas has been giving you strange looks. Like he’d been expecting one person, but somebody else showed up…in your body. What’s up with that?”
Gideon leaned back and seemed to weigh his response. He considered her for a long moment before finally speaking. “Two hundred years is an awfully long time to go without…without touching someone,” he began. “After a while, it begins to weigh on a body. I’m sure you can understand, I got to be a bit…surly.”
Frowning, she nodded agreement. His punishment did seem unusually cruel.
“Well, darlin’,” he drawled, looking for all the world as if he were a little kid about to share a precious secret. “I think I just may have found a loophole.”
“Oh Gideon! That’s wonderful.”
“It’s only a maybe, mind you. And I haven’t got all the why-fors and what-nots figured out yet. But I’m workin’ on it.” He rubbed that Starbucks emblem once more, his expression as serious as she’d ever seen it. Serious, and filled with shining hope. Hope she suspected he hadn’t felt in a very, very long time.
“Hope can be a very powerful thing,” Carly observed solemnly, suddenly and unaccountably worried for her new friend. Sometimes when things didn’t work out the way one expected, the loss of that hope was crueler than the curse could ever be.
He laughed, clearly surprised. “Yes, it can, darlin’. Yes, it surely can.”
