Heretic (Demon Marked Book 2) (Demon Marked Saga)

by Corey Pemberton

  “Just answer my question. Why leave Rebecca out of this? Didn't you see what Talia did to me? It isn't just the male demons who are dangerous.”

  Richard smiled. “Oh, she's dangerous all right. But she won't pose a threat without her violent lover or servants around. I can get to her. I can change her mind.”

  “You love her,” said Charlotte. “It's making you blind.”

  “I do. And without Maurice around we'll… have another chance to make things right. To live as husband and wife. Like we were supposed to.”

  “You're dreaming,” Malcolm said. “She doesn't love you. Sorry. But it's true. If we're going to do this we need to do it right. That means Rebecca has to go.”

  Richard formed his fingers into a steeple and looked at them with a sad smile. “Then I'm afraid this meeting has run its course. You want my help? Then you'll agree to my condition. Rebecca makes it out of this unharmed.”

  “You've lost your mind,” Malcolm said.

  “Everyone does if they live long enough.”

  Malcolm sighed and plopped down onto the cloud, watching the stars above. Paul and Charlotte and Nora gathered around him and leaned close.

  “You're right,” Paul said. “He's totally nuts.”

  “Maybe,” said Charlotte. “But we need him.”

  Nora looked over her shoulder at the man and smiled. “I like him. He dresses fancy.” Broyles didn't offer any opinion. He'd been within earshot of their conversation, but he lay still on his back. The white spade mark on his cheek glowed in the night sky.

  “We need him,” Charlotte repeated. “Let's worry about getting out first. We can deal with Rebecca later… if she ends up being a problem.”

  “Oh, she's a problem all right,” said Paul. “No doubt.”

  Malcolm shook his head. “I don't like it. But if that's what it takes—”

  “Fine,” Paul said, getting to his feet. He turned to Richard. “We'll do it. Rebecca won't be harmed.”

  Malcolm nodded. Better for Paul to make that promise. He'd already made too many promises he couldn't keep.

  Richard smiled. “Good. I knew we could work out something that takes all of our interests into account. Now speak quickly, Morris. Dream time is almost over.”

  Malcolm cleared his throat. “It all depends on how the servants really feel about Rebecca and Maurice. Do they worship them like they say they do? Hate them? Or what?”

  “All you have to do is ask,” Richard said. “Hey, Broyles, what do you think of master and mistress?”

  The sheriff flipped onto his side to face them. Face reddened, veins throbbing in his neck, filled with a rage so heavy Malcolm was sure it would break the cloud and they'd all fall through. When he opened his mouth he spoke slowly, each syllable enunciated with care. “I. Hate. Them.” Then he flopped onto his back again, exhausted from the effort.

  “See?” Richard said. “And he's brand new. Imagine the ones who've served for decades.”

  “They sure don't show it.”

  “The whip keeps them in line,” Richard said. “Physically and psychologically. It's the seat of their power. Demons acquire servants in different ways. Some use force and others—like the one who hooked you, Morris—use seduction or softer ways. There's always some kind of manipulation to convince people to give up on free will.”

  “Don't they ever try to fight back?” Paul said.

  “All the rebellion is quashed out of them once they give in that first time. The physical pain is real, but the psychological pain is worse. In the mind of a servant, that whip is always there. Cracking above him. Haunting his dreams like a specter. He never knows when it's going to come down on him.”

  Broyles writhed on the ground, pulling at his hair. “No. Please no.”

  “See,” Richard continued. “They only need to whip them once. It's the threat that keeps them in line for all of eternity.”

  “We can't beat all those servants ourselves,” Malcolm said. He sprang to his feet. “But if we could get them to turn on their masters…”

  Charlotte stood up too. “There would be an uprising. A revolt.”

  “How do we do it?” said Paul.

  Richard sighed. “I'm afraid we'll have to find another way. Rebecca and Maurice keep that whip protected at all times. The servants guarding it won't even let you get close.”

  “I'm sure that's true for us,” Malcolm said. “But could they stop another demon?”

  Charlotte looked at him, her face pale in the moonlight. “You can't be serious.”

  “What?” Paul said. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” said Malcolm, “what if Talia was the one who got us the whip?”

  Richard shook his head. “You can't control her, Morris. I've never seen an entity so powerful.”

  “He's right,” Charlotte added. “What if she gets inside you and decides to stay there? We'll never be able to get her out.”

  “We don't try to control her,” said Malcolm. “She's just there to create a distraction. Besides, Talia isn't interested in me like she's interested in Maurice and Rebecca. They're the ones she's after.”

  Paul nodded. “An enemy of my enemy is my friend?”

  “Exactly. Whoever she's serving—maybe it's Bune, that one Atlas talked about—wants them dead.”

  Richard bowed his head and winced. “Bune? If that's true none of us are long for this world.”

  “Let's take it one step at a time,” Malcolm said. “Talia wants Maurice and Rebecca dead. They were supposed to stay underground and wait for mystery man's instructions, but they came up here instead.”

  Richard was trembling. “I was complicit. I was the one bringing Maurice up here time and time again while he looked for a way back to the human plane. I was the one waiting to send him home after his meetings with that woman Liliana.”

  “I don't like her,” Charlotte said, glancing at the bangle on her wrist. “She scares me.”

  He nodded. “She should. Liliana's the one who told him about the golden liquid and the children and prophecy. Something about two men, a vapor, and a fair-haired child—oh.” He clutched his stomach like he was going to be sick. “If Bune is after me too—”

  “Stop it,” Malcolm said. “Just stop it. If everything goes right Maurice won't be around to tell anyone about it. But it's up to you to keep Rebecca quiet.”

  The man nodded. “Fair enough.”

  “What else do you know about that woman?” Charlotte said. “I have to get this damn bracelet off.”

  Richard shrugged. “Not a lot. Maurice would never let me stay close when he talked to her. I was just his transport. She's a mortal, as far as I can tell. Deals in prophecy… and she's even more powerful than she looks.” He shivered as a blast of cold air whipped across the cloud. “They're supposed to be friends, but he does everything she says. Like he's her servant.”

  “Why's she helping him?” said Paul.

  “I don't know. But Liliana doesn't seem like the type to do something out of the goodness of her heart.”

  “We only have a few days before she comes back for me,” Malcolm said. “To get rid of Talia's mark and leave room for Maurice and Rebecca's. So we have to act fast.”

  “Wait,” Paul said. “Atlas—before he died—he threw that gold stuff on you, Malcolm. Not on you. But the demon in your body.”

  Malcolm nodded. A fresh wave of pain seared his skin where the liquid had burned him. He gritted his teeth and tried not to scream.

  “The point is,” said Charlotte, “is that she isn't corrupt right now. She won't try to possess you again until she's imbalanced. It will take some time for nature to run its course.”

  “So we speed up the process,” Malcolm said. “Richard breaks into the warehouse where the balancers keep their things.”

  “Easier said than done,” Charlotte said.

  Malcolm ignored her. “He breaks into the warehouse and takes one of the bottles of that black liquid they carry. Then he finds Talia and gets he
r to drink it. He might have to sleep with her to get his way but… let's just say there are far worse ways to spend your time.”

  Richard jumped to his feet. “Oh no.” He curled his hands into fists and went straight for Broyles. The sheriff didn't even flinch when the man ran over and grabbed him. “Help me,” Richard screamed, pointing at the mark on Broyles's cheek. “One of them is waking up.”

  Paul was at his side a second later. He grabbed the man's dead-weight legs and lifted them. “He can't be here anymore,” Richard said. “He has to go.” Grunting, he guided the mass of limbs over to the edge of the cloud. He looked at Paul. “Ready? One. Two. Three.”

  They tossed him over the side with a tremendous heave. Nora screamed, but Broyles didn't make a sound as he fell. “He'll wake soon,” Richard said. “He won't remember a thing.” They watched Broyles plummet to the earth for a few more seconds before he disappeared in mid air. “There. He's awake now. Maurice and Rebecca will find him right where he's supposed to be if they decide to check.” He walked over the center of the cloud and sat down again. “He wasn't much use anyway. Now, where were we?”

  “We were talking about Talia,” said Charlotte, stroking the girl's hair. “Don't worry, Nora. This is all just a dream.”

  “Right,” Malcolm said. “Talia. If you get your hands on the black liquid and sneak up on her—hell, you might be able to just go up and give it to her—it won't be long before she decides to pay me another visit.”

  Richard offered him a wan smile. “It's an insane plan, but I admire your courage.”

  “What else am I supposed to do? I... kind of got us into this.”

  “I won't argue that. What if I told you I had the black Hollow Atlas was carrying before you… before Talia visited?”

  Paul lunged forward and grabbed the sleeve of the man's tuxedo. “You do?”

  Richard pulled his arm away. “I'm keeping it in the corner of the backyard behind a hibiscus bush. I didn't want anyone finding it and—”

  “And you're already using it,” said Paul.

  Richard squirmed and pitched his weight backwards like he was going to follow Broyles over the edge. For a moment Malcolm was sure that's exactly what he was going to do now that they'd discovered his secret. But then Atlas stopped himself and sighed. “You can't tell anyone what I'm about to tell you.”

  They nodded.

  “You're right, Knox. I have been using it.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I'm pretty sure Maurice would be dead already if it weren't for that stupid bottle he carries around. Unfortunately, it seems the more of the Hollow I give him, the more of the Core he drinks.”

  “You're poisoning him,” Malcolm said.

  “Just a little here and there in his food and whiskey. It's too obvious if you put in any more than that. For mortals, drinking too much of the Hollow means death. I'm hoping the effects add up with time.”

  “Unbelievable,” Charlotte said.

  “Spare me your outrage,” Richard said. “He's dragging her into the worst kind of danger. I'm trying to get her out of it.”

  “Let's save the moral lecture for later,” Malcolm said. “You have what you need. Look for Talia deep in Germ territory. She won't be hard to find.” He lowered his head. “She's Grease Costello's wife.”

  “What?” they said in a single voice.

  “There's no time to explain. You know who she is, and you know where to find her. Go as soon as you can. We'll be ready when the corruption sets in.”

  “What do you mean?” Charlotte said.

  “While everyone's tangling with Talia, one of you is going to get that whip and burn it. Then we break the bond and—”

  “We don't know what will happen,” Richard said. “That's not a plan. That's a fool's errand.”

  Maybe. But we know what will happen if we don't try.

  That's what Malcolm said. Or thought he said. But then the cloud wavered beneath them, losing thickness by the second. Soon it was transparent. Then it was gone. He tumbled to the ground with the others, cold air in his face and doubt in his heart.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Malcolm opened his eyes. Someone was shaking him, jostling him out of that world where they'd had their dream conference.

  Charlotte stood above him fiddling with her jade bangle. Her nightgown was the same as the one she'd worn on the cloud, but now her face was fixed in a tight frown. “Time to get moving,” she said, shaking him harder when he let his eyelids shut.

  Malcolm groaned. “I feel like I didn't sleep at all.” But he got up despite all his joints and bones and muscles screaming at him to stay still. Around them, servants rolled up bedrolls and folded sheets with a mechanical efficiency. They'd been asleep moments earlier, but now they hummed along at full power. There was no gap between service and dreams. No time to stretch. No room for humanity.

  They shoved him aside on their way out the bedroom. The hallway was full of noises now. Trampling feet and groaning floorboards sounding the wake-up call for just another day of service at Rebecca and Maurice's estate.

  Charlotte grabbed him by the arm. “Come on. We better get out there.”

  Malcolm yawned and let her pull him into the hallway to join the others. They lingered for a moment in front of the broom closet. He whispered through the door without turning his head. “Nora? Stay put just a little longer. We'll come get you when it's time to leave.”

  “Okay.” Her voice was soft and thickened with sleep.

  They caught up with Paul in the hallway and went downstairs into the next chapter of their recurring nightmare. First there was breakfast on the patio—an unsatisfying gray mash that might have been oatmeal. Somehow the serving women had sucked away all the flavor before slopping it into their bowls. Malcolm ate until his bowl was empty, though, just like the others. If it was anything like the days before it, today would mean another marathon of lifting, cleaning, and exhaustion.

  But hopefully one thing would be different.

  Hopefully tonight would end with a special kind of nightcap… if Richard kept his word.

  Morning came and went not in minutes, but in bouts of back-breaking labor. Trig sent the men outside to work in the backyard. Malcolm, Paul, and the others pulled weeds, cut the grass, and trimmed tree limbs. Then it was over to the garage to pick up some bags of mulch. They spent the rest of the morning spreading them over flower beds. Malcolm and Paul worked side by side, inching ever closer to the hibiscus Richard had described. Finally, when Trig wasn't looking, Paul crept behind them and took a peek.

  “Nothing. He must have taken the bottle.”

  Malcolm nodded. “I hope you're right.”

  “How are we going to get everyone together tonight? We don't know when it will happen… if it even happens.”

  “It'll happen,” said Malcolm, trying to convince himself just as much as his fellow conspirator. “I'll think of something. Just follow my lead.”

  “Ugh. What now?”

  Their voices trailed off when Trig started yelling in the yard behind them. “We'll repaint this fence. No. Scratch that. Tear it down and make a higher one instead. Master and mistress love their privacy.”

  “Yes, sir,” the servants said.

  “That's right,” Trig said. “Now come on in for lunch. We've got a lot of work ahead of us.”

  They joined the women on the patio for sandwiches and iced tea. Malcolm slipped behind Charlotte in the buffet line and told her about the missing bottle.

  “Good,” she said. “Let's just hope this works.”

  Everyone crowded onto the porch and ate their lunches standing up. Malcolm's stomach started growling as soon as his plate was empty. The serving women had perfected the art of offering as little food possible to keep his body running without the slightest degree of satisfaction. A few minutes later, they came by to collect the plates. Everyone had learned to make their food disappear quickly. Everyone except Rebecca and Maurice. They sat side by side on a patio table, savoring their san
dwiches with golden liquid chasers.

  “Honey,” Maurice said, “what happened to Richard? I haven't seen him around all day.”

  Rebecca smiled. “Maybe he had enough of you and finally gave up.”

  Then they were both laughing, pounding their fists on the table in a fit of drunken lunacy. Malcolm crept behind them until their laughter died off…

  And then he made his move.

  “Master Maurice?”

  Trig flashed between him and the table. “I'm sorry, sir.” Then he turned to Malcolm, glowering. “I don't know where you found your nerve, Morris. But we're going to make it disappear. I guarantee it.”

  Maurice got up and backed away from the table. “That's okay, Triggy. I'm in a good mood today.” He looked Malcolm up and down with part fascination and part disgust. “Gambling man. I remember you. Normally I'd have my faithful overseer here cut out your tongue for speaking out of turn. But you played me pretty well heads up. What do you want?”

  Malcolm cleared his throat. “Thank you, sir. That's… actually what this is about. I was wondering if you'd like to play another game after dinner tonight? If you aren't doing anything.”

  Maurice's eyes lit up, and he started clapping his hands. “Why that's a wonderful idea, Morris. So wonderful I'm surprised I didn't think of it myself. Yes. Absolutely. You and your friends and a few others.” He raised his voice. “Impress Trig with your work today, everyone. If you're lucky, you'll get to join our little game.”

  Nods spread through the group. “Thank you, master.”

  Maurice lunged for Malcolm and slapped him on the shoulder. Gold liquid coated his lips. Malcolm could smell it all over him. “See you tonight, Morris.”

  “Yes, sir. See you tonight.”

  * * * *

  The rest of the day crept by in an endless cadence of sweat and exertion. Malcolm checked the mark on his arm—felt his pulse for the slightest change—all afternoon. So far those lips had lain dormant, cool to the touch. He and Paul spent a few hours planting flowers, though the work with the soil did nothing to calm his nerves.

  “You have to get me close to them,” Malcolm said. “You know. When she comes.”