Eban

by Allison Merritt

  “I love you. Just be careful,” she whispered, words muffled against his shoulder.

  The earth trembled under their feet. She wrinkled her nose when the scent of charred flesh reached them.

  He held her at arm’s length. “Go to Rhia and Sylvie. You’ll be safe there.”

  She didn’t know how he could guarantee that and even worried they might not be safe with her. She opened her mouth to protest, but Seere grabbed her arm.

  “I’m afraid not. I need Rosemar. She’s part of this and we need all the help we can get.”

  Eban’s lips drew back in a snarl and he reached for Seere, but Beryl blocked his hand.

  “Don’t. I’ll still get to say goodbye. He promised.”

  Seere smirked.

  “We don’t have time for this, Eb.”

  At Wystan’s deep voice, Eban lowered his arm.

  “Fine, but this isn’t settled. I pay my own debts.”

  Wystan’s shoulders slumped and Beryl knew he was thinking about what it would do to Rhia if something happened to him.

  “She’ll be all right,” Beryl said. “We’ll all be fine.”

  He nodded, but seemed unconvinced.

  She turned to Seere again. “I suppose if you need Rosemar, now’s the time to call her.”

  “Smart girl. I like you, Beryl. Pity about the deal you made.” Seere lifted his hand and placed it on her forehead.

  Pain flared at her temples. She squinted at Eban, wishing she could work her mouth to tell him she loved him one more time. Then the world slid into a red haze.

  Eban wrapped his hand around Beryl’s arm as she hunched over in pain.

  “Goddammit, Seere, she doesn’t have to be part of this,” he growled.

  “I need every able-bodied demon at hand. You’re afraid, but for all the wrong reasons,” Seere said.

  Clouds rolled over Berner, but they moved too fast to be normal. They were sickly green and brown, smoke released from Hell that clogged the streets. Eban coughed, pushing the rancid scents of rotting meat and burning flesh out of his lungs. Darkness closed in, snuffing out the sun. The only light came from Eliakim, who held his broadsword aloft.

  The ground buckled under their feet, splitting down the street with the same ease as a toddler smashing a cookie. The building across from the clinic collapsed in on itself.

  Beryl straightened, her eyes flashing. One moment she was Beryl, but the next Rosemar took over.

  “My lord.” Rosemar nodded at Seere and jerked her arm out of Eban’s grasp. “I’ll require a weapon.”

  “Of course.” Seere held out his hand and the hatchet that had once belonged to Sandra Heckmaster appeared. “I believe you’re already acquainted with this one.”

  She took it and ran her finger across the blade. “Thank you.”

  “You’re going to keep your word.” Eban pushed Rosemar out of the way. “You’re going to bring Beryl back.”

  Anger flared in Seere’s eyes, no match for the rage boiling inside Eban. “I’ll allow a quick parting, but nothing more. There is no way out of this. We made a deal and I will not negotiate with the pair of you again.”

  “Where’d you get the body for Father?” He curled his fists, restraining himself from grabbing Seere by the collar.

  “It makes no difference. I’m not reassigning Rosemar. We have a prince to defeat, in case you’ve forgotten.” Seere held up his hand and a gust of wind pushed Eban backward. “Unless the three of you want Berner razed to the ground.”

  “C’mon, Eb.” Tell put his hand on Eban’s shoulder. “We got a fight to finish out there.”

  Eban swallowed hard, looking out at the dark desert before them. Beryl doesn’t come back unless Astaroth is locked away for good.

  He glanced at his father, remembering the mulish expression and the obedient manner Wystan had acted when he was trying to control his demon side against Noem. The way Seneca looked was no different. He only had ears for what his master commanded him to do. Eban’s fury grew. He couldn’t allow his father to mindlessly follow Seere’s lead.

  “Let’s go.”

  Seere clapped his hands together. The portal behind him widened. “We’re not walking. We’re traveling with flair.”

  He stepped aside, waving one hand at the shimmering blue portal.

  “I don’t like this,” Eban said.

  Tell’s mouth pinched. “Me either.”

  Eliakim shook his head and disappeared.

  “It’ll be fine.” Wystan waited for Seere and Seneca to enter the portal, then followed. It sucked him in with a faint pop like a bubble bursting.

  Tell’s brow furrowed. “What the hell.”

  He entered next, leaving Rosemar with Eban.

  “He’s right. You’re afraid for all the wrong reasons. You think you’re going to lose Beryl, but think of what you’ll gain instead.” She gave him a tight smile. “I’m going to kill Seere, you know. I’ve been his puppet long enough.”

  “I don’t care if you kill him, but why can’t you do it from someone else’s body? Is it too much to ask that you leave Beryl and go your own way?” He wanted to shake her, but kept his hands knotted.

  “You haven’t considered that I’m probably going to kill you too. Or at least make you wish you were dead.” Red light flashed in her eyes and she moved past him, graceful as a dove, slipping into the blue glow like she’d done it a hundred times before. She disappeared before her words settled in his mind.

  She’d have to kill him if she meant to stay alive, because he’d never stop hunting her if she took away the woman he loved.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Heat scorched Eban’s skin as he emerged from the portal. He held his arm in front of his face when he stepped up beside his brothers. The seal across the Pit was still in place, but appeared shattered, with spiderwebs of cracks across the surface.

  Eban had never touched it himself, but he’d always imagined it was a soft surface instead of a hard one. He glanced at his father to see if Seneca recognized the area. Nothing registered on the demon’s face. He was still firmly under Seere’s control.

  Despite the demon lords’ story that Seneca was a baron, he merely appeared to be another human. A little too handsome, the way demons often were when they assumed human form, but it was easy to see why Gloria had fallen in love with him.

  Sweat made his grip on his saber slip. It was clear Seneca had no idea what they were about to ask of him. Eban moved in front of him, shielding him from Seere’s grasp.

  “What happens when you send him back?”

  Seere tilted his head. “Concerned about your sire? How human of you. You needn’t worry. A second venture into the Pit won’t kill him. He won’t feel a thing and he won’t end up in Astaroth’s prison again.”

  “This time when the Pit closes, it’s for good?” Wystan clutched his bowie knife, fingers tightening and loosening on the grip. “No more worrying about breaking seals by accident?”

  “You have my word. Assuming you remember the spell Berith gave you.”

  “I remember. Don’t fret about it.” Eban glanced over his shoulder at Seneca. I’m sorry. “I’m ready to begin when everyone else is.”

  Seere gestured at the Pit. “At your leisure, Heckmaster.”

  The barrier across the Pit expanded almost a hundred feet, a huge hole in the surface of the earth. A shadow passed beneath it, bigger than any monster Eban had ever encountered. His tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth. The ground trembled hard enough to make loose gravel rattle over the hard-packed sand. A deep rumble filled the air.

  “Perhaps I was a bit hasty in allowing leisure. Quicker is better.” Seere placed his hand over his sword hilt, long fingers tightening on the metal.

  “Is that Astaroth?” Tell asked.

  “Indeed.”

  “All
right, Eb,” Wystan said.

  The words were no sooner out of his mouth than the form beneath the barrier attacked it. The crash nearly knocked Eban off his feet. New cracks appeared in the green surface. Seere grabbed his arm, pushing him toward the edge.

  “Get off me,” Eban growled, shoving the prince away.

  “Say the words. Seneca cannot offer himself as sacrifice without the spell.”

  There were no signs of panic or worry on his father’s face. His eyes, although returned to the same shade of blue his offspring bore, were blank and pinned to the Pit. A scraping noise came from the opposite side of the barrier.

  “Hand,” Seere ordered.

  Seneca presented his hand, palm up. Seere sliced a thin knife across the demon’s flesh. Dark red blood welled up from the cut. If Seneca noticed the pain, he showed no emotion. He might have been unconscious, except for the occasional blink.

  Eban watched blood spread over his father’s palm. “With this blood, I bind the spirits under Earth.”

  Fat droplets splattered the ground and the shaking eased a bit. Two massive hands pressed against the barrier. A yellow glow appeared between the cracks and the scent of burning flesh increased, choking Eban. He coughed, fighting the urge to gag.

  Tell slapped him across the back. “Go on. Get it over with.”

  “With this breath, I close the gap.”

  A fine silvery mist left Seneca’s nostrils. For a moment, his eyes brightened, rolling wildly in his head. The mist spread across the barrier, changing the glow from yellow to blinding silver.

  “With this heart, I scorn evil and give the world a—”

  His voice died as Seere raised the knife and plunged it into Seneca’s chest. Their father let out a piercing shout, fighting against the blade sticking out between his ribs. It slid free with a wet sucking sound.

  Eban put his hand out to offer comfort the way he would have for any of his patients. Seere knocked his arm away.

  “Finish the spell, before he breaks free and you damn us all!”

  Dazed, Eban struggled to remember the line he hadn’t finished. “With-with this heart I scorn evil and give the world a chance.”

  Seneca howled and lunged at Eban. Before he got close, Wystan knocked him away with a haymaker. Seneca’s nose crunched under Wystan’s fist, but he rushed forward again, deftly sweeping past Wystan and pouncing on Eban.

  “No! I won’t go back there.”

  Short, sharp nails bit into Eban’s neck as Seneca tried to strangle him. They hit the rocky ground in a tangle of limbs. Wystan and Tell wrestled Seneca away.

  Eban climbed to his feet, pressing his hand to his throat. “I’m sorry, I know—”

  Seneca growled, lunging for him again, but his sons held him back. “I am the baron of New Mexico Territory. I will kill you all for this!”

  Spittle flew from his mouth as his eyes rolled, flashing bright red.

  “Do you know who we are?” Eban asked.

  “Worms, maggots, stinking offal!” Seneca spat.

  The shallow scrapes on his neck didn’t compare to the pain the names caused. “We’re your boys. Wystan, Ebanezeer and Tell.”

  The hulking creature below the barrier rammed into it again, shaking the earth.

  “There’s no time for this.” Seere’s hair was in disarray, his clothes smudged with dust. “Astaroth is coming.”

  Blood pumped from the wound in Seneca’s chest. Eliakim stepped calmly around Seere, expression calm. His big hand settled on Seneca’s head.

  “Listen to them.”

  Seneca hissed in pain until Eliakim withdrew his hand. The rage in Seneca’s eyes died. He looked at Wystan, then Tell. “My boys?”

  “Eliakim!” Seere tore at the angel’s arm, then recoiled as the touch burned him. “We’re all going to die if we don’t stop Astaroth!”

  Tears welled in Seneca’s eyes. “I didn’t know. I hurt you, Eban.” He struggled to his feet, arms wide. “You’re all grown. How long have I been gone? Where’s your sister? Where’s…oh God. Gloria.”

  Seneca’s fists clenched, then relaxed as he stared down at them.

  “They’re gone,” Eban said softly. “Sandra had a parasite imp. She tried to kill Wys.”

  Seneca’s face paled. “She’s dead.”

  “Yes. Ma too.”

  “What happened?” Seneca’s voice cracked.

  “The humans in town killed her.” Tell clenched his fists. “They’re all gone now. Your protection worked.”

  A tear carved a path down Seneca’s cheek—an all-too-human reaction from a demon who had once ruled over a good portion of the Southwest. The barrier shook and splintered again, the fine cracks glowing brightly.

  “Astaroth is trying to escape again.” Seneca wiped the tear away. “The divine fire has burned out.”

  Eban swallowed the lump in his throat. “I volunteered to stand in as the sacrifice, but Seere said it had to be you.”

  Seneca smiled, a mixture of pride and sorrow. “You were always the most like your mother. The fixer. Ah, Eb, it has to be me. Seere’s right. I started this.” He touched the sticky blood on his shirt. “I’m proud of you boys. That you’ve come this far, even though it must have been a struggle without your mother and me. Losing Sandra. But you’re alive and that’s what I care about.”

  Rosemar sneered. “As lovely as the family reunion is, can we—”

  A fist hit the barrier and shards flew out of the opening, shattering around them.

  “Finish the goddamned spell,” Seere snapped.

  Seneca pushed Eban back. “With this blood, I bind the spirits under Earth. With this breath, I close the gap. With this heart, I scorn evil and give the world a chance.”

  The fist pushed through the ragged edges of the barrier. Dark brown blood rolled from the monster’s forearm, staining the glowing barrier.

  “I’m coming for you, Heckmasters. I’ll make slaves of you. When I unleash my legions, you will know despair and fear.” Astaroth’s voice was composed of darkness and made Eban’s insides churn. “It will make the punishment Noem received seem like a holiday.”

  A cackling barghest escaped from the Pit when the fist receded. It skittered across the broken barrier, charging for them. Eliakim dispatched it, sending the head flying. A half dozen more barghests followed, their hooves clacking on the broken surface. Behind them two dozen changesteeds rolled out and the winged lizard-bats soared into the air.

  The waves kept coming as the barrier crumbled under Astaroth’s great scaly hand. Monsters clawed their way up the sides of the heat-scorched earth, wailing and crying for blood. Ursa and gorilla demons exploded from cracks around the Pit, followed closely by grakken. Hooves and craws scraped and shrieked against the sandstone. Fire burst around the monsters, closing the Heckmasters, Eliakim, Rosemar and Seere in a circle.

  The barrier gave an eerie groan and the remaining pieces tumbled into the Pit. Creatures Eban couldn’t begin to identify flew out of the opening.

  He grasped for his saber, the hilt slipping from his sweaty hand. The number of demons swarming around them made Noem’s attack seem inconsequential.

  “Don’t let them get behind us,” Wystan said.

  Eban gaped. “You can’t think we’re walking away from this.”

  “Shut up and draw that saber.” Tell held his crossbow at shoulder level. “Astaroth is coming.”

  A tarnished golden crown appeared at the edge of the Pit. The head wearing it was the size of a building and the eyes that followed gleamed with red light and evil so menacing, Eban’s chest hurt.

  He glanced at Eliakim, whose mouth was stretched taut, shoulders tense as he held his sword at the ready. On his other side, Seere was also in battle stance, sword up. Rosemar stood beside him, hatchet clutched loosely in her hand, but she balanced on her toes, a fighter ready
for the first blow.

  “There’s still time to bind him,” Seneca whispered. He touched the wound in his chest and closed his eyes, drawing invisible lines in the air.

  Eban barely heard him over the clatter of demon noise. He couldn’t pull his gaze away from Astaroth. A long hooked nose hung over the prince’s twisted mouth, which displayed a vengeful smile. His face was ancient, as though carved from old wood and weathered over time. He’d draped ragged red velvet robes across his muscled chest and waist. The hot breeze boiling out of the Pit made the material flutter.

  The sigil Seneca traced in the air glowed red, then disappeared.

  For a long moment, Astaroth didn’t move. He smiled at the group gathered in front of him, hot red eyes focusing on each of them before seeking the next. He stopped at Seere and revealed wicked teeth so long and sharp, Eban saw bits of flesh and cloth caught between them.

  “So Seere makes Ea’s war his own, Seneca escapes Hell, the Heckmasters band together and an angel comes to assist. How will I ever win?” He tapped one finger against his lips as his smile faded. “I have all the power of Hell behind me. I am king, master, and you are dreaming if you think I’ll relinquish my throne to anyone else. The four imposters who called themselves kings couldn’t stop me nor shall any of you.”

  Out of the steam, a creature solidified, a great dragon the color of a starless night with long rows of golden spikes trailing down its back. It tilted its head back and roared, spewing red flames into the air.

  “Run while you’re able,” Astaroth advised.

  Eban’s feet felt leaden, stuck to the ground as though he’d sprouted there instead of traveling through space in Seere’s portal. His heart threatened to beat through his chest, but he drew his saber, listening to the ring of silver against the weathered leather sheath.

  Rosemar stepped up beside him with the hatchet poised to strike. Her face was flushed with anger, chin jutting forward. He read the bloodlust boiling to the surface and he felt it too, his demon side burning with the need to kill.