“Stand down, Heckmaster.” Eliakim’s eyes were frosty, his mouth turned down in a fierce scowl. “I take no pleasure in killing this woman, nor do I wish to kill you. This is the only way. Take pride in what was accomplished here today. Your enemy is defeated. The Pit is closed. You are but one step from peace.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking, you winged rat.” Hatred for the angel burned through him. His enemy. How had he ever admired Eliakim’s skill with the broadsword? Felt relief when the angel killed his demon brethren? He flexed his hands, wishing he could get close enough to inflict the same damage on Eliakim as his holy touch gave Rosemar.
“You think because I do not give into love as easily as a human that I cannot love? When my father said, ‘Obey me and love the mortals who walk the world I created’, I did not rebel as my brothers. I loved them because Father told me to do so. Do you believe I have no feelings for the woman this demon has trapped? How it pains me to hurt her. Her last wish was peace and she will have it because my father wants it for her.”
Fresh anger darkened Eliakim’s face. Eban shifted his gaze to Rosemar. She was shaking, her struggles a little less frantic.
“Pathetic,” she whispered. “Go on, then and kill her, but I’ll return. I’ll always return.”
Her face reddened as Eliakim increased the pressure on her throat. Eban didn’t hesitate, just moved, ripping Eliakim’s hands away from Rosemar. She gasped for breath and staggered away while he wrestled the angel. Eliakim’s hands burned against him, the same constitution as holy water, but he only knew if he didn’t send Eliakim away, everything he loved would be gone.
His foe was bigger, stronger, had all of Heaven on his side and it was mere seconds before he had Eban on the ground, the sword at his throat.
“I am sorry. Forgive me.”
He closed his eyes as the sword’s razor edge nicked his throat, fiery hot. It would be a relief, stepping out of the mortal body, going somewhere—anywhere—else instead of being weighed down by human problems.
“Wait.”
Eban’s eyes snapped open again as Azazel called out. He’d forgotten the fallen angel was here, watching the whole fight as though he was sitting in a private box at the theater.
“Oh, he has a devil in him, this one, but so much human emotion. He controls it even though it wishes to break free. I’ve seldom seen the like.” Azazel cackled and rubbed his hands together. “Prince Seere is dead due to his own self-importance, Prince Astaroth banished to my prisons for millennia of torture, and Baron Seneca awaiting new command. It doesn’t seem fair that two of our players are given such rotten fates.”
Eliakim’s hands trembled. “You know this cannot be allowed. She cannot remain on earth and he cannot set the demon free.”
“I know that as well as anyone.” Azazel rubbed his knobby chin. “What can we do with the pair of them?”
“Let Beryl go,” Eban ground out. “She didn’t ask for any of this.”
Azazel nodded, then held up one finger. “What is the price of her ransom?”
He didn’t hesitate. “My life. Mine for hers.”
“Agreed. To Hell.” Azazel pointed at Rosemar, his wicked smile firmly in place. A current of blue energy raced from his finger to her body. She jerked as though hit with a lightning bolt.
Eban struggled against Eliakim, but the angel wouldn’t budge. Rosemar’s lips pulled back in a snarl, but it faded as her eyes rolled up in her head and she collapsed. A sob tore from Eban’s throat. He couldn’t reach her because Eliakim would never allow him up. Beryl was wounded, had to be exhausted, and he wasn’t even sure she was alive.
“Do it, Eliakim. Make it quick,” he whispered. The rage inside him died, burning out like used-up coal. The aches and twinges in his body intensified and he looked forward to the release of death.
“Ah, but I need my one to guard the present. Is it a task you can manage if you have the woman you love?” Rocks crunched beneath Azazel’s feet.
Eban looked up into the fallen angel’s snake-like eyes. “What?”
“An old prophecy, one that assures demons do not take over this world. I may be banished from Heaven, I may have a palate for darkness and chaos, but I take the prophecies seriously. You have always understood the humans better than your brothers. I need a representative if we’re to make Berner safe for all beings.”
“What’s the catch?” Eban asked. “There’s something you want from me. Some deed in exchange for your mercy.”
“I forgive your incredulity—this time. Do not press me. When the mood strikes, I am kind and giving, as my father taught me. If you go against me, be warned, I will show no clemency, but you have it this day. Your life and that of Beryl Brookshier, whole and complete. Is that not what you desired?” Azazel blinked, waiting for Eban’s answer.
“That’s exactly what I want.”
“Let him go, Eliakim. I believe you’re wanted at home. A word to the wise, Heckmaster. Do not call the angels again. They are not here for your whims and quibbles.”
“Yes, my lord.” He shook himself as Eliakim helped him up. “I’m sorry if I caused trouble by invoking angels.”
The fallen angel lord nodded. “The fate of the Gray Side is in turmoil. For now, I will hold sway over Prince Seere’s domain. When the time is right, your father will control the legions meant to protect the Gray Lands and this section of Earth. His old territories.”
Eban had stopped listening. He knelt by Beryl, feeling for her pulse and sighing with relief when he found it. The burns on her skin were blistered and red, but easily taken care of if he could get her back to the clinic.
He pulled her into his arms. “She needs help.”
“I’ll open a portal into town for you. Be warned that the battle for Earth is not over. Astaroth is in no position to fight again, but he has followers and generals beneath him. Demons still roam throughout the world and you should never let your guard down.” Azazel looked pointedly at Tell. Then he nodded and a hole rippled into existence near Eban. “Fare thee well, Heckmasters.”
Eban didn’t hesitate. He stepped through the portal and into the street in front of his clinic. Rhia sat on the steps, but bolted to her feet when she saw him.
“What happened? Where’s Wys? Is Astaroth coming? Say something, Eban.”
She’d no more finished than Wystan stepped into the street. She threw herself into his arms and he held her close.
“It’s all right. We’re all safe,” he told her.
Speak for yourself. Eban gritted his teeth as Rhia kissed Wystan’s dirt-streaked face. Had he forgotten they’d nearly killed Beryl moments ago?
Tell limped through the portal, the bolt sticking clean through his leg.
“You’d better come along so I can pull that out,” Eban said. He wasn’t ready to forgive Tell for attempting to shoot Beryl, but he didn’t trust his brother to remove it without creating more damage.
“I’m sorry,” Tell muttered.
“You didn’t think Beryl was going to survive. You never gave her a chance.” He shouldered past his brother and balanced Beryl so he could open the door. He felt more satisfaction than he should that Tell was suffering a taste of his own medicine.
Beryl looked small, pale and fragile when he laid her in his bed. Torn because he didn’t want to leave her, he hesitated at her side. Her chest rose and fell evenly, a good sign, even if she wasn’t awake.
“I’ll be back after I fix up Tell, all right?”
He brushed her hair back and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
Tell sat on the edge of the table in the examination room, his hands balled into fists, shoulders slumped in pain as he waited for Eban. It wasn’t the worst wound he’d sustained—nothing compared to the bullet Eban had fished out of his stomach weeks ago.
“You’re halfway pleased she turned the bolt on me, aren
’t you?”
Eban washed his hands, watching the dirt and blood swirl in his washbasin. “I didn’t say that.”
“You don’t need to. It shows.”
When he turned, he froze in place, aware Tell was searching his mind. The world seemed to bend, time passed by slowly and his heart beat painfully in his chest. The feeling fled and Tell blinked.
“Satisfied?” Eban wiped his hands on a towel and opened a drawer to retrieve tools to remove the bolt.
“You changed back there, Eb. Red eyes, nasty attitude, the whole bit.” Tell stared at his wound. “I wanted to make sure that you’re you.”
“I’m me.” He slammed the drawer shut. “I’ve always been me.”
Except for that short time when his demon side wanted to rip Tell and Wystan apart for threatening Beryl.
“You loved her, even like that. I wasn’t sure it was possible.” Tell flinched when Eban brought out the scissors and cut his pant leg up the seam to the wound. It had turned black around the edges thanks to his allergy to the silver tip. “It wasn’t Rosemar you wanted to save, it was Beryl.”
“Yes.”
He recalled the conversation he’d had with Beryl about how he never had patients and she’d told him not to wish for them. She was right, of course. He shouldn’t have complained. Exhausted to the bone, he wanted nothing more than to join Beryl in bed.
“That’s interesting.” Tell’s voice was faint.
“Do you want to know what it felt like?”
Wystan didn’t talk about when he’d turned. He’d saved their lives while he was under the control of his demon, but he’d fought it the entire time, just as Seneca had when he started falling in love with their mother.
“Not really. It might—Jesus, careful with those scissors. Is that the needle you’re using?” Tell gripped the sides of the table, his eyes widening.
“Might what?”
“You know. Set something off.” Tell reached for the needle, but Eban knocked his hand away.
“Don’t touch that. Your fingers are filthy.” He reached for the iodine, then dribbled it over the bolt and wound.
Tell hissed. “Some bedside manner.”
He ignored the jibe. “There’s no setting it off. It’s there, waiting, all the time. If the demon wants out, if you give it enough slack, it’ll come out. Keep it corralled as long as you can.”
“It subsided when Azazel released Beryl. I’ve never heard of that before.”
“That’s love for you.” Wystan stood in the doorway, a hulking figure clutching the crumpled form of Tell’s hat. His gaze slid to the bolt and back to Eban. He looked faintly green beneath his tan. “You need help?”
“You can hold Tell upright, keep his hands away from his leg and my head. Wash your hands in case I need you to hold the wound open.”
“Love, huh?” Tell asked. “You really believe that?”
“Deep in my bones,” Wystan said, splashing water over his hands. “The leg gonna be all right?”
“Should be good as new this time tomorrow. If it doesn’t take infection.” Eban waited for Wystan to grip their younger brother. “This is gonna hurt.”
He snapped the fletching off the bolt and barely looked up when Tell passed out and slumped against Wys. The shaft slipped through the muscle with little resistance.
“Lean him back. This will throb like the devil for a few hours, but the black will clear up and I doubt if it leaves a scar.” He cleaned it with iodine again, then wiped away the excess brownish liquid. “I hope this will remind him to keep his bolts clean. He’s not the neatest demon hunter in existence.”
“You all right?” Wystan gave him a long look.
“Tired, worried, relieved, but I think I’ll live.” He began stitching the wound. “The demon is quiet.”
“Good. Tell worked his magic?”
Eban looked up and snorted. “Of course.”
“We just want to know it’s safe. You understand.”
“I do.” He tied off the thread. “No one is giving you a once-over. I saw the demon blood boiling in your eyes.”
“True,” Wystan admitted. “But it’s not my first time and I didn’t go berserk because the woman I love was in danger. You’d have killed us if it meant saving her.”
“Can you honestly say the only reason you didn’t shoot her is because you didn’t have a crossbow? I’ve seen you with that knife. You could’ve thrown it at her, but Tell was a better bet.” He carried his dirty instruments to the washbasin.
“He did what he thought was right.”
“He did it because he had no faith that we’d get rid of Rosemar. If he thinks I’m forgiving him easily for this, he’s dead wrong.” Eban folded his arms. “I love her, Wys. Whether she’s demon possessed or just herself.”
“I’m glad for you. I mean it. Not because it means you stop drooling after my wife, but because you deserve it. She’s a good lady, a good match for you.”
The sincerity on his brother’s face left Eban reeling. Though he was still awful at being sentimental, at least Wystan was trying. “Thank you.”
“Let the brat get better before you give him too much trouble.”
“Only as a favor to you.”
He unbuttoned his shirt, wincing at the gracken bite mark on his forearm, the goose egg growing on the back of his head, the burn marks on his arms and hands and the hole in his upper back. The bite itched as his body destroyed the gracken venom.
Wystan grimaced. “You look like hell.”
“I’ve felt better.”
“Is there something I can do for you?” Wystan looked awkwardly around the room. “Dab some kind of ointment on that gaping hole in your back? Or that nasty bite?”
“If you want to do something really helpful get out of here. I need some time alone.” He looked at the ceiling. Beryl needed the rest. Her body had handled the burden of hosting a demon far too long. “I’ll take care of everything else. You may as well go home to Rhia.”
“You gonna get some sleep, give those wounds a chance to heal?” Wystan’s brows drew together in a sharp scowl.
Not until Beryl woke up and proved she was herself, but Wys didn’t need to know that.
“I promise.”
Wystan picked up the discarded, broken bolt and wagged it at Eban. “See that you do. You’ve got a big job ahead, acting as liaison between what we do here and what we’re about to do.”
“We’re really opening Berner to humans.” He leaned against the washbasin and sighed.
“I don’t think Azazel is giving us a choice.”
Maybe not, but he had a chance at happiness with Beryl. That was worth every ounce of misery Berner brought him from here on out.
Chapter Twenty-One
Excluding the Dukes and Beryl, for the first time since the Heckmasters were children, there were humans in Berner. A new schoolteacher, a carpenter and his family, a blacksmith, a couple setting up a general store, and a stonemason were all preparing to open businesses and tempt more settlers into the area. Beryl had helped Eban compose the letter to hire a schoolteacher and an ad to draw potential business owners in. Seeing the fruit of their labor gave her a little chill. Rhia might have laid the foundation that opened the doors to Berner, but Beryl was there to help welcome the people who would build the town from the ground up.
“I never thought I’d see the day. Not after how this town looked when we first arrived.” Beryl leaned against Eban as they stood outside his clinic in the evening sunlight. “You think they suspect anything?”
“Not a thing. The glamour is strong enough even I have trouble spotting some of our more unusual-looking friends.” Eban slipped his arm around her waist. “Meacham’s raising hell about it. You’d think he’d like a new face.”
“Don’t make fun of him. You’d be cranky all the time too if
you’d spent a few hundred years cleaning up messes other people made. He’s entitled to a little freedom and if he wants to be messy himself, he deserves it.”
“He wasn’t exactly tripping over himself to welcome our newcomers.”
“It’s a lot of change to accept at one time.” It seemed like they all had a lot to overcome. For her, it was knowing she’d been used by Rosemar to accomplish some nasty business. The memory of killing Seere stayed with her. He might have been using the Heckmasters for his own purposes, but she didn’t believe he deserved such a gruesome death. As for Rosemar, she hoped that particular demon was getting all the punishment she deserved and more. If Azazel had anything to do with doling out judgment, it was going to be many more thousands of years before either Rosemar or Seere saw Earth again.
“You’re frowning,” Eban said. “You’re thinking about her, aren’t you?”
“I hate her, but at the same time, I know if she hadn’t found me in that alley, we wouldn’t be together. I wish I could forget all the horrible things she did for Seere and on her own.” The warmth radiating from Eban’s body helped ease the chills that took over when she thought about Rosemar trying to hurt Sylvie and then slaying Seere.
“That wasn’t you. None of it was your fault. It’s true—if not for Rosemar, who knows if we would have found one another, but I choose to believe we would have.” Eban dropped his hand from her waist. “Walk with me?”
“Wystan still doesn’t trust the streets at night.”
“He worries too much. With all the humans coming to town, he thinks the old effects of our father’s curse will make them drop dead any second. Sad, because he wants normalcy as much as I do.” Eban smiled. “It’ll take some time to get used to. We have plenty of it now that we’re not constantly fretting about Astaroth.”
She nodded. In the three weeks since Astaroth’s defeat, she’d regained some of her strength from playing hostess to a demon. The burns from Eliakim’s touch had healed, leaving only a few scars. Lifelong reminders that while things seemed perfect right now, there was another side of the world few people knew about.
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