by Megan Derr
"Deputy," the man at the counter greeted warmly, but his smile faltered, turned into wide-eyed surprise, as he saw Bannick. Then he snapped back to Myre. "Something wrong?"
Bannick removed his hat and set it on the counter. "I need to send a telegram."
"Yes, Father," the man replied and handed over pencil and paper for him to write his message.
Not bothering to tell him to leave off the formality, too intent upon what he was doing, Bannick quickly penciled his message and handed it back. "Send this to Crown City, the Temple of the Priests."
"Yes, Father," the man said again and turned away to send the message.
Bannick picked up his hat and moved to sit on a bench along the far wall, forcing himself to wait patiently for a reply. He fervently hoped there was a powerful enough necromancer nearby because he sensed the Seal would break entirely in another day at best. The most he had been able to do was buy a few hours. Even his particular brand of 'supplemented' magic was no match for a dire demon. If he had to travel more than a town or two over or wait several days for a necromancer to arrive …
"Reply," the man at the counter said.
Surprised it had come so quickly, Bannick rose and crossed to the counter, accepting the slip of paper with a nod and thanks. The message was brief, but it said all that needed to be said. Necromancer on way. Ezell Underwood. Arrive morning 630.
There was a necromancer already en route. The necromancer was Ezell. He had never thought to run across that name again; he had forced himself to push Ezell to the back of his mind, to live forever as the sweetest of memories, one of Bannick's few, precious, happy memories. Who would have thought his sweet, quiet Ezell would become a necromancer?
Bannick had never found it so hard to breathe.
Gathering himself, he thanked the telegraph operator again, then slid his hat on and motioned for Myre to follow him outside. Standing by their horses, he told Myre in low tones, "The Crown has already sent a necromancer; he's arriving on the morning six thirty train. I'll pick him up and take him straight to the cave. Do you and your wife have room to put him up? The Crown will be paying, of course."
"Kate's always got rooms," Myre said easily. "I'm just glad they've already sent someone. They anticipated a dire, huh?"
Bannick nodded. "Yes, though nothing of quite this caliber. We were hoping someone had just sealed away something like your dire dog, since they wouldn't have been able to kill it."
Myre muttered choice curses under his breath. "I wish that was all it was, too. I'm going to need to go speak with the Sheriff about this. You had best come along, to back up what I'm saying."
"Of course," Bannick replied. But as they rode off, all he could think about was Ezell and the fact that they would be meeting again, when Bannick had been certain they would never cross paths again.
They'd met when they had been stranded in the city of Hallow. The snow there had stranded everyone, and everything. Bannick had been just twenty-two, a brand new Class Two so proud of the blue collar he had earned well ahead of expectations. Ezell had been a student, a couple of years younger than Bannick, eager to go abroad to schools and places that Bannick would likely never see. He had been the most beautiful person Bannick had ever seen, all long, smooth gold hair and the prettiest hazel eyes framed by delicate spectacles.
The snow had stranded them in Hallow for two weeks; it had not taken them more than a day and a half to become lovers. Bannick had never met anyone, before or since, like Ezell. When the snow had finally let up, and they'd been forced to go their separate ways, Bannick had never been more devastated.
One month later, he had been sent to tend a minor problem in a small farming town in the company of a senior Class Three who was training Bannick. The demon there killed the entire town and the senior agent in the end. By the time he had managed to destroy the demon and save a few small surviving children, Bannick's fate had been rewritten—no longer on the path to a Class Five black collar, but destined to go one step further to the notorious red.
Thirty-five now, going on thirty-six but feeling closer to eighty, those two weeks were still the sweetest memory he possessed. And in less than twelve hours, he would be seeing Ezell again.
Bannick did not know what to think, what to feel—what to do. Even a dire demon, at that moment, was nothing next to the moment when he had read Ezell's name on that little slip of paper.
Forcing the thoughts away, he tried to focus on the job, if only because it would make the time pass more quickly and the morning would come all the faster.
*~*~*
Bannick lit a cigar, even more restless than usual and barely able to listen to Myre's chatter. The train was ten minutes late and waiting was driving him crazy.
He wondered idly if Ezell remembered him, and how well. Nearly fifteen years was a long time. And he wasn't the type to worry much, but he did wonder. Not even the bittersweet smell of the calm weed was soothing him this morning; the restlessness stirring his blood was caused by something that no cigar would ever cure.
Bannick scratched at his cheek, realizing belatedly that he should have bothered to shave, but by the time he had finally fallen into bed, it had been later than he liked to think upon, and he had stayed in bed as long as he could. There'd been no time to shave—or do more than wash, dress, and eat quickly—before they had ridden off to meet the early train.
The sound of the whistle drew his head up sharply, and Bannick took another drag, trying to focus himself. He suspected, however, that telling himself such things were futile. That he was going to be seeing Ezell again in a matter of minutes had him more restless than usual, and nothing was going to fix it except for Ezell finally showing up.
"I sure hope this necromancer can take care of the dire demon," Myre said as the whistle faded.
"He can," Bannick said. "I knew him, once. Years ago. If he's even half the man now that he was then, we'll be just fine." Myre eyed him, expression more thoughtful than Bannick liked. He raised his brows in inquiry.
Smiling faintly, Myre asked, "Knew him once, huh? Like that, is it?"
"Like what?" Bannick asked, barely keeping the irritation from his voice. He hated know-it-alls. "Met him, oh, nearly fifteen years ago. Spent two weeks in Hallow, snowed in. Last I checked, that was like a whole lot of nothing."
Myre laughed. "Son, I had ambitions to be wealthy and powerful on the west coast. It took me seeing Kate once to decide that Deputy of this Podunk town was the life for me." He settled his hat on his head. "I’m thinkin' I'll go have another word with the Sheriff, and leave you to wait for the necromancer. Damn train is late, anyway." He winked and was gone.
Bannick rolled his eyes. Honestly, if there was one thing he really did not miss about this side of the country, it was the nosey, busybody nature of folk. Then the train came into view, and even Bannick's irritation slid away. He waited, sucking on his cigar as if his life depended on it as the train slowed to a stop and the passengers slowly began to disembark.
When he saw Ezell, it was like a punch to the gut, stealing all his breath and leaving him dizzy for a spell. Ezell was still so beautiful, even rumbled from hard travelling. Older, harder, rougher, but the hair still fell to his shoulders, as rich as gold in color, and there were gold-rimmed spectacles perched on the delicate nose—
Then Ezell looked up and saw him, his jaw dropping and eyes widening in complete surprise. He hadn't known, Bannick realized. Ezell hadn't know who, exactly, was meeting him. But the recognition that filled his face made Bannick the happiest person in the world. He pushed his way through the crowds of people, meeting Ezell halfway.
"I don't believe my eyes," Ezell said, hazel eyes still sharp and pretty behind the fancier spectacles. His accent was still sharp, smooth city, but Bannick had always liked it. He smiled at Bannick, and he might be a little rough around the edges now, but that smile was still soft and sweet. "Bannick Poore, as I live and breathe, and wearing an Exorcist's collar. Wonders never cease."
&nbs
p; Bannick smiled and lowered his cigar, leaving it to dangle all but forgotten from his fingers. "Wonders, indeed. When did you turn to necromancy, Ez?"
Sadness flitted across Ezell's face, but all he said was, "I got one hell of an education, overseas. How have you been, Ban?"
Bannick reached up with his free hand and lightly touched Ezell's cheek. He was in need of a shave, but didn't look bad at all for want of it. To his surprise, Ezell leaned in to the touch, eyes closing briefly, something like longing flitting across his face just as the sadness had a moment ago.
Kissing him seemed as effortless and natural as breathing, after that. Ezell tasted like coffee and cream, a hint of porridge and honey—and sweetened calm weed. Drawing back slightly in surprise, Bannick looked into the sad hazel eyes and asked softly, "Why the calm weed, Ez?"
In reply, Ezell plucked the forgotten cigar from Bannick's fingers and took a long drag, blowing the smoke out like a man who had done it a thousand times. "I told you," he said. "I got one hell of an education."
Bannick just kissed him again, figuring questions could wait. Ezell's kisses were new and old—the sweetness was there, the enthusiasm, but time and experience had transformed both into something much surer and richer.
"We should go," Ezell said softly when they finally parted. "You're making a spectacle, Father."
"I'm a spectacle anyway," Bannick said with a soft snort, but he stepped back to a more respectable distance. "Any bags or trunks we need to retrieve?"
Ezell shook his head. "No. I travel light."
Bannick nodded and led the way through the station, asking over his shoulder, "Do you ride?" The Ezell he'd known once had never been on a horse, a pure city slick who walked or took a carriage, but given the way he was dressed and the way he packed…
Laughter drew him up short, and he looked over his shoulder, drawing to a stop as Ezell replied with a smirk, "Now, Ban. You were the one who taught me to ride."
Bannick stared at him, surprised by the response even if he should not have been. Ezell had been inexperienced when they had met, but he had not been shy or hesitant, either. Fourteen years later, it only made sense he had no inhibitions left.
Returning the smirk, Bannick said, "I surely did, didn't I? Come on, then."
Like Bannick, Ezell carried only saddlebags and a satchel. It made Bannick wonder just how much travelling Ezell did that he travelled like a priest. He also dressed rather similarly, though rather than the frock coat Bannick favored, Ezell wore a black jacket with double-breasted brass buttons cut to his waist. Over his pants he wore black chaps—so, really, asking him if he rode had been a bit ridiculous.
Settling a hat much like Bannick's on his own head, Ezell swung smoothly up into the saddle and looked to Bannick. "Shall we go look at the cave? The sooner I can contain and destroy the dire demon, the better for everyone." He smiled and added quietly, "I never thought I would see you again, Ban. I'm glad I was wrong."
"I'm glad we were wrong, too," Bannick replied just as softly, drunk on those eyes just as he'd been fourteen years ago. Then he ducked his head, hand on his hat, and made himself focus on his job. "To the cave, then. I added some wards earlier that should be enough to buy some time."
He led the way out of town along an old, beat-up path, then onto a smaller path that wandered through the hills that surrounded the dusty town.
Halfway there, he jerked in pain and dismay. "My wards—the dire demon already broke through my wards—" He should have made them stronger! Damn it!
"Shit!" Ezell swore then turned his horse sharply and started back toward town.
Bannick was right beside him. The cave was pointless now, if the demon had gotten free. Right now, it wanted to replenish itself, and there was no better place to do that than town.
By the time they reached town however, they had clearly arrived too late. The chaos, however, seemed centralized around the Sheriff's office, of all places. Shoving their way through the madness, Bannick threw himself off his horse and raced up the steps—
Just as something out of a nightmare came out, crawling on all fours like a horrific beasts. Blood and gore dripped from its jaws, glistening wetly on black fur. If the thing had started out human, there was no obvious way to tell that now. It was a well-made dire demon, really, but that just meant it was going to be all the harder to kill.
It's voice was a guttural growl in Bannick's mind. Blood drinker.
Bannick drew his right gun and fired. The sound of the revolver firing cracked out, light flashing as the bullets left the gun, causing people to flee even more frantically than they already had been. The dire demon screamed as it was struck, but it didn't go down. All Bannick could do was stun it, keep it occupied. He fired again, keeping it distracted, pulling his other gun and alternating silver bullets with rune bullets. From the corner of his eye, he saw Myre appear to take care of the panicked people, but he never took his focus off the demon.
"Let me deal with it," Ezell said, stepping forward as Bannick fired his last shot and withdrew to reload.
The dire demon's voice came again, a slow and sinuous growl in his mind. Having lost all ability to speak in the transformation, it was using magic to communicate telepathically. Demon. Bannick jerked at the word, looking up at the dire demon—and realized it was looking at Ezell. Brother the dire demon growled again.
Ezell replied, a stranger timber to his voice making it deeper, rougher. "We are no kin of yours, mad monster."
The dire demon lunged, but fell back, screaming in pain, as it met the wall of Ezell's magic. Ezell did not let up, but began to speak rapidly in the sibilant language of the Books of Necromancy. The dire demon quickly rallied, and the fight turned bitter, brutal, as each fought for control but neither quite gained it.
Then, abruptly, the dire demon turned and fled, vanishing through the streets, screaming angrily. Bannick bit back the questions flooding his mind and focused on Myre. "What happened?"
Myre shook his head, and Bannick only noticed then that Myre was crying. "Don't rightly know. One minute it was all good, then we heard screams—and then that thing busted in and all of a sudden the Sheriff is dead and in—in—pieces." He broke off and struggled to get a hold of himself.
Bannick strode to him and gripped Myre's shoulders. "I'm sorry. We should have stopped it before this happened. I thought we had more time. I miscalculated. This was my mistake."
Myre shook his head, but said nothing.
"Get your wife. Get everyone. Pile them in the church and cast the appropriate spells. No one leaves until we give the all clear, understand? Ezell and I will destroy the dire demon and this time I will not fail you."
"You—you haven't failed at all," Myre managed. "If you weren't here that thing would have already killed at least half the town. I'm no fool. It woulda stayed here 'til there was nothing left to eat. I just don't get why it came after the Sheriff like that—all focused and intent, like it was hunting him all particular."
"I'll find out," Bannick replied, though he already had a theory on that. He doubted they would ever know for sure, but a demon only hunted that intently when they had a chance to kill the one responsible for what had been done to it—or the descendant of the one responsible. Bannick would lay good money the Sheriff had possessed an interesting family history. "Now, go. Get everyone to safety."
When Myre was gone, when they were completely alone outside the ruins of the Sheriff's office, Bannick strode to where Ezell stood by the horses. He reached out and cupped Ezell's jaw, forced his head up. He gasped, even though he had known what he was going to see, but the fractures of bright yellow amidst the hazel were still startling. "You—you were possessed. You fused with it."
"We've fused, yes," Demon Ezell said in a growly purr, dragging out the vowels. "We told you, we got one hell of an education overseas." He pulled free of Bannick's grasp and crowded into Bannick's space, leaning up to nip hard at Bannick's rough, unshaven jaw. "We have been curious about you, Bannick Poore.
The memories of you burn brighter than all the rest. Did not expect you to be a drinker of demon blood."
"Where's Ezell?" Bannick asked.
"He is me, I am him, we are one," Demon Ezell replied. "I tend still to dominate, however, when the magic is needed, yes. Do not think, though, that we are separate just because your sweet memory is still in charge most of the time. We are both aware, all the time."
Then he abruptly kissed Bannick, hard and sharp, and Bannick tasted blood—Ezell's blood. Demon blood. He shuddered and held Ezell's head in his hands, kissing back voraciously, unable to help himself, taken by the rough, hungry kiss, ravenous for the blood that filled his mouth, drunk on the fact it was Ezell feeding it to him.
He tore away only because he needed to breathe, and only after dragging his tongue along the split in Ezell's bottom lip.
Then he realized his hands were trembling, his heart beating far too fast, as the demon blood rushed through his system and made everything so much more. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out his cigar case and extracted one. Putting the case away again, he pulled out a match and lit the cigar. He took a long, deep drag, let the calm weed work, blowing the smoke out slowly.
Ezell looked at him with demon eyes, then stole his cigar and took a long pull himself. Slowly, slowly, the bright yellow demon fractures in his eyes faded, until only Ezell's gentle hazel eyes remained. He took another pull on the cigar then another, until the trembling in his hands had eased.
Bannick took the cigar back and smoked in silence for a moment, never taking his eyes from Ezell. Finally, he said, "What happened, Ezell? Why are you fused—why weren't you exorcised in time?"
"I'll tell you everything later," Ezell replied, looking away. "I had every intention of telling you from the moment I saw you. But it's a long story, and the dire demon is more important right now." He looked up slowly, hesitantly. "Maybe you can tell me then why you're a blood priest when you never had any interest in drinking demon blood."
