by Julie Kenner
“But why would Abaddon think I know anything about this sword?”
“That, I cannot say. The tales consistently reference a prophecy. The naming of the Sword Keeper. The one individual who will be born to wield the sword and strike the demon down in his true form, never to rise again.”
“Oh.” I thought about that. “Familial blood,” I said. “You mentioned familial blood earlier, right? Does that mean my mom or dad would have been a Sword Keeper, too?” I kept my voice steady as I asked the question. To be honest, I rarely thought about my parents. But there were times when I wondered who they were—and why they had left me.
“I do not believe so,” he said gently. “As I have said, my limited research suggests that the Sword Keeper is the subject of a prophecy. More, the Keeper will be within the bloodline of he who reforged the sword after it slayed the last demon. But there is only one Keeper. Should he or she fail, the demon’s life will go on, and the sword will become useless unless reforged again by one with the power to do so.”
“In other words, if anyone is going to destroy Abaddon, it has to be me.” I frowned, feeling a bit like Atlas with the world on my shoulders.
“If you are the Keeper, then yes. That is so.”
“And if I fail? Who has the power to reforge the sword?”
“That, we do not know.”
“Sounds like we don’t know a lot,” I said, testily.
“I am afraid that is true,” he agreed.
“And what we do know doesn’t make any sense,” I said, still not liking this whole scenario.
“Myths and legends often don’t make sense, my child. You know that.”
“No, from a practical point of view. Why would the archangel bother to bring down a sword that does something I can already do?” Strike down a demon in human form, and his essence goes back to ether to wait for another body to invade. But on the rare occasion when a demon shows his true scaly, snarling, icky self, then he’s actually vulnerable to attack. It’s hard to kill him, sure. But if you manage, then it’s a done deal. That demon’s not going to be bothering anyone anymore. Ever.
“So what makes this blade so special?” I pressed. “I mean, my knives are perfectly capable of slicing onions as well as demons, and they didn’t have to be forged in any special fire.” Though I did take out a demon once with a Ginsu knife. Right after Eric and I were married. I hated mucking up the knife, but the fight was fast and clean.
“Yes,” he said, chuckling. “But how many true onions have you diced in your career?”
“Ah,” I said, deflating a bit. The answer, of course, was none. “What can I say? They’re crafty little buggers.”
“Indeed. And not only does the sword have the power to slice through their armor like a hot knife through butter, but you also missed a key point of the myth as I relayed it earlier. ”
“Kith and kin,” I said.
“Therein lies the true beauty of the sword. And also the reason that most believe its existence to be myth.”
“I’m not following.”
“Strike down the demon, and you strike down his innermost circle as well.”
“Whoa.” I stumbled a little, then settled myself in one of the high-backed leather chairs. Father Corletti was right— that was big news. Demons weren’t exactly social creatures, but they were hierarchical. And I never seemed to stumble across one but to find out that he was working for another one. If this sword was real, then like the little tailor who swatted flies, I could take out seven—or more—with one blow.
And how sweet would that be?
“So Abaddon thinks I’m this Keeper person?”
“It would appear to be so.”
“Am I?”
“That is not a question to which I have an answer. None within Forza have heard the prophecy. Few believe the sword is even real. But if the demons believe it is you, then it may be so.”
“And Abaddon’s minions are trying to take care of me,” I said. “End my involvement before I can do the same for their boss—and for them, too.”
“That would seem to be their plan.”
“Considering I don’t know where this thing is, I’m thinking I got a raw deal.”
On the other side of the world, Father Corletti chuckled. “Ah, my dear, what else is new?”
I had to laugh, too. Not because of the situation, but because Father Corletti was right.
“Be careful, Katherine,” he said, all humor now gone from his voice. “I do not wish to lose you.”
I reached up to finger the silver crucifix he’d given me so many years ago. “I’m not too keen on that outcome, either,” I said. “I love you. I’ll call soon.”
I hung up, an odd combination of frustration and sentimentality coursing through me. His actual information was not particularly useful. Yes, I now knew the legend. But considering I neither had this mythical sword nor knew where to start looking for it, having the fairy tale at my fingertips was cold comfort.
Even so, simply talking to Father made me feel better, as if he were reaching across the miles to give me a much-needed hug.
I brushed my thumb under my now-damp lashes, feeling foolish but unable to escape the simple, basic truth: I missed Father. I missed having a father. And in the absence of a true parental figure, I’d clung first to Father Corletti and then later to Eric, letting those men in my life fill the empty spaces in my heart.
I liked to think that somewhere along the way I’d grown up a bit, that I’d come at my marriage with Stuart from a slightly different angle. But I wasn’t entirely certain it was true. In the end, I’m not even sure it mattered. Not anymore. I had kids of my own now. And ultimately, the past isn’t important. All that matters is the future.
I looked around the room, smiling a little. My husband was downstairs putting every ounce of himself into our future—his campaign, this idea of flipping houses. I’d had two good men in my life, and I was surrounded by people who loved me. As life circumstances went, I really couldn’t complain. Bitch about having no idea what prophecy I was supposed to fulfill—sure. But complain? No way.
Not exactly a life-altering moment, but I will say that my perspective shifted slightly. And if Stuart wanted to take a risk with our future on this house, then why shouldn’t he? I took a risk with our future every night I went out to hunt. At least he was doing me the courtesy of telling me the truth.
I closed my hand around the brass knob, then gave a tug, preparing to go tell him that very thing. Instead, I found myself face to face with a grime-covered demon, complete with rotted teeth, rancid breath, and denim overalls so filthy they would have stood upright even without the demon inside.
And, yes, I was certain it was a demon and not a zombie, because it opened its mouth and ordered me to die.
Being the obstinate sort, I decided not to take its suggestion. Instead, I jammed my finger forward, aiming for its eye. The demon turned my attack to its advantage by grabbing my finger and bending it backwards. The bone snapped, and I cried out, the pain shooting through me so fast and hot I was certain I couldn’t have only injured a finger, because how could pain so large originate with such a tiny body part?
“Kate? Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I yelled, even as I twisted my body around to keep my wrist from breaking like my finger. With my back to the demon, I kicked up, my heel connecting smartly with his groin. Not as sensitive a place for a demon as it was for a man, but the blow still held enough force to knock him off me. And as soon as my arm was free, I whipped around, my crescent kick catching him in the jaw and sending him stumbling backwards out of the room.
I forced my pain beneath the surface, ready to finish this off. I wasn’t given the pleasure, however, because my cowardly foe turned tail and ran, heading down the stairs where he would, undoubtedly, collide with my husband, who surely hadn’t believed my lame “fine” only moments before.
Needless to say, I ran after him.
“Who the hell—” I heard
Stuart cry out, and then as I rounded the bend in the stair I saw the demon thrust out an arm and send Stuart hurtling to the ground.
“Stuart!”
“Kate! Are you okay?” To my amazement, he was already back on his feet and racing toward the door after the guy.
“Don’t,” I called. “He’s drugged up or something. He could kill you.”
At the doorway, Stuart halted, and I saw the demon plow through the front yard, then turn and race down the street. My feet itched to go after him, and from the way Stuart was swaying from side to side, I could tell he wanted to as well.
Fortunately, he turned and looked at me. Or, rather, not so fortunately, because I must have looked a mess. He took the stairs three at a time and was at my side when my knees went wobbly as my adrenaline rush faded.
“What the hell did he do to you?” Stuart demanded, turning toward the doorway as if he could tractor-beam the creature back by the force of his will.
“Wasn’t him,” I lied. “He must be a squatter, and he scared me. I tripped and smashed my hand against something. ” I winced. “I think it’s broken.”
He pulled me close, our embrace a bit awkward because of my finger hanging out there. “You had me worried,” he said gently. “If something happened to you . . .”
“I’m fine,” I said, pulling back and forcing a smile.
He grimaced. “Uh-huh. Come on. Let’s get you to the ER and have that X-rayed.”
I wanted to protest that I didn’t have time for the ER, but I didn’t. He was right. As inconvenient as it might be, the finger was broken, and I needed a splint. And about the only upside of that was that if I requested the metal kind, it ought to slide quite nicely into a demon’s eye. How’s that for finding the silver lining? Because no matter what, I intended to track down my derelict friend and finish our business.
I just had to work it into my schedule somewhere.
Seven
"You’re serious?” I demanded, pointing my newly splinted finger at Eddie for what had to be the forty-seventh time. “You really didn’t move the body?”
I’d been back from the hospital for all of twenty minutes. Stuart had dropped me and my Vicodin prescription off, kissed me soundly, then headed to the office. I’d hurried inside, frantic to check up on Allie (who’d been allowed to babysit her brother despite the presence of demons in the neighborhood only after I’d confirmed that Eddie was awake and Laura was only a phone call away). I also wanted to fire off an e-mail to David, filling him in on the padre’s information and letting him know about my most recent demon encounter. They were, it seemed, coming out of the woodwork as fast as they were disappearing.
Eddie swallowed his mouthful of SpaghettiOs. “You go deaf during the night, girlie?” he asked, his speech muffled by the fact that his teeth happened to be sitting beside his glass of milk. “I said I didn’t, and I meant it. You wanted me on body patrol, you should have told me.”
“I was with Stuart,” I pointed out, my voice rising with exasperation.
Eddie just shrugged. “Man’s got a good strong back. You shoulda got him to cart your dead demon away.”
“Dead demon!” Timmy shouted, from where he’d plunked himself down on the floor and was now channeling the genius who’d first conceived “Jingle Bells.” “Dead de-mon! Dead de-mon! Dead, dead de-de-mon!” I keep one cabinet door free of any child safety latches, freeing the kid up to start a band with whatever pots and pans happen to be under there. Today, he’d found a beat-up saucepan and a wooden spoon, and I silently swore to rearrange my shelves. Plastic, I think, was destined for that cabinet.
“That’s a great song, sweetie,” I said, trying for loving and nurturing, but probably hitting somewhere closer to frazzled and freaked out. “Maybe you could sing it a little softer?”
“Mom,” Allie said urgently. “You don’t think Stuart—”
“No way,” I said emphatically. “Stuart puts up with a lot, but finding a dead body in the backyard? I’m absolutely convinced he’d mention that to me.”
“That pansy boy? He’d have the cops here before you could say plea bargain.”
I had to admit Eddie was right. About the police, that is. Not about the pansy-boy thing.
“Maybe Daddy?” Allie suggested.
“David? Absolutely not. If he’d been here last night, he would have helped. Not stood back and waited to move the body. For that matter, why wouldn’t he have said something in the e-mail?”
Allie grimaced. “Maybe he saw me and didn’t want to deal. Maybe that’s why he went to L.A. To look at apartments or something.”
I pressed my uninjured index finger to my temple and looked at her. “Allie, sweetheart, you’re going a little crazy with the imagination, okay?”
“But—”
“But nothing. Your father wants nothing more than to spend time with you. But sometimes adults have to take care of adult things first. Trust me. You two are going to spend time together. But it’s complicated.”
“Because Stuart doesn’t know.”
“Pretty much,” I agreed.
She made a face. “So I’m being punished because you’re keeping secrets.”
Pretty much, I thought. But this time I didn’t say it. She may be right, but smart-mouthing wasn’t allowed. “Maybe Stuart had the right idea grounding you,” I said.
“Sorry, Mom.”
She looked appropriately contrite, so I decided to let it drop. “The bottom line is that we’re still missing a body and we don’t have any idea who moved it.”
“Well, someone must have,” Allie said. She frowned for a second, then looked up at me, eyes bright. “Maybe the demon who broke your finger,” she suggested.
She’d been riveted when I’d relayed the story about encountering the demon in the Greatwater mansion. I’d fudged the details a bit, as I hadn’t wanted to relay my conversation with Father Corletti, at least not until I had a chance to first discuss it with David. Not that my omission mattered to my daughter. One demon attack was enough to keep her occupied.
“He could have hauled his friend away, right?” she continued, warming to the theory. “Maybe he was even in our yard last night.”
I looked at Eddie, then shrugged. As theories go, it wasn’t bad. “Could be,” I said. “I doubt it was in the yard, but I suppose it’s possible that my scuzzy demon carted Sammy Watson away. But why leave the bits and pieces behind?”
“I don’t know,” Allie said. “I can’t, like, think of everything. But someone must have taken it away. I mean, it’s not like the demon could stand up and walk away on its own.” Her eyes widened as she looked from me to Eddie. “Could it?”
“Of course not,” I said automatically. “I’ve explained how all this works. Stab through the eye, the demon is released, and that’s the end of that. All you’ve got left is a dead body and a demon floating around in the ether. They’re essentially useless if they’re incorporeal. And dead bodies don’t get up and walk away. Do they?” I demanded, turning to Eddie for confirmation.
“Eh,” he said with a noncommittal shrug. “You been around as long as me, you’ve seen pretty much everything.”
I gaped at him. “Are we talking metaphorically here? Or have you actually seen an eviscerated demon get up and walk again.”
“Couldn’t it be a zombie?” Allie asked. Which, under the circumstances, was a damn good question.
“Phhhhbt,” Eddie said. “Not damn likely. You got any idea how rare zombies are? Ain’t like all that crap they got coming out of Hollywood. Demon’s got to put together a whole big production to raise a zombie, and most of ’em don’t bother. Too obvious. And unless they got a solid chance at getting a foothold, demons’d rather lay low.”
“A foothold?” Allie asked, looking both perplexed and scared.
“Yeah, you know,” he said, waving a wild hand as if he were stirring up trouble. “End of Days, Armaggedon, judgment day. Whatever the hell you want to call it, it’s hell that’s the key part
of the equation.”
“Thank you,” I said, keying off Allie’s stricken face. “Thanks so much.”
“Eh, yank up your big-girl panties. I told ya it’s rare. Ain’t gonna do it unless there’s something fierce brewing. So it ain’t like we’re looking the Apocalypse in the face or anything. ”
“Eddie,” I said, hooking my arm around Allie’s shoulder and pulling her tight. “There’s a butchered zombie in the storage shed.”
“Oh.” I watched as Eddie’s face went through a range of permutations, ending on mildly befuddled. “Well, ain’t that a pisser.”
“To say the very least,” I said.
“So, is this, like, the end of the world?” Allie asked. “I mean, you guys have to tell me the truth. ’Cause if it’s all over, I’m so not studying this semester.”
The joke was lame, and I could hear the fear underneath.
“Eddie’s exaggerating,” I said. “As usual.”
“Hmmph,” he said. “Mighta overstated a little bit. But the bottom line’s the same. You got a demon running around making zombies, then you got a demon that’s up to something. ”
As consoling speeches went, it wasn’t the best I’d ever heard, but it did seem to make Allie feel better. At the moment, that was all I really cared about.
“But what’s it up to?” Allie asked, and I realized for the first time that she hadn’t overheard the demon’s mysterious meanderings about me and the Sword of Caelum, or that business about revenge. Good. I might have decided to let her start training, but that didn’t mean I wanted her jumping feet first into every demonic mystery. Not, at least, until I had a better idea of what was going on.
“And what’s the difference between real zombies and fake zombies?” she continued. “You promised last night you’d tell me.”
“Fake zombies?” Eddie asked.
“Her words, not mine,” I said. Then to Allie, “You promised yesterday afternoon you’d clean your bathroom, but you haven’t gotten around to that yet.”
“Mo-ther!”
“Just teasing. Hang on a second and let me get your brother settled. Then between Eddie and me maybe we can give you an education in the undead, and figure out what to do with the body bits in the shed.”
