DemonsKiss

by V. J. Devereaux

  With interest, he watched a motorcycle pass them on the highway. What would it be like to ride one of those? It would be much like flying, the wind blowing through your hair, the sense of speed. Longing tugged at him.

  The car turned from the highway onto a dirt road.

  Already Asmodeus could feel something amiss and then he saw the gout of flame rise up from a pipe just as the trees gave way to a great open area filled with machinery, more pipes and equipment.

  It was devastation, the trees had been cut down in great swaths, the puddles gave off rainbow shimmers, the soil was blackened and churned. He almost shuddered at the sense of violation of the earth. He didn’t know what this was, but it was wrong.

  All the car doors were flung open. All but one.

  The driver hopped out of the car and opened the door for Templeton.

  Everyone else stepped out of the car nearly simultaneously. His three guards and the man with the Book.

  An anxious little man wearing an ill-fitting suit hurried to meet them, his eyes frantic and worried.

  “Mr. Templeton…sir…uh,” the man said, swallowing nervously, “perhaps this might not be the best time to visit.”

  The little man glanced at Asmodeus and his eyes widened just a little. Asmodeus could smell the fear on him as the man’s gaze returned to Templeton, and the man visibly cringed.

  One eyebrow arched at the temerity, Templeton’s expression grew thunderous, further cowing the man. Templeton’s jaw worked.

  “Isn’t it, Mr. Kenyon?” he said, his tone icy.

  If the man hadn’t been frightened before, he certainly was then.

  “Mr. Templeton,” Kenyon stammered, “we have a problem.”

  His tone almost too even, Templeton said, “A problem.”

  The little man nodded frantically. “Yes.”

  His voice dropped to a near whisper as he glanced across the compound at a man wearing plastic coveralls over his suit. The man had a clipboard in his hand.

  “The government inspector is here. He wants a list of the chemicals we’re using. There’s been complaints.”

  “Complaints?” Templeton repeated, following Kenyon’s glance.

  “About the water.”

  “You have assured him we’re in compliance?”

  Templeton’s glance was a warning to Kenyon.

  The man’s eyes darted around but he licked his lips and nodded. “Yes, Mr. Templeton. Of course.”

  It was clear that he was lying, maintaining the fiction that Templeton demanded.

  “Hmmmm,” Templeton said, eyeing the stranger with distaste. “I’ll take care of this, Mr. Kenyon.”

  He waved Kenyon off but his eyes were on the man inspecting the site.

  A cold chill ran over Asmodeus, his veins seemed to fill with ice water as a sense of foreboding went through him. He knew Templeton’s mind by now. This did not bode well.

  He thought of Gabriel, waiting. His heart wrenched at the thought of her but there was nothing to be done except to let it play out. And accept the consequences.

  Templeton turned to him, his black eyes flat.

  “Kill him,” he said. “Make it look like a heart attack, make it look like an accident, I don’t care, but I want him dead.”

  Asmodeus took a deep breath but inwardly he was calm. It was as he had told Gabriel—he would not kill. Not in cold blood. And certainly not a man innocent of anything except trying to do his job, trying to protect others.

  He met that flat black gaze evenly.

  There would be hell to pay for this, true hell, but he would pay it. Templeton wouldn’t kill him, he hoped. At least, not on purpose.

  In the end, it didn’t matter. There was only one answer.

  “No.”

  It was as if they had all been plunged into an ice-cold lake. Silence seemed to surround them in the midst of that great noisy place with its foul smells and roaring flame.

  All of that faded.

  Every eye was on him.

  None of that mattered. Asmodeus met Templeton’s gaze without flinching.

  “I said,” Templeton repeated, his gaze fixed on Asmodeus, “kill him. I want him dead.”

  Asmodeus looked at him, saw the madness in his eyes. He knew the punishment for refusing would be far harsher than it had been for cloaking himself and Gabriel in smoke.

  In his mind’s eye he could see her. She was so beautiful.

  He loved her, heart and soul.

  She would not love him for giving Templeton what he wanted. Not that Asmodeus intended to do that.

  “No,” Asmodeus repeated clearly. “I will not. You can ask again but I will still refuse.”

  Color flooded Templeton’s face. His jaw clenched. The color receded as the muscles in his face worked.

  Asmodeus stood firm.

  “You will pay for this,” Templeton said, keeping his voice even with clear effort.

  Though Templeton’s eyes did not move, Asmodeus was suddenly and sharply reminded of those around him.

  It was bad enough that he had shamed Templeton but he had also done it in front of Templeton’s men.

  The punishment for that would be severe. His shoulders flinched in reflexive memory.

  In the end it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t kill in cold blood—not an innocent man, and certainly not at Templeton’s command.

  With his past requests there had always been the chance that someone would discover the changes he’d made, the flaws he’d exploited.

  This, though? No.

  Demon or man, he would not kill an innocent.

  Templeton looked at him and then turned to one of the mercenaries.

  “You know what to do.” He turned to the others, deliberately not looking at Asmodeus. “We’re done here. Get in the car.”

  Obediently, they did. All but the one mercenary.

  Watching the man trot toward the woods, Asmodeus waited until he stood at the edge of the forest. He gestured.

  Templeton had not denied him all magic—he wouldn’t have been an effective tool—and the life here had much of which to complain.

  No one would be surprised that a sinkhole might open. The mercenary would not die. He might break a leg but he wouldn’t die.

  Neither would the inspector.

  It was a long and very silent ride back.

  Chapter Seven

  It was clear from the moment Templeton entered the room with his minions in tow, Asmodeus under guard and a grim look in his eyes, that things had not gone well. Templeton was also in a vicious and vile temper. It practically radiated off the man, snapping and crackling in the air around him.

  Something had gone very wrong.

  Gabriel could see the stoic resignation in Asmodeus’ glance and her heart sank even as her throat tightened.

  That did not bode well.

  She had seen that look before in both Asmodeus’ and Templeton’s eyes.

  Asmodeus, she sent.

  He would not answer her. Gabriel’s heart clenched tightly, twisted.

  Templeton gestured to his minion to go to the Book. He didn’t open the gateway into the rings. Stunned, horrified, Gabriel could only stand on the wrong side with nothing to pound on and watch helplessly.

  The man behind the podium chanted as Templeton held out his hand for the cat-o’-nine-tails with its little beads of iron.

  “Oh dear god, no,” Gabriel whispered.

  Asmodeus wouldn’t meet her gaze. His mouth tightened.

  It took everything she had to fight the urge to weep.

  She watched as the chanting drove him to his knees even though he fought it. He braced himself on one arm. He would not bow before Templeton.

  “No,” Gabriel breathed.

  “I told you,” Templeton said, his eyes on Asmodeus and Asmodeus alone. His voice was deceptively and coldly calm as he flicked the cat-o’-nine-tails back, shaking it to loosen the tangled ends, “not to defy me. I wanted that man dead.”

  Templeton had his fury
banked, channeled, so he could enjoy this. She could see it in his eyes, in his face.

  Asmodeus’ sorrow, his grief and fury at forcing her to watch, to share this, battered her.

  They had been so close to escaping.

  Gabriel wanted to scream, rage, cry, but did none of that.

  She tried to think of a way to help him.

  She couldn’t call the other Daemonae, not while she was inside, for as she had learned from her studies, she was the locus. It was here they would come, to be trapped as Asmodeus had been—exactly as he feared. She wouldn’t help Templeton achieve his goal.

  “I will not kill,” Asmodeus said firmly, steadily, grinding the words out in answer to Templeton’s demand. “Do as you will but I will not kill in cold blood.”

  “You will learn to do as I order, demon,” Templeton said, running the lashes of the cat-o’-nine-tails through his fingers, toying with the iron beads. “Or suffer the consequences.”

  Channeling his rage visibly, Templeton narrowed his eyes, raised the whip and brought it down with the full force of his fury on Asmodeus’ back.

  Asmodeus would not take a life, innocent or no, not at a whim. To his shame he had no doubt he had done so by accident in those early days before he had learned what it was that Templeton forced him to do. No more. Name him demon as they might but the name they had made it into did not make him so.

  Templeton could beat him to death but Asmodeus would not kill on his orders.

  The first lash stroked across his back.

  Agony burst through him as the tails bit, as the iron beads tore through his skin, burning, ripping. Pain blinded him, encompassed him.

  Asmodeus. Gabriel’s heart broke even as it swelled with pride. He would fight Templeton in his own way. It was small, unseen battles like these that mattered as much as the big ones. Each one of them was a statement, I will go this far and no farther.

  She couldn’t cry in the face of his courage.

  The next stroke fell.

  Blood ran.

  To see what they did to him though, to watch Asmodeus suffering, possibly dying, killed her. She pressed her knuckles to her lips.

  Another stroke, another. It seemed to go on forever.

  It was terrible to watch.

  She fought tears, there had to be a way out, a way to help him. Helpless, she ranged across the limits of the cage, pacing frantically, furiously. There had to be a way to stop this.

  The chanting drove him down another inch, the lash another and still Asmodeus would not bow, he fought it as the tails rained over him.

  “Obey me,” Templeton shouted. “You will obey me.”

  Another. Blood ran freely down Asmodeus’ back, dripped to the floor.

  “Bow to me,” Templeton knelt beside him, his voice a harsh whisper “and it ends. You will break, in time. I will break you. End it now. Say that you’re my creature and it ends. Call your demons. Call the others.”

  Gabriel knew he wouldn’t but the other Daemonae were so close, all it would take was a thought from Asmodeus and they would come. Gabriel’s heart nearly stopped in terror for fear that they would sense Asmodeus’ distress.

  “Stop it, Templeton, stop it. I swear, I’ll kill you myself if you don’t. I’ll find a way. Stop it,” she shouted desperately, putting all her heart and soul into the cry. Everything was a weapon. “You bastard. Stop it! Asmodeus!”

  Asmodeus’ eyes snapped to hers, dulled by pain. His gaze suddenly sharpened as fear for her cleared the haze.

  Fury etched in every line of his aristocratic face, Templeton’s head whipped around to look at her, growing speculation in his narrowing eyes.

  She let Templeton see it, see everything—her fear for Asmodeus, her desperation, but her gaze was on Asmodeus.

  I love you, Asmodeus, she called in her heart, knowing he needed to hear it, to know it. And she needed to say it, tell him.

  She saw Asmodeus’ proud head lift, his broad shoulders straighten, his will strengthen.

  It was there on his face, everything she needed to see. Her own heart lifted.

  And I you, my angel, he sent in return, despite his own desperate fear for her, despite the spell that held him.

  Templeton caught the exchange of looks and smiled.

  “Get her,” he said, snapped his fingers and pointed.

  At his words, Asmodeus froze in horror, his eyes going to hers.

  Trust me, Asmodeus, Gabriel said.

  With relief, she watched Baker make the sigil, and the gateway opened.

  Baker’s men were clearly far more concerned with the immediate threat that Asmodeus—tall, heavily muscled and powerful—posed than with her. Not for the first time, she played on her lack of stature. All this time, she had been playing up to their idea of her as weak, less dangerous. Now she would find out how well it had worked.

  Their focus lax, Baker’s men didn’t bother to cover either Baker or her. Their mistake.

  Alone, Baker marched through the gateway.

  Gabriel faced him, waiting, apparently frozen in fear. Timing…timing. Her gun was in her hand, where it had been all along, hidden in the folds of her dress.

  Satisfied he was being obeyed, Templeton turned away and raised the lash once again.

  Baker was halfway through the tunnel.

  In an instant Gabriel’s gun was out and leveled on him. She snapped off two quick shots, a double tap to hammer at his face shield and then more shots as she quickly advanced into the tunnel, still firing.

  Bullets hammered into Baker’s body armor and the unexpectedness of it drove him backward a step. Another.

  Baker started to raise his weapon even as he shifted just that little bit too close to the boundary between this plane of existence and the next.

  Something boiled up out of the darkness and shadows of that plane, a waiting nightmare of claws and tentacles. It snatched at him from out of the ether. He screamed suddenly, sharply. Blood sprayed as it yanked him abruptly into oblivion.

  Gabriel shuddered but kept moving fast, instinctively knowing that the moment when Baker—the man who had opened that doorway—died the tunnel he had created would die with him. Something snatched at her ankle to try to drag her back as she dove and rolled into the main chamber, frantically kicking free of whatever clutched at her.

  The sound of the gunfire alerted everyone. Heads turned quickly, everyone becoming alert.

  Swiftly, she turned her weapon on Templeton, whose men instantly leaped to cover him as he backed away from Asmodeus and dove for cover.

  In shock at the sudden turn of events, the little man chanting from the Book abruptly went silent as he stared around him, horrified.

  “Now,” Gabriel shouted, scrambled to her feet, and called Ashtoreth.

  If they could get the enchanted iron off, Asmodeus would be free.

  Daemonae appeared as if from nowhere and zeroed in on Asmodeus.

  “Ashtoreth, Ba’al,” Gabriel shouted. “Get him out of here.”

  Templeton shouted to his men to shoot and to his minion, who suddenly realized that the demon was now loose. The man leaped to the Book, stammered, tried to chant.

  Guns swiveled toward her. Gabriel dove and rolled as they opened fire. Bullets whistled past her.

  Scrambling to her feet, her own weapon in hand, she snapped off shots to force their heads down as she turned toward the podium.

  As much as Gabriel wanted to be with Asmodeus, she had to be here. There was still the Book of Demons. If she had anything to say about it, never again would any Daemonae be subject to the damned and damnable thing.

  She felt, smelled, the Daemonae disappear in a blast of smoke, fire and brimstone. Including Asmodeus.

  They were gone.

  He was safe. For the moment. But as long as Templeton had the Book of Demons Asmodeus and the others never would be really safe. Templeton could summon him back at any time.

  That wasn’t going to happen. If Asmodeus or his brothers were ever to be truly
free, she had to get that damn Book away from Templeton. And keep it away.

  And she would.

  Chapter Eight

  One look at Gabriel sighting down the barrel of her gun and Templeton’s man skittered away in terror, falling backward and scrambling on his hands as she reached for the Book. Dodging the gunfire, Gabriel raced toward him. He backed away in a hurry, holding his hands up defensively. Gabriel ignored him, everything focused on the Book.

  It was ancient, with thick, rough-edged pages. The title had been embossed into the cover in a script so old and so embellished with traces of gilt and paint that she couldn’t read it. Small flakes of gold were still impressed into the letters. It was bound in some kind of darkly tanned leather that was almost as smooth and dark as mahogany, yet strangely soft, with hints of deep red and black and a shiny gloss to it almost as if it had been oiled.

  With a horrified shudder Gabriel suddenly knew the source of the skin with which the Book was bound. She almost cried out her revulsion.

  Dear god, she thought, and wondered if He’d answer the call of a tarnished angel seeking help for a demon, one who was prince of them all.

  He helped those though who first helped themselves, she knew.

  As she took it up, the Book burned in her hands like fire, scorching, scalding. Pain seared up her wrists, screamed along her nerves.

  Created by those ancient priests, the Book tried furiously to reject her. She, debauched by a demon, was anathema to it.

  She clung to it despite the pain.

  Templeton shouted, “Stop her. She must not take the Book.”

  More gunfire exploded around her, cut off her escape. Gabriel ducked behind the scant protection of the podium as chips of wood showered around her and returned fire.

  She had to get rid of it, but where?

  She turned toward the doors.

  Templeton’s men closed in on her. Clutching the Book to her chest with one hand despite the pain that shot through her body, she snapped off a few shots to drive them off, but she knew her clip was getting low.