Eban (17 page)

Wouldn't do to piss off the royalty, even if they'd pulled the demons rather abruptly away from whatever they were doing. They were bound by the circle and the spell to answer truthfully.

The lords turned their gazes on Beryl, who'd pressed herself against the crumbling church wall. Buer grinned, an ugly sight that reminded Eban of a drunk's lecherous smile.

“I see her in there. Shriveled, weak, but not frightened. No, never that.” Buer's voice was a soft hiss, a snake slipping through autumn leaves. “She clings to the human body because she still has hope of ruling. She's strong-willed.”

Berith's horse snorted and the duke slammed the end of his spear against the stone tiles. “She can be banished. The human's will is strong.”

Sitri nodded in agreement. “One only needs to command.”

“What do you mean? We've tried every command we know.” Eban knew this was Tell's circus—that he was the Exorcist—but the demons were taking too much time. They still had the seals to fix and if Tell was right, this could be popping more of them, weakening the barrier.

“Has
she
?” Buer licked his lips. “Oh, she bears a dark past, the kind lust demons enjoy most. It won't be easy to shake Rosemar free, but it's possible. Bid her approach.”

Eban glanced at Beryl. He'd seen china dolls with more color on their faces. “Come here, Beryl. I won't let them hurt you.”

She hesitated for a moment, then hurried to his side. It wasn't until he reached for her hand that he heard the soft splatter of blood on the floor and felt the hot rush on his fingertips.

“What the hell?”

The smile she gave him wasn't Beryl's. “Seere is coming and he's not pleased.”

He looked at the wall where she'd stood and saw Seere's sigil painted in Beryl's blood. Fear jagged through him. They were each behind protective circles, but Seere was no being to trifle with. Behind him, Buer cackled.

“I have not seen that pup in two millenniums. A treat, indeed.”

“Heckmaster.” Berith dismounted his steed, his heavy chain mail clinking as he approached the edge of the circle. “The human must banish the demon. She must force it out. Give her a mirror, have her address it. She is strong—she will defeat it.”

He didn't have time to find a mirror, not with Seere on the warpath, three demon lords trapped in a circle, and Rosemar letting Beryl bleed all over the floor. He pulled the tail of his shirt free and tore it off, then grabbed Beryl's wrist to staunch the blood.

“She gonna be okay, Eb?” Wystan asked.

“It's superficial. Messy, but not dangerous.”

Rosemar wouldn't risk killing her host. Not yet.

The air around them shimmered and parted. Seere's hair flew around his face, his blue eyes blazed, and his mouth curled into a sneer. The sword he brandished was easily as large as Eliakim's. The angel stepped forward, melting out of the shadows. The two stood face to face, similar in appearance, despite their different purposes.

“Cousin.”
Eliakim inclined his head a tiny fraction.

Eban's hand tightened around Beryl's arm as Rosemar struggled to reach Seere.

“How many thousands of years have passed since our last meeting, Eliakim?” Seere smiled coldly. “Did we not vow to end one another if we crossed paths in the future?”

“We agreed to a treaty,”
Eliakim denied.
“I will not harm yours if you do not harm mine.”

“Yours are harming mine. I sent Rosemar to save the girl. She owes her life to my servant.” The wind blowing around Seere calmed, and his expression went from feral to calculating. “Whether a Heckmaster falls in love with her or not isn't my problem. We both have deeper troubles than love. I can't permit her to banish Rosemar if we intend to win this war. Astaroth is coming.”

Seere turned to Wystan. “You need my help and the best I can offer is a faithful servant. Her real body is not suited for this world. She needs Beryl Brookshier.”

“I believe the Heckmasters had another request.” Sitri, though trapped in the circle, sounded pleased with the idea. “If we hear him out, perhaps he will solve the dilemma of your servant.”

Tell eased his crossbow down. “We need to repair the seals on the Pit that Seneca asked Astaroth to create. They're weak, which is how we called you three so easily. If we can strengthen them, we won't need the Gray Side's lackeys.” He sneered at Seere, a dangerous move.

Seere's face contorted in anger.

Tell, don't piss off our allies.
Eban prayed Seere would control his temper, or that Eliakim would be able to stop him should Seere try something dangerous.

Berith held up his hand. “There is a way to seal the Pit.”

“Please, go ahead.” Wystan balanced on the balls of his feet. “That's what we all want. I think we can agree on that.”

Seere appeared ruffled, but backed down.

Buer skipped a ring around the circle, causing Berith's horse to rear in fright. “It's sacrifice. The seals need blood to close Astaroth in. Seneca destroyed his human form making it, and what can pretty boys with shining weapons and half-human bloodlines do about it?”

“One of us will have to do it. Give a life to strengthen it.” Tell's face paled. “I should have known.”

“It's weak, so weak right now,” Buer crowed. “Astaroth knows.”

Wystan's fingers caressed the buckhorn handle of his knife. “There's another way. The barrier is in place—it shouldn't require another life to strengthen it. I need to know every chance we have to seal it.”

Sitri glared, clearly angered by the idea that they weren't taking the lords seriously. “Berith speaks the truth. The seals require the blood of nobles. The blood of Seneca or his kin.”

Eban frowned. “Our father wasn't noble. He was a lesser demon who by the sadistic grace of Astaroth controlled a territory.”

Buer giggled, bouncing on his toes. “They don't know.”

“You'd better tell us, or I'll step inside that circle and spill your blood. You'll find yourself arriving in Hell before these two,” Wystan growled.

Three sets of demon-lord eyes turned toward Seere. The prince stood tall, but looked uneasy.

“At one time Seneca was Astaroth's favored chief demon. He ruled a modest outpost in Hell, processing vile, ruined souls. When the territory became available, Astaroth needed a trusted advisor. Seneca controlled a large portion of the Southeast. He had the highest incoming ratio of souls in North America.” Seere tugged his coat sleeve. “For a time, Seneca reigned over this area as a baron. Until he met your mother. For five hundred years, he held sway here with nary a reason for Astaroth to distrust him.”

Eban remembered how miserable his mother looked before Seneca proposed. She'd known even then their lives wouldn't end with them growing old and watching their grandchildren grow up.

“Astaroth couldn't deny his request for information about the barrier because he wasn't yet stripped of his power, and he couldn't forget Father's loyalties.” Tell wiped his arm across his forehead. His face was a sickly shade of gray. “If he really was a baron, he has his own seal. He's not dead.”

“What?” Wystan straightened, his features hard and angry. “All this time—”

Seere snorted. “The twisted, pathetic creature you would call your father isn't fit to be summoned. He's madder than Buer. You'd regret it if you tried.”

“Astaroth has him secluded in a special dungeon,” Buer said. “I am a president, left to my own rulings and decisions, not a prisoner.”

The idea of his father trapped in Hell made Eban sick, but this wasn't the time to discuss Seneca.

“It doesn't matter,” Eban pointed out. “Whether he's dead or not, we still have to seal the Pit. We have to decide how, before Astaroth breaks through.”

Anger and sorrow mingled on his brothers' faces, and it matched his own feelings. They could ask these lords for Seneca's sigil, bring him to the surface and bind him, but there were more important things to do.

“Swell, Eb. We'll draw straws to see which of us sacrifices himself to close the Pit.” Tell put his hands on his hips, pacing before his extinguished candle. “Unless someone here has a suggestion about which of us it should be.”

Buer grinned, but Berith spoke first. “None of you is suitable. You're all marked.”

“What?” Wystan's hands stilled over his knife. “Marked for what?”

Sitri glared at Berith. “Other things than sacrifice.”

Which could mean anything. Eban wasn't reassured.

“There's no one else. Our sister is dead and even if one of us had children, we'd never consider that.” Eban swallowed, horrified at the idea of forcing a child to lay down his life to seal the Pit. “So we're back to us.”

Even before he'd finished speaking, he knew he could do it. If the demon came unleashed, the way Wystan had while battling Noem, he could stop Astaroth's arising. It wasn't fair to ask it of Wystan when he'd just married Rhia, and they couldn't trust Tell's demon side in any circumstance due to the curse he'd sustained as a child.

Tell stared at him, probably aware of his thoughts. He cut his eyes to Beryl, his mouth a thin line.

I can do it, Tell. I'm not afraid.

Tell shook his head, a barely perceptible motion. It didn't matter. His mind was made up.

“Never mind. Tell us how.”

Berith stood apart from his fellow lords. “Five are broken now. The three that bear our names, one more when Eliakim the angel was called, one when we were summoned. The highest lords under Astaroth. You must take care to avoid breaking others until you complete the spell and make the sacrifice. You have perhaps five days before Astaroth gathers the strength. Announce the names of the seals aloud. All of them, not only the broken ones. Directly after, the words you need are: ‘With this body, I seal the door. 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.'”

Eban committed the words to memory.

“After the spell, you'll throw your sacrifice through the barrier. The seals will redouble, the broken will repair. Your problem will correct itself, at the cost of loss.” Berith stroked his fingers down his horse's nose, but his gaze lingered on Eban.

“As we've got our demon lords trapped, anyone else have a request before I turn them loose?” Tell asked.

Dead silence filled the church.

“By the Unborn one, I release you, Buer. I release you, Berith, I release you, Sitri.”

They faded faster than they'd appeared, vanishing like smoke, Buer's laughter echoing off the rock walls. The candles flamed again like they'd never gone out. Beryl staggered against Eban, forcing him to hold her up. The question of what had happened was in her eyes.

“I'll explain it later,” he promised. “We know what to do.”

Seere's invisible wind kicked up again. “I need her.”

“Find another body. Leave Beryl out of it.” Tell plucked a bolt from his crossbow, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. “But you won't need a minion once we've locked Astaroth away. That peace you're so all-fired anxious about will arrive.”

“All lords need servants.” Seere's gaze locked on the bolt and it shot out of Tell's hand, sticking in a broken pew. “I will not relinquish mine on the whim of three half-humans.”

“You have legions of servants. One less won't make a difference,” Eban growled.

Seere sneered, about to retort, but Wystan stepped toward him with his bowie knife freed from its sheath.

“You knew. You kept our father from us all this time. Our heritage, letting us believe he was a territorial watchdog for Astaroth.”

“What good does it do you? Will you don crowns and proclaim yourselves lords of Berner?” Seere snapped. “The thing to do is find a sacrifice. Time is short.”

“He's right,” Tell said. “We need a solution. Spells won't do us a lick of good without some blood to toss into the Pit.”

Eban still held Beryl, but he cleared his throat. “No matter what Berith or Sitri say, it has to be one of us. I'm not afraid to do it.”

Beryl clutched him, a little sob leaving her throat. “No.”

“You can't be a sacrifice, Eb.” Tell shook his head. “We're not asking that. There has to be another way.”

He looked at Eliakim, who glanced at Seere. Side by side, they looked like mirror images, except for their clothing.

“Berith proclaimed it. He cannot lie to the Exorcist.” Seere shrugged. “If you have a volunteer, I don't see the issue.”

“It can't be either of you. Wys, you have Rhia to think of. Tell's power of knowing is too valuable. I'm just a failure of a doctor who doesn't even like killing demons. I can be of use now.”

“Please don't do this,” Beryl whispered. Her fingers dug into his forearm.

“Not until I make sure you're all right. We have to banish Rosemar first.”

Her pale green eyes were red-rimmed and his brothers were speechless for probably the first time in years.

“I want to do it,” he said.

For his family, for his friends and most of all, for Beryl.

Chapter Sixteen

Beryl's hands shook badly as she sat in the library of Eban's clinic. She folded them on her lap, but couldn't keep them still. He pounded a nail into the wall where he intended to hang an oval mirror she'd use to banish Rosemar.

Somewhere outside, Eliakim and Seere were eyeing each other warily, practically at blows over what Eban planned.

She might have missed most of the conversation about sacrifices and closing the Pit because of Rosemar, but she'd picked up enough to know he was willing to die to refresh the seals. It wasn't fair, not when he'd finally admitted he cared for her. Her mind raced as she tried to think of ways to prevent him from taking action.

He hung the mirror and stepped back from the wall. “There. Now, you have to call Rosemar. She hasn't had any blood in a few days, so she's weak, but she'll be her usual vile and vindictive self. I'm here, so there's nothing to be afraid of. Remember that.”

Beryl watched him, taking in the deep blue of his eyes, the worry lines etched in his forehead. He was afraid, even if he claimed otherwise. Tell and Wys had offered to stay for this, but she'd sent them away, assuring them she and Eban could do it. No doubt they were close, but she didn't want them in the room. Seere threatened to punish all of them for dispatching one of his favorite servants, only quieting when Eliakim had spoken aloud in a guttural language Beryl didn't understand.

“I'll be with you the whole time.” Eban stood next to her, hand on her shoulder, the way it had been in the image Rosemar showed her at the barber shop.

Beryl reached up and took his hand. “What's the point?”

He dropped to his knees, squeezing her hand hard enough it hurt. “The point is you'll live free from a demon. I didn't save you from pleurisy to watch you die at Rosemar's hand. When all this is over, you won't be in danger from demons anymore.”

All of it. Closing the Pit and banishing Rosemar, even though it meant being alone.

“I won't have you. You're going to throw yourself into Hell.” She barely squeezed the words from her throat, so lost in his eyes that she couldn't think. “I don't want Rosemar to win, but I don't want to go on without you.”

The corners of his mouth twitched and he studied the floor, his head down. “Tell and Wystan won't let anything happen to you.”

“I don't want them to protect me or watch out for me or take up where you left off. I want you.” She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. “They're wrong. There has to be something else you can do to repair the seals.”

He hugged her back, almost pulling her out of the chair. “We'll come up with a plan together. As soon as we're sure Rosemar is gone.”

“You promise you'll do you best not to die?” She held her tears at bay, but it took every ounce of strength. The demon inside her probably sensed her weakness and would use it to fight, but how could she not be afraid for Eban?

“I promise.” He kissed her neck, hot lips scorching her tender flesh.

She relished the feeling, trying not to figure out how many more times she'd get to hold him this way. The demon lords swore it had to be Heckmaster blood. Damn Seneca for leaving such a terrible legacy to his boys.

Eban hadn't said anything, but knowing Seneca was alive and imprisoned in Hell must hurt. She ached for his silent pain, wishing there was something she could do to make everything better for him.

“Are you ready now?” he asked.

No.
“I think so.”

“I'm going to draw a circle like the one in the church and the bond Tell put on you upstairs. It'll hold you and Rosemar inside. Neither of you will be able to leave it once the circle is complete. Not until I'm sure she's trapped and corporeal, ready for disposal. She won't be able to hurt you physically either.” He stood and picked up a piece of white chalk. “This isn't going to be easy or pleasant, but it's for the best.”

She couldn't respond, already studying her reflection in the mirror while he drew the circle. He added some cryptic designs around the inside edge, words in a language she didn't know, but Rosemar would recognize. Bonds that would keep them locked in.

“The demon lords can't lie in their circle. However, Rosemar can. I don't have the power to control her the way Tell did the lieges.”

“It's all right,” she murmured, although she wanted to go upstairs to bed and hide beneath the covers.

He drew in a breath. “You're brave.”

“I don't feel like it.” She'd never been so terrified, not even when she knew Ernie meant to kill her at the brothel. “Do you need candles like the other circle?”

“Not for this. Minor conjurings are simple affairs.” He grimaced. “I don't mean that it's simple, just less complicated than summoning an angel or a demon lord.”

“All right.” She couldn't get anything else out.

Eban stepped away from the chalk line. “There's nothing more I can do. You have to call her now.”

Beryl squeezed her eyes shut and clutched the arms of the chair. Her right wrist throbbed where Rosemar had cut it earlier, using her blood to summon Seere. The pain allowed her to focus, to think about the vile things Rosemar had done using her body. Hurting Sylvie and scaring TJ were the worst that she knew of, and it angered her.

She forced her eyes open and glared at her reflection. “Rosemar, I'm ready to talk.”

Slamming pain pushed her head back against the chair cushion and her face took on a cruel sneer she couldn't control.

“You didn't take my offer seriously. You think you've won Eban on your own, but he'll leave you. He's planning to sacrifice—”

“Shut up. I already know what he's doing. This is between you and me.” Talking to herself in the mirror was unusual, especially with Eban watching, but she clung to her anger. “You have to go. I command you to leave.”

The laughter started, harsh, abrasive, mocking. It hurt her, making her release the chair arms to clamp her hands over her ears, but that didn't lessen it.

“Never. Try as he might, Eban will not deliver himself to the bowels of Hell and Astaroth will rise. Your silly little circle is no use, your commands are weak and your good intentions are pathetic. I'm stronger than you and I have Seere on my side.”

“I'm not leaving this circle until you're gone. You'll grow weaker because you can't get any blood and Seere won't save you because he can't get in.” It would be a long fight and Beryl doubted the lack of blood would kill Rosemar, but sooner or later it might give her reason to comply.

“Do you feel that?”

The question no sooner arose than the floor under Beryl's feet trembled. She jerked her gaze away from the mirror to look at Eban. His eyes were wide, his shoulders tense.

“What is it?” She wasn't sure if she was asking him or Rosemar.

“A legion of demons. Seere needs me that badly.”
Rosemar laughed, this time a gleeful sound instead of a cruel one.
“I am of more value to him than one human life. He rules twenty-six legions and if the Heckmasters do not give up this foolish attempt, he'll flatten the town and begin anew without their help.”

“Eban,” Beryl whispered.

“I heard.” Sweat beaded on his forehead and he gripped the hilt of his saber, though he hadn't drawn it yet. “I have to get Wys and Tell.”

She had the feeling Tell already knew what was happening. “Don't leave me here.”

“You have to get rid of Rosemar. It's more important now than before. We can't let Seere have his way.”

“Don't leave me!” She pushed away from the chair, bouncing into the invisible wall of his circle. “I can't get rid of her, not if he's going to attack Berner. He'll kill all of you. Rhia and Sylvie, everyone in town. Eban, don't you dare leave this building.”

“Beryl.” He shook his head. “I'll be back in a moment.”

Rosemar continued to laugh.
“I don't think you're even contemplating half of Seere's power. It doesn't matter if he stays or goes, Eban is already dead. At the end of this hour, I'll have full possession of your body. Oh, I think I'll leave you a little awareness, so you can see exactly what I plan to put it through. Won't we have fun?”

“I hate you. I wish I'd asked Eliakim to end it. Seere might have attacked anyway, but he wouldn't have you and I wouldn't be stuck in this circle.” She pushed hair away from her face. What to do? How could she draw Seere's attention, make him understand she wouldn't banish Rosemar if he'd send his legion away? She couldn't let Eban die like this.

Beyond the clinic there was a clatter and roar, a wall of noise that made the hair rise all over her body. She heard a shout that made ice form in her stomach. Eban's voice, no doubt about it.

“The legion thirsts for blood and it will flow tonight. How many reside in town, Beryl dearest? How many lives will be lost because of the noble Heckmasters?”

She covered her face with her hands, stifling a cry.

“I will ask Seere to save Eban for us. I'll drain every drop from his veins and grow strong despite his human blood. Can you imagine the hot flow, the salty taste? I can't wait. Do you wish to see what's happening to him? I'll show you.”

She had no choice. The library disappeared, replaced by a vision of the street outside. Demons of all shapes and sizes formed a circle around the Heckmasters. Seere stood with them, his sword at Eliakim's throat. The angel didn't look frightened, but his eyes were wide and his sword was missing.

“I've come to collect what you owe me, Ebaneezer. No matter how much you love her, you'll bring Beryl Brookshier to me. After you do, I'll release you from the debt you built up when you asked me to retrieve the
Ars Notoria
.”

Debt or not, she knew Eban wouldn't willingly turn her over to the prince. Beryl's fingers curled, making the cut on her arm ache again. She looked at the soft white bandage Eban had placed over it when they'd returned from the church. Ripping it away, she winced when her fingernail caught the wound's edge. Little by little, she pulled the scab back, letting the blood run freely. She dabbed her fingers against it and let memory steal over her. Her blood smeared on the hardwood floor. The circle first, the letters of his name, the swirling marks that looked a bit like angel's wings, and a few smaller circles and lines.

“Seere.”

One word and even without candles or herbs or another incantation, the air rippled. Seere appeared before her, trapped inside the circle, right on top of his seal. His face registered fury, blue eyes blazing like the hottest flame.

“You.”

“Send them away,” she demanded. “If you'll call off your army, I won't attempt to banish Rosemar.”

“You're in no position to bargain.”

“I'm trapped in this circle with you and Rosemar, but you're bound to follow my orders because I summoned you. Return the legion to whatever realm you call home.” She pushed her shoulders back, ignoring the hot drip of blood down her hand.

Seere's golden hair lifted from his shoulders on a wild breeze she couldn't feel. “Eban has to pay—that was the deal. I've come to collect.”

“I accept his debt. I'll shoulder it. Leave him alone.”

Seere glared, but his expression turned calculating. “Very well. In order to pay it, you must give Rosemar your body, free and complete.”

Her stomach churned. “Only if she still helps them defeat Astaroth. She helps them find a way without any of the Heckmasters dying.”

“The lords said—”

“I know what they said, but I know they can't be trusted, not completely.” Time was running out and it felt like a pressure on her chest. “You know how to fix this, don't you?”

Seere smiled coolly. “What began with Seneca can only end with him.”

“The Heckmasters' father. I thought he was trapped.”

“He is, but everyone seems to forget my power. I can retrieve anything from anywhere in a matter of seconds. That includes other demons.”

“Haven't you interfered with Astaroth's plans enough? He's going to kill you for thinking about entering his realm.” She shook her head. Agreeing to his terms wouldn't do any good if he couldn't save Eban. “I don't like this, Seere.”

“My dear, Hell is set up in layers you can't possibly imagine without a visit there. It's not a matter of filling out paperwork, strolling up to a jail cell and asking for his release. I'll handle it on my own and personally escort Seneca from his prison if he agrees to be the sacrifice again. The Pit will be sealed without Wystan, Eban, or Tell ever doing more than chanting a few lines. Does that suit you?” His voice was full of contempt, as though bargaining with her was more effort than the results he expected.

“With one condition.” She squeezed her fists. “I won't give Rosemar my body until I personally see the Pit is closed.”

It would give her a chance to say goodbye to Eban and Rhia. She expected him to retract this offer, but after a long look, Seere nodded.

“Very well. I don't need her in the immediate future, so we have a bargain.”

“Agreed.” She'd condemned herself to Hell for certain, but it meant Eban wouldn't be in danger anymore. Perhaps forcing Seneca to sacrifice himself again was cruel, but he'd understand if she ever got the chance to explain it to him.

The noise outside quieted.

“Good girl.” Seere drew his foot across his sigil, blurring the lines. A feat he shouldn't have been able to accomplish. “Rosemar may be a lot of things, but I think she'll take good care of your body. You don't have anything to worry about.”

“What are you going to do when the Pit is sealed? Why do you care so much?”