Mathieu (3 page)

None of this was real either, he knew. But the feeling of something so warm and familiar comforted him all the same, even if the colors were too bright for what he was now. Black and grey bloomed where his hands touched, draining all the color from the fabric. It better suits the dark thing I have become, he thought.

The
man put his hand on the woman’s shoulder and spoke, “Spirit, if you wish to ever leave the circle, you will obey. Name yourself!”

Mathieu closed his eyes and swallowed his fear at the commanding down before answering in the same language. “You are not Gadreel. You do not own me, you cannot compel me, you cannot harm me.” He said the last to reassure himself. He continued, “You do not know my name, you know nothing of my nature. No amount of screaming can change those facts.”

He ignored their stunned glances to each other, as he looked at the edge of their ruined Orbis and read what was left of the spells there. He sighed and shook his head as he saw the flaws in their work—a misshapen sigil here, a deviation from the true round there. An Orbis this deeply flawed would have perhaps been able to restrain an imp, but certainly not a Demon of Gadreel’s caliber.

“I should not know all of this,” he muttered under his breath. “I should only be able to hold it, not understand it.” He frowned at the realization of the full extent of what Gadreel’s demise had bestowed on him. “Power and knowledge. Just what I never wanted.”

Gadreel would have been quite amused by the irony of all this, if Mathieu remembered his former master correctly—which he did. Mathieu might have spent the last few centuries deeply buried to hide his soul from that creature, but he still remembered every moment of torment, every instance of cruelty, every attempt by Gadreel to force the fifth binding on him. Every blow, every caress, every death used to fill his body with power. He remembered everything, and it made his stomach churn and bile burn the back of his throat.

Then he remembered something else, as well. Gadreel would have been more than happy to repay anyone who dared to insult a Demon Lord with a summoning with an excruciatingly painful death. By the look of things, it had been well on its way to crushing fragile human bodies between the expanded borders of their own defective Orbis and the stone walls. They would have all died if someone hadn’t called out to Mathieu.

He
straightened and looked back at the red-haired woman. She’d called him from that deep place inside where he’d hidden all those years, and reminded him of something more than a long burning hatred, overwhelming terror and a promise made to make Gadreel pay for all it had taken from him.

He found himself in front of her, down on one knee, looking in her eyes across the line of salt between them. There was something there, just a glimmer, just enough to bring back a memory of pale skin, blonde hair, lips like ripe summer berries. He watched her lips move as she spoke, “Give me your name.” Her voice was still hoarse, but it was strong and commanding.

“So I can be enslaved again? I think not.” He lowered his head and sketched an abbreviated bow at her with his right hand as he lowered his chin to his chest. “But I would have the honor of your name, Lady.”

She shook her head. “So you can do something nasty to me? I don’t think so.” Almost as if she were unaware of it, one corner of her mouth lifted in a half-smile.

“So, we are at an impasse then?” Mathieu cocked his head at her and then looked up to meet the hard gaze of the blonde man by her side. He did it this time without flinching. Small steps, infinitesimal victories.

“Hardly,” the blonde man said with a gesture at the salt circle. “You’re trapped. You’re not going anywhere until you’re bound.”

Mathieu looked at the line of salt. “To what purpose?”

The blonde man glanced to the woman, who nodded before he answered. “You have power, and you will use that power to serve us. We bind you.”

“In other words, you are no better than Gadreel. You wish to enslave me and use me for your own devices with not a care for my wishes. This proposition is not enticing in the least.”

“It’s not a proposition; it’s an order.” The blond man shifted, and his foot brushed the edge of the salt circle, marring the design. Amateur,
thought
Mathieu absently. “Besides, you’ve already helped us. You’re already on our side.”

That jarred Mathieu into speech. “Your side? No, I’m not on anyone’s side.”

“If you aren’t, then why did you kill your master? Why did you help us by destroying Gadreel?” the woman asked.

As if in response to its former master’s name, the dark power under Mathieu’s skin writhed and tried to reach out for the injured people on the far side of the room. He gritted his teeth and forced it back down, down deep into the depths of his corrupted soul.

“Speak, spirit,” she prompted him, unaware of the battle waged a few feet from her, unaware of the danger they were all in.

“I hated it. I hated what it had done to me, and I hated what it had forced me to become. It tore me away from my life and my death and God, and forced me to exist for nothing but its own twisted pleasure. It hurt me.” He paused. “And it was hurting you. I couldn’t let it hurt you. I could never let anything happen to you.”

She returned his gaze boldly. “That means we have some kind of bond.” She sprinkled more salt on the ground. “On that, I bind you, spirit. I bind you to our purpose and our goals. I bind you to my word, to my will, to my voice. I bind you.”

For the briefest moment, he was tempted to let it happen just so he could be close to her once again. There would be no free will, no questions, nothing but the sense of belonging. No decisions to be made, just obedience. No fear, no freedom, nothing to hurt him, nothing to feel but what she told him to feel. But the very thought turned his stomach.

“No.” He touched the burns on his neck. “You cannot and will not bind me. I refuse you, I reject you. I will never be a slave again, not even yours.” As he finished speaking, he leaned forward and ran his fingers across the line of salt, rubbing the grains into the earth.

Her eyes widened in fear. “You’re not supposed to be able to cross the circle. Marcus…” She glanced up to the blonde man and then back to Mathieu. “You weren’t compelled? At all?”

Her
lower lip quivered as she realized that she’d been played. Oh, so very familiar. “Only by my sense of chivalry and fair play, dear lady.”

“Jenn.” She let her name pass her lips like a pearl of knowledge. Marcus hissed in dismay.

“Jenn.” Mathieu smiled as he rolled her name around on his tongue. It was very different than the name he’d once called her, but it seemed to fit the body she wore now. “Jenn. No, what you built could not compel me in any way. Your circle was flawed before it was completed. I am shocked that Gadreel kept to it at all, unless it was just toying with you.” Mathieu half shrugged. “Most likely that, actually. It fed upon pain and fear, and the longer the scene was drawn out, the richer the meal.” He turned his attention to his hands and rubbed at an invisible speck of dirt. “I do thank you, Jenn and Marcus. If you had not called me back, I would be still serving that monster.”

Jenn leaned forward and whispered intently, “You owe me a debt, then. Come with us.” She spoke slowly, weighing each and every word carefully. “We belong to a group of people—we call it The Foundation—who have devoted their lives for centuries to studying the occult and creatures like that thing, like you. If you come with us, maybe we can help you.”

“Help me what? Be a slave again?” Mathieu snorted and shook his head. “I thank you, but I require no assistance. I have just regained my freedom and would prefer to keep it.”

She frowned at that, and he felt something then, something more than the slow roil of dark power under his skin. Some kind of hope or regret or some feeling that he’d forgotten how to define. He lowered his head in a half bow and then gazed into her eyes, his brown into her green. “Do you remember?” She stared back at him blankly.

He finally looked away and wondered at the lack of pain. “No, of course you don’t,” he answered his own question, as he made as if to rub dirt from his hands. “It has been too many years, too many lives, too much pain. I would be shocked and perhaps appalled if you knew
who
you were all those years ago.” The words were bitter on his tongue but no less true.

“Remember?” She echoed him. “Should I remember something?”

“No.” It occurred to him that perhaps he should be hurt or disappointed, but instead all he felt was a deep sense of relief. It is easier this way, after all. He glanced up at the sky past the hole in the ceiling, at the world above and contemplated his new-found freedom with a growing sense of dread as the power roiled in his gut. He stood to go.

The man next to the bag groaned, and slowly rolled from his side to sit up against the wall. Mathieu had seen his kind in the port of Antioch—the golden skin and almond shaped eyes of merchants from places he’d thought only existed in stories. His shirt and pants were scorched, probably from physical contact with the Orbis wall. Even as flawed as it was, it could still have killed him. He was lucky to still be alive. As it was, he radiated pain from his burns.

Even as Mathieu pondered this, he felt the pain of the injured man flowing into him. It fed the darkness within almost as if Gadreel was still winnowing souls, storing the obscene power in his body.

The thought occurred to him, just for a moment, that it would be so very easy to take over their destroyed circle, activate it by sheer force of will and trap them. It would be nothing to slowly and painfully drain them dry, one by one. Their fear and pain would be… delicious. Gadreel would not have hesitated.

He wrenched his mind from those thoughts. He was not a Gadreel, not a Demon, and he would not do such foul things. He was human, and he was free.

The injured man groaned again and this time the darkness almost leapt free. Mathieu’s body followed, stumbling forward before he was able to regain control. He closed his eyes and dragged the black tide of death back inside where the only thing it could corrupt was already beyond redemption.

He opened his eyes to find Marcus watching him with an odd look. The blonde man gently pulled Jenn to her feet and pushed her
towards
the far wall, away from Mathieu, away from what he bore. “Jenn, check on Sean and Karina. They’re not making any noise, and that’s not good. I’ll take care of this.”

She made as if to argue but something on his face made her do his bidding even as her posture spoke of rebellious thoughts. Mathieu would have laughed were he not struggling to keep the darkness from killing them all. She turned around and said over her shoulder, “we’re not done yet. You owe me. I don’t know for what, but you owe me and I intend to collect. I won’t forget that and I’ll hold you to it.”

“Perhaps,” Mathieu answered. “And perhaps I would be pleased if you did. I’m not certain.”

Marcus watched her walk out of the circle of light then said firmly, “I think you should leave now. We won’t stop you,” Marcus could sense what the others couldn’t, Mathieu knew. He could feel the dark power writhing, could sense the foulness and see the filth on Mathieu’s soul. He wanted Mathieu gone and away.

“Yes, I should,” Mathieu answered. He turned to contemplate the stairs that led to the world above.

“Wait,” the golden skinned man—Eddie--said. “Wait. Marcus, don’t let him go yet. Don’t go.” He lurched to his feet and staggered across the room to grab Mathieu’s arm.

It took Mathieu everything he had to hold the power inside and not kill the man that instant. Maybe because the touch was merely warm—not of fire and ice mixed together in such a way as to peel the flesh from one’s bones, the touch of Gadreel and his ilk—he was able to hold the darkness inside.

He reeled away from the touch and wrapped his arms around his chest to keep his terror—and the death—from leaking out and killing everyone in the room. He sobbed as he spoke, “Don’t touch me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you; I don’t want to hurt anyone. Please don’t touch me. I’m sorry.”

Eddie
lifted his hands, and Mathieu saw blisters were forming on his palms. Through gritted teeth, Eddie said, “I wasn’t going to hurt you; I just wanted to talk.”

Marcus yanked Eddie back by the shoulder and hissed at Mathieu, “no one is going to touch you or hurt you or make you do anything. Get out.”

No one wants to be touched by my corruption, Mathieu thought as he drew a shuddering breath and pieced together his shattered bits into a façade of calm. He glanced back toward where Yve—no, her name was Jenn now—Jenn was tending to her wounded and then climbed the stairs and threw open the door.

The weak sunlight blinded him and he blinked as he breathed in the free air. It was only then that he felt the pressure of all humanity around him, their fears and hatred and base emotions calling to the darkness inside, only then did he realize the enormity of his struggle.

God, why did you not let me die? He thought of the most remote place he knew,—the scent of the air, the feel of the earth under his feet, the silence--traced a sigil in the air and vanished from sight.

C
hapter Four

“Can this thing go any faster?” Jennifer Leigh Bartlett-Hascomb leaned her forehead against the window and stared at the mountain below.

Her voice was tinny in her ears, but she could still hear her stress bleeding through despite the heavy headphones. She could also hear the helicopter pilot answer her in patient tones for what had to be the tenth time, “No, Ma’am. Too many updrafts, too many air currents here. If we go to fast or get to close, they’ll be sending a rescue party up for us instead of your friend.”

“He’s not our friend,” both Jenn and Marcus said at the same time. She raised her forehead from the glass to look at her husband of two years. He was still the all-American corn-fed quarterback who had slid a gold band on her finger two weeks after they’d almost died in a dank basement. If anything, marriage was making him even more handsome.

“Did you take your pill? I don’t want you getting altitude sickness,” Marcus said. She knew he was worried because he was twisting the ring on his finger. He had never taken it off, but he did worry at it at times like this. Not that there had ever really been a time like this before.