Tell (17 page)

“No, ma'am.” Gage's face colored and he stared at the floor, a tell that gave him away as fibbing every time.

“Uh-huh. No more cookies before supper. Go play with your brother in your room.” Beryl patted his head as he ran past. Her amused expression fell. “Trouble?”

“I need to give you this coat and some blankets. Tell's in town and there's a demon hunting him because of the name curse. If he doesn't get back to the Gray Lands, anything could happen.” She thrust the dreadnaught at Beryl. “I hope he's with his brothers. Seneca was with him, but that doesn't mean much.”

Beryl accepted the coat. “Thank you, sweetie. It's beautiful and functional. You're the bravest woman I know, going through this in order to help.”

“I had to. It would be irresponsible and foolish to ignore Meacham's warnings. I have to go, Beryl. Please take care of yourself and the boys.” She hugged her old friend. “I look forward to holding those babies.”

“Me too. Things haven't been this bad in Berner in years. I find myself praying just to get through day by day again instead of making grand plans for the future.” Beryl looked wistful. She gestured at the window. “This reminds me of the day Astaroth rose from the Pit. Be safe out there.”

“I'll do my best. Keep an ear out for word from Eban.”

It hurt to leave that cozy little house. When Sylvie reached the street, Dochi was waiting for her in plain sight.

“You're going to get shot if you don't make yourself invisible. People will think you're a rabid, hairless rat.”

His ears flicked, but he seemed unconcerned. “Master Tell was not at either home. The jailhouse?”

“That's our best bet now. I'd kind of hoped you'd gone to find him.” She clutched her brothers-in-law's coats. What if the demon had already gotten Tell? Wouldn't she know?

Let Wys and Eban be safe.
That wasn't too much to hope for, was it?

“I will take you there.” Dochi grabbed on to her skirt.

For a split second they were In-between and then they landed in Wystan's office. Four surprised faces stared at them. Four sets of stunningly blue Heckmaster eyes each held the same amount of shock.

“Well, at least I know you're all safe…for now.” She raised her chin, met each gaze in turn, and then settled on her husband. “I delivered half the coats, but we should probably return to the Gray Lands now.” She held up the remaining two.

“Damn the coats, Sylvie, have you seen what's going on outside?” Tell advanced, his expression full of murder. “Something's coming. You get your ass back to the Gray Lands right now.”

“Not without you.” She dropped a coat on Wystan's lap and shoved the other at Eban. “If you want to go with me and wait for this to blow over then I'll be perfectly happy to agree to that plan. If not, then I guess you'll have to accept that I'm here to stay.”

He took her elbow, but she pulled away. “This isn't a game.”

“It never was. I know that. Someone had to bring the coats. Meacham wouldn't lie about what they do. You weren't going to do it, so I took it upon myself. And look, I'm as hale and hearty as ever.” She waved her hands around her body. “You could say you're glad I made it home all right. Going In-between isn't exactly a picnic, you know.”

Wystan unfolded his coat and slipped into it. “Sylvie, I think it's best if Dochi gets you back to the Gray Lands. We appreciate the gesture, especially since you took time to get the coats to Beryl and Rhia, but you ought to go. And Tell should too.”

“Wait. You stopped in the In-between?” Seneca frowned. “I didn't think it was possible for anyone who didn't possess demon blood.”

“I think we can all agree I'm a little more than your average human woman. Which might just be a good thing.” She stuck her tongue out at Tell. “Now, are you four going to sit here and wait for the world to end, or are we going back to the Gray Lands where whatever demonic nightmare wants Tell can't get us?”

The gas lamps in the jailhouse went out, plunging them into greenish-gray gloom. Eban scrambled to shake out his coat and slip it on.

“Well, shit,” Sylvie said. “It's too late.”

Chapter Sixteen

The jailhouse door flew off its hinges. Dust and screws flew into the space, striking Tell. He spread his legs to shoulders' width apart and swung his crossbow over his shoulder. From belt to notch, he had the bolt in place before three heartbeats had passed.

The monster that stepped through the hole ducked to enter. The snarling, humpbacked creature charged with hooked claws extended. A wash of sticky drool flooded from its mouth and a long pink tongue darted between cruel teeth. The tongue wrapped around the crossbow. The weapon jerked from Tell's hands and clattered to the floor. The demon's hooks sank into Sylvie. She screamed and struggled, but a moment later her cry became a pained whimper.

“Sylvie!” Tell fumbled for the little knife on his belt. His fingers tingled numbly, useless and wooden.

Behind her and the giant toad with tiger claws, a smaller figure entered the jailhouse.

Eban stood on one side of Tell with his saber raised. In Wystan's hand, his bowie knife glimmered menacingly. And in front of them, Seneca clutched a short sword alive with green flames dancing across the blade—divine fire like the shield that had protected Berner from monsters that would have crawled out of the Pit.

“You can't have him, Magabed.” Seneca brandished the sword. “Release the girl and return to Hell.”

The toad-monster let out a deep chuckle. His tongue shot from his mouth and ran across Sylvie's jawline.

“I already have him, courtesy of Astaroth.” The second demon smiled as he lit a fireball in his palm. Small in stature, he had a commanding presence. He looked human, except his features were too sharp, too calculating. His eyes were pitch black and soulless. Close-cropped dark hair shaded his crown in the style Roman legionnaires had preferred. “Such a simple spell to take a massive amount of power.”

The fire burning in Tell flared hotter than it ever had. It covered him, lighting the room and putting Magabed's fireball to shame. Tell could barely see for the flames dancing in front of his eyes. Sparks flew off him, sizzling against the floor. “Let my wife go.”

Magabed made a tsking sound. “Young man, there are no threats you can make that would persuade me to allow that to happen.”

Tell threw a rope of fire at him.

Magabed lifted his hand and the fire turned to ice. “Let's not play games. Astaroth has suffered much under the thumb of his brothers. He is ready for freedom and the Hell it will bring.”

Tell pulled another bolt from its loop. It heated in his hand and he threw it with all the strength he possessed. It hit the toad-monster square in the forehead. Bright pink and orange flame spread across its body. It released Sylvie and wailed. Flames caught the shabby curtains in the window. The toad-demon collapsed and was reduced to ash.

Sylvie gaped at the remains. She started to move, but Magabed grabbed her. Blood ran freely down her arm and her right side. He ran his finger across the puncture on her arm, lifted it, then licked the blood away. Rapture crossed his face and his eyes rolled heavenward.

Sylvie shuddered and squeezed her eyes shut.

“Very nice.” He sighed with pleasure. “Now, I have your lovely young bride. Her blood is excellent, her body sweet and juicy. Unless you wish to see her neck snapped like a mushroom stem, you will not move. Shim was only one minion. There are plenty more waiting for my signal to squash you all like plump grapes.” He smiled, as though everything was a joke.

Tell trembled with rage as the fire spread around him. His brothers stepped away as the wood began to burn at his feet in a small circle.

“I call the power of Astaroth, whose true strength has been hidden, waiting, sheltered in the body of a human-demon hybrid these long years. I call forth his secret name. I call out—” Magabed screamed and loosened his hold on Sylvie. At his feet, Dochi tugged at the bolt he'd used to stab the bigger demon.

She ran, darting past the demon into the street.

Dochi lifted the bolt that had bounced out of Tell's crossbow and stabbed Magabed again. The demon snarled and grasped Dochi's tail. He launched the imp across the room. Dochi collapsed in a heap. His small paws sizzled.

Blackness spread across Magabed's skin as the silver coursed through him. “Too late. Harlowe.”

An invisible wave of force pulsed through the jailhouse. It knocked Tell back two steps. Nausea engulfed him. The fire went out, leaving him cold. He shivered as his knees gave away. Eban moved like lightning and severed Magabed's head. It rolled to a stop near the door. Wystan caught Tell beneath one arm, but recoiled as though burned.

Tell met Seneca's gaze. “Father—” His strength failed him and he hit the floor hard enough to jar his bones. Every inch of him felt as though it were being torn away by something with needles for skin.

Seneca lifted the sword, but he shook as badly as Tell.

“What are you doing?” Wystan hissed. He wrapped his hand around Seneca's wrist to stop the blade from descending.

“I have to before Astaroth rises. I don't want—” Seneca's voice caught. “He is my son, but just as your sister was taken by them, Tell is gone.”

I'm not
gone.

Every muscle, every bone, even his teeth ached as though about to explode. He writhed on the gritty floor. Above him, Wystan and Seneca argued. Eban knelt beside him, but seemed reluctant to touch him.

Then Sylvie was next to him and she didn't hesitate to put her warm hands on his face. “Tell, listen to me. Don't let that thing wake up. You fight it. You're stronger than some demon. Do you hear me? That thing living in you
is not
you.”

“Move, Sylvie,” Seneca bellowed. His sword arced through the air, flashing in the fire that still burned across the floor.

She threw herself across him. “No. There has to be a way. Wystan and Eban both—”

Another crashing wave of pain fell on him.
Oh God, just let it end.
If the bite of Seneca's sword would bring relief, so be it. He tried to grab her, tried to force his mouth to move, but his teeth ground against each other as pain clenched his jaw tight. He shuddered, driving his body against the unforgiving floorboards.

Sylvie's tears hit his face. “Do something!” She directed her demand at Eban, but he looked completely stunned.

I didn't hesitate to try to kill you, asshole.
If this was what turning into a demon felt like, he was through with all things demonic. His vision swirled black as his muscles convulsed again. He managed to roll over and find his way to his hands and knees. He threw his arms toward the hole in the ceiling and turned his face up.

“Tell.” Sylvie reached for him, but Wystan jerked her back.

“That's not Tell,” he said. The bowie knife came out again.

“
This is what it's like to be a god. Soon I shall be the one god and Hell will reign.
”

The voice echoing in his head was familiar. He knew it too well, heard it in his nightmares. His skin seemed to stretch, drawing out another explosion of pain. Red mist boiled out of his pores, swirling in front of him. He rose jerkily, as though strings pulled him to his feet while the mist solidified.

He dropped to his knees again. Bile burned his throat and his muscles clenched, then relaxed. Weakness gripped him in place of pain, but relief came with it. Until he opened his eyes and stared up at the twisted, dragon-ish face of Astaroth. The demon prince's skin gleamed red and scaly, plated with hard, bony armor. Rows of spikes protruded from his back and a pair of onyx-black horns rose above his crown. A long, reptilian tail swayed as he surveyed his surroundings.

Seneca lunged for his former liege. Astaroth stopped him with a wave of his knobby hand. Seneca hung suspended in midair.

The demon prince bared his pointed yellow teeth in a grin. “My loyal servants told me you serve as baron in the Gray Lands. What an honor my brother bestowed on you. And how stupid he was to think you could defeat me.” He looked around the room and licked his scaly lips. “No angels this time? No matter. It wouldn't do you any good to have one. The whispers in Hell are that El doesn't have much time for the trivial problems of one little corner of the world like Berner.”

Sylvie dropped to her knees beside Tell. Blood smeared his skin as she grasped his hands in hers.

Tell tried to summon the fire, but his chest felt cold and empty.

“That won't work, little Harlowe. You see, I was the one who gave you those powers, who stretched and worked your fear. There's nothing you can do to harm me.” Astaroth tilted his head while he studied them. The fire receded from around them. “Such power is mine to control now. However, I owe you deep gratitude for allowing me to feed off your demonic energy for most of your life. Yes, fair is fair. I must think of a way to repay you, because you were so kind to host me these many years. One boon for you before I destroy you. Would you ask me to spare your pretty wife?” He laughed, a terrible noise like thousands of bat wings combined with the screech of rusty door hinges.

Sylvie clutched his hand. “He wants his sister. He wants to know why she did this. Why she let this happen to him.”

“Sylvie, shut up. I don't want—”

Astaroth's eyes glowed red. “You wish to speak with the dead? Shall I reanimate her corpse? Do you think you would recognize her, Heckmaster? If she even has a mouth from which to speak. Such a pretty girl until Noem got the parasite demon into her head.”

“Not her body,” Sylvie said. “She'll need a different one.”

“Are you volunteering, beautiful Sylvie?”

Her face paled. “The angel statue. Couldn't you put her into that?”

“The woman speaks for you, Heckmaster? You'd give the gift of life to a statue instead of taking one of these worthless humans and awaking your sister in flesh and bone?” Astaroth curled his long fingers. “Or have you a plan like your weakling father's to imprison me again?”

Tell met Sylvie's gaze. Her glasses were askew, one lens had a crack at the edge, blood and dirt covered her face. He couldn't pretend to understand why she'd asked for Astaroth to awaken Cassandra. In a marble body no less.

“I guess my bride is eager to put together a family reunion
before
we meet inside the pearly gates.” His voice came out harsh and raw.
You'd better have a real plan here, Princess.

“Tell.” Eban's voice was little more than a whisper.

Wystan's face was stark white and etched in grief. Sandra was probably the last person he wanted to see again, in her own body or a borrowed marble one.

Astaroth whistled a high note and reached into thin air. He plucked a glowing bead of light that hadn't been there before and pinched it between his fingers. “I will devour them all soon. A few minutes with this one will not alter my plans. I can end you all in one moment.”

The tiny light floated free from his fingers, then sped through the air. It disappeared into the whipping wind.

Dochi stirred and sat up. He rubbed his head, then shook it, but stared around the room with a dazed expression.

Astaroth turned to Seneca, malice replacing the curiosity he'd expressed while talking with Sylvie. He whipped his hand and threw Seneca into the wall. “I've plotted a million ways to torture you for eternity. You were one of my most loyal and twice you have betrayed me. There will be no third time.”

Seneca picked himself up and reclaimed his sword. Taller than the average human, he looked formidable with the flaming weapon clutched in both hands. “You can banish me to Hell each time we meet, but I will never stop fighting you as long as there's a chance I can defeat you.”

“I am the beginning and the end. No one can crush Astaroth. It was written in the stars before man was a thought in my brother's gigantic head.” Astaroth growled. “You are nothing but a minion who thinks too highly of himself. The only place for you is a cell in the bowels of Hell.”

The ceiling collapsed inward before the last syllables left the prince's mouth. The angel statue righted itself. A bright white glow rolled off its polished surface. The empty eyes were still black, but somehow seemed human. Water—or tears?—made the rust stains on the angel's cheeks appear glossy. The thing's mouth moved and a soft whisper came from its throat. “Father?”

“Impossible,” Eban said.

The disapproving expression the statue usually wore melted into disbelief and hope. “What's happening?”

“Sandra?” Wystan stepped forward with his hand outstretched.

She met him, her own hand brushing against his palm. “Am I…is this home?”

He cupped her face, but his awe faded. “Not for you. Not anymore.”

“What do you mean? Why is
he
here?” She frowned at Astaroth, then turned back to Wystan. “You didn't make a deal with him, did you?”

“Never.” Wystan's eyes were wet. He shook his head. “Send her back wherever she came from. This isn't right.”

“Wys.” She withdrew her hands from him, clutching them to her chest. “Eb, don't let them send me away.”

Eban gaped like a fish.

Her eyeless stare landed on Tell. “There's something you have to know. The book! The book is hidden at the fountain. It took so long to work that rock free, but it's there and it will get rid of the name curse. It can banish Astaroth forever. I wanted to tell Father, to tell someone, but I was afraid. Then…there wasn't any time.”

“Dochi, get the
Liber Animae Perit
.” Sylvie's voice was sharp.

“Mistress.” The imp didn't hesitate. He was gone the moment the word left his mouth.

Astaroth snarled. “You think some book will help you defeat me? There is no defeat this time. You're already dead, all of you.” He swelled to twice his normal size, further destroying the jail as his head collided against the broken ceiling.