Tell (6 page)

He didn't like leaving Eb and Wys to clean up his messes. It was cowardly, irresponsible and childish. Three things he wasn't, no matter what everyone thought of him. Some days he wanted to crack Wystan and Eban's heads together to make them realize he wasn't a child any more, but there was no denying they looked out for him when he needed it.

I'll kill them last when I go demon-shit crazy.

Well, before he killed Sylvie. God, what good would it do to rule the earth if he didn't have someone pretty and witty to share the apocalypse with?

He walked to Sylvie's shop—a long walk considering his interesting new talent—without encountering anyone who might have heard he was the harbinger of death. Or everyone was taking it well. He hoped for the latter.

The bell jingled as he stepped through the door. The women Sylvie employed were absent, but Sylvie sat at her sewing machine with her back to him. Some kind of ugly gray material hung across her lap and snaked down her skirt.

“Hang it all,” she snapped. Her foot eased off the pedal and she fumbled with the feed dog. “This is impossible.”

“Sylv?”

She jumped, then twisted at the waist to look at him. “You scared me.”

“I seem to be the cause of a lot of that these days.” He smiled, but it was as forced as the wink he'd given Wystan. “You all right here?”

She shoved the material onto the sewing machine stand. Her stool squeaked as she spun, then held up her hands. “Material sprung straight from the Devil's loins.” Her hands were rough, chapped and bright red.

“What the hell are you using it for, then? Get rid of it.” He stepped closer. “I don't care what it's made from—it wasn't worth the money you paid for it.”

She flinched when he took one her hands between his. “Can I tell you something?”

“Are we alone?”

“Yes. I sent the ladies home with some simple sewing. I didn't want them here to see this.”

He nodded. “Good. I have something to say too.”

Her brow furrowed. “More bad news?”

“Nothin' good.”

“Oh, Tell.” She leaned against him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “What's happened now?”

Her embrace gave him the strength to get the story out. He explained about Jeffrey. Her eyes widened behind her spectacles and her face reddened with every word he spoke.

“That-that…asshole. How
dare
he think he can threaten you? How dare he think I would agree to see him again after something like this? I'll murder him myself. I'll choke him with this horrible dreadnaught.” She lifted a corner of the cloth. “I think you were well within your rights to set him on fire, no matter what your brothers say. That despicable man. Why, if I wasn't a lady,
I'd
set his house ablaze.”

It was touching that she wanted to kill for him. He sure didn't deserve that kind of loyalty. “They'll take care of him. Don't worry. He won't put a toe out of line when they get done with him.” He wished he felt as confident as he sounded. “What were you going to tell me?”

Her fierce expression fell. “It's not important right now. It can wait.”

“I'm always here to listen to you, Princess. You can talk to me about anything.” He lowered himself to one knee so they were eye level. “C'mon, tell your old buddy.”

She sighed and her shoulders slumped. “Meacham brought me the dreadnaught cloth.”

“Yep, seems like something he'd find. It's just as revolting as he is.”

She lifted a scrap between her fingers. “Try to set it on fire.”

He shrugged. The snap of fire started in his chest and pushed through to his fingertips. When he held them up to the cloth, the smallest flame lit from his pointer finger. “Huh. That's not what usually happens.”

He lifted his finger higher, holding it beneath the cloth. It remained undamaged, but every bit as ugly as before. “Fireproof?”

“Supposedly resistant to anything that can damage it. It's taking a toll on my sewing machine.” She glared at the little scrap. “Meacham insists I make garments out of it anyway.”

“Why?” Not that a fire-resistant coat wouldn't come in handy.

“To save your brothers and our family from you.” She laid the cloth aside and put her hands in her lap. “He says you're going to accept your demon side and destroy Berner. Not only Berner, but everything.”

Tell's stomach flipped. “Meacham said that, huh?”

Sylvie nodded. “He came in with a big crate of dreadnaught yesterday morning and showed me a vision of the future. I told him I don't believe it, but…how can I ignore what he wants me to do when I have the material on hand?”

He bowed his head. He'd never known Meacham to be wrong about a vision or prophecy. “Listen to him. Better safe than sorry.”

“I don't mean to hurt your feelings. I know you can't help what you are. I don't care about your demon blood. You know that, don't you?” She put her hand on his face. “You're stronger than that, Tell. You're a better man than Jeffrey Spinner. Don't give up.”

He tried to smile. “That means a lot coming from you. Wys and Eb already tried to convince me to cast a circle and get inside just to be safe.”

“There's no need for that. They're worried, of course, and rightly so, but that's no excuse to imprison you. The demons working for your father will figure something out and this will all be a bad memory before we know it.” She leaned closer. “You're my friend. I have faith in you.”

All the threats Spinner had spewed, all the trouble with his brothers, all his worry that the humans in Berner might find out what he was vanished because of Sylvie's smile. Peace fell over him like dust after a storm.

“Thanks, Princess. Good to know someone still trusts me.” His chest hurt with the truth. The little cloud of darkness hovering at the back of his mind broadened. A small part of him wanted to make his brothers pay for suggesting the town would be safer if he was in a protective circle. Bastards.

“How could I do anything else? I'll speak to them. There won't be any more of this locking you away nonsense.” Her chafed fingers trailed down his cheek. Despite the pain she must be in, she gave him another tender stroke. “Maybe we should leave town a while. There are a few merchants I'd love to visit in Santa Fe. You could escort me. Wys and Rhia wouldn't mind. How could they? You're practically my brother.”

Tell closed his eyes. The sweet scent of jasmine clung to Sylvie's skin. It made him lightheaded, but bold. “I'm nothing like a brother to you.” He leaned closer and captured her lips.

She folded her fingers together behind his neck and pressed her mouth against his. No resistance, no hesitation. Sylvie Duke kissed him back with as much hunger as he possessed.

The fire that never died in his chest flickered weakly. The longer he held Sylvie, the colder the ember seemed. He nibbled her lower lip and pulled her to his chest. Although the floorboards were digging into his knees, he never wanted to leave this spot, not so long as she was willing to remain in his arms.

She mimicked his action, taking his lip between her teeth with a tug. Her fingertips pushed through his hair and sent tingles down his spine.

He was more than ready to take her, here on the floor of her shop, in broad daylight, with the window shades wide open. To hell with anyone who passed by. He'd long awaited the moment he'd claim Sylvie with a kiss. He wanted her in every way possible, as quickly as he could get her. With her in his arms, he felt damn near human.

She drew back a bit. “Tell.” Her glasses sat askew, her expression was a trifle glazed. Sylvie's face flushed.

“Where'd you learn to kiss like that? Not from Spinner.” His voice was gruff, but he didn't want her to back away now.

“As it happens, you're not the first man to kiss me. I like you, Tell, but I don't want it to be this way. It's…” She waved a hand at the window.

Like he'd passed his magic mind-reading skills on to her, she'd come to the same conclusion he had. If they kept on, someone would find out. She'd be ruined.

“Sorry.” He rose, then straightened her glasses. “You've got a lot to think about. Making these coats, killing Spinner. I didn't mean to add to your troubles.”

She looked down at her hands. “The minute I laid eyes on you, I knew you were trouble. Nothing's changed in that aspect.”

He managed a smile. “You ain't wrong. I've had similar thoughts about you.”

“Thank you for the lovely demonstration with your mouth. It was…enlightening.” The flush returned.

“I know a few more tricks.” Was this what Wystan and Eban felt when they walked into a room and spotted their wives? The strong urge to taste her again almost pulled him toward her.

“I expect you've got more tricks than one woman could ever experience in a lifetime.” She lifted her gaze and smiled. “You told your brothers you'd go straight home after you made certain I'm all right. I am all right. At least I will be if my heart ever slows down.”

“If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to run me off.”

“Unfortunately, I have orders from Meacham.” Her smile faded. “I'm sorry, Tell. I feel as though I have to make these coats. I have to do it, because—”

“You saw something that scared you. I understand.” He expected the fire in his chest to blaze, but it remained tiny, almost nonexistent. “I'll give you some peace. You come straight to me if Spinner bothers you any time, got it?”

“I will.” She nodded. “You come to me with anything bothering you, understand?”

“I always have.” Except in his search for a companion guide to
The Lesser Key of Solomon.
He'd traveled the States and Territories looking for the damn rumored book that might contain an answer to his demonic problem. He'd used the excuse that he was tracking demons that needed to be sent back to Hell, but he'd never told her about his real quest.

Someday he hoped to be as much a man as his brothers. Normal enough to be a husband to Sylvie, if that was what she wanted.

“You should come around to supper tonight,” she said. “The kids would love to see you and I would too. Rhia's just as worried as I am.”

He didn't want to spend the evening sitting in Rhia's dining room, discussing his problems. “I'll think on it.”

“Please?” Big brown eyes begged as much as her words.

“Do me one better?” He grinned. “Come to supper with me. Just you and me.”

There was no jealous suitor to get in the way now.

“Yes.” She slid off the stool. “I'll go home to clean up. You come for me at six this evening. Don't be late.” She gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “Go home and get some rest. You look awful.”

Her assessment surprised him. “I feel better than I have in days.”

A small paw tugged at his trouser leg. “Master, you mean you, the pretty lady and Dochi will attend supper, yes?”

Sylvie stepped back. “I forgot about him. Good grief. Were you there the whole time, Dochi?”

“Yes, pretty lady. Forgive Dochi for startling you.” Dochi shimmered faintly, but didn't reveal his entire body. “He must keep watch over his master.”

“I'm sure he appreciates your diligence.” Sylvie moved back to her sewing machine. “Six, all right?”

“Wouldn't miss it, even if the apocalypse was coming.” He tipped his hat at her. Supper with Sylvie. No different than the hundreds of other times he'd shared a meal with her, but his heart was lighter. That kiss…not one he'd soon forget. “C'mon, you bald possum. Let's get back before Eban and Wystan send out a search party.”

It would be his luck.

Chapter Six

The curtain over Jeffrey's window moved a fraction after Sylvie knocked on the door. Enough to reveal a smidge of Eban's face.

Oh lord.

Sylvie held her breath when Wystan cracked the door an inch.

“Go home.” He didn't order her about often and it didn't seem like he was interested in debating about it now.

“Let me in.” She wedged the shiny toe of her white boot between the frame and the door. “I have every right to come in and talk to you.”

“This is not a good time. I'm assuming Tell found you.”

“Yes, and that's exactly why you need to let me in.” She leaned on the door, but it didn't move. Wystan was stronger than a bull and stubborn as a jackass. Rhia was the only person who could budge his mind on any subject.

“You're going to cause a scene,” Eban whispered over Wystan's shoulder. “We don't need everyone knowing we're here.”

“Then your best option is to let me come inside.” She pushed her shoulder against the wood. “Where is Jeffrey?”

“Indisposed,” Wystan said. “Go away.”

“Did you
kill
him?” She stopped pushing and stared at her brother-in-law's dark blue eye through the crack.

Eban shoved Wystan, moving into sight. “We didn't kill him, but we're busy.”

“I need to talk to you about Tell. And to Jeffrey, if he's capable of listening to me. I'm not going until both of those things happen.” She curled her fingers around the door's edge. “Give up, right this second.”

Eban loosened his hold on the door. Wystan's arm snaked through the gap and he pulled her inside.

“There are things at work here you don't understand, Sylvie.”

For his height, Wystan failed to intimidate her. She knew he was a marshmallow around her sister and his children.

“There are things you don't understand either, Wys. So let's play catch-up for a moment. Jeffrey tried to hurt Tell, Tell threatened him. Like the coward he is, Jeffrey ran away and you two are supposed to coerce him into silence. Or kill or maim him to ensure it. But Meacham came to
me
with a plan to protect you and your families so Tell can't destroy any of us. Sadly, you two believe you can stop him from going full demon by putting him in a circle, which will never work because he's the best damn circle caster in the Territory, possibly west of the Mississippi and even I, a simple girl who only knows sewing, knows that. Meanwhile, your father and his minions are trying to help Tell, so they say, but who knows what their real agenda is? It's probably up to us to save him and ourselves, not to mention the world. So let's regroup and figure out a real plan, shall we?”

Eban pressed his lips together and glared at Wystan. The nonverbal
look at the monster you helped raise
was practically a shout.

Wystan's look was incredulous.
Me?
Rhia
let her play with Tell. How is it my fault?

She held up her hands. “Enough. Tell's in trouble. He needs us.”

“Trouble isn't a strong enough word.” Eban scratched at the back of his neck. He gestured for her to follow him.

They went through the entryway to Jeffrey's kitchen. The man she'd formerly allowed to court her sat in one of his chairs, muttering to himself. He didn't look up as they entered. Little symbols covered the wood tabletop. He scratched more over the ones already drawn there by using a cheese knife.

“Jeffrey?”

He continued to mutter.

Sylvie met Eban's gaze. “What is going on? Is he speaking Latin?”

“Afraid so. Jeffrey isn't Jeffrey anymore. Maybe hasn't been for a while.” Eban picked at the raw skin around his fingernail. “We think he was possessed.”

“What?” She stepped back. “How could that happen? Tell would have seen it.”

“Not necessarily. He might have missed it with the weird powers he's developing.” Wystan put his hands on his hips as Jeffrey carved a chunk out of the table. “Without Tell's power of mind reading or whatever the hell it is that he does, we can't know for sure that's what happened and Jeffrey's none too interested in telling us.”

Eban snapped his fingers in front of the other man's eyes. “Jeff, you there?”

“What does this mean, Wys?” She grabbed his shirtsleeve. “Meacham says Tell is going to turn, Seneca has a guard watching him, Jeffrey's spewing Latin and he's not himself. Astaroth is gone, so what's happening?”

“All Hell is breaking loose.” Eban's voice was quiet. “Independently of Astaroth. This is different.”

Sylvie shook her head. “It's Tell's demon side. Only he didn't sic Jeffrey on himself. It's someone who wants Tell to turn into a demon, to destroy the world.”

“We can hope that Jeffrey is willing to tell us.” Wystan nodded at Eban. “Do what you can.”

“I'm a doctor, not a clairvoyant. I don't know why you think I can do anything about this.” Eban's jaw clenched. He pulled out the chair next to Jeffrey's and situated it in front of the babbling man. He took Jeffrey's chin in one hand and held his gaze.

Sylvie wrinkled her nose. “What—”

Wystan held up his hand, cutting her off.

Jeffrey's babbling stopped and the sudden silence was worse than the steady stream of nonsense.

Eban's forehead creased and he rubbed his temple, but didn't break eye contact with Jeffrey.

Sylvie chewed on her thumbnail as she waited for one of them to say something that would explain the level of strangeness they'd come to.

The string of expletives that came from Eban's mouth was the last thing she expected. Jeffrey's mouth hung open as though he was stunned by the language, but his gaze was distant.

“What?” Wystan interrupted Eban's swearing.

“Nothing.” Eban shook his head, then ran his fingers through his hair. “Nothing is what I'm getting from his puny, useless, pea-sized brain. Whatever had him in its clutches reduced his brain to a gibbering mess. And I have the worst headache. How does Tell
do
that?”

“Jeffrey's not going to be okay, is he?” Sylvie whispered.

“No, honey, I don't think so.” Wystan put his arm around her. “I didn't want you to have to see that.”

She shivered. “We have to stop whoever—whatever—is after Tell.”

Eban rubbed his temples. “Yeah, we do.”

* * * * *

A stranger waited on Tell's front stoop.

Tell's fingers strayed to his bolt belt. “That's a pretty shitty glamour, Akhar. You cast that yourself?”

“The features matter little to me as they should to you, because my words are far more important than my looks.” Behind the glamour, the Spriggan's limbs trembled. “I require your presence to further study the manifestations.”

“Shucks, I'd love to help, but I have plans this evening. Even if I didn't, I'd rather have every bone in my body broken than go with you and I'm sure that could be arranged.” He spat at his feet. He didn't dare let one little drop of hope cross his mind. He'd been disappointed by false leads on the name curse more times than he could count.

“Your father gave the command that you should cooperate with us if you want a solution to your problem. Have you changed your mind?”

“Let's go inside and have a chat. I'm sure you're well aware of what I can and can't do. I could kill you, but then Father would have some other asshole replace you and I'd probably like him even less. Another thing I can do is find out your real intentions and if you're really going to help me, well, that's mighty nice. If you're not, then I get the pleasure of killing you after all. Let's go talk this through.”

Akhar sighed. “Your father—”

“He's a big, strong, powerful demon baron who was supposed to be dead and now he's back, in control of a considerable demon army and a land where he sits around plotting…oh, wait.
Nothing,
because the Gray Landers literally do not get involved in human or Earth matters unless they want something. Sort of like Hell, but with less fire and brimstone.” Tell folded his arms. “I get to look inside your head or you can shimmy, fly, or creep your way back there.”

“As you wish.” Akhar offered the glamour's hand as though he'd struck a deal.

Tell took it, but it was the eye contact he wanted. Those shiny black buttons that protruded from Akhar's bark were vast and empty. Almost empty.

This experience was aggravating the tree demon. Barely buried resentment oozed from behind that mouthless, expressionless face. And feelings a hundred times more complex than Tell had run across before. Like floating fireflies, Akhar's emotions bobbed and darted away from Tell's reach. Whatever was going on in the demon's head was partially masked. It might have been anger, but it seemed deeper than that. He sensed curiosity too. The Spriggan had an endless thirst for knowledge. Working with Seneca afforded him the chance to learn new magic, old magic long forgotten by anyone who might have carried it from the East. And the one thing eating him up wasn't Tell's attitude. It was Tell himself. He sensed how much he angered the demon, but the longer he tried to pry Akhar's thoughts free, the more resistant and out of reach they became. Frustrated, Tell broke the creature's gaze.

The tree demon blinked. “Satisfied?”

“Not hardly. You're hiding an awful lot. Takes considerable power to do that.”

“Or perhaps all you have to work with here are demons you know and humans who have no idea they need to defend themselves from such tricks.” Akhar shook himself—his glamour appeared to have a cold chill. “Much as I'm sure you believe your plans matter, I must ask for a small amount of your time in order to figure this out.”

Sylvie wouldn't like it if he was late, but a few minutes late was better than a lifetime of wondering whether he'd go full demon. “An hour. That's it.”

The glamour's face twisted into a sour smile. “Very well. Let's depart.”

Tell winced at the bright light beaming from Akhar's trunk. He blinked and when he opened his eyes, they stood in a cave with a tall ceiling and hundreds of stalactites reaching for the gritty floor. “Where the hell are we?”

Akhar's glamour had vanished. He stood in all his tree-like glory, rooty feet shifting through the grit and twiggy arms waving. “The location is of little importance. Let us focus on other matters such as the fire burning through you. I'd like you to summon it.”

The light in the cavern seemed to come from a magical glow in a hurricane lantern. It gave off a hazy gray cast that made the gloomy interior even stranger. While the cave had a high ceiling and the walls were smooth, round and far apart, the stale air was difficult to breathe. It clogged Tell's throat. The fire Akhar wanted to see was close at hand, roaring through Tell with enough force that he could imagine easily blasting a hole through the rock.

“I don't like this,” he ground out.

“Cooperate and you'll be home soon.” Akhar rubbed two of his stick appendages together.

“Careful or you'll catch on fire.” At the last word, short flames sprang from Tell's fingertips. “Wouldn't mind having a little bonfire to warm this room up. I'm feeling chilly.” He stepped closer to Akhar.

The Spriggan watched with curiosity, seeming uninterested in Tell's threats. “Can you make the flames higher?”

“If I wanted to, I could light my whole body up. How's this helping again? And where the hell is Nebo? Shouldn't he be here?”

“Nebo is attending other things. Please, engulf yourself.” Akhar waved one of his sticks as though motioning for the fire to burn higher and hotter.

Heat pulsed through Tell from the ends of his fingers to his crown and along the soles of his feet. The base of the flames beamed hot blue and white sparks flew in all directions. It wasn't uncomfortable, not physically, but it shouldn't have been so easy.

This is not normal.

“Attack me,” Akhar commanded.

“I'll burn you to ashes.” While he'd like nothing better, his father wouldn't appreciate that.

“Do it.” Akhar buried his roots, cracking the rock beneath him. His truck twisted and thickened and his limbs shot up and out. In moments, he was the size of a giant redwood, huge, hulking, and his eyes glowed with yellow light. A whip-like branch snagged Tell's hat. “Come for it, young Heckmaster.”

“Get your own hat.” Tell threw a ball of fire at the Spriggan.

The tree-creature dodged it and laughed. “Pathetic.”

There was nothing worse than a bully who stole things that belonged to others. Nobody took his hat. Tell reached for his silver knife and found the sheath empty. Similarly, the belting contain his bolts had vanished too. “Aww, now that ain't fair. How am I supposed to kill you quickly without any silver?”

“It's your own life you should be concerned about.” Two-dozen pointy sticks flew at Tell. Most clattered around him, but one bounced off his boot and a second grazed his biceps.

“You dirty…” The fire burst around him. He threw a rapid succession of fireballs at Akhar. They bounced off the tree trunk and sizzled into coals that vanished without anything to sustain them. “Fireproof? That's cheating.”

“Nothing is cheating in my realm.” More sticks flew from Akhar.

With a wave of his hand, Tell burned most of them before they got close. Sweat trickled down his temples. Keeping the fire burning so high cost him, but he wasn't about to let Akhar win. When the next volley of sticks rained around him, he snatched one. He charged at Akhar, using the fire in his left arm as a shield.

When he reached the tree trunk, he climbed, grabbing branches and hoisting himself higher even as Akhar wrapped him in green vines. The Spriggan's strength squeezed the breath from his lungs. No matter how hot he tried to burn, it didn't seem to affect Akhar.