Wystan (17 page)

Chapter Nineteen

A bloodstained sack landed at Wystan's feet. He nudged it with the toe of his boot and looked up at Tell, who was mounted on his horse, the crossbow across his lap.

“Three gracken. I pushed the bodies into the Pit. They'd just come through when I got there. It wasn't a fair fight.” The youngest Heckmaster had a smear of brownish blood across one cheek and scrapes on his knuckles, suggesting at least one of them had gotten the drop on him. “They were a distraction. Astaroth let something else out. I found the tracks, but they tapered off about three miles to the north. My best guess is that it has wings.”

“Let something out? Hell, it's probably Astaroth in the flesh waiting to sneak up on us.” Wystan gave the sack a hard kick. The string holding it closed loosened and one of the reptilian heads rolled out, mouth agape, dead eyes wide. A thin, forked purple tongue fell between its jaws and needle-like teeth. “Get rid of those. Burn them. I don't want Rhia or Sylvie stumbling over them.”

Tell looked disappointed. “I was thinking about boiling the flesh off and hanging the skulls around the jail.”

“No.”

His brother dismounted, gathered the free head, and tied the sack to his horse's saddle. “Did Eban learn anything else from Beryl?”

“I haven't talked to him. I figured if he knew anything, he'd find me.” Knowing Eban, he hadn't gotten up the courage to confront Beryl yet. He was a good doctor, but he did things in his own time, seeming to drag out the most important tasks until Wystan's patience was at its thinnest.

“Let's have a powwow before I head”—Tell thumped the sack to accentuate the heads and grinned—“out again.”

Wystan rolled his eyes and set off for the clinic.

“I'm working here. Unlike you two, who drag demon blood through my clinic.”

Eban used a pair of forceps to pull a splinter of wood from the palm of his patient. The peri winced and its beautiful face contorted into something mean before smoothing again.

“I don't have time to talk about Astaroth when I'm doing normal, everyday—”

The wound on the peri's hand sealed itself. “Thank you, Dr. Heckmaster. I'll leave you to your important business.”

The fairy creature slid off the examination table and left the room. Eban sighed and laid the forceps aside.

“Seems you have time now.” Wystan folded his arms. “What does Beryl have to say?”

“She's…it's complicated.” Eban stood, his eyes dark with worry. “She doesn't know anything about Astaroth's plans.”

Wystan leaned forward. “Then how is it complicated?”

“She needs rest and she has nothing to do with any of this.” Eban's voice rose and he pushed his hands through his hair. “I'm done with this nonsense, Wystan. I'm tired of worrying about the next demon to come along. I'm tired of wondering when you're going to kill yourself over Astaroth. I'm tired of knowing there's no life here.”

Tell looked between them. “This is about Rhia.”

Wystan gritted his teeth. “Is this about Rhia?”

“Yes, it's about Rhia! I was trying to get her attention, Wystan. She's the first good thing to come into this town in years. And she fell in love with you.
You
!”

“What's wrong with me?” Wystan strode toward his brother. “It's not hard to believe a woman could love me.”

Eban snorted. “Really? You're selfish, you're arrogant, you steal women from your own brothers. You're the perfect example of a demon. All you care about is your next breath. You could never provide for a woman. She'd get tired of your attitude before a week was out.”

“I didn't
steal
anyone! She came to me the day you tried to court her.” Temper on the rise, he balled his fists so he wouldn't grab his brother's shirt and lift him off his feet. “Rhia wanted me.”

Eban's face paled. “You're only going to hurt her.”

“Just like our father? Get myself killed over some stupid noble horseshit another demon challenges me with? What were you going to do? Sweep her off her feet like some hero out of a damned story and give her a normal life?” Wystan laughed bitterly. “You're forgetting, you're a demon too, asshole.”

“I'm still better for her than you ever could be.” Eban's voice was soft now, his eyes snapping with anger. “But I mean it, Wystan. After we make sure Noem is banished, I'm leaving. I'm not going to live here, wasting my life on a dead town any longer.”

“Eb—” Tell began.

“Be quiet, Tell. This isn't any of your concern.”

Wystan's short fingernails dug into Eban's flesh. “It's his choice, Tell. If he wants to pull out, who are we to stop him?”

Tell's jaw dropped. “You want this. You've always tried to get us to leave. Did you seduce Rhia on purpose?”

For once in his life, Tell was wrong. But he was right about Wystan wanting them to leave.

“You're damn right I did. I let her fall in love with me so I can run the two of you off. Do whatever you want. In fact, I'll get rid of Noem myself. The hell with both of you.”

He stomped out of the clinic. Eban wasn't known for being stupid or base. That either of his brothers thought he was so callous he'd trick Rhia into a relationship. He might be all of the things Eban called him, but was it impossible for them to believe he'd find love?

And why couldn't they be happy for him?

He stopped mid-stride. Happy. That was how he felt when he held Rhia. It had been so long since he remembered the feeling, he hadn't recognized it right away. The day Rhia had dug holes for the sunflowers, that was when it had first hit him. She'd believed those little seeds would grow and he'd laughed at her. Maybe they would, but more likely they wouldn't. When she realized the flowers wouldn't survive here, would she leave as Eban planned to?

He ran his hand down his face. Wystan Heckmaster, dreaming about love instead of beheading the next demon. Who would ever believe that? He looked up and saw the angel statue at the edge of town. As a wedding present, his father had set the marble creation up for his mother. It had weathered well over the last twenty years, despite the attacks and the curse. Though he didn't know much about how it worked, he knew that it wouldn't take much to fix it. Staring at it, remembering the night that people his parents had considered friends burned his mother at the stake, his rage nearly boiled over.

After the curse, he'd thought there might still be some good in the world. Until Astaroth had gotten a parasite imp into Sandra's head. Until the night he'd destroyed his beautiful sister because he couldn't allow her to compromise the rest of them to a demon camp.

Pain seared through Wystan's chest. Sandra had been born between him and Eban. She'd held him while he cried, while he tried to pull himself together for Eban and Tell after their parents died. She'd always seemed wiser, smarter than him. As a young boy, he'd hated the attention she got, but after they became orphans, without her, they wouldn't have survived as long as they had.

She was the one who'd called Seere, who got them weapons and enforced the idea that it was important to keep an eye on the Pit. The one who kept a steady head when the world was going to hell.

There was no one else on earth like Sandra.

Except Rhia. The two of them were so alike, he wondered how he hadn't seen it before. His sister would have approved wholly of Rhia. Might even have approved of their relationship, Eban's feelings be damned.

He hadn't let anyone in close since Sandra's death. Couldn't, because one never knew when another parasite imp might attack. When he'd have to butcher another family member to save the rest of them.

Wystan's legs trembled. He'd let her down, let her fall into enemy hands. He couldn't lose Rhia that way, or let Noem get her sister. Eban would have to understand that some things were more important than love. Protection, duty, service.

And whether Eban liked it or not, even if he was angry about Rhia's rejection, they all needed to protect her. One Heckmaster was more than a match for a demon, but the three of them together were a force to be reckoned with. They'd send Noem back to Astaroth, but he'd be even worse for wear by the time his body and severed head reached the deepest regions of Hell.

“You lied to him, Eb.” Tell pushed his finger into Eban's shoulder. “You said Beryl didn't know anything, but that's not the truth, is it?”

Eban pushed his brother's hand away. “She can't help us.”

“What the hell is the demon inside her doing?” Tell's piercing blue gaze didn't waver. “You know.”

“So what if I do? I already told you, she has no part in this war.” Eban slammed an outdated medical text down on his desk. He wanted Tell and Wystan to leave him alone. For good. In a couple of weeks, when Beryl's body was recovered and Noem was no longer a threat, he was leaving. He wanted to start packing now.

“I'll question her again if I have to. And again, until I get the answers I want.” Tell folded his arms, a younger version of Wystan. “Starting with how she hid in that poor woman's head when she could've come clean.”

Eban shrugged. The lusty demon would only hide until Tell left her alone. “Go ahead. She won't tell you anything. She doesn't remember enough to be any use.”

“Or you could tell me. Cooperate. I don't understand you. All this time we've watched out for Wystan. Something in him snapped when he had to…when Sandra died. We tried to live the way he wanted, but he'll kill himself over Astaroth if we don't back him up. You cleaned him up after Noem got him, but you didn't see how hard he fought to save this town,” Tell said. “If it wasn't for Heng and demon blood, he wouldn't even be here. I don't want to face that again. He's our brother.”

“I'll help if Noem attacks, but I've had it. I could—
we
could—have lives if we weren't guarding a goddamned pit in the desert.” Eban pushed the text off his desk. It hit the hardwood floor with a bang that made him wince.

“Eban, are you all right?” Tell's eyes widened.

“I'm fine, but I'm tired of Wystan making all the decisions. If he wants Rhia, he can have her. If he wants to die defending this—this empty town, let him.”

Tell approached, moving slowly, his eyes never leaving Eban's.

“Jesus, Tell, I know what you're doing. I'm not possessed. I think of all people, I'd know if I had a parasite.” He was frustrated, beyond rational, maybe. Ready to knock some sense into Wystan's thick skull, yes. But he knew all the symptoms of possession and he didn't have a single one.

“Can I look for myself, Eb?” Tell's low voice was disconcerting. It sounded like he was talking to a spooked horse or a frightened child. “I'm not gonna hurt you. I just want to see if…”

They locked gazes and Eban's vision swam. It didn't hurt, exactly, but it made him feel disconnected from his body. Tell's eyes were large, his pupils almost swallowing the blue of his irises. There was nothing human about the gaze. A nagging ache developed between Eban's eyes. He started to lift his hand to rub it, but he couldn't look away from his younger brother. The pressure snapped like a taut rope and he staggered back a step.

“Next time try that trick on your other idiot brother,” he growled.

“I had to check,” Tell protested. “You're not acting like you.”

“We're not children anymore. It's time we grew up and moved on.”

Tell narrowed his eyes. “You really believe this problem is going to take care of itself?”

“It doesn't have to be our problem,” Eban shot back.

“It's the worst damn legacy in the world, but it
is
ours. I'm not gonna stand by while Astaroth takes over the world a little at a time. Don't take your anger at how unfair life is out on Wys. It's not his fault Rhia fell for him, or that he's capable of human emotion after decades of being a monster.” Tell shook his head. “Things are changing around here. Maybe even for the better. Open your eyes.”

Eban started to snap at his younger brother, but it hit him that Tell sounded wise beyond his years. That he made sense. Whereas Wystan was the diligent demon-slayer, and Eban the serious one, Tell was carefree. For him to take on another role, things were dire indeed.

“It's my choice,” Eban grumbled. He wasn't ready to concede just yet. At least not until he figured out how to get the parasite out of Beryl's head before it destroyed her mind.

“Fair enough.” Tell didn't sound reassured. “I'm going out on watch again. If Beryl feels like talking, or by some miracle you do, I'll be circling town.”

Eban should tell them what Beryl's demon had said, but for now he wanted to keep it quiet. They had enough trouble on their hands—and him nursing a broken heart—that one Gray Side creature couldn't possibly matter.

Chapter Twenty

“Rhia, I'm bored. Can't we go outside for a while? An hour?” Sylvie's cheek was pressed against the desktop and her eyes pleaded for relief from the schoolhouse interior as much as her words.

Rhia felt the walls were closing in on her as well. “Maybe if we stay within a few yards of the door.”

Sylvie burst up from the desk as if her dress was on fire. “Thank you! I don't understand why we have to hide. The sheriff and his brothers will keep us safe.”

Perhaps it hadn't been wise to educate her sister on just why Noem wanted them, but she didn't want to lie about the seriousness of the situation. “They'll do their best, but we have to do our parts too. I know it's hard to imagine that Noem would care where we are after all this time, but he's not stable. He wants revenge for what I did to him.”

“You should bring the gun outside. You can shoot him again if we see him. Sheriff Heckmaster would probably give you a medal.”

Rhia wasn't sure shooting Noem a dozen times with the Springfield would solve her problem. “I won't give him the satisfaction of seeing us scared. Not that I believe he's here. This is all a precaution.”

“Then why do we have to stay inside?” Sylvie reached the door before Rhia and opened it, allowing sunshine to pour through. In the beams, Sylvie's hair glimmered golden-brown. She stretched her arms over her head, arching her back. A miniature angel taking pleasure in the evening light. Rhia smiled, grateful for every minute with her sister, even the moments when Sylvie complained nonstop.

Please let us be safe here. Let this be a place for Sylvie to grow up out of harm's way.

“Move over, you sun hog. Save some for me.” Rhia put her hands on her sister's shoulders and pushed her farther outside. Sylvie laughed, stepped off the stoop and spun in a circle.

Though the streets were still empty, Rhia saw a quiet beauty in the town instead of the despair she'd sensed when they first arrived. The people here were trying to get along without trouble. They were strange, too different to blend into other cities, but they carved out a living and had families. Funny how she felt she fit right in. She pictured a life with Wystan—something she'd never thought about before with any man. What would it be like to marry him, to bear his children? They would be a quarter demon, but that didn't matter to her. For all the Heckmasters' faults, they were good people.

She supposed that they would have to destroy Astaroth before that could happen. Wystan would never be at ease until that threat had vanished. That might never happen in her lifetime.

It was a sobering thought. How stupid could she be to fall in love with a man who had vengeance on his mind? No amount of begging or pleading would draw him away from his mission. Astaroth would always loom over them, always try to destroy them.

She wrapped her arms around herself. It wasn't easy picturing a life where she could settle down, not with Butterman's resources and friends. Someday he might find her again. He'd found her once, what would stop him from doing it again? How could she put a husband and children at risk from that man's wrath?

The schoolyard was quiet, which pulled her away from thoughts of Butterman. How long had she been standing here alone, thinking about Wystan and the past? She'd warned Sylvie not to wander off.

“Sylvie?”

No answer. Her sister had vanished from sight.

“Sylvie, where are you?” She hurried around the corner of the schoolhouse, relieved when she saw Sylvie inspecting the tiny sunflower sprouts.

Sylvie smiled. “Your sunflowers need water.”

She tugged Rhia's hand. For a moment, she worried they were going too far from the door, but her sister's insistence and her own desire to prove Wystan wrong about the ground were strong. Sylvie's hand tightened around Rhia's, squeezing harder than she ever had before.

“Ow. Let go. You're holding too tigh—” Rhia's voice faltered as Sylvie's form melted from a little girl to a large, gangly creature that towered over her. It resembled a mantis, with crooked legs and a long, slender body. Its face was flat, round and gray. A slash of a mouth revealed pointed teeth. Long, lank hair lay around its face and its thin shoulders. Wide wings sprouted from its back, clacking together as they twitched. Needle-like claws scored her flesh. It was more insect-like than human. Gooseflesh rose over Rhia's skin. A scream rose in her throat as fear skittered through her, but she held it in. Its huge multifaceted ruby eyes glittered with all-too-human malice. Her blood chilled as she thought of it devouring her sister.

“What are you?”

Its wings clattered together again. “A messenger from Hell.”

She wanted to run, but concern for Sylvie held her in place.

“Where's my sister?” she demanded.

“Where are the Heckmasters?” it countered.

“Are they who you want? You'll let Sylvie go if I bring them to you?” The three of them together could tear this beast to fish bait without blinking.

“Yes. You will fetch them here and I will release your sister.” It gave her what it must have thought passed for a grin. Dingy teeth snapped together. “An exchange.”

Trying to appear calm on the outside, she nodded. Blood rushed between her ears, making it difficult to think. She worried that Sylvie was tied up, or hurt, waiting for Rhia to rescue her. “Who should I tell them is asking?”

“Krazzir. They will know the name. Multitudes fear it.” The creature leaned over her, leering.

Pointed talons pierced her skin again. She knew it wanted her to struggle, wanted to see her blood drip down her wrist. She wasn't about to give in. Regret filled her as she remembered Sylvie urging her to bring the rifle, but she wasn't sure it would've helped much against a creature this size. “Let me go, or I won't be able to summon them.”

With a flutter of wings, it rose from the ground, lifting Rhia's feet away from the earth. An involuntary scream left her throat. Then it dropped her and she hit her knees. Krazzir soared to the top of the schoolhouse and paced across the roof.

“Swiftly, woman. Your sister's life is in my hands.”

Rhia's heart thumped painfully as she ran toward the jail. It seemed to beat with her sister's name rather than its usual strong thump. Cold fear constricted her chest, leaving her gasping for air.

Wystan looked up from a book on his desk, his expression going dark when Rhia dashed through the door.

“What is it?”

“Krazzir has Sylvie.” Her words ran together, exhaled from the one deep breath she'd been able to take. Collapsing into a chair, she buried her face in her hands, letting her fear pour out in tears.

“Did you say Krazzir?”

She looked up and nodded.

Wystan hadn't moved, shock evident on his face. “Jesus. Did you see it take her?”

“No, but it pretended to be her.” She shoved fear aside in favor of anger. “You have to get her back. It wants all of you to go to the school. You can kill it, can't you?”

“Of course, but…” His voice trailed away. “Something that big and powerful. Astaroth is sending them through as a test.” Wystan stood and rounded his desk. “Are you okay?”

“I shouldn't have let her go outside. She was so bored. This is all my fault—for bringing her here, for not listening when you told us to leave. You have to get her back, Wystan. You promised to watch out for us and now she's gone!” Rhia stood. “Right this minute, before it does something awful to her. It wants you and your brothers to meet it at the schoolhouse.”

He caressed the handle of the bowie knife. “Fetch Eban while I go for Tell.”

Rhia pinned him with her gaze. “Promise me that you can get her back alive, Wystan.”

“I will. Safe and sound, or may I be struck down.” He didn't hesitate or show any sign of worry. The calm before the storm. Wystan was cool and calculating.

“Please,” she whispered.

He nodded and jerked his head at the door. Rhia turned, leaving Wystan alone in the office. She clutched a stitch in her side as she ran the two blocks to the clinic.

Like the jailhouse's, the clinic door was wide open.

“Eban!” She stumbled as she crossed the threshold. Placing a hand against the wall to steady herself, she called him again. Tears rolled freely down her cheeks.

“Rhia?” Eban appeared in the hall, drying his hands on a towel. His eyes widened and the towel fell at his feet. “What is it?”

“Kr-krazzir has Sylvie.” With fear clogging her throat, she thought he might not have heard her. For a long moment, he didn't move, still as the angel statue on the edge of town.

“Krazzir,” he repeated. Without waiting for affirmation, he left the hall.

“Wait. Eban, please wait.” She ran after him, terrified he wasn't going to help because she'd refused his company. When she entered his study, he had the saber strapped to his hip and he was tucking vials into the belt.

“Where is he?” His eyes were steely, full mouth set in a firm line.

She quickly explained for him.

“All right. Wystan's at the jail?”

Rhia shook her head. “He said he was going to find Tell.”

“What?” Eban almost dropped one of the vials he'd pulled from his desk. “The last I knew, Tell was at the Pit. He'll take all day getting there. He…son of a—he's going to the school himself. Wait here!
Do not
leave the building, Rhia. I mean it.”

“But—”

Eban was half out the door already. “I'll bring her back to you.”

Wystan watched Krazzir pace the length of the schoolhouse roof. The creature's opaque, shining wings fluttered with nervous energy. Sylvie was nowhere in sight and Wystan guessed Krazzir had the girl hidden well away.

Stepping out from the shadow of the buildings across the street from the school, Wystan whistled. Krazzir's long neck twisted as it faced Wystan. A wicked grin crossed its face.

“The Heckmasters arrive one by one. Heck
master
. Funny name for weakling half demons with no legions of their own, whose blood is tainted with that of humans. You're no masters.” Krazzir clicked its long fingernails together. “When you join the true master in Hell, we shall see if you beg for mercy.”

Wystan drew the bowie knife, letting the sun glint off the blade. He weighed the knife in his hand, comforted by the smooth hilt and the perfect balance of the weapon. “You're a pawn, Krazzy. You must know that. How often does Astaroth ask you to serve?”

Krazzir's wings fluttered. “It is an honor.”

“To die over and over and…” Wystan grinned. “Over?”

“An honor!” Krazzir repeated. Fury burned in its bulging eyes.

Sweat beaded between Wystan's shoulder blades, making his shirt damp and his skin sticky. The demon in him knew that if he pledged service to Astaroth, he might someday come into command of a legion of his own. The human side was repulsed.

“I guess you might not mind dying one more time then.” Krazzir growled. “I will wait for the others to arrive.”

It clicked then, what the insect demon intended. To draw the Heckmasters into a circle that would transport them straight to Hell. Wystan couldn't have that. He drew his shoulder back and threw the bowie knife with all the force he could muster.

The glistening blade sank into Krazzir's chest. The beast screamed, grasping the hilt, but lost its footing and tumbled from the roof, landing with a thud. Wystan put his boot heel across its throat. Krazzir gasped.

“Where's the girl? Where's Sylvie?”

Blood trickled from the demon's mouth. “Quest…ting. Bea…” Krazzir gagged and spit a dark globule of blood to the side. “Questing beast.”

The shadow that fell over Wystan blotted out the figure at his feet. Moments before, his blood had been boiling. Now a chill descended over him with all the force of a hard winter. Krazzir shuddered, eyes going blank as its hellish essence fled its body to return to Astaroth's prison. Wystan sensed a presence behind him, and cursed himself for being led into a trap.

“No fair sneaking up on an unarmed ma—”

The beast's huge clawed foot raked through the air and took Wystan's legs out from under him. Dark spots danced in front of his eyes, concealing the creature from his vision for a moment. Long enough for it to advance and hook a claw beneath his suspenders to lift him from the ground. It raised him to eye level. A low growl that sounded like
rhuck-rhuck-rhuck-rhuck
came from between its snarling lips.

The questing beast was incapable of human speech. Battered and bleeding from a cut on his cheek, weaponless, and outmatched, Wystan drew in what might be his last breath. Unlike Krazzir, he wouldn't return from death in a new body. This was his final stand.

“I want the girl,” he ground out. “She's got no part in this.”

The beast made the rhucking noise again. Wystan grimaced as the sound pierced his eardrums. Pebbled scarlet flesh covered the beast's frame. Big yellow eyes watched him while long, pointed, mule-like ears pricked with interest as Wystan swung by the suspenders. The long tail swished back and forth, throwing dust into the air.

It was waiting for Eban and Tell, of course. Beneath its placid expression, behind those thin, scaly lips, it had row after row of jagged teeth that chewed, ripped, and mangled its victims. He wondered whether Astaroth would let it eat him. Perhaps after he tortured Wystan and his brothers for an eternity each.

Something flew past Wystan's head and shattered against the beast's chest. Its
rhuck-rhuck
turned into a furious scream. Flinging Wystan away, it whirled, big feet scraping the ground, tail knocking against the schoolhouse wall.

Wystan landed hard on the earth, winded for the second time in a matter of minutes. He blinked, trying to clear the dust from his vision, clutching his ribs with one hand. From the corner of his eye, he made out Eban's form, dancing around the questing beast like a suitor engaging his intended in a waltz. Eban had always had a kind of grace Wystan could never hope to obtain. He tried to rise, but the pain in his ribs was too much. There was a weakness in his body he'd never experienced before. It was all he could do to get another breath. In front of him, a crooked row of green shoots rose defiantly out of the reddish dirt piled around them.