Wystan (18 page)

Rhia's sunflowers.

A true miracle in a place abandoned by the divine when Wystan was a child. He wanted to watch the flowers climb toward the sky, to the heavens where his mother surely smiled down at him. Wanted to see Rhia's face when she told him that he'd been wrong, that things could grow in Berner.

He reached out to touch one of the shining green leaves blowing in the wind and dust. It was soft beneath his fingertips, fragile like Rhia, but strong like her too. From the corner of his eye, he saw Eban slash at the questing beast and Tell rounding on the monster as he reloaded his crossbow.

There was a head-splitting shriek and Wystan looked up to see a silver bolt piercing one of the questing beast's nostrils. The silvery arc of Eban's saber sliced through the air.

Too late, Wystan realized he'd ripped the leaf off the sunflower plant as easily as Eban severing a monster's head from its neck. He had to apologize to Rhia, but before he could think of getting to his feet, darkness closed in.

“I don't remember. It's all blurry. Stop that, Rhia. I'm not a little girl. You don't have to wash my face!”

Sylvie's voice ripped Wystan out of the blackness fogging his brain. He tried sitting up, but his ribs protested like he'd been run down by a buffalo. He barely managed to raise his head from the pillow supporting it.

“I don't know how it got here, Eb. I've been watching that hole with both eyes. Never blinked. It didn't come through when Krazzir did. Maybe before.” Tell's voice was nothing more than a sharp, worried whisper. “I came back as soon as I saw Krazzir. I almost rode my horse into the ground getting here.”

The gang, it seemed, was gathered. Wystan could almost feel the hum of silver weapons, wet with the blood of Hell's demon lords.

“He'll send it back. Or he might try to come through on his own this time.” Eban sounded fierce, less like a gentle doctor and more like a demon-slaying warrior. “When Wystan wakes up, I'm going to hit him hard enough to knock him into yesterday. Stupid, quick-tempered, irrational…”

“That was a trap for sure,” Tell answered. “He should've waited for us.”

“This is the last time. I'm not patching him up again.” Eban's frustrated voice carried across the hall.

Tell snorted. “Right. We'll go make a peace offering with Astaroth. Ask him to stop sending his followers through the Pit.”

“Go to hell, Tell.”

His brothers' bickering was enough to convince him to get up. Feeling a hundred times more human than any other day he could remember, he swung his feet to the floor. The boards creaked beneath him and his spine popped as he stretched to his full height. Nevertheless, he was alive and mobile—a good way to end the day.

Tell said something unintelligible.

“Why don't you go back to the Pit like Wystan's watchdog?” Eban snapped.

“You're sore because you had to kill something. Wake up. There's a war on.”

“That doesn't mean I have to take a side.”

“Will both of you stop?” Wystan forced himself to stand tall as he left the room and faced them in the hallway.

“Oh, good. You're still alive. Now get out of my clinic.” Eban's blue eyes burned with fire. “I don't have anything to say to you.”

Wystan ignored Eban's demand. “You took the questing beast's head off?”

“How else do you kill one?” Bitterness turned Eban's voice harsh. He looked away as he folded his arms across his chest.

“The body?”

Tell shook his head. “Too big to drag back to the Pit. Probably have to burn it. You feeling all right, Wys?”

“Just old.” He scrubbed his hand over his face. “Sylvie checks out? No parasite imps?”

“Nothing. Getting her back was no easy task.” Tell, who never looked bothered by blood or gore, shuddered. “Questing beasts carry their captives in their chests. Took a fair bit of cutting to get her out. Left quite a mess out there beside the school. We decided it's better if the Dukes stay here tonight.”

“
You
decided,” Eban muttered.

Wystan cracked his knuckles. “I won't darken your doorways any longer, Eban. I know you're pissed off at me, but don't take it out on Rhia and Sylvie.” He earned a scowl, which he ignored. “Tell, a word.”

Tell gave Eban an apologetic look and followed Wystan to the foyer. It was all Wystan could do to stand up straight and walk without limping.

“You want me to drag the beast outside of town? I could get started on it tonight. It'll probably stink up the place for a week.”

“Get some rest tonight. We can do it in the morning. With any luck, that thing'll go up like a vat of kerosene. There's something else.” He pictured Sandra and the crazed look in her eyes once the parasite imp had full control of her body. There was nothing gained by putting his request off. “Can you look into Eban's mind and see if he's… He's not acting like himself.”

Tell was silent for a moment. “Already checked. It's Eban in there. Nothing else.”

A wash of relief swirled around Wystan. “I should've guessed. Nobody decapitates a monster like Eban.”

“He does it with a certain elegance, doesn't he?” Tell's mouth quirked into a smile. It faded quickly. “He wants to go bad. We shouldn't force him to stay.”

Wystan gritted his teeth. “I guess he can get on a horse and go any time he wants. There's nothing holding him here. I'm sure not gonna beg.”

Tell's eyes hardened. “He hasn't left yet because of you. What you did today, that was stupid. You could've been killed.”

“Don't start that. We've been 'round and 'round on this. It's my duty to protect you, just like I did before you ever set eyes on a demon.” Wystan held his hand up. “You're damn good at slaying them, but those two planned to take all of us. We shouldn't make ourselves easy targets. If we're apart, anything Astaroth sends will have a tougher time dragging us through the Pit.”

“You're missing the point,” Tell argued. “You won't do any good protecting us if you're dead. Not that we've needed protecting for a long time. We have weapons made for slaying demons. We're stronger as a group than apart. Which is why we need Eban here.”

Wystan sneered. “I suppose you think I should apologize for stealing Rhia from him.”

Tell's expression was guarded and he seemed to be choosing his words with care. “You didn't steal her. The choice was never yours to make. Rhia was meant to come here. It couldn't have gone any differently.”

“Why are you so sure about that?” A man like Wystan didn't deserve a woman as pure and wholesome as Rhia. He'd seen too many awful things—killed most of them— and he knew that love made a man weak. It was a disadvantage he couldn't afford while Astaroth lurked beneath the town. Maybe he could never offer Rhia the sort of life she deserved.

“I know it the same way Eban does. We still listen with our hearts. You closed yours off years ago.” Tell didn't sound angry, but his brow was wrinkled, his mouth tight. “No one can tell you anything. It's something you'll have to figure out on your own.” He paused. “I'll make a loop around town, see if there's anything else waiting.”

Wystan nodded, only half-aware of his brother's offer. There were too many words and something dangerously close to feelings tumbling around in his head.

“One more thing, Wys.”

“Yeah?”

Tell walked away backward, eyes glinting faint red in the lamplight. “Eb and I agree, we ever hear about you trying to take on something like a questing beast by yourself again, we're just gonna let it eat you. Krazzir is never the threat, always the decoy. You knew that.”

He couldn't deny it, but he wouldn't apologize either. He had something in common with Krazzir besides demon blood. He'd made a damn fine decoy as well.

Tell vanished into the dusky evening.

A small hand wrapped around his arm. He looked down. Rhia, whose touch alleviated the pain still pounding his ribs and the creak in his spine.

“You almost died,” she whispered, big hazel eyes swimming with dampness. “You didn't go for Tell.”

Her touch electrified his skin. He'd been willing to give his life for her sister's safe return, but he realized how much he would lose if Astaroth won. More than he'd lose if he pushed her away. “No, I didn't.”

“To which part?”

“Both. Been in plenty of situations worse than that one. Someone had to dispatch Krazzir to call the questing beast out. No sense putting all of us in its line of sight right away. Eban and Tell handled it without much trouble.” He removed her hand from his arm, gripping her slender fingers. “How's Sylvie?”

“She doesn't remember any of it. That's a blessing.”

“I'm glad for her. And for you.”

“Wys, please listen to me. I know you thought you were doing the right thing—the very thing I asked of you, but it was dangerous. If Eban and Tell had taken any longer getting there, you wouldn't be here anymore.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I was frightened when Eban told me you were hurt.”

Her concern sent a stab of pain through him. He hadn't intended to make her worry. “Sylvie—”

Rhia stretched up on her toes. Her lips nearly touched his and warm hands cupped his face. “She's my sister, my blood, but Wystan Heckmaster, you're the man who holds my heart. I don't want to lose either of you.”

His heart ached at her whispered words and the concern on her face. He'd never expected a woman to profess feelings of love for him. And never a woman like Rhia. Wystan lowered his forehead to hers, reveling in the bittersweet moment. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her he loved her, but at the same time, it was too dangerous. Astaroth and Noem would exploit his love for her if they discovered it. He stepped back and held her at arm's length.

“Rhia, I can't give you the life you deserve. I can't walk away like Eban and be a doctor, or the type of man who comes home every night. I'm not good for you.”

She stilled, but he felt the shift in her emotions, saw the subtle flash of pain cross her face then vanish. “You could try.”

He made his face blank, summoning the words that would drive her away and keep her safe. “I can't love you. It isn't in me. I used you to make Eban angry, to get him to leave.”

“What?” The color drained from her face. “You wouldn't. You felt something. It was strong. We both felt it.”

“No.” Wystan shook his head. “I never did. I lied to make Eban go away. To get you to leave. This is no place for a woman trying to raise a girl.”

She drew in a breath and slapped his hands away. “Then you may as well let Noem have me.”

Her words were like a blow. “Rhia—”

“There's nothing more to say, Wystan. You're a demon hunter and I'm a schoolteacher. We have nothing in common.”

She left him standing in the foyer, feeling worse than he had in a long time. His cursed human blood made his emotions too sharp, too painful. She asked too much of him if she expected him to lay down his weapons. Pretending there wasn't a threat wouldn't stop it from coming.

He left the clinic for the jailhouse to nurse his newest wounds. The kind that couldn't heal with salves and bandages.

Chapter Twenty-One

Rhia rolled over, staring into the predawn. Beside her, Sylvie slept peacefully while Rhia's hopes had crashed down around her. Beryl shifted in the bed on her other side, but she didn't think her friend was asleep.

As much as she wanted to confess her feelings to someone, she didn't want to bother Beryl. The conversation with Wystan repeated over and over in her head. The way he'd pulled her into his arms as though he meant to kiss her and perhaps reveal the same feelings she had. Except when she'd told him, he'd backed away. He'd told her they had no future together.

He'd admitted he had used her.

She held her breath, afraid if she let it out, a sob would follow. It didn't slip her notice that very first night they'd come to Berner, she'd laid here holding in tears because of Wystan. She longed for the comfort of deep sleep. No amount of turning over made her comfortable. Her words echoed in her mind. Why had she ever believed he might feel the way she did?

She heard Beryl sit up and throw the covers back.

“Rhia, he's coming.”

The lamp at the bedside flared to life. Rhia cracked an eyelid and stared blearily up at Beryl. “Who?”

Blonde hair stood out around Beryl's face, wild as though she'd just come out of a wind storm. Rhia clutched the blankets in her fists. A fresh wave of misery washed over her.

“Get up. It's Noem.” Beryl's voice sounded harsher than Rhia had ever heard it.

Rhia tensed. Not here, not now. Not when her heart was broken and she had nowhere to turn. “Are you certain? You might've had a nightmare.”

“I'm sure. Wake Sylvie while I get Eban.” Beryl left the room, already calling for the doctor.

“Sylvie.” Rhia shook her sister's shoulder. “We have to
go
.”

“It's not time to get up yet,” Sylvie moaned. She turned over, putting her back to Rhia.

“Noem is here. We have to hide.” She'd spoken the truth to Wystan—it didn't matter to her if the demon captured her—but she had to keep Sylvie safe. Anger trumped her fear. She'd die before Noem got near her sister. “Come on. Eban is going to make sure we're not found.”

Sylvie sat up, eyes rounding in fear. She clutched Rhia's arm. “I won't let him take you.”

“I know. You're so brave.” Rhia rose from the pallet and took Sylvie's hand. If she could change things, she'd have shot Noem in the head until she was certain there was no soul—corrupt or otherwise—lingering in his body.

Eban came through the doorway, hair tousled, face lined with the imprint of his pillow. “I'm leaving Beryl here with you. There's a room beneath the study where you can hide. I'll get Wys and Tell. Noem won't get near the clinic.”

Rhia wished she had her rifle. A bullet might not kill her enemy, but it would slow him down as it had before.

Sylvie whimpered. “Why can't he leave us alone?”

“After tonight, he'll never bother you again. I promise.” Eban offered them a tight smile. “Right into the study, ladies.”

Rhia took Sylvie by the shoulders, steering her out of the room. Eban's saber banged against his leg, clattering with each step. Beryl waited for them, holding the trapdoor open. She didn't look as frail as she had when Rhia went to bed.

Gray light filtered through the windows as though heavy clouds hung over Berner. The air was hot with a faint sulfur scent. She clung to Sylvie's hand as her sister descended the stairs to the underground chamber.

“It's dark.” Sylvie balked, looking up at her.

“It won't be once we get a lantern. There's nothing to be afraid of down there.” Rhia did her best to smile, but she felt the same prickles of fear that shined in Sylvie's eyes. The real threat couldn't be held off by wooden buildings and trapdoors.

Beryl passed her the requested lamp and Rhia turned it up all the way, letting the flame's light stretch into the room.

“You see?” She held tight as she followed Sylvie down to the stone floor. Air that smelled faintly of dirt and water cooled the perspiration on her face. “Are you coming down, Beryl?”

“I'm needed up here. Don't leave the safe room, Rhia, do you understand?” Something odd glimmered behind Beryl's green eyes. She still sounded strange, as though she'd been taken over by something that wasn't Beryl.

Rhia nodded. The trapdoor shut above their heads and Sylvie clutched her so hard, her ribs ached.

“It's going to be all right,” she whispered, resting her chin on Sylvie's head. It wouldn't be until Noem was banished from earth, and even then, Rhia wasn't certain that was good enough.

Eban faced Beryl, the hilt of his saber clutched tightly in his hand. “So help me if this is a trick, I'll sever your head from your shoulders so fast, you won't have time to ponder it on your way back to Hell.”

The creature living inside Beryl's body pulled her lips back in a snarl. “Noem is here. I've risked everything to keep Rhia and Sylvie safe thus far.”

“For reasons I still don't understand,” he pointed out.

“For reasons you refuse to acknowledge. I brought her here for your elder brother. If the damned fool doesn't wreck my plans,” Beryl said. “We'll have a place of peace yet, as long as we keep Noem at bay.”

A sinking feeling snagged Eban's stomach. “I don't think Wystan and Rhia would like knowing they're part of your little plan.”

“Perhaps not, but they'll both be thankful I saw fit to help protect Rhia when they come to their senses.”

He almost laughed despite the tension in his neck and shoulders, the cold dread that seemed to leaden his feet and the haughty spark in her green eyes. The idea of a woman who weighed no more than two grain sacks and was recovering from a lung disease protecting another woman was ridiculous.

“Do you want a weapon or are you going to send Noem to Hell using your bare hands?”

Beryl scowled, a gesture that turned her delicate features harsh. She looked at her hands, with her short, flat fingernails. “A weapon, if you can spare one. This body is incapable of defending itself otherwise.”

Wystan was going to kill him if he found out what Eban was about to do. He turned to a bookshelf and braced his shoulder against it. The shelf scraped along the wall. Hidden in the space behind it, a hatchet with a silver blade as long as his hand was mounted on the wall. Eban removed the weapon, clutching the wooden handle.

“This belonged to my sister, Sandra.”

“There is little room for sentiment in times of war, Ebaneezer.” Beryl lifted the hatchet from his hands. She tested the weight of it and nodded. “This is a good weapon for demon slaying.”

“The body you're in belongs to someone else. What gives you the right to damage it? Suppose Noem tries to kill you. That means Beryl is lost. An innocent young woman.”

Her mouth tightened and she tapped her foot. “There are things about Beryl Brookshier that would surprise you. Her lack of innocence is the least of them. Don't you think she'd be pleased to die fighting for her friend's safety?”

Eban stared. He wondered how Beryl felt about a demon accessing her memories. When this was over, he vowed to find a way to rid her of the creature. It might have good intentions now, but in the end, all demons wanted something. He didn't care for the idea that it might destroy the woman inside for the pleasure of using her body.

Tell barged in, crossbow in the crook of his elbow, a bolt in his hand. He gestured at the door. “Have you seen this?”

The smell of sulfur followed him in, choking the air with bits of dust and ash. Eban leaned around him and stared into the street. Overhead, the sky was fading from dark to yellowish-red.

“The Pit?” He barely got the question out.

Tell shook his head. “It started on the opposite side of town. It's fire, but it's not regular. No one ever accused Noem of subtly. That cocky bastard is coming to town with fanfare. Where are Rhia and Sylvie?”

Eban nudged the rug over the trapdoor with the toe of his boot. “Hidden.”

Tell eyed Beryl and stared pointedly at the hatchet in her hands. “Aren't you going to stay with them?”

“No. I have plans to fight Noem.”

Eban swallowed as Tell's eyes burned into him.

“You're sure we can trust her with a weapon?”

Eban shrugged. “You're the one who can read minds. You tell me.”

“He can't read them.” Beryl smiled in a cool, calculating way. “Only certain demons can do that, isn't that so, H—”

“Do not. Don't say it, you life-sucking parasite. We don't have time for that.” Tell's face flushed red. His real name was a sore subject. The consequences of saying it aloud probably rivaled the coming storm. It had been years since anyone dared utter it.

Eban didn't want to guess how Beryl knew it.

“You know she's draining the life right out of that body, don't you?” Tell demanded.

“I know,” Eban answered. “We can deal with it after we send Noem to Hell. There are more important things at hand.”

Beryl remained quiet, but she stroked the blade of the hatchet. The silent threat raised the hairs on the back of Eban's neck.

Tell leaned out the door, frowning at the sky. “One of us should fetch Wystan.”

The familiar anger that surrounded Eban prodded him again. “He's probably already there, neck-deep in minor demons while Noem watches.”

“Probably,” Tell agreed. He stepped outside, his long stride eating up ground as he headed to the eastern edge of town.

Beryl arched a thin brow. Eban's shoulders tensed again. He didn't want to trust her and wondered at his own judgment for giving her the hatchet. If they so much as turned their backs on her, she'd probably behead all of them. Too late now, and an extra set of hands wouldn't hurt. He'd no sooner thought that than Heng, the weather deity, appeared next to Tell. The two of them had faced Noem before and come through it.

Three Heckmasters, a Gray Side demon and a weather god shouldn't have any difficulty with a monster who held very little of his master's favor these days. Still, Eban's heart was in his throat. That monster had nearly disemboweled Wystan—Wystan who never faltered, who never failed to overpower evil.

He couldn't ignore the cold chill that slithered down his back, or the grip of fear that wrestled his stomach. Noem wouldn't surrender on peaceful terms, not when he stood to face Astaroth's wrath if he failed to bring Rhia back.

Walking to the edge of town felt like facing his doom. While he hid away in the clinic, occasionally bandaging a wound sustained a demon fight, Tell and Wystan dealt with this sort of thing every day. He glanced at Beryl, whose face was remarkably stolid. Did the mortal woman who belonged inside that body know what she was about to encounter? Or was anything left of her in there? If Noem didn't kill them all, he might give their bodies to his legion for possession. The idea wasn't appealing.

The saber tapped against his leg, a heavy weight that should have reassured him. Many demons had been beheaded thanks to the weapon, but far fewer than Wystan's bowie knife and Tell's crossbow bolts had seen. Even the hatchet Beryl carried had more kills than his saber. At fifteen years old, Sandra had been more of a warrior than Eban would ever be.

The air thickened with ash, and a low rumble reached his ears. It was the clatter of hooves, the growls of angry beasts, the moans of lesser demons. At the edge of town, a horde of them stood behind their master. Horned, fanged, clawed, scaly, slimy and bloodthirsty, they moved with restless anticipation of fresh blood. Eban's breath caught in his throat.

At the front of the pack, a dark-haired man wearing a tailored suit waited. The left half of his face was scarred and twisted. Blue eyes twinkled with malice in the light from the fire glowing behind him. “Old friends.” Noem's mouth widened in a smile. “Come to welcome me home, I see.”