Wystan (20 page)

There was no reasoning with the echidna. Movement caught Rhia's attention. She turned to look, and for a moment, the world came to a halt, except for the two figures battling on the street. A beast she'd only read about in books, a minotaur, charged at Wystan. Rhia covered her mouth, smothering the scream that threatened to tear from her throat. The minotaur was enormous, twice the size of Wystan. Its deadly weapons rested atop its head, but she didn't see Wystan's knife anywhere.

The gripping fear robbed her of breath and froze her blood. She cringed as the minotaur plowed into Wystan and they landed on the ground.

“Wystan!” Her cry echoed louder than the other sounds ringing through town.

Heedless of the gun Zaïre carried, Rhia ran toward him. Tell appeared from nowhere, catching her arm. He loosed a bolt that soared neatly through the air and pierced the minotaur's eye. It bellowed in rage, lifting its hands away from Wystan's throat, slinging its head while batting at the offending bolt. Rhia gasped at its blood-covered horns.

For its size, it moved quickly, as though it were made of dreams instead of hundreds of pounds of muscle. The beast sped toward Rhia and Tell at an alarming rate. Tell fired another bolt that bounced harmlessly off the minotaur's face. He didn't relinquish his hold on her, but stepped aside as the bull-man rushed past, churning up muck.

“It can't see to the left now. Beryl'll get it. What the hell are you doing out here?” Tell stared at her with piercing eyes.

“Zaïre's working for Noem.”

Her words were punctuated by the click of a gun's hammer drawing back.

“Thank you for saving Rhia from being gored. Noem wants her alive, but maybe he'll let you be the one to blind her as effectively as you blinded the minotaur.” Zaïre's smile would have been beautiful if she hadn't been a murder-bent demon. The gun didn't waver as she flipped a curl out of her face.

“Jesus, Zaïre, what are you doing?” Tell's expression registered shock. “You—you're not on our side anymore, are you?”

Her smile faded. “You're going to fail, and when you do, I won't be punished for it. We're demons—we're not supposed to go against our nature.”

“You stood by us for years—your daughter was born here. What were you doing if you weren't looking for a safe place to raise her?”

“Peace is a foolish dream,” Zaïre snarled. “You're too human for your own good. It's a miracle Astaroth didn't kill you all ages ago.”

“You looked me straight in the eyes and lied.” He seemed stunned. “How the hell did you do it?”

“He's more powerful than you'll ever know.” Her grin returned. “Go on and shoot me, Tell. See what it gets you.”

He'd angled the crossbow up so that it pointed at Zaïre's chest, but at her words, he dropped the sights again.

“You can't have Rhia, Zaïre.”

She tilted her head and in the same second, fired the gun. The blast deafened Rhia, but she reached for Tell as he staggered. Blood blossomed over his stomach. He looked down, touched the growing stain, then met Rhia's gaze.

“Tell,” she whispered, clutching his arm.

The crossbow clattered to the ground.

Zaïre cocked the rifle again. “Come along, Rhia.”

Tell pressed his hands to his stomach, but gritted his teeth. “Don't you…don't do it, Rhia.”

Zaïre frowned and she shot him again. Tell collapsed and Rhia screamed. She dropped to her knees beside him and scooped up the crossbow, surprised by the weight. Zaïre aimed the gun, but in her anger, Rhia was faster. The bolt that flew from the crossbow hit Zaïre in the throat. She stood still a moment, then made a choking noise. The gun discharged, bullet going astray and bouncing off a building somewhere in the distance. The echidna slithered forward with jerky motions and toppled face-first into the dirt.

The crossbow fell from Rhia's shaking hands. She kneeled next to Tell, pressing her fingers to his wounds. He tried to bat her away, propping himself on his elbows.

“Flesh wounds. You need to get out of here.”

“You're bleeding everywhere. It's serious.” The second bullet had pierced his shoulder, leaving a long trail of dark blood down the front of his shirt to meet with that on his stomach. “You're gut shot. It isn't good.”

He flashed a grin that made the hair on her neck stand up. In the fiery light, his irises gleamed red. “Demon blood. Takes more than a couple of bullets to put me out of the fun. You'd better find Wystan.”

“What about Noem?”

“Eban and I will take care of him. If Beryl doesn't behead him first. I've never seen a woman use a hatchet with quite as much enthusiasm.”

Rhia wished she could throw off her worry as easily as he did. If he'd ever been concerned a day in his life, it didn't show.

“I'm not sure I should leave you…”

“Check on Wys. That minotaur hit him pretty hard.” Tell prodded his shoulder, winced, and wiped the blood on his trousers. “He's a hardhead, but he needs to know you're okay. Stay away from Noem.”

She nodded as he pushed himself up. She avoided looking at Zaïre, but didn't feel any regret for shooting the snake woman. Her body seemed sluggish as she waded through the gore coating the streets, toward the area where Wystan had been attacked.

Behind her, a scream rent the air, the death cry of some wretched beast about to return to Hell. She found Wystan's knife, stained with the blood of his enemies, still warm from his grip. He'd broken her heart, used her, cast her away when she needed help the most.

And yet, her heart wouldn't give up on him.

Picking a path around a headless creature that looked like a bear with mange, she trained her eyes on a form where Wystan had fallen. That couldn't be him, lying there so still, covered in so much blood it was impossible to see where it all came from. The fear nagging at the pit of her stomach returned in full force, a storm that howled inside her.

Rhia forced herself to move, to touch him. Like the knife, his skin was warm, giving her hope. Until she saw his eyes, blue and deep as inkwells, were open, gazing at the smoky sky. His stomach was torn, the vicious gift from the minotaur Tell hadn't distracted quickly enough. She lifted his head so it rested on her lap, mindless of the mess on the street. Her fingers sought a pulse, even the tiniest flutter at his throat, but it was gone.

The spark of the man she loved had been snuffed out.

She bowed over him, weeping. Tears hotter than the fire threatening Berner rolled down her face.

“Wystan, no. You can't leave me.”

Rhia rocked back and forth, caressing the top of his head. Noem might as well have ripped out her still-beating heart.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The bowie knife was in Rhia's hands again before she knew she'd picked it up. Wystan's blood stained her dress, scarlet over the putrid brown that had come from other demons. She left him lying in the street because there was nothing more important at that moment than destroying the chief demon who had shattered her world.

Wystan couldn't protect her anymore. The only way to keep Sylvie safe was to send Noem back to Hell. She wanted the satisfaction of seeing him recognize her with Wystan's knife, of knowing she would be the one to end
him
.

For Sylvie, for Wystan, for the pain Eban and Tell would experience when they learned of their brother's death. For her own aching heart and the future she'd never share with him. She knew, deep down, that Wystan had only tried to drive her away for her own safety. No matter how badly he'd hurt her, he'd still shown her a piece of herself she hadn't known existed—the part capable of loving an honorable man when she had thought she'd never trust anyone again. Dark as the world seemed now, she was stronger for his love. That strength would carry her through this.

The number of lesser demons dwindled. The few that remained were occupied with Beryl and Eban. Rhia gave them a wide berth, but kept her eyes trained on Noem. His jacket was gone, leaving him in a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

So determined to get revenge for her lost love, Rhia didn't react when Noem greeted her. Instead, she stopped inches from him and raised the knife, slashing it across the smooth part of his human face. Blood welled, thick and brown, oozing syrup-like down his cheek.

Before she could plunge the knife into what passed for Noem's heart, he grabbed her wrist, squeezing it so tightly, she was forced to drop the weapon. A cry parted her lips as he bent her hand down toward her forearm.

“Did you truly believe you could get away, Rhia?” He sneered, revealing teeth stained by centuries of blood. “Did you think you'd be safe here? You were only ever a frightened rabbit in search of a warren. The farmer's come to flush you out, you little pest.”

Rhia stomped on his insole, hoping for the element of surprise, if not for release. Noem laughed. Foul breath washed over her. The sound reminded her of the chapel bells ringing the day they'd buried her father. Brassy notes that boasted no cheer, but ushered in whatever being collected the souls of selfish men.

“There's no escape. Do all the damage to this vessel you like. Soon Astaroth will replace it with something better.”

As if to prove his point, he peeled down a layer of skin opened by the cut she'd inflicted. Blood ran freely, coursing down his neck and staining his shirt.

“Rhia!”

Beryl's voice broke through her terror.

“A puppet,” Noem snarled. He jerked Rhia's arm, dragging her toward Beryl. “Do you remember the day you made your choice, Rosemar? The day killing and taking souls to your master proved to be too much? How many years passed before the Grey Ones allowed you a human body?”

Beryl, covered in more filth than Rhia had ever seen, sneered. “I had plenty of time to reflect on my nature. Plenty of time to learn that the plans you think you laid so carefully to trap this woman were not of your own doing.”

The voice that came out of Beryl's mouth didn't sound like the woman Rhia knew. A murderous light glowed in her red-tinted eyes.

“The Gray Side longs for peace. How sweet. They will not have it, not in this human's lifetime.” Noem pulled Rhia's hair, forcing her head back. The knife she'd dropped sprang into his hand as though it had a mind of its own and he pressed to her throat. “I want her for my own reasons, but I will rejoice in a shower of her blood now if need be.”

Beryl's stance changed, her shoulder bowed forward, hatchet ready in her hand. “Not in your vessel's lifetime.”

Down the street, Tell had discovered Wystan's body. He was unsteady on his feet, but his knees buckled as he looked down at his oldest brother. Fresh tears stung behind Rhia's eyes. Noem's hold loosened.

“A Heckmaster is dead.” His voice filled with wonder. “Much overdue. Master will be pleased. I expect he's at the head of the line now, gone before all the other wretched souls writhing in agony at Hell's gate.”

Wystan blinked to clear the ashy grit from his eyes, but when he opened them again, Berner's streets were still. The buildings looked different, more like they had when he was a child. None of them sagged with weather or age.

The angel statue loomed before him, surrounded by leafy plants and wildflowers. Water streamed down the marble face, splashing merrily as it dropped from the angel's hands into the pool below.

On the lip of the fountain, where he'd first kissed Rhia, Sandra trailed her fingers through the water. She smiled, but didn't look up. In profile, Wystan saw she hadn't changed. She was still the fifteen-year-old version of herself, a shadow of his past. He tensed, waiting for the moment she transformed into something else. Perhaps Krazzir had slipped back to Earth already. Or he was dreaming, because it was far too peaceful here.

His brothers and Beryl were in the real world, counting on his help to defeat Noem. They needed him—whatever he was experiencing now was keeping him from them.

“Sit with me, Wys. We don't have much time.”

Sandra shook her hand, sending water droplets flying. She smiled at him in a way that made her look luminous. Long brown hair framed her face and fell over her shoulders. Blue eyes sparkled with joy. She managed to look both prim and slightly mischievous as she waited for him to join her.

“What is this? A trick or a dream?”

For a moment, she looked hurt. “Neither. I know it's difficult to accept. No one wants to at first. This is a holding stage before death, big brother.”

He grappled with her words. “I'm dead?”

Pity softened the joy on her face. “Not quite.”

Confusing and not helpful. “If you're really my sister, tell me something Sandra would know.”

She lowered her gaze. “I stole the
Lesser Key of Solomon
from our father days before Tell was born. It's my fault we can't say his true name. My fault his demon side can't be banished and mustn't be called.”

All true, but the parasite imp that had taken control of Sandra's mind could easily have accessed that information.

“If this is a holding area before death, then you can say his true name. It won't matter here.”

Sandra licked her lips. “I could, but it
does
matter. You're not dead and saying it might cause a ripple in the world. It would be pointless. Please sit down. No one is going to harm you here. We're alone.”

He gave in. The breeze was cool and the water splashing into the pool gave him a sense of peace. It had been too long since he'd talked to Sandra and the feeling was bittersweet. “I'm sorry I killed you.”

She looked away, as though there was something beyond the town that only she could see. “You did what was necessary. I want to thank you for that.”

“Thank me? It was the worst thing I've ever had to do.”

“I know, but I couldn't have lived that way. I would have betrayed you to Astaroth sooner or later. It was the bravest thing you've ever done. Or…so far. You'll have to be braver.”

It wasn't easy to accept her forgiveness, but it went down a sight better than her mysterious words. “What am I doing here?”

Sandra took his hand. “The minotaur Noem brought tried to kill you. It came very close to succeeding. Your body is lying in the street and Rhia is attempting to avenge your death. I'm sorry.”

“Is Rhia going to die?” The very thought of Noem harming her made his chest hurt. “I have to stop him from getting to her. You've got to send me back, Sandra. Right now.”

She smiled. “That's the idea.” Her smile faded. “Only you're going to have to take a chance.”

“What? I don't have time for nonsense.” Wystan didn't know where his knife had fallen, or what shape his brothers were in. Time was slipping through his fingers. “Now.”

“There are conditions, Wys.”

“Name them!” He balled his hands into fists again, shoulders tensing as he waited.

“You can't go back as a human. We're half demon and now it's time for you to make peace with that. You can control it, if you try. It won't be easy. If you choose to go back to Berner, it will try to take over. It will listen to Noem, to the sly whispers of Astaroth, our father's liege.”

Blood thundered in Wystan's ears. “I can't let that happen. It would be the same as saying Tell's name. Letting my demon side loose is madness. You know how hard Father worked to control himself and he was full demon. There has to be another way.”

Sandra shook her head. “You're looking at it wrong. Things have changed. You said so yourself.”

“What?”

“When Rhia came to Berner, things changed,” she reminded him.

“I don't understand. She saved Beryl's life, she reopened the school and she planted flowers, but what does that have to do with anything?”

Sandra leaned down and picked up a pebble. It left her slender fingers and plunked into the pool at the angel's feet. Ripples spread across the surface of the water. “What happened at the statue?”

“We kissed.” Her meaning still eluded him and his frustration mounted. “You said we don't have a lot of time. Maybe you could tell me what you—”

The kiss. It
had
changed everything. He'd fallen in love with Rhia and the flowers had started to grow.

“All right, we're in love, but how is that going to help?”

“Father was a full-blooded demon. A member of the royal family in Hell, Wystan. A little low in the chain, perhaps, but he was still powerful enough to control a territory. He changed because of Mother. I think you can do better. You'll only have a few minutes as your old self to form a plan. Use them wisely.” Sandra's voice was faint and she was beginning to fade, a pale image of her radiant self moments ago. “More importantly, don't forget your love.”

“Sandra, wait.” He reached for her, disappointed when his fingers passed through her form. There was a stabbing pain in his gut and the scent of burning wood filled his nostrils. Overwhelming heat made him feel feverish. All at once, he seemed to slam into the ground.

Wystan opened his eyes and looked up at Tell's face.

Grief knifed through Rhia, twice as sharp as the blade at her throat. Beryl met her gaze and gave a tiny nod. She hefted the hatchet and lunged. Rhia closed her eyes, waiting for the sting of Wystan's knife, the bite that would end her life with the prayer that Sylvie would be taken care of and that she might meet Wystan in the afterlife. He had saved her on multiple occasions. Surely that warranted a ticket to Heaven.

The warm metal didn't pierce her flesh. She fell away from Noem, grasped by strong arms and looked up at Eban. His face was a mask of rage, matching the way she'd felt when she approached the demon. A burst of light exploded behind her and lifted her off her feet. She rolled away from Eban when they hit the ground.

“Foolish mortals. Your silver weapons are useless. Chop, hack, slice away. None of it will slow me, or cause me to lose sight of my goal,” Noem roared. His head hung at an awkward angle, neck partially severed by Beryl's attack.

He tore skin from his head and around his collarbone. Instead of muscle and bone, Rhia saw something dark and twisted beneath the flesh. In one quick swipe, he removed his damaged face, leaving them to stare at what appeared to be a withered black corpse. Its pupils were red, the conjunctiva jaundiced yellow. It had a gaping hole for a nose, little muscle on its frame and no fat. It stepped out of the skin with the ease of a woman removing her dressing gown.

“That's better.” Its bones cracked as it stepped forward, reaching out to snatch Rhia from Eban's grip.

Eban speared his saber through Noem's side, but the demon twisted and the blade snapped in two. The smell of burning, rotting flesh surrounded them. Noem laughed. For a thing that looked frail and broken, he held her with strength she'd never imagined. He plucked the broken blade from his side and tossed it at Eban's feet.

“Keep your traitorous silver, Heckmaster.”

Eban's face paled beneath the dirt coating it. His eyes widened and he pushed to his feet, backing away from Noem and Rhia.

“One of you with sense. I trust you'll not interfere while I take dear Rhia to the Pit.”

“Noem.”

The name came out as a fierce growl, more demonic than any words that had passed between Wystan's lips before. She turned in defiance of her captor's hold.

Wystan, fists clenched, hair mussed, shirt bloody where it wasn't torn away, glared at the demon. Rhia's heart sped up as her hopes returned. Then she saw his eyes. Redder than Noem's and as empty as the Pit, they glimmered with bloodlust.

“Wys,” she whispered, but he ignored her.

Noem laughed so hard that his thin frame shook. “So he's turned. I always wondered if it was possible. Hell spat you out again, eh, Heckmaster? You cannot keep a demon down.”

The broken saber in Eban's hand trembled and Beryl seemed paralyzed with terror.

“Wystan.” Rhia said his name louder, prayed he'd see her and realize she and the others weren't his enemies. “Please.”

“He doesn't listen to whims and quibbles of mortals now, dearie. With a Heckmaster on our side, Astaroth shall claim his rightful place as Earth's king soon.” Noem slid his arm around her throat and snapped his fingers at Wystan. “Fetch me the hatchet.”

Beryl clutched the weapon to her chest, but she looked tired and weak, a lamb before the wolf. She surrendered it to Wystan the second he wrapped his hand around it. He looked at her as though he'd never seen her before. Without a word, he laid the hatchet at Noem's feet.