“It was a pleasure,” he said as I stood. “But why do you want it?”
“I work for a man descended from Father Escobar. He desires it for sentimental reasons.”
The priest nodded as if that made perfect sense. “What did you see when you touched the cross? What happened?”
I smiled slightly. “He didn’t hurt that girl. And I don’t know where he went, once he left it behind.”
“Not heaven, I think.”
No, probably not. I figured he’d headed north. If he was related to Escobar, he’d fathered children, just not on the poor girl who had wanted him to claim her baby as his own. I guessed she didn’t understand the concept of celibacy—only that he was powerful and could shield her from shame, if he so chose.
“Gracias por todo,” I told de León.
He waved as I tucked the crucifix into my bag and Kel followed me out. It was getting on toward evening. Everyone had gone home, so there were few people about, but still chickens and goats. The former squawked as we passed by, pecking at grubs I couldn’t see. We followed the track back to the village center, unrolled our sleeping bags, and I sat down, facing him.
“How did I do?”
He shrugged. “If that is the right object, then very well.”
I laughed. “Faint praise, indeed.”
In the dark, his tats glowed faintly, signaling power or strong emotion. With Kel I’d never been able to differentiate the two, and perhaps in him they were inextricably bound. That fact explained at least half of what rendered him so fascinating—and utterly off-limits.
“I don’t mean to slight you,” he said gravely. “I expected you to falter on the way. You have more fortitude than I knew.”
“More than I knew, frankly. There were a few times, out there”—I gestured toward the horizon, where the jungle we couldn’t see teemed with fearsome creatures—“when I wanted to give up.”
“I know.” His tone was gentle, but also impersonal, like a nurse offering reassurance to a patient when he’d had seen so many that they had become numbers and diseases instead of names and faces. Rarely, he displayed real emotion, but I had the sense it was painful for him—he needed the impassivity to function in a world where he comprised the only constant.
“You’ve been fantastic. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
He tipped his head forward, acknowledging the praise. Only a faint curve at the edges of his mouth showed his pleasure, but I saw. His archangel probably never said, Good job, or, Thanks for killing that infidel. I had no idea why he wasn’t crazy; too much isolation could drive a person out of his mind.
“Should you call Escobar?”
“I don’t know if the phone has any charge left.” But I powered it on and found I had half a bar, just a flicker of juice. Unfortunately, we were far out of range of any cell towers, and there were no pay phones. I sighed. “We’ll have to find a way to a bigger town. We can ask around in the morning.”
“There’s no road,” he observed, “so that means no buses.”
I groaned. Not more walking. “Maybe we can go by donkey cart.”
“Better than camels.” From his expression, he meant it as a judgment drawn from personal experience.
With some effort, I killed my curiosity and lay down. We needed rest. In the morning, we could discover how people traveled from place to place; I hoped it wouldn’t be expensive.
At some point after dark, I woke with fear choking me. The air tasted thick and heavy and foul, like I remembered from Catemaco. It carried a familiar taste as I sucked in a breath, openmouthed.
No. Oh, shit, no.
They’d found me.
Demon in the Dark
The ground trembled like the precursor to an earthquake. I scrambled away as the air thickened, gaining volume. And then it tore, something I’d never heard of or even imagined. I thought demons were evil spirits, some powerful, certainly, but lacking form in our realm.
I had never been so wrong.
Darklight swelled through the hole in the world, and then a powerful black-scaled shoulder wedged its way through, followed by a long arm topped in razor-sharp talons. It was like watching a hideous, unwholesome birth, and every inch of the demon was worse than what came before. The thing had a ridged skull and deep-set eyes that glimmered in the dark; it wore a spiked leather-and-metal harness emblazoned with infernal sigils. If only I could read demonic script, but I had never studied such things. One of the symbols looked faintly familiar, as if I had seen it before. Possibilities flickered through my mind, but horror and fright warred against coherent thought.
My guardian rolled to his feet. The monster pushed all the way through, nostrils flared as it cocked its head as if listening to unheard orders. Instinct shouted at me to flee, but like a mouse mesmerized by a snake, I couldn’t make my muscles respond. Violence clung to this creature like oil on its back, tainting the air around it. The beast shook off the disorientation and charged.
In one hand, Kel wielded the kukri-style machete; in the other, he held the slim, silver blade I’d seen him fight with in Laredo. He didn’t look my way as he placed his body between the beast and me.
“Run.”
“Can you kill it?” My fingers closed on my backpack, and then I realized it was fruitless. I owned nothing that could hurt it. “Will your flash do it?”
The demon lashed out with an enormous claw. Kel blocked with the machete, still taking a deep slash along his forearm. His tats blazed nearly incandescent, kindling a halo about him. His beacon probably wouldn’t do anything against an otherworldly monster like this; the Klothod had been spirits inside the monkeys, and the destruction of the demons inside burned up their bodies too. This thing unquestionably came from elsewhere.
“He cannot. It will not.” The deep rumble of a voice sounded as though it came through a fissure in the earth created by the slow grate of obsidian and basalt. “I am here for you, and I cannot be slain or unsummoned until I have tasted your blood. But I do not mind at all playing first with this little fallen angel.”
“This what?” Maybe I could stall. Distract it. Give Kel a chance to kill it, even if the fiend claimed invincibility. Demons lied; there had to be a way.
“How rich. How delightful. You don’t even know who he really is, do you?”
Kel landed a blow that should have decapitated the thing. But it didn’t.
“So tell me,” I begged.
“He is Nephilim,” the monster roared. “Half-blood offspring of an angel and a human female, born of lust. Small wonder the archangels punished him. The flesh must be mortified and made humble.”
“That is not why,” Kel growled, whirling into motion with his blades. “There are no strictures against such a joining. Prince of lies, tell her all of it, if you must.”
“Prince?” Its teeth gleamed in the dark. “You flatter me. Not for paternal lust, then, but his human mother did drive the celestial hate. The host can be so intolerant . . . and you made it worse with your defiance. Disobedience. You would not learn your place. Poor half-breed . . . so reviled. It will be a mercy when I devour you.”
“Perhaps,” he answered, “but every cut will cost you.”
Their movements quickened until I couldn’t follow the slashing, snarling blows. I smelled sweet, coppery blood in the air as I scrambled to my feet. Terror clouded my thoughts. I didn’t want to leave him. It seemed like treachery, cowardice, and abandonment. Kel’s kukri showered sparks anytime he connected; only the silver dagger seemed to do the devil any damage, but not enough. Not nearly enough. In fact, the wounds made it stronger; it gloried in fear and pain, drinking them down like osmotic ambrosia.
The demon was too strong. Already I could see that Kel, who had seemed so fast, so tireless, was slower than the monster. He took more hits than he blocked, and his fair skin ran red with blood, illuminated by the shine of his tattoos. He had no breath to tell me again to run, but I saw the command in his eyes. It hurt me to see his wounds.
>
His words echoed in my mind. I am here to bear your pain, my blood for yours.
At last self-preservation kicked in, and I sprang away. Though there was nowhere for me to run, my legs pounded against the dirt. I had my pack still in hand, but it availed me nothing. No weapon. No sanctuary.
As I rounded the corner that led toward the church, I glanced back. Horror froze me. The demon impaled God’s hand on its talons, lifted him high, and twisted. Kel made no sound, and the monster’s laugh rang out. “Kelethiel, my old enemy, son of Uriel and Vashti, in the name of the Morningstar, I turn and banish thee.”
Darklight swelled again. After it dimmed, there was only the demon, the dark—and me. Nobody would care if this village vanished. When the greater world noticed its destruction, they would attribute the carnage to natural disaster, disease, famine, or some minor guerrilla war. My champion was gone.
There was no reason to hide. Even if the church lay on hallowed ground, the demon would prowl around outside and murder everyone in their beds until it starved me out. I wouldn’t buy my own life at that price. So I spun and faced it.
“Are you not afraid to die, little one?” The fiend slowed as it came toward me.
It could likely see I was no threat, trembling like a bird, a backpack dangling uselessly from one hand. I didn’t answer. Thoughts flashed through my brain, almost too quick for me to track them, and then I had an idea. Before the fiend reached me, I dug into the bag and produced the crucifix.
“Stay back.” My voice shook.
“That only works if you have faith.” Its low, rumbling voice became caressing. “And you don’t. Not since your mother died.”
I didn’t understand why it wasn’t engaging. If it had been sent to kill me, well, I was helpless. Then it shredded my blouse with its talons—and I knew. My skirt fell in tatters beneath razor claws. No. Not that. Just kill me. Please.
It slammed me to the ground and came down over me. The scaly hide bit into my skin, echoed by the painful prick of the metal spikes on its harness. I tried to keep my thighs together, but it ripped them wide-open with a casual gesture. I ground my teeth. It couldn’t end like this: raped and murdered in a village whose name I didn’t even know.
Think.
The demon ran a claw tip down my neck. I felt almost no pain, but then hot blood trickled down my neck. Its long, forked tongue flickered over my skin, snakelike, and it shuddered in pleasure. I lay still, trying not to provoke it. Take your time. I’m no threat. The crucifix had fallen to my side when the demon knocked me down. I fumbled for it, a new idea kindling. If only I could—
Got it. I curled my fingers around it and dropped my mental blocks. As I’d hoped, the years of priestly faith remained, there for the taking. I let their surety and peace swell through me. I didn’t believe, but four hundred years of devotion offered significant power, and I owned it now.
To distract the creature, I softened beneath it. I couldn’t bring myself to arch or moan, but it noticed. The fiend paused in licking up my blood. “Do you attempt to bargain for a painless death?”
In answer I curled my free hand through its harness. It couldn’t know my gift, what had been my one little useless gift. Though I was more now, the touch would save me. Bolstered by the gentle strength and piety of long-dead holy men, I rode the anguish that blazed through me. For countless, infinite moments, I waded through the degradation, terror, and agony it lived to inflict. I lived a thousand nightmares before it carried me to the heart of what I must know.
When I came to myself again, rich in new knowledge, it lay atop me, poised to enter. In some hideous sibilant tongue it crooned to me, opening my legs wide.
I smiled and struck.
My time in the jungle had given me greater strength, or perhaps priestly shades lent theirs as well—whatever the power, the crucifix sank into the side of the monster’s neck. It screamed and rolled, talons scrabbling at the holy object. The cross sizzled in the wound, sending foul ichor bubbling forth. A vile smell filled the air, like burnt, rancid meat.
“You have not slain me,” it snarled, ripping the cross out of its flesh and flipping upright. “Only roused my wrath. Now I shall devour you while I fuck you, accursed meat-girl.”
As it leapt, I dove. Elation flamed through me. It had tasted my blood; therefore, it could be unsummoned, no matter what safeguards the sorcerer had put in place. Now that I knew its name, I owned this thing; the power of ancient kings sang in my veins, and for that moment, I believed.
“In the name of north, south, east, and west, in the name of the once and future queen, in the name of the smoke and the earth, and the wind and the water, I name you Caim, Knight of Hell, who was banished from light of the daystar and may not walk this earth without my leave. I turn and bind you back from whence you came. Tsurikshikn!”
Darklight swarmed around it. If I expected fury or outrage, I was disappointed. Instead, the thing displayed reverence. It fell to its knees as the world ripped wide once more. “My queen,” it breathed. “You are she, born of Solomon the Binder’s line. Master did not tell me, I swear. I did not know.”
And then it crawled backward from whence it had come. Distant screams came to me as if filtered through a layer of water. I heard the pain and the anguish, and then that too fell silent. The air lost its viscosity, holding now only the hint of sulfur and brimstone.
Kel. If that was where the fiend had sent him, I had to get him out of there. My hands shook as I fought to recall precisely what the demon had said to him. If I could find the right words, words that were precisely opposite, I could call him. I knew his name. I crawled across the trampled grass to the crucifix; I would use it as my focus. Once more, the energy surged through me.
“Kelethiel, my friend and guardian, son of Uriel and Vashti, in the name of the smoke and the earth, and the wind and the water, I call and command thee.”
Nothing. No flash of light. No otherworldly pyrotechnics. No, no, no. I wasn’t leaving this up to divine minions, who might not get around to liberating him for a hundred years. Maybe I hadn’t gotten the verbiage quite right.
I wrapped both hands around the crucifix, feeling the burn start on my branded palm. Power built, like lightning in the air before a storm. “Kelethiel, my true friend, son of Uriel and Vashti, on the strength of your sacred vow, I call thee!”
Everything shifted and slowed. It wasn’t like before, but more like the world split in two and then merged. In the old one, I was alone. In the new version, Kel tumbled to the ground before me.
He looked dead, so many wounds. Blood smeared his skin, obscuring his tattoos; they held no light at all. Visible bite marks scored his skin, as if a horde of demons had chewed his flesh. The hole in his chest hadn’t healed, either, not even a little. He had no power in hell, or whatever dimension contained the demons. They’d stripped him, as if his clothes contained his strength or his power. Or maybe they just hadn’t wanted his garments getting in the way of good torture.
Movement in my peripheral vision caught my eye; a few villagers had come out of their homes to investigate the weird lights and noises. I shooed them off with a fierce scowl and a bark of, “¡Lárguense!” I’m sure the sight of a bloody, naked woman and a dead-seeming man did more to frighten them than my voice.
Shielding his body with mine as they hurried off, I remembered how he’d pressed his hands over the wound in his belly in my bathroom; that seemed like ages ago now. Uncertainly, I sealed both his palms atop the gaping wound, using mine to hold his in place. If the fiend had pierced his heart, perhaps he couldn’t heal from this. In all the lore I’d ever read, destruction of the heart guaranteed true death.
For the longest time, I maintained the pose. I didn’t know how the magic functioned, and I’d give ten years of my life for my mother’s grimoires. For the first time, I thought they might work.
His blood bubbled up through my fingers, dark and rich. If I had open wounds on my hands, I’d be insane with the rush. Fortunately, I
’d also gone past revulsion; I found it hard to credit that I’d once been squeamish. I’d changed so much since I left Chance. There was no way I could doubt it; I wasn’t the same woman I had been. I shouldn’t be able to call upon the power of dead priests to bolster my own strength. Once, handling only offered pain and heat and information. Now I had stepped through a veil, and the world reacted to me in a different way.
Since you took your mother’s power, and you died, a little voice whispered.
“Wake up,” I said shakily. “I don’t think I can get back to civilization on my own. Please don’t leave me here by myself.”
Tears filled my eyes, spilling down my cheeks. They dropped onto his pale, still face. When I’d touched him in the hostel room, he’d had a heartbeat. He didn’t now. Which meant he was dead. It didn’t mean he couldn’t come back, if I helped him.
So breathe for him.
I’d taken CPR years ago. Did I remember it? Fingers on nose and chin . . . When I moved my hands, his stayed on the wound. I bent down and opened his mouth, tilting his head, and then gave him two breaths. I could remember very little other than that. I counted and exhaled for endless moments, need and worry tangled up inside me. Listening, I couldn’t tell if it had any effect.
The tenth—or twentieth—time my lips touched his, a tremor went through him. His tats kindled with a pale glow, telling me systems had come back online. From here he should heal on his own, though it would hurt like a bitch and kick him into a long sleep afterward. Eyes still shut, he flung me onto my back. Despite his injuries, he was incredibly strong.
I wouldn’t risk fighting and hurting him worse. His blood covered me as it was. But this wasn’t an attack. His eyes opened; silver filmed them. I knew he didn’t see me. Not wearing a smile like that. It almost stopped my heart.
“Asherah,” he whispered. “Asherah.”
The name rang distant bells, but he lowered his head and obliterated my long-term memory. His mouth took mine, full of possessive need and hot with devotion. Gods and goddesses, how I wished I were Asherah.