Damned If You Do (6 page)

A slow blush rose on Seth's cheeks. It only made him more tempting. “You can't take it without my permission though, right?”

The question surprised Abaddon. It felt like a sudden shift of direction. After giving voice to what he truly felt, confessing the strength and breadth of his desire, it was hard to back up and veer into a normal conversation as if nothing had happened. “Right. You'd have to agree.”

“Do you intend to hurt somebody else? Somebody at the revival?”

“No. I told you the truth. I only wanted to see you. I just…” He shook his head, wishing he could explain it to himself so he'd know how to explain it to Seth. “You're amazing, in every way. I couldn't stay away.”

Seth ducked his head, scuffing one toe in the dirt and leaves on the forest floor. “Will you come tonight? Please?”

“I can't be saved.”

“That's not what I asked.”

Abaddon sighed. He didn't want to give Seth false hope. On the other hand, the thought of sitting in the congregation and watching Seth play filled him with a lightness he hadn't felt in years. It also filled him with a pain he couldn't begin to define. “If it's what you want.”

“It is.”

“Until tonight then.” Abaddon reached for Seth, but stopped short of allowing himself the contact. “Peace and love to you, brother.” And for the first time ever, he meant it.

C
hapter Six

Even Angels Dig the Doobies

I
f it hadn't been for the music, Abaddon might have gotten tired of the revivals. They were all variations on the same speech. The same bible quotes used out of context. The same strange glances toward Seth as the collection plate filled. But listening to Seth play never got old. The band played the same songs from night to night, but they improvised a lot, jamming on the familiar riffs, allowing Seth and the choir room for ornamentation.

Abaddon found a seat on the right side of the tent, as he always did, about halfway between the stage and the entrance. He had a clear view of Seth at the keyboards for as long as the audience stayed sitting. His view was often blocked once people started standing, but that only impeded his eyes. Nothing could inhibit his soul sense, or the magic of Seth's music. And that night, he could have sworn Seth was playing just for him. The keyboard notes resonated against Abaddon's well of power. They crawled over him like a caress. They hinted at promises of things to come. It was the sweetest torture he'd ever endured, hungering for Seth's soul, even as he became more and more reluctant to claim it. Abaddon was both enraptured and impatient, loving the experience, yet counting the seconds until he might be able to steal a few moments alone with Seth, and so he didn't notice the commotion at first.

It started behind him, at the back of the crowd, just as the revival started to build toward the final act. It began with a low buzz of fear, then a woman screamed. For the first time ever, Seth's fingers missed a note, and Abaddon sat up, sensing Seth's sudden agitation, wondering what was wrong. The choir turned as one, not toward the disruption near the entrance of the tent, but toward Seth.

“Don't worry!” Thaddeus cried, stepping to the front of the stage and spreading his arms wide. “Let them pass! They won't hurt you!”

The murmurs from the crowd became more urgent, the hubbub moving like a wave up the rows. The Rainbow Revivalists moved quickly down the center aisle, standing on each side of it with their arms outstretched, holding the congregants back. People strained to see over them, to catch a glimpse of what all the fuss was about. Those close enough to see had wide eyes, their hands held to their lips.

“What is it?” people asked.

And then, Abaddon heard the word.

“Snakes!”

Snakes
. The announcement rippled through the crowd, a breathless, enraptured whisper.
Bunches of them.

“Let them pass!” Thaddeus called again. “They are sent by the Lord on this wondrous evening, so that we may witness the strength of my brother's devotion!”

Alarm flared in Abaddon's chest. He turned toward Seth. He'd stopped playing completely. He stood with his head bowed. He didn't look scared. He didn't look eager.

He looked resigned.

A choir member took his arm and guided him forward, to the front of the stage, and Abaddon caught the admiring glances the rest of the Rainbow Revivalists threw Seth's way.

This was what they'd been waiting for, watching Seth every night, hoping for this very thing. Abaddon stood on his chair, straining to see. What he saw made his heart burst into gear.

It was snakes, all right. Dozens of them. Easily as many as a hundred. Probably more. They slithered over each other in their eagerness, all of them moving with an inexplicable determination toward the front of the tent. There were rat snakes, Florida pine snakes, and corn snakes. Those were harmless enough, but mixed in among them, Abaddon spotted copperheads, cottonmouths, rattlers, and coral snakes, plus half a dozen other species that he couldn't identify on sight.

Seth descended the steps from the stage alone, undoing the top two buttons of his shirt as he did. He pulled the ever-present scarf from his neck and tucked it into his pocket, and the snakes surged forward.

Some of the congregants had followed Abaddon's example and climbed onto their chairs for a better view. Others pushed forward in their excitement. Seth sank to his knees, his arms stretching forward to the floor, as if to meet the wave of reptiles.

“Seth!” Abaddon yelled, but Seth couldn't hear him over the din of the crowd. A frantic glance around the tent at the other Rainbow Revival members alarmed him even more. None of them were moving to help. The choir was singing “I Stand Amazed”. Thaddeus and Bob stood on the stage behind Seth, their eyes practically glowing with excitement. And Zed…

Zed stood to the side. He alone looked unhappy with the drama unfolding before them, but he didn't move to stop it.

The snakes went straight to Seth. They climbed his arms. They slithered into his lap. They writhed up his spine to wrap around his neck. The smaller ones circled around him, like a pack of wolves surrounding their prey.

“Seth!” Abaddon jumped off his seat, pushing the spectators out of his way. He shoved forward, determined to reach Seth before the snakes started biting, but the mortals were enraptured by the sight, frozen in their awe. He pushed harder, not caring if he knocked them over in his haste. He finally reached the aisle, but two of the Rainbow Revivalists blocked him, grabbing his arms to hold him back.

“Help him!” Abaddon screamed toward Zed.

Zed hung his head, looking almost ashamed.

“Goddamn it, let me go!”

But more of the Rainbow members had seen the struggle and moved forward to help subdue him. Seth was now lost beneath the snakes, only his hands and parts of his face visible. It was so unnatural, like something out of a bad horror movie, and Abaddon gritted his teeth. Power bubbled up from the well that resided where his soul used to be. It surged down his arms, tingled in his fingertips. He clenched his fists, debating the wisdom of using it against the mortals who held him.

“Brother Abaddon,” Zed said, suddenly next to him. “I promise you, the boy will not be harmed.”

“How can you say that? How can you just stand here and watch?”

“I appreciate your concern, but the phenomenon is almost over.”

“The phenomenon?” Abaddon's anger flared again, this time directed at Zed, but when he looked toward Seth, he saw that Zed was right. As suddenly as they'd arrived, the snakes seemed to be losing interest in Seth. Those still on the ground headed for the door, as if they could read the glowing exit sign. The ones draped over Seth's body dipped toward the floor, abandoning their perch, fleeing for the Alabama woods.

The crazy thing was, of the Rainbow Revival members, only Seth and Zed looked relieved. The rest seemed strangely disappointed.

“What the hell?” Abaddon asked of nobody in particular. “What the fuck just happened?”

Thaddeus was already preaching again, shouting about how the righteous would be known by their ability to control serpents. Reverend Bob jangled his tambourine. The crowd raised their hands, crying out their praises. The collection plates appeared.

“It's over,” Zed said quietly.

Seth pushed to his feet, pulling his scarf from his pocket. His friend Jeremy laid his guitar aside and came forward to take Seth's arm. He ducked his head close, conferring with Seth as the latter wrapped his scarf carefully around his neck. Then Jeremy took Seth's arm and began leading him toward the exit at the back of the tent.

Now that Abaddon had quit struggling and the “phenomenon” had ended, the revivalists released him. Zed caught the direction of Abaddon's gaze and sighed.

“I'll give you a minute with him, but you are not to enter his living space, Brother Abaddon. I still do not trust you, and I urge you not to overstay your welcome.”

Abaddon was almost as stunned by Zed's sudden acquiescence as he had been by the snakes. “I won't. Thank you.”

Abaddon ducked through the crowd and hurried for the exit.
Seth and Jeremy were halfway across the clearing to Seth's trailer when Abaddon caught up with them. Seth was paler than usual, his eyes drawn and tired. After what he'd seen, it was all Abaddon could do to not grab him and pull him into his arms, but with Jeremy there, it seemed like a bad idea. He settled for taking Seth's hand, feeling that surge of power that always came with skin-to-skin contact. “Are you all right?”

Seth only smiled, although it never reached his eyes. It was Jeremy who spoke.

“Peace and love to you, brother. You must be Abaddon. We haven't actually met, but I've been hearing a lot about you.”

Abaddon had to let go of Seth to shake Jeremy's hand. His was another bright, pure soul—one that might have tempted Abaddon greatly not so very long ago—but he paled next Seth.

Every star in the universe paled next to Seth.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Seth's soft smile seemed a little more genuine this time. “Of course.”

But Jeremy shook his head. “It'd be better to let him rest. The snakes always tire him—”

“I'll be fine, Jeremy. Abaddon will see me the rest of the way home.”

Abaddon had to wonder what Zed had told Jeremy, because the boy seemed reluctant to leave them alone, but he grudgingly deferred to Seth's wishes, and Abaddon finally had Seth to himself.

“They all treat me like a recalcitrant child. As if my blindness is somehow my way of rebelling against them.”

“I think they're only concerned for your welfare.”

Seth laughed. “Funny how you're the one who gives them the benefit of the doubt.” He gestured behind him, toward his trailer. “Do you want to come in, or—”

“No. I promised Zed I wouldn't.” He might have thumbed his nose at Zed's rules in the past, but he felt compelled to follow them now. “Can we just walk?”

“Certainly.”

Abaddon led him past the trailers, into the trees, into the deep darkness of the trees. There was no moon. Very little light reached them, but between Seth's blindness and Abaddon's unnatural vision, neither of them needed it, and it would help hide them from the eyes of curious revivalists. Seth followed easily, whether based on the sound of Abaddon's steps or something else entirely, Abaddon didn't know.

Abaddon clenched and unclenched his fists. His shoulders were so tight his head was beginning to ache. He wasn't sure what he felt—anger, or grief, or just confusion. The urge to take Seth and run as far away as possible was almost tangible. The revival no longer felt safe.

“You're troubled,” Seth said at last.

Troubled.
It seemed like such a tiny, silly word compared to the chaos he'd felt as he'd watched the serpents climb up Seth's pale, slender arms.

“What were you thinking?” Abaddon asked, turning to face him. “You could have been bitten.”

Seth shrugged, as if it were inconsequential. “I could have, yes. But I wasn't.”

“You could have died!”

A darkness passed over Seth's face. He touched the scarf around his neck. “Probably not.”

Suspicion bloomed in Abaddon's heart. He'd never once seen Seth without something wrapped around his neck. Years earlier, he'd met a man with a similar tendency, but that man had made a hobby of hanging himself from the towel bar in his bathroom while he masturbated. He wore turtlenecks and scarves to hide the rope burn.

Abaddon couldn't picture Seth asphyxiating himself, but he was suddenly sure that scarf was hiding something.

He moved closer, dread pooling in his gut. Seth jumped when Abaddon's fingers touched his neck. But then Seth closed his eyes and held very, very still as Abaddon unwrapped the length of twisted silk. What he saw made his heart clench. Tiny, round scars, all in sets of two. There were a few in front, and Abaddon was sure if he looked, he'd find more in the back, but they were thickest on the sides, the glistening scar tissue trailing from just above Seth's collarbone to just beneath his ears.

“Holy hell, Seth. How many times have you been bitten?”

Seth shrugged again, taking the scarf from Abaddon's hand. “I don't know. A lot.”

Abaddon touched one of the scars, electricity and power tingling through his fingers. For the first time, Seth seemed to feel it too. His breath hissed through his teeth and he jerked his head away.

“Always on your neck?”

A slow blush began to creep up Seth's cheeks. “No. All over. My neck and my chest and my stomach and…my thighs.” His cheeks were now bright red, his words barely a whisper. “All over my thighs, but especially, you know. Up high.”

“It doesn't hurt?”

Seth kept his eyes averted but didn't answer.

“Why aren't you dead?”

Seth shook his head. Abaddon waited, and eventually, Seth cleared his throat and spoke. “‘And when Paul had gathered a bundle of sticks, and laid them on the fire, there came a viper out of the heat, and fastened on his hand. And the barbarians said among themselves, no doubt this man is a murderer who vengeance suffereth not to live. But Paul shook off the beast into the fire, and felt no harm. And they looked when he should have swollen, or fallen down dead suddenly: but after they had looked a great while, and saw no harm come to him, they changed their minds.'”

He hadn't finished the verse though, so Abaddon finished it for him. “‘And they said that he was a god.'”

Seth didn't reply.

“Are you telling me you're a god?”

Seth jumped as if he'd been slapped. “No! No, that's not it at all. I just know that sometimes they come. And sometimes they bite me. And when they do, I can—” He stopped short.

“You can what?”

Seth took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. “I can heal people.”

“What?” He'd thought Seth's sect was different from the bible-thumping, faith-healing groups, but now… “Are you shitting me?”

“I know it sounds crazy, but the snakes—”

“They could kill you!”

“No! In Mark it says—”

“I know what it says in Mark, and in Luke.” They were the verses Thaddeus had quoted after the “phenomenon”, the same verses the serpent-handlers always pointed to, justifying their belief that handling venomous snakes proved their righteousness. They were utter bullshit as far as Abaddon was concerned.