Tell (14 page)

“I can do it with one hand if I have help,” Sylvie insisted. “Tell, this is important.”

He hated Meacham for causing his wife this misery. “I know, but think about it. The dreadnaught is made to repeal demons. If you take something like that to the Gray Lands, where there are demons all over the place, it might screw things up. It's better to leave it here. To…forget about what Meacham said.”

“If it wasn't important, he wouldn't have asked me to do it. Meacham can be cruel, but he wouldn't give me dreadnaught only to watch me ruin my hands for the fun of it.”

Wystan held up his hand before Tell could argue. “I agree with Sylvie. She's worked hard on these coats. She ought to finish them as best she can.”

She smiled at him. “Thank you, Wys.”

Eban glared at Wystan. “She has one hand, how's she supposed to—”

“Enough, boys. I'll find the help she needs. The sewing machine and dreadnaught come to the Gray Lands.” Seneca moved toward the coats. He brushed his fingers across the lapel of the one in front, then rubbed his fingers together. “Incredible. Fine craftsmanship, Sylvie.”

“Thank you.”

“Pity it can't—well, we're all aware of why it won't protect you or Tell. With careful planning, it won't be necessary anyway.” Seneca faced them again. “Lovely as breakfast sounds, I should return since this is settled. There's much to do if I'm going to make Tell feel comfortable in a place he despises.”

Tell snorted. “That'll never happen.”

“Give me a chance, son. You might be surprised. Shall I return this afternoon to accompany you?”

Sylvie nodded. “I think that's soon enough.”

“Until later, then.” Seneca disappeared.

“You shouldn't be so hard on him. He is trying to help.” Sylvie collapsed in her chair. “He loves you.”

“He loves what he does and the position he has among demons.” Tell rubbed his forehead again. “He's a demon, Sylv. He's not like us. There's not a single ounce of humanity in him. Not in the monsters living in the Gray Lands either, no matter how they act or what they say. Trusting one of them would be as dumb as trusting Seere. You see where that got us.”

Sylvie frowned. “I want to wait until breakfast is over before we tell Rhia. It's no good getting her upset beforehand. Anyway, I'm starving. So for now, can we pretend that everything is fine?”

“Everything is not fine. Everything hasn't been fine in weeks.” Tell paced the length of the room. “Now we're trusting him to keep us safe in a place that's twice as bad as this.”

“Tell.” Sylvie stood again. “Let's talk about this like adults.”

He snorted. “Oh, okay. Let's.”

“Why do you hate him so much? You have no idea what I'd give to have at least one parent present.” She came to him and held his gaze. “Be honest.”

Her brown eyes, magnified behind her spectacles, were wide and innocent, too beautiful to belong to any creature on earth. It almost hurt to look into them.

His fingers flexed and he reached for the tiny burning coal in his chest, but the fire refused to flare. “He failed my mother. He failed my sister, my brothers, this town. He's the cause of so much of our trouble. If he hadn't come to New Mexico Territory in the first place, none of this”—he stretched his arms out wide—“would have happened.”

“If not him, then some other demon.” She pressed her hand to his face again. “If not for him falling for your mother all those years ago, then there wouldn't be an us. He did his best. He saved us all from Astaroth, didn't he? Seneca is trying so hard. Be grateful for his help.”

“You don't know what it's like, trying to repent for his sins. All these years, we've fought hordes of demons. They come because they want to appease their masters or they think using our blood will make them stronger. We're just pathetic half-demon creatures to them. We're not people with lives and loves and dreams. Only animals to be slaughtered, one stepping-stone on the way to ruling the world. I didn't ask to be a demon slayer. He put it on me.” His voice rose with every word, until Eban and Wystan crowded close, hands on their weapons.

Sylvie blinked once and took a deep breath. “I do know what it's like to be hunted, or don't you remember why Noem wanted us? Pretty little virgins whose blood could be used for numerous things. He was sick and twisted and he chased us clear across the country. He's been gone for years, all right, but those memories make me suspicious of everyone and everything I come into contact with in a place like Berner. I could have left when I came of age—I sure thought about it—but Tell, as scary as this town can be, it's my home. I don't resent it for what it is, who it shelters, or what happens. I learned to live with it. I'm happy here.” She took another breath as her face reddened. “That man is your father. He loved your mother, he brought you up and he lost you because he was doing his best to keep you safe. There's no excuse for hating him so much. You can learn to appreciate the things he tried to do for you or you can let it fester, but I'm not going to get on your hate wagon for him.”

The anger left him with the speed of a popped soap bubble. “I'm sure he'd be thrilled to know his daughter-in-law is willing to defend him to the death.”

“Someone ought to. The three of you act as though you're ashamed. I doubt your sister would be so quick to judge him.” Sylvie raised her chin. “If you'll excuse me, I'm going to see if I can help Rhia and Beryl in the kitchen.” She marched away with her back straight and her footsteps thumping loudly on the wood floor.

“I don't envy you putting up with that temper,” Eban muttered.

“I lived with it for years.” Wystan shuddered. “I'd almost forgotten how mean she can be.”

“I love her, even when she's got me by the balls.” Tell shook his head. “How do you forgive the man who left you here alone to die? When he apologizes for it, it just pisses me off even worse.”

Wystan shrugged. “He did sacrifice himself twice to stop Astaroth.”

“He's a better partner than Seere.” Eban rubbed his fingers over the dreadnaught coat. “He's tried everything under the sun to find the counterspell for that name curse.”

“Underneath it all, I still see the demon.” Tell raised his gaze to the ceiling. “I can't stop feeling them. It's diminished since the new powers have taken over, but I still know they're there. I still know what kind of evil he managed before Ma.”

“It's a pity the way you can sense all that, but that you can't see the good inside someone.” Rhia stepped through the doorway with her hands on her hips. “If his actions prevent an apocalypse, Tell Heckmaster, then I say we nominate him for sainthood.”

“There's the key word, Rhia.
If.
I'll throw my hat and shout to the heavens if he manages it. Forgive me for being inclined to believe Meacham's gloom and doom after everything I've seen, but I don't know how my father or coats are gonna prevent the apocalypse.”

Rhia pointed her finger at him, mere inches from his nose. “You listen good. That woman in there loves you and she's willing to do whatever it takes to save you. You trust her and don't worry about anything else. If Sylvie says coats are going to protect the man I married and the brothers I love, then that's what's going to happen. If Seneca says he'll find a way to stop this demon you're carrying around, then he will. In the end, everything will turn out all right. I believe it with all my heart. Now go apologize to your wife so we can have a nice, normal family breakfast.”

“For God's sake. Everyone turn against Tell the doubter. Fine. See, I'm smiling.” He threw up his hands, plastered on a smile and brushed past Rhia.

Maybe the demon in him was showing again, or maybe he'd had enough of worrying and guessing what would happen next. Either way, he needed some damn peace. If one demon even looked cross-eyed at him once they got to the Gray Lands, he was going to lose the very last thread of his composure.

“Sylv, I'm sorry. I'll do my damnedest to follow the rules, to be a good sport, to keep from sending every demon straight to Hell unless I'm absolutely certain they need it. I'll hold my tongue in front of my father. Happy?”

She looked up from the pan of milk gravy she stirred. “Was that so hard?”

He gritted his teeth.
More than you know, sweetheart.
“No.”

“I didn't think so. Set the table.” She nodded at the pantry. “Please.”

“Yes, dear.”

Beryl laughed behind her hand and went back to frying bacon. “Don't push him too hard, Sylvie. That face is liable to crack any second.”

“You make Eban jump through these kinds of hoops, Beryl?” He retrieved the dishes and laid them out. There wasn't near enough room at the table for all the adults, much less the kids.

“Keeps him in shape. Or at least on his toes,” Beryl answered. “This is only the beginning, poor thing. You've got your whole life to look forward to Sylvie giving you a hard time.”

He laid silverware out beside the plates.
I sure as hell hope so.

Chapter Fourteen

“Oh my goodness.” Sylvie blinked and squinted through the mists covering the faint outlines of hills. She clutched Tell with her good arm, afraid to let go. There was solid ground beneath her feet, but the swirling grayness made it hard to believe. If she took one wrong step, she might fall through a patch of clouds back to earth—or anywhere.

“It's damned ugly.” Tell pressed his lips together.

“Welcome to my home, Sylvie. I hope the starkness won't cause you any distress. I'm afraid the atmosphere is unchanging, although your accommodations are the finest you can imagine.” Seneca waved his arm at the grayness in front of them. “If there's anything I can do, just let me know. Dochi is at your service as well. He's more than happy to assist you.”

“He'll be a big help.” Sylvie smiled at the imp curled by Seneca's feet.

“Come along. We'll go to my office and have a chat. There are some things I'd like to tell you both about.” Seneca gestured for them to follow. “Things I should have discussed much earlier.”

Tell led her toward a dark, looming shape in the mist. “Father's palace. Any decent baron has to have a palace, right? Even if it is in the middle of a godforsaken—” He grimaced when she elbowed him. “It's lovely.”

“I can't wait to see it. I haven't been away from Berner in so long. Just a quick trip to Santa Fe a couple of years ago to get material for my shop.”

“This ain't a holiday, Sylvie.” Tell's body tensed and his gaze darted around. “Keep an eye out for any ugly faces.”

“Ugly though they may be, they're excellent at watching out for Hell's advocates. In the past, the Gray Side has often overlooked Hell's attempts to take over. Since I've taken over as watcher of the Gray Lands, I've been interested to learn what my counterparts in Hell are up to.” Seneca opened the massive door to the palace. “After you, Sylvie.”

“Thank you.” She stepped inside and waited for Tell to follow. The walls were rough rock like pale limestone, but the floor was glossy white marble swirled with black. Sconces blazed with light, giving the hall a warm appearance.

“It's taken some time to infiltrate them, to follow them without arousing suspicion. And I've had some cooperation from Ea. He checks in with me periodically. Much as Astaroth's followers and many other demon lords would like to raise Hell from its position, the kings of Hell seem to prefer things the way they are. For now in any case.”

“Good to know. Why can't they keep their little minions on tighter leashes?” Tell asked. He dragged his fingers across the wall, then dusted his hand off on his trousers.

“It's the way of demons.” Seneca shrugged. He paused at a door. “My office.”

Sylvie stepped inside. Her feet sank into the thick carpet. Dark furniture decorated the room and a fire glowed from the dark stone of the fireplace, although the weather was mild and it was hardly needed. “This is beautiful.”

Seneca grinned. “I must admit I have good taste.”

“You brought us here to talk about Ea's plans? He gonna let Astaroth bust loose any time soon?” Tell sank into one of the velvet armchairs. “He know anything about that asshole pretending to be a human and hurting Sylvie?”

“I'm afraid not. A drink?” Seneca pointed at the crystal decanters on his desk.

“I'm fine,” Sylvie said.

“Scotch.” Tell nudged Dochi with the toe of his boot. “Master's thirsty, possum.”

Dochi wagged his tail. “Yes, Master.”

“Sit down, Dochi. I'll serve the ungrateful brat.” There was no malice in Seneca's voice. He poured the alcohol into a tumbler, then carried it to his son. “No, it's something besides current demon affairs. It's about your sister.”

Tell's glass stopped halfway to his mouth. “Yeah?”

Seneca poured a drink for himself, then sat on the edge of his desk. “Really, it's easier if I show you.” He flicked his hand at the window.

The scenery out the window was the same dismal gray, clearly right outside his palace. But it changed, darkening until only a single candle lit a small room. A young girl, perhaps four or five years old, lay awake in the darkness. Her eyes reflected the candlelight and she tossed restlessly in her narrow bed.

“Sandra.” A low, deep voice oozed out of the shadows.

She sat up, surprised, but the smile on her face announced her pleasure. “Zobeldach.”

Gooseflesh rose on Sylvie's arms.

“Come, child, let's take a walk.” A figure melted from the room's corner. Violet-colored eyes glowed in the light. “I crave fresh air and exercise. My room at home is cramped. I long to stretch my legs.”

“We can't wake Father and Ma,” Sandra whispered.

With the wave of his hand, Zobeldach raised the windowframe without touching it. “They'll never know we've gone.”

Sandra threw back her blankets and scrambled across the room. The candlelight touched her hair, showing lighter streaks in the dark curls.

Sylvie glanced at Seneca, astounded by the resemblance between them. She saw hints of him in the brothers, but Sandra could have been carved from his likeness in feminine form.

Zobeldach lifted Sandra from the room—she seemed to trust him without question. He held her hand as they took to the street. Bright stars dotted the night sky and as they passed beneath those and the moon, Zobeldach's features became clearer. His wide violet eyes glowed over his long, slender nose. His skin shone pearly white and his mouth made a perfect cupid's bow.

No wonder Sandra was so taken with him—Zobeldach wore the skin of an angel.

“I missed you. It's been two weeks since you last visited,” Sandra said. “Where do you go when you're not in Berner?”

“Hither and yon. I must visit with other good little girls in the world, sweetling. I missed you most of all while I was gone. No other children are as special as you.” He patted her head. “Come, let's sit at the fountain and I will tell you a tale.”

Sandra smiled. “About a princess?”

“About a very important family.” Zobeldoch led her to the center of town, then lifted her and settled her on the rocks in front of the marble angel fountain.

Sandra dipped her fingers into the water. “Father built this statue for Ma. He loves her very much and tells her so every day. We come here all the time. Or we used to. Not since Harlowe was born. Ma's busy taking care of him.” A frown crossed her pretty face. “I don't remember when Eban was born, but I'm sure he wasn't as fussy and loud as Harlowe. I don't like him much.”

Zobeldoch perched beside her. “I saw him on the day he was born. Ugly wrinkled thing, isn't he? Your real brother must have been switched with a changeling. That creature couldn't be related to such a beautiful child as yourself.”

Sandra traced the leaves of a primrose. “Ma and Father seem happy with him.”

“Would you be rid of him if you could?”

Sandra looked up. “I can't sleep for his crying some nights. I don't think I should wish him away though. He makes my folks get this happy, silly look.”

Zobeldach rubbed his chin. “Hmm. You're stuck with him then. What if…no, no, we shouldn't meddle.”

“What?” She tilted her head. “What are you thinking? I want to know.”

“We could make him better. Quiet the crying, make him a happy baby. It's simple, if you want to help me with a little spell.” The demon smiled. “Your parents would thank us both.”

Sandra's face lit up. “Really?”

He nodded. “Cross my heart.”

Sylvie tore her gaze from the window. Tell sat in his chair, the crystal tumbler in his hand shaking so badly, the liquor sloshed onto his shirt. He didn't seem to notice the growing stain. She reached across the space between them, then settled her hand on his knee. He didn't look away from the window.

“How?” Sandra rose to her knees and clutched Zobeldach's arm. “What can we do?”

A leather-bound book appeared in front of Sandra, floating on air as though held by a ghost. “It's all in here, sweetling. You only need to read the pretty words to help your little brother.”

“Let me see!” She reached for the book and nearly fell off the rocks.

Zobeldach grabbed the back of her dress to prevent her tumble. “Wait, Cassandra. Remember, I promised you a story. I'd like to tell it before we progress into this…deal.”

The book vanished.

“I—okay.” Sandra settled herself again and stared up at him with rapt attention.

“Once upon a time, there were four great kings of the Cosmos. Ea, Astaroth, Azazel and El. They presided over the affairs of the farthest reaches of the known universe, sometimes laughing, sometimes fighting as brothers will.”

“Why are they always boys? Why not sisters?” Sandra's lower lip slipped out. “Girls can be great queens.”

“Indeed, but in this story—a true story—they are brothers.” Zobeldach patted her head. “They each had designs on the way life should emerge from the blackness of the cosmos. But it was El who created this universe and Earth as we know it. El believed because he made men of clay, oceans rise and fall, land spring from the depth of blue, that he should control all of Earth. His brothers were quite displeased as they wanted their share of the pretty blue-and-green marble too.”

“Why didn't they make their own universes?”

“Ah, a smart question, sweetling. El's was far nicer than anything they could make. The other brothers didn't share his talent. A great fight broke out between them. Jealous of his brother's perfect Earth, Azazel did make his own world. We call it Hell, but for him, it was paradise.”

Sandra wrinkled her nose. “Father says Hell is horrible. He was born there.”

“Indeed, Hell is not the same paradise as Earth. Azazel found pleasure in it though, and set about ruling it. Ea created a world too—we call it the Gray Lands. It lacks the warmth and character of either Earth or Hell. There are many mysteries about it, some we may never unlock. The followers of Ea are shrouded in gray clouds.”

“What about Astaroth?” Sandra whispered his name. “What did he do?”

“Astaroth was the weakest of the brothers, the one most often overlooked. He flitted from world to world, trying to find his place among his brothers and their people. Bitterness turned his heart brittle and he was often turned away or ignored by his brothers. I know a certain little girl who is similarly treated by her own brothers.” Zobeldach stroked Sandra's dark hair.

“Sometimes, but they're boys. Ma says they'll grow up and learn to respect me someday.”

“We can hope.” He grinned. “Your brothers may grow into fine men.”

“Tell me more about the kings.” She leaned against the demon. “What happened to them?”

“El created a palace for himself high about his world so he could watch the comings and goings of the clay men he created as servants. Not only clay men and animals, but angels and other beings who revered him. He gave them laws and rules so they might lead good, honorable lives, but men are headstrong and easily led astray. They bent his words for their own purposes and can't be swayed back. It will take a different leader to make that happen.”

“Astaroth?” Sandra's eyes widened. “Father works for him. He's a baron under the liege lord.”

“I'm aware. Astaroth is a good king, no matter what others say. It wasn't only him who tried to win the hearts of man. The others made attempts too and there are many who followed the other kings, although their homes remain here on earth.” Zobeldach looked up at the marble angel. “Astaroth tried to talk sense to his brothers. He challenged Azazel for the right to rule Hell—and he won because his followers outnumbered those of his brothers. He became sole crowned prince of Hell and convinced Azazel to follow him. Ea shuttered his Gray Lands away from Astaroth. It's impossible to go there unless one finds his favor. But when he challenged El, a mighty war started. As El's champions attacked Astaroth's and sides were chosen, fissures and cracks developed between the worlds. Hell fell deep below Earth and the Gray Lands disappeared, lost to all but those who know how to enter. El retreated to his palace in the heavens.”

“God? You're talking about God?” Sandra sat up straighter. “But Ma says—”

“Yes, the stories in your little bible. Do you want me to finish the tale as I know it?” Zobeldach's face was serious, hard and stern.

Sandra seemed uncertain. “Yes, please.”

“El's warriors are strong. They fight to get the word out that El is the one true king of the cosmos. He struggles against Astaroth's minions, twisted and blackened by the touch of El's angels. It's selfish of El to expect all the worlds to bow to him, don't you think? His poor brothers are trapped because of petty fighting. If he would reach out and extend the hand of friendship to Astaroth, to his other brothers, we might find real peace. No more sickness, no wars, no hunger. Wouldn't that be wonderful, Cassandra? Because of El's lies, the world is awash with suffering.” Zobeldach stared deep into her eyes. “Astaroth knows if he could reach his older brother, get him to listen to reason, all of the bad things in all the worlds could disappear forever.”

Sandra chewed her lower lip. “He sounds bad. I don't think he just wants to talk to God—I mean El. I think he wants Heaven and Earth too. He's a bully.”

Zobeldach frowned. “You're wrong. He will raise Hell and let it overrun the earth as it should be. The demons will turn into angels and all the brothers will raise Astaroth as a hero.”

Sandra lowered her chin to her chest. “I don't like that story.”

The demon sat silent for a moment. “Sometimes, sweetling, stories have important messages. You are no more important to this world than your brother Harlowe, but like Azazel, you can lift him to greatness.”